A/N: Hey everyone! Remember me? Firstly, sorry for the lack of fics and updates over the last 1-2 months. I was really busy with university and other stuff and I just did not have the time or energy to do any writing. So I decided to take a little break rather than stress over my writing as well and just focus on getting my work for university done, which is why there haven't been any updates lately. But now university is almost done for the year (I only have one last take-home exam to do which is due the 30th of June, so I have plenty of time for that), so now I'm back with new updates and fics! I'll also be updating Poetry Nights soon, and hope to post according to my regular schedule again as per usual.

Anyway, I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and that the wait hasn't been too horrible!

Also, happy happy birthday to my lovely and wonderful ray of sunshine, Paul, who was born on this day 75 years ago! I love you, sweet darling boy.

George and Pattie's home was located at the edge of the McCartney estate, past the woods and alongside a small creek wherein the local children played when they thought their parents weren't watching, and wherein the dogs washed their mud-covered paws. It was almost a tiny village in itself, separate from the city of Liverpool, with one narrow, cobblestone road snaking and twisting and weaving itself between and around a number of stone cottages, none of which were particularly large and were sometimes shared between two of three families. Most of them had a little green garden at the front, simple but well-kept, where mothers hung the laundry to dry in the warm but weak light of the English sun, and dogs lay snoring before they were awoken by the men and dragged along for business. The odd cat ran past, chasing a mouse, and birds chirped as they flew over or rested on the eaves of the houses where they were safe from the predators on the ground below. At the end of the little street, where it gently transitioned into a dirt road that disappeared over a gentle hill and further into the city, was the smallest of all cottages. It was the cottage of the Harrisons, which they shared with Miss May and her old father, the latter of whom sat sulking in an old rocking chair at the front of the garden by the stone, waist-high wall that bordered it. A few feet away from him, Pattie was pulling the dry laundry from the clothesline and into a laundry basket that stood by her naked feet, her blond hair tied up rather messily and covered by a shawl, and her swollen belly clearly visible in the green dress she was wearing.

It was still early morning, the sun only having gone up about an hour ago, when it had shone into the bedroom of the eldest McCartney son, who had laid awake in his bed, unable to sleep any more than he had, which hadn't been long. Not wanting to lie in bed for any longer, he had gotten up as soon as the light had hit his face, put on some simple clothes and decided to go on an early walk to enjoy the morning sun while he still could, taking Martha along with him, who had still been fast asleep at the foot end of the bed. He hadn't considered visiting George and Pattie until he had found himself walking in the general direction of their home, but now he saw Pattie standing outside, quietly doing the laundry, he knew it had been a good idea. She put the last of the white shirts that Paul supposed were George's into the basket, and had been about to pick it up when she caught sight of him from the corner of her eye and turned towards him to greet him with a broad, yet careful smile.

"Paul! I didn't expect to see you here! How are you?" she asked, picking up the basket, which she propped up under her arm, the bottom balancing on her right hip. Her usually sweet face, with stunning blue eyes, rounded cheeks, and round lips that revealed the split between her two front teeth as she smiled, looked uncharacteristically tense, as if she were distrusting of the intention of his visit. But if she preferred to have him leave, she didn't show it, her uncertain smile being nothing but inviting nonetheless. When he didn't approach, she beckoned him to come over.

"I am fine, thank you, Pattie. I thought I'd come by and say hi. I know it's been a while and I promised George I would, so I figured... it's not a bad time, is it?" Paul asked as he walked over to her, snapping his fingers to indicate Martha to follow him. Pattie's smile broadened even more and she shook her head as she unlocked the gate for him, allowing him to step inside and kiss her cheek. Martha happily trotted inside after him as well, and laid down in the sun against the cool stone wall of the little cottage, arranging herself in such a manner that as much of her body as possible lay on the cool tiles and her head rested on her paws with as little effort as possible, looking relaxed and pleased with herself. Always loyal and protective of her master, though, she kept her eyes on Paul as he continued to speak with Pattie, in case something were to happen to him, and let out an occasional huff as she rested from their unusual early-morning walk.

"Of course it's not a bad time," Pattie said when Paul removed his lips from her cheek, and she gently squeezed his arm in return. "George is busy working inside, but he can come down for a cup of tea. If you would like that, of course."

Paul nodded in response. "That sounds lovely, Pattie. And er... congratulations," he said, as he let his eyes fall on her rounded belly. Pattie flushed at his words and smiled as her hand unwittingly went to her stomach to rub it tenderly, as if afraid something were to hurt it, before she turned around and ushered him over the small gravel pathway and up to the house, causing Martha to look up in curiosity.

"George is working on the baby's room," Pattie explained as she opened the front door and beckoned him inside, and, true to her words, as Paul entered the small cottage he could hear stumbling up on the first floor that did not sound all together promising. "My mother brought us my old crib last week, which he has decided needed some work. It would have been endearing if it wasn't for the fact that I am constantly worried he'll hurt himself."

"He hasn't yet, has he?" Paul asked, concerned, as he took off his coat and hung it on one of the pegs on the wall. His eyes travelled up the stairs, but it was too dark at the top of it for him to make anything out.

"I haven't heard him cry out in pain yet, which can't be anything but positive, although there is the odd curse. I just figure, as long as he isn't screaming or wailing, he is fine," Pattie explained, though she looked somewhat unsure about her own reasoning as she nibbled her bottom lip. Paul, however, nodded in agreement, which appeared to put her more at ease. "Could you go upstairs and ask him to come down for tea? I'll put the kettle on. He'll be glad to see you."

"Yes, of course."

"Good. I'll call you when it's ready," Pattie said and Paul nodded again as he watched her walk into the kitchen and pull the door shut behind herself, leaving him standing alone in the hallway. Martha, who had walked inside with them, laid down against the front door and licked her paws for a moment before resting her head on the brick flooring and closing her eyes to catch up on her sleep. Paul himself let out a deep sigh, scratched his dog behind her ear, and started to ascend the stairs to the first floor, where he began to hear the soft melodic humming of his friend, which guided him into the direction of a small room at the end of the corridor, the door of which was left ajar. He knocked before slowly pushing it further open.

"George?" he asked, and not long after a loud curse followed. Frowning, Paul pushed the door all the way open to reveal the man in question sitting knelt on the floor by the half-finished crib that stood against the wall, a simple wooden one that looked like it had been assembled and dissembled numerous times over the last fifty or sixty years, holding his thumb in his hand as he sucked on it. A hammer laid dropped on the ground beside his knee, and George was shooting it death glares as he mumbled some inaudible curses at it, the words being obstructed by the thumb in his mouth.

"George? Are you okay?" Paul asked, and hurriedly bit back an amused grin as George turned around to him. The man's mood, however, cleared substantially at the sight of his friend and he was quick to pull his thumb from his mouth as he scrambled up from the floor, muttering Paul's name in a faint kind of greeting. He straightened out his clothes before he walked over to pull him into a hug, which Paul awkwardly returned - he never could get used to the freedom with which George regarded him when they were in private.

"What are you doing here? I didn't know you were coming," George said once he had released him and Paul shrugged his shoulders in reply.

"I told you I would visit you and Pattie soon, didn't I? Besides, I really needed to get away from everyone for a while."

"The Ashers, right?"

Paul nodded, but didn't elaborate on it and instead let his eyes fall onto the crib George had been working on. "The crib is coming along well, I see. Pattie told me you were working on it," he said in a poor attempt to change the subject. George, however, went along with it regardless.

"Slowly but surely. I have never been very good at this kind of handiwork, but it's necessary, you know? Pattie's afraid I'll kill myself, though. Not that I blame her for it. But well..."

Paul hummed in reply and looked around. It was a cosy room, the bedroom they were in, and Paul was certain it would make for a nice nursery once it had been finished. The walls were painted in a cheerful pale yellow, a rather clumsy job, with some of the paint having ended up onto the dark brown ceiling above, and alongside the window hung a short flower-patterned curtain that rested on the windowsill. Besides the crib, the room contained a ragged rug that lay on the wooden floor to soften it, a chest-of-drawers that was placed against the wall opposite the window, onto which some towels and other pieces of cloth lay, probably left there to be stored away later, and a large leather chair that stood beside it, looking comfortable despite its age. In the corner of the room stood an old rocking horse that appeared to be just as old, if not older, as the crib, which made Paul suspect Pattie's mother had brought them that one too. It would be a cosy little nursery once it was done, and Paul didn't doubt George and Pattie would prove to be good parents, although the thought of seeing George with a small child in his arms, was still hard for him to imagine and almost made him feel slightly sick. Feeling himself get rather faint, he flopped himself down in the leather chair and closed his eye for a moment.

"Are you feeling okay?" George asked, and Paul shook his head as he listened to the man's footsteps approaching the crib again. "If you'd like to talk about it..."

"No. No, I simply haven't slept well the last few days. I never do whilst I'm travelling and now with Jane... I will be fine in a few days," Paul said, forcing a smile to put the other man at ease. It came out looking, however, like a pained grin, which instead had the opposite effect.

"Paul, you didn't... you didn't do anything while you were in Paris, did you?" he asked and Paul groaned at the question, which he ought to have known would come sooner or later.

"George..." he tried, but he continued as he took a couple of steps towards him, while maintaining a polite distance, ever aware of the uneven power relation between them. At the moment, though, it annoyed Paul more than anything else. Not that George appeared to notice.

"Because, Paul, with the engagement between you and Jane about to be made official, you cannot afford-"

"I know, George," Paul cut in with an exasperated sigh, raising one of his hands to rub at the corners of his eyes in an attempt to lift some tension, but George had not yet finished.

"If anyone were to find out, especially now-"

"I know, Geo," Paul snapped, cutting George off with more force than what would have been necessary. There was a lingering silence in the room, and Paul could feel that the other man's eyes were still on him, but he stubbornly refused to acknowledge him as he leaned back in his chair, needing some time to collect himself. After another minute or so, he finally opened his eyes again and noticed George had gone back to working on the crib, and was busy hammering the bars into their respective places. When he began to speak, he looked up, but did not pause in his work.

"It's so strange to imagine this is truly happening, you know. You and Pattie getting a baby together, Mike getting married to Angela, me and Jane getting engaged, officially that is... It's not that I don't like her Geo, but..."

"You wish you didn't have to," George finished for him and Paul nodded in reply.

"Everything is just so fucked up, you know?" he concluded and when George merely nodded, Paul let out a rather irritated huff, only to shake his head at himself in disapproval after. "Strange thing is," he continued, "it doesn't seem that long ago when we were still children. Remember that, Geo? Just us two, running around together, playing silly games and pretending we were the knights of the round table, saving Liverpool from all kinds of evil. Remember that?"

"Certainly. Neither of us ever wanted to play Arthur. You were always Lancelot, the best and most chivalrous knight who could sweep any young lady of her feet - or boy, I suppose, in your case." George giggled at his words and Paul too could not help the smile that pulled at his lips at the memory, his heart filling with a warm, fuzzy feeling he had not felt again since those days in Paris with John. Even back then, when he couldn't have been older than six or seven, he was pretending to be saving handsome men, lords, and princes as young Sir Lancelot with the help of his trusted friend, companion and mentor.

"And you were always Merlin, giving me all your prophecies, which never turned out to come true-" he said, chuckling. George joined in soon after.

"More often than not because you'd change the rules every other moment whenever it suited you!"

"As if you were any better, Mr 'my magic is the most powerful magic there is, so I can do anything and everything I want to, even when that defies all logic and every rule we had established'! At least I bothered to change to the rules, while you just didn't care for them at all!"

"I cared!" George objected, laughing, despite the fact that both knew that wasn't true. "Do you remember that time we asked Miss Asher to join us?"

"Oh yes! The damsel in distress who didn't want to be saved," Paul mused as images of that day flashed before his eyes, and chuckled as he remembered how Jane had outright refused to come with him and let herself be saved, once he had managed to make his way through the dark, dangerous, magical woods with Merlin's help. She had gone on alone instead, after which she had put a fake wooden crown on her head and declared herself to be 'Queen' Arthur, and thus ruler over the two of them, giving her the ability to boss them around as much as she saw fit. "She always had a passion for acting, drama, and theatre, even back then. Oh, how I miss those days. Everything was still so simple. Every marriage was over as soon as you stopped playing, there were no babies, no obligations, and as many pretty boys to save as your mind could conjure up. Not that... not that I am not happy for you and Pattie, of course, George."

"No, I understand. I feel the same way now that it is truly happening. If it wasn't for the fact that Pattie's belly has grown so much, I wouldn't have been able to believe it, if I'm honest. It is scary though, having a child on the way; a small living creature that is completely dependent on you, and that you have to keep alive and be responsible for. Pattie's mother thinks it's too soon for us, that we're too young, and although I am happy we're going to be blessed with a child, especially after the last time when it went wrong, I sometimes cannot help but fear she is right. It's... it's a lot, you know?"

"No," Paul answered after a brief moment of thought. "No, I don't know."

They remained silent for a few more moments, before finally Pattie's voice came rising up from below, calling them down for tea, to which the two boys happily complied. They made their way down the stairs and into the kitchen, where Pattie had already taken a seat at the kitchen table and motioned them to sit down as well. Three steaming mugs of tea were placed on the table, along with a small saucer with a couple of biscuits. Martha once again followed her owner inside and laid down at his feet, so Paul could pet here if he so wished, which he did from time to time as he drunk his tea and spoke with George and Pattie about some general things and the baby, until Pattie inquired after Jane Asher and his engagement to her. He could see the worried look on George's face as his wife brought it up, but he merely smiled and answered her questions, somewhere feeling glad to be able to talk about it with someone who did not find it of the utmost importance that the marriage would succeed.

The Asher had arrived yesterday morning like his father had told him they would, and he had done his best to look his best and be there on time to welcome them as was desired of him. His father had been most pleased to see him looking presentable as he had come down the stairs at just the right moment, and Paul had not been able to repress the sigh of relief at the look of approval on his father's face, which the latter luckily had not noticed. His brother, on the other hand, had noticed and had looked somewhat worried still, being well aware of the eldest McCartney's feelings towards the match, but Paul had behaved his best and once lunch had ended and the Ashers had been escorted upstairs to their rooms, his father had even told him he was proud of him, something that happened only rarely, and Paul would be lying if he said it did not affect him.

Jane had been as dazzling as ever, being polite and sincere to everyone who spoke or even looked at her, and looking absolutely stunning as she had climbed out of the carriage, wearing a deep purple dress with a tight bodice that suited her surprisingly well, and had managed to look both approachable and kind as well as intimidating at the same time, which was one of the qualities Paul liked most about her. He hadn't spoken to her much, though, having kept his distance from her and her family as well as everyone else, preferring to be left alone with his thoughts. He had been glad when the day had finally ended and he could retire for the evening. Except that evening, as he had laid sleepless in his bed, he had not been able to stop thinking about future, about Jane, about their marriage, about John, whom he still had to tell the "happy" news, something which he wasn't looking forward to.

He stayed at the Harrison's for about another hour and a half, discussing various topics and feeling generally happy to be away from his family for a while and not have to think about them, before he decided he'd better leave. It was nearing nine 'o clock, which meant the rest of the house would awaken soon and go down for breakfast around ten-ish, perhaps a little earlier, where his father would expect him to be present and be just as gentlemanly as the day before. He hadn't yet had any breakfast himself, either, and his stomach was beginning to protest at the lack of food Paul offered it, the biscuits Pattie had put down for them not being enough. George and Pattie understood though, and George immediately got to his feet to see Paul out.

"Thanks, Geo," Paul said as the younger man got him his coat and helped him into it, while Pattie rummaged around in the kitchen to find Martha a little snack for the road as she always did when they visited. Once she got her treat, Martha came trotting back out of the kitchen with a piece of old bread in her mouth, her tail wagging in excitement, and began munching eagerly on it as she stood beside Paul, ready to leave whenever he so desired. Paul smiled at the sight of her and ran his fingers through her fur, before turning back around to see Pattie emerge from the kitchen as well, both of her hands holding her back as she rubbed it. George immediately took over as soon as he saw it.

"I er..." Paul started somewhat uncertain, knowing now was the only chance he had to bring up the issue he really needed to talk to them about. "I also spoke to my father yesterday, George. About the raise you asked me about?"

George, immediately interested in what his friend had to say, looked up at him expectantly, his hands halting for a moment. "Yes?"

"Well... I cannot promise anything for certain, but he did say he would be willing to consider it. He wants to speak with you first, before he comes to a final decision, and I am not sure how much he's willing to consider, but he didn't refuse!"

"Oh, Paul! That is wonderful! Thank you!" Pattie exclaimed before her husband had any time to say anything, and George could only nod in agreement to his wife's words.

"Yes! Yes, thank you. I really appreciate you doing this for us, Paul," he finally managed to say, but Paul shrugged it off, shaking his head.

"It was no problem. I told you I would talk to him. I was only lucky he was in a good mood now the Ashers are here," he said with a pained smile, but George and Pattie insisted on thanking him nonetheless, both being well aware how difficult James McCartney could be, especially about business issues. Again Paul insisted that the raise wasn't yet certain - his father had the annoying quality of changing his mind as easily as he did everything else - but both George and Pattie assured him they knew, so Paul left the conversation as it was and bid them both goodbye, before he stepped outside and started making his way back to the manor, Martha following closely behind.

It was a nice day, with only a few puffy white clouds drifting overhead, birds chirping cheerily in the trees, and despite the chill that hung in the air, the lack of wind made it surprisingly comfortable weather to go for a walk. Martha was happily running around, chasing various little bugs and birds that were quick to fly away and escape her big fluffy paws and eager mouth. Paul whistled a tune as he watched her, forcing himself to clear his mind and enjoy the nature around him as they slowly came close and closer to home.

They hadn't gone far yet, though, or Martha suddenly spurted away with a couple of happy barks, tearing Paul away from his mindless thoughts as he called after her, shouting at her to come back, which she didn't.

"Martha! Martha, come back here!" Paul shouted again as he sped up his pace, his calm walking pace transitioning into a jog as he went after her, cursing at himself as he wondered what she could possibly have seen that would cause her to run away. She wasn't usually the kind of dog to do that, and tended to stay in close proximity to him even when they were on a walk like now. His questions were soon answered, though, when Martha came running back to him, her tongue hanging from her mouth and her tail wagging again in enthusiasm, with Jane following closely after her, carrying a large basket in one hand, as she held onto her hat with the other.

"J-Jane..." he muttered, halting in surprise at the sight of her. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, of course! We barely spoke yesterday and well... when one of your servants told me you had gone on an early walk, I thought you might be hungry," Jane answered with a broad smile as she lifted the basket for emphasis, making her intention more than clear, and beckoned him over. "Come on, let's find a good spot. Somewhere private would be good. Can't have anyone interrupting our little picnic now, can we?" she joked with a cheery laugh, and Paul responded in kind as he nodded and hurried over to her. His stomach growled impatiently at the promise of food.

***

The two of them didn't take long to find a good spot for their picnic. Jane had always loved the lake, which wasn't too far away, so they folded out their generous-sized blanket along the waterside, allowing Jane to take off her shoes and stockings and dangle her feet in the water like she used to do when she was a child, while Paul laid down on his side beside her with his legs curled up around her as he made them sandwiches, offered her some fresh fruit, buttered the scones she had managed to procure for them, and handed her some orange juice or sparkling wine whenever she asked. It was a peaceful and quiet moment and Paul felt grateful for her idea to do this, being glad to be out of the sight of their ever-watchful families.

They mostly sat in silence, listening to the sounds of nature as they ate, while Jane occupied herself by fingering some wild flowers she had picked from her immediate surroundings, carefully lacing them together to create a long line of them. Paul kept to studying her, taking in every little movement of his fingers, the way the sun made her hair look an almost fiery red, rather than the copper colour he was used to, and the way her lips seemed to move as she hummed a soft tune. Occasionally, he would look across the lake and allow his mind to drift away into an almost dream-like state; thoughtless, calm, serene, and for a moment it seemed like he truly would this time. Before he could drift off completely, however, Jane pulled him back into reality by laying a gentle hand on his arm, catching his attention.

"What is on your mind?" she asked. Paul pretended not to know what she was talking about, and only shrugged as he picked up the last piece of his current sandwich and finished it. "You are preoccupied today," Jane continued, but Paul again didn't answer. "You were yesterday as well. Don't think I don't notice."

"It's not often you hear you are going to get married," Paul said in reply, but Jane only hummed at his answer, and looked back at her work as she knotted the two ends of the line of flowers together, creating a circle.

"Sit up," she said as she turned back to her fiance, gently holding the ring of flowers in her hand. Paul did as she said, leaning forward when she told him to, and chuckled as she placed the flowers on his head.

"What are you doing?" he asked. He reached up to feel for himself, but Jane was quick to bat his hands away.

"Don't touch it! You'll ruin it. And it's a flower crown, which - look up at me, perfect - is going to make you look pretty," Jane explained, as she adjusted the flower crown on Paul's head with a gentle hand, afraid to accidentally break the crown.

"I am always pretty, remember?" Paul reminded her with a wink, but Jane gave him a look of disapproval as she shook his head. "But I am!"

"Don't get cocky." She gave the flower crown one last gentle tug and ran her fingers through his hair to add a little more volume, making the who look appear more natural, before she sat back and considered him for a moment. Once she was certain everything was perfect and secure, her lips curled up in a wide smile.

"Good?" Paul asked and Jane nodded.

"Perfect. As always."

"I aim for nothing less, darling," he said and Jane chuckled in response. After their laughter had died down, though, it remained silent between them for a moment, neither knowing what to do or say. In the end, Paul decided on taking a sip from his sparkling wine, his throat feeling rather dry. It was Jane, however, who ended the silence.

"Paul?" she asked, and paused to study him for a moment, before she continued her question. "What is on your mind?"

"Nothing!"

"You can tell me," she assured him, but when Paul didn't answer, she said, "I'll go first!"

"Go first?" Paul repeated, unsure what she meant, but Jane merely nodded in reply.

"Yes! I'll admit something first, and then you can tell me what's been bothering you afterwards. It is only fair, don't you agree? Okay," she paused for a moment to adjust the way she was sitting, making herself more comfortable, before she continued, "I acted."

"Acted? You acted?" Paul repeated, and Jane nodded as she smiled proudly.

"I did! Oh Paul, it was wonderful. I went to the theatre with my father - he had to be there for business and brought me along to keep him company - and while I was waiting for him to finish his meeting with the theatre manager, I explored a little and well... one of the male actors noticed me snooping around backstage, spying on the rehearsal that was going on for their new play, and asked if I wanted to try it out myself. Of course I couldn't refuse such an offer!"

"Who was the actor?" Paul asked with a grin, and Jane hit his arm at his cheekiness.

"It is not what you think. I am not like you," she said, but Paul only grinned wider, knowing better than to believe such a blatant lie, and so she hit him again. "I hate you."

"I doubt that. But never mind him, then, if you want to be a tease about it. What did you play?"

"Shakespeare, of course. What else did you think I was going to play?"

"Which play? What role?"

"Hamlet!"

"Don't tell me you did the whole 'To be or not to be' speech?"

"And so what if I did?"

"It is a cliché! Never mind the fact that it's a man's role."

"Might be, but it's still a dream to play such a role as Hamlet, isn't it? And well... at first men played women, so now it's the women's time to play men, don't you think? It is only fair," Jane said and Paul snickered at that, but couldn't think of any good argument to bring in against that statement, so he agreed with a shrug of his shoulder and picked up his wine glass.

"I'll drink to that," he said, taking a sip, and Jane happily joined him as she took a sip herself as well. "You know," Paul continued as he put his glass back down on the grass next to him, "I've always enjoyed good old Will, and I do love that line from Hamlet that Polonius speaks: 'to thine own self be true'. It would be good if more people lived like that, don't you think?" Jane shrugged.

"If only it ever was that easy," she mused.

"It should be," Paul said and this time it was Jane's turn t nod. Sighing, she put her glass of wine back down and leaned forward to run her fingers through the water, thoughtfully playing with it as Paul followed her movements.

"Jane," he said after another moment of silence, feeling his hands get clammy as she looked up at him, their eyes locking, and he took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, trying his best to ignore the rapid pacing of his heart in his chest. The best, he rationalised, was to just get it out in the open. "I er... I have another lover."

If Jane was surprised she hid it well. She didn't say a word and simply stared at him for a while, her body and face unmoving, giving nothing away, before she let out another sigh and nodded. "Who?"

"An artist. Painter to be exact. He's handsome, young, about two years older than me. He's sweet, funny, talented," Paul answered truthfully, and again Jane simply nodded, her face expressionless.

"Do you love him?" she asked and Paul was momentarily startled by the question, making it difficult for him to speak, but once he finally found his voice, he told her he didn't know, and again Jane nodded.

"Is that strange? Not knowing if you love someone?" he asked, frowning at his own inability to answer a question that was so easily formulated. It wasn't that he was afraid to tell her, that he was afraid he would hurt her feelings if he said he did. He just truly did not know. Did John love him? Wasn't it enough prove that he couldn't say he didn't love him? When did you know you loved someone anyway?

"No. It's not strange," Jane said, interrupting his thoughts and she smiled at him as she reached over to pick up another sandwich. She handed it to him and Paul took it. "It is normal. Now, finish that. We should probably get back before anyone starts to miss us and goes looking for us."

Paul nodded in agreement and did as she had told him to while Jane put her stockings and shoes back on and started to clear the blanket and put everything back into the basket, while letting Martha finish their left-overs. By the time Paul had finished his sandwich, they were ready to leave, so he got up from the grass, took the basket from her and offered her his arm as they started to make their way back to the manor, Martha once again following closely behind them.

"Jane?" Paul asked as the manor began to come into view. "Thank you."

"For what?" she asked, frowning as she glanced up at him, her pretty face looking positively puzzled. Paul smiled at the sight.

"For understanding. For not being mad at me," he said and Jane chuckled at that as she shook her head and called him silly. She paused in her tracks to stand up on her tiptoes and press a sisterly kiss to his scruffy, unshaven cheek.