The autumn wind blew softly as Paul rode beneath the red, brown and orange coloured trees, the fallen leaves twirling upwards beneath the horse's hooves as she stepped on at a leisurely pace over the golden grass field. The sun hung low in the sky, the evening approaching sooner than Paul had expected, but it kept the earth warm at a comfortable temperature, allowing Paul to wear his coat unbuttoned for a change as he rode over this father's land and listened to the birds chirping and singing their songs to which he replied with a whistled tune of his own. It were afternoons like these that he treasured the most, to be able to ride through the beautiful landscape without worries or responsibilities and to feel free, even just for a moment or two, with no one requiring anything from him and no one there to disturb him.

It were moments such as these that he could at last be alone for a while, the estate being too vast to accidentally run into someone. Neither his father nor his brother took pleasure in riding, and the servants had no business in these parts of the estate, except for the occasional gardener, who Paul could avoid without much effort. In the distance he could hear the vivacity of the city below, as well as the tenants working their land; he could hear children laughing and shouting as they played their games before they were called back inside for their lessons, and women whistling a song of their own as they hung out the fresh laundry in the sun to dry. Paul had always enjoyed hearing these sounds, even if they were barely audible, the people living too far away from the manor house or the gardens where he could enjoy mother nature's beauty the most.

He rode on a while longer, riding all the way to the edge of the estate where he could catch a glimpse of the working men, women, and children, to then follow the path towards the woods, making a wide circle around the lake that lay before it, before he decided to head back towards the stables, knowing it was going to take him a while, having wandered off further than he had intended to. It was approaching dinner time and he hoped the cooks had already started on it, feeling how his stomach growled in the need for something to fill his stomach, and knowing Helen, the main cook, she would be more than happy to allow him a little taste. She always let him when he would ask, having taken a liking to him when he had only been a toddler running around the kitchen and making her life a tiny bit harder that way. Helen was a great girl and Paul adored her cooking. Closing his eyes, he could already smell the delicious foods that would be presented to him that evening, causing his stomach to growl once more. He had not eaten anything since lunch time as he had deliberately missed afternoon tea with his father in order to avoid him, but now he started to regret his decision. Taking a firmer hold of the reigns, he sat back in the saddle and spurred on his horse, promising her a treat too if she hurried, to which she happily complied.

As the stables came into view, Paul slowed his pace and leaned forward to stroke his horse's neck as he praised her, allowing her to walk it off so she would not hurt her legs. At least it was not yet dinner time, the servants being still hard at work as per usual, meaning he had not missed it. The stable boys were cleaning out the stables, carrying hay on pitchforks and sweeping the floors with old brooms that desperately needed replacement, while another was taking some of the horses out to graze in the meadow two at the time. He had the top part of his overalls undone, allowing it to hung low on his hips as his shirt, which was covered in sweat and dirt, strained under his muscled arms and chest as he moved. A light flush coloured his cheekbones from the exercise. He smiled at Paul as he caught him looking, before turning his attention back to the two horses he was escorting and going back to work. A handyman was repairing one of the windows looking into the stables and stood balanced on a three-legged stool to reach it, while another man was cleaning the many windows of the orangery, humming a cheery tune as he did so. Closer to him, he could see one of the gardeners knelt by one of the flower beds, sitting bent over them as he took care of the flowers in that gentle and loving way Paul had never seen in another person and which was so particular of him. Smiling at the sight, he rode over to him and called out his name. The man in questioned looked up at him and waved as he saw who he was, sitting up a bit more, as he remained knelt in the dirt.

"Good morning, Mr. McCartney! Your father had been wondering where you were. Out riding again, I see," he greeted him, tipping his head at him once Paul halted his horse in front of him and jumped off with impressive ease.

"Please do not call me that, George. You know I despise it."

"You have no sense of humour, Paul."

"It is hardly my fault that you are so incapable of making me laugh, is it? But never mind that, how have you been? It has been a while since we have last seen each other after all, never mind since we had any kind of proper conversation," Paul said, thus waving away their small argument in the knowledge that he could not win, having laughed at George's jokes and jests too often to be able to maintain the idea that his friend was not funny, hilarious even at times.

"Oh, Paul, so many things have transpired over the last few weeks - all good, I assure you - and I actually wanted to talk to you about something, but first, I need to know how you have been doing. I must admit, I have been kind of worried."

"Please, don't be. I have been well," Paul said and he could not help but chuckle at his friend's concern of his well-being, although at the same time, he felt rather flattered that he cared so much for him. George, however, did not laugh along.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes! I mean, relatively, I have been. I am glad I finally managed to get some free time on my hands, though, and go for a ride, which I hadn't done for quite some time. I have missed it, you know. Especially in such beautiful weather as this. And I have been getting my portrait done, which serves as a great distraction from it all," he replied with a smile, looking down shyly at his feet as he remembered the sessions he had had with the portraitist so far - or apprentice, he should say.

"So I have heard. At Mr. Edward's establishment, isn't it? That must be faring well, considering his expertise."

"I am certain it would have, but sadly he was already preoccupied with another assignment which required him to be away from the city for a couple of weeks, so the job was giving to his apprentice, and I have to admit, he is delivering wonderful work so far," Paul said, his smile only growing.

"Oh, is he? And who might this miracle apprentice be, if I may ask."

"No one in particular, George. He is a mere worker - no one important. Not even as a person he is interesting if I am honest."

"I highly doubt that. 'Delivering wonderful work?' You never speak with so much praise of any artist, not even those who you call friends in Paris, who have their works shown in some of the most prestigious art galleries is Europe. I refuse to believe that someone receiving such high praise from a person like you is "a mere worker' - that is your father speaking," George said with a telling grin, at last rising to his feet as he was eager to hear more of this man who had caught his friend's eye, even if he would not yet admit to it himself.

"If you must know, his name is John Lennon and he is Mr. Edwards' best student. I must admit he possesses some great artistic talent, and I believe he is an aspiring artist, but I have not seen any of his other work, except for the portraits that hang in the studio itself, so naturally, I cannot make any real judgements based on those. He er... also has a great fondness for cats."

"How old is he?"

"I would say about two or three years my senior. He is rather audacious at times, though, I would say, which in the end is his greatest fault. He has hardly any regard for neither authority, nor the decorum of today's society, and is in the unhealthy habit of pushing boundaries, which, of course, I do not tolerate."

"So what do you do?"

"I retaliate," Paul said, sounding somewhat uncertain, which made his friend snicker. Paul decided not to say anything of it.

"You enjoy it, don't you?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?!" Paul objected.

"Is he handsome?"

"You could say so, perhaps. Auburn hair, brown almond-shaped eyes, aquiline nose, beautiful and clever hands - handsome is certainly a word I would use to describe him, but do not dare make any suggestions based on that, George. Even if I had taken an interest - which I haven't, if you so desperately wish to know - it would not be possible."

"He is an artist. It is not unheard of."

"George, please, you are being delusional. He is hardly my type, and I would not call him an artist. He is a portraitist. And his bad manners are very unbecoming indeed," Paul said, turning back to his horse to focus his attention on her, hoping George would take the hint and drop the subject, wishing to no longer discus such a ridiculous idea. "Now, let us please discus something else before I decide to not spend any more of my time listening to your ridiculous ideas and acquisitions."

"Of course, sir. After all, I am a mere worker, so I would never think of overstepping my boundaries."

"That is not how I meant it, and you know I didn't. Now, come on. What did you want to tell me?" Paul asked with a sigh, glancing over his shoulder to give George an apologetic smile. Thankfully, George nodded and came to stand with him, reaching out to pet the horse's nose as he began to speak once again, their little disagreement seemingly put aside for the moment. Besides, Paul was certain he knew he knew he meant much more to him than that, more even than just as a close friend.

"You should consider yourself lucky I care so much about you, Paul," George muttered, giving his friend a firm look, before he continued on a happier note. "I have been meaning to tell you this for a while, if I am honest, but seeing as it had gone wrong before, Pattie and I decided to wait until we were certain, which we now are. Pattie, she is expecting."

"Expecting? You don't mean-"

"She is with child," George said, a wide grin spreading over his face as his eyes started twinkling with excitement and happiness, the sentence alone filling him with joy at the prospect of having one of those little persons for himself. His smile was so genuine, so honest and heart-warming, that even Paul felt a sudden warmth spread from the inside of his chest to his fingertips.

"Oh, George! That is such wonderful news! Congratulations! And how lovely for Pattie as well."

"She is over the moon of course, but she is still slightly worried, you know, seeing as it went wrong last time. But that is not all I wanted to say. Or rather, I wanted to ask you something as well. You see, with a child on the way, Pattie cannot teach the children at the school as much as she used to, which means we have had less money to spend, with her earning less, so I was wondering - or hoping - that, if it was not too much trouble, you could perhaps ask your father if he could erm... raise my pay?"

"George, it is not that easy. My father-"

"I know, Paul. I understand I am asking a lot, and I am already earning relatively well, but it would mean a lot to me if you could perhaps ask? I am not expecting anything to come out of it, but it would really help us, and children are so expensive... though, I understand if you would rather not." Paul bit his lip as he thought it over for a moment, considering the consequences in his head and imagining how his father would react to such a request, not looking forward to such a conversation. But in the end, George was his friend.

"I cannot promise anything to come out of it, but I could try, if it would help you and Pattie along."

"You would?!"

"Yes, I shall talk to my father about it, but as I've said, I cannot promise anything."

"Oh, thank you, Paul! It would mean a lot to us. And you must come to visit us some time. I am certain Pattie would appreciate it," George said, and Paul smiled back at him as he nodded. He had just been about to say something else, as he was interrupted by the sound of someone else shouting his name across the field, the voice that sounded strangely familiar. Turning his head, he scanned his surroundings to see who had called him, when he caught sight of someone waving at him by the stables. He recognised the young man right away, with his dark brown hair, pale complexion, fancy suit and his top hat in his hand, an umbrella hanging from his arm, unused.

"Michael!" Paul exclaimed in his surprise, not having expected his brother to be home, as he was supposed to be in London still with a couple of his friends. Right away, he grabbed the reigns the jumped back onto his horse, planting himself firmly in the saddle, as he muttered excuses to his friend, telling him they would continue this conversation another time.

"Don't worry about it, Paul. I ought to get back to work anyway. We'll see each other again soon."

"I promise we will. I will ask my father this evening if I can," Paul replied and with one last wink, he turned his horse and rode over to his brother at the other end of the field. From the corner of his eyes, he could see George waving back at him for a moment, before turning back to his own work with a grin, kneeling back down onto the ground. Once Paul was near enough, he stopped his horse and he had only just jumped off his horse, when he felt a pair of arms wrapping themselves around him for a friendly hug.

"I thought you weren't supposed to be back for another two weeks at least! What are you doing here?" Paul asked with a laugh, as he returned the hug, having missed his brother over the last month that he had been away. As Michael pulled away from his brother, he smirked at him, before answering rather cryptically.

"I have some wonderful news to share with father and you, so I simply felt obliged to come home and do so in person. Letters are so impersonal. I have never liked them, especially not for something as this."

"Oh, what is the news?" Paul asked, but his brother shook his head.

"Be patient, Paul. I want to tell you and dad at the same time. Where is he, anyhow?"

"In his study, but we cannot go there now. I believe he is in a meeting with some important people - about what I do not know, he wouldn't tell me, but he made it absolutely clear not want to be disturbed."

"Oh, but I am sure he will let us interrupt him for this," Mike said, but Paul was not so certain. "It will be fine, Paul. Now, let's get your horse taken care of, so we can go find him. I cannot wait to share this with you."

"Can you not tell me now and we can tell father during dinner. He does not appreciate being disturbed during meeting, you know," Paul said, but Mike shook his head and beckoned one of the stable boys to come over to them.

"If he does get upset, I will take all the blame. Don't worry too much, it is not good for you," he said and Paul acquiesced with a sigh, knowing his brother would not let him change his mind on this. Obviously, whatever this wonderful news was, he thought it was very important, too important to wait for even just an hour or two. His brother wasn't stupid, after all, he knew his their father could get, even if he was mostly let off easy, being the youngest.

One of the stable boys came over and Paul felt his breath stock as he saw it was the same man who had been taking the horses out earlier, but he remained in control and only nodded at him as he allowed him to take his horse off him. The boy, who was a few years younger than Paul, nodded and smiled once more at him, before turning around and guiding the horse inside the stables, probably to take off her halter and saddle and brush her, before she would either be taken to the meadow to graze or put into her freshly cleaned stable. Paul followed the boy with his eyes, until he was out of sight, before he allowed his brother to pull him into the direction of the manor, feeling how his palms started to sweat at the prospect of seeing his father.

"How are you doing, anyway?" Michael asked as they walked into the manor house, where they were greeted by one of the maids, who took their coats and Paul's riding gear from them. Rather than answering his brother's question, he shot the young girl a wink and let his fingertips brush her skin as he handed her his things, which made her flush bright pink. She pretended nothing was the matter, however, and gave the two men a brief, but polite, nod, before hurrying off to put everything away. When Paul turned back to his brother, the latter was shaking his head at him with disapproval.

"You have not changed at all, have you?"

"In case you have forgotten, you were gone for only a month, not a year, dear brother. So no, I have not changed at all."

"I take it then, you still have not found the right person to settle down with," Michael asked as they began to walk through the impressive hallway with white marble flooring, double height ceilings and a large double staircase of rich mahogany wood, leading up to the first floor. In the middle hung a gorgeous chandelier that twinkled as the sunlight that shone through the many windows, landed on it. The sounds of their heels clacking on the marble stones echoed through the room as they walked through it to one of the many dark timber doors that would lead to the corridor at which their father's personal library and study were situated.

"I have told you before that I do not think I am meant for love," Paul answered his brother as he pushed the heavy door open and let his brother in first.

"Don't be so pessimistic."

"I am not. Some people are meant for other things."

"You are bitter for such a privileged man, you know that?"

"Why do you think I am bitter? Because I have never been infatuated with love before like you, or became lost in it that I forgot everything else around me? I take pleasure in other aspects of life, Mike. Maddening love might be your pleasure in life, but it is not mine."

"And what then, might I ask, if your pleasure in life? Your animals, your books, your music, your art?"

"And why should it not be?"

"It could be, but even that isn't really it. You don't live, Paul. It saddens me."

"I live."

"Then, when was the last time you enjoyed something simply because you could, not because you were obligated to, but because you could? When was the last time your name, your reputation, position, or any of those things, did not dictate what you did?" Mike asked, but Paul did not answer. "There is more to life than those things, Paul."

Paul, again, did not reply, and only walked on to the door to his father's study. He could hear men talking behind the door, laughing and making jokes as they drank and discussed whatever business was of import today. Paul had been present at a couple of these meeting in the past as part of his father preparing him for the day he would come to inherent the estate, but Paul preferred to avoid them as much as possible, the men more often than not being too obnoxious for his liking. He took a deep breath, glanced sideways as his brother, as if to ask if he was certain about this, before he knocked on the door a couple of times in quick succession. The voices in the room quietened down at the sound, and for a moment it was completely silent, before his father called, asking who it was.

"It is me, father. Michael came home early, and he has some news he wanted to share with us," Paul answered politely.

"Can't it wait? I am in a meeting."

"I am sorry, father. He insisted on doing this now." Some more murmurs came from behind the door and Paul had been about to turn around to walk away, when his father's voice sounded once more.

"Alright. Come in, if it is this pressing," he said and Paul turned to his brother in surprise, who offered him a smug grin in reply, to which he rolled his eyes. He turned the doorknob and opened the door to the study, revealing a group of about six men sitting around his father's desk. The room was richly decorated, with rows of bookshelves covering the wall behind the large mahogany desk, paintings hanging from the other walls, and a dozen or so sculptures standing on pedestals or on shelves to be admired. A large Persian rug covered the dark wooden flooring, giving the room a warm and cosy feeling.

The men in the room turned their heads to the two young men as they entered the room, looking them up and down, considering them, before they all gave a small nod to greet them. Paul winced as he saw his father's expression; he looked annoyed with the interruption, as he had guessed he would be, and Paul wished they had waited until dinner to hear his brother's news. He certainly hoped the news would indeed be wonderful, or else he might regret this decision.

"Excuse me, gentleman. It seems that my sons have something urgent to share with me in private. I suggest we shall continue our conversation here in about thirty minutes. I am certain my servants will look after you until then," Mr. McCartney said to his guests, who nodded in understanding as they got up from their seats, their drinks still in hand, and started to make their way to the door, where, Paul now noticed, one of the maids stood waiting to guide them to the drawing room. One of the men, a somewhat older man with a face as untrustworthy as his personality, smiled at her as he muttered something under his breath, which Paul could only guess was improper, judging by the look in his eyes. Disgusted, he took a step towards her and laid a protective hand on her shoulder as he stared the man straight in the eye, who narrowed his eyes at him, before walking past them and out of the room.

"Thank you, sir," the maid said, her voice soft, and Paul felt bad for having forgotten her name in that moment. He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze before letting go of her and taking a seat in one the chairs at his father's desk, which had now become empty. Michael took one of the seats beside him. Once the last person had left, the maid closed the door behind them and left the three men alone.

"So," Mr. McCartney began, lighting up his pipe as he spoke, "and what might I ask was so important that you felt the need to disturb me, when I had specifically asked you not to."

"It is entirely my fault, father," Mike said, but Mr. McCartney shook his head.

"Nonsense. Paul could have refused if he had wanted to, so I hope for him you have a very good reason to be sitting here right now rather than in the drawing room, waiting for dinner."

"I do, father. Actually, I have the feeling you will be most rejoiced. I er... well, to put it simply, I have decided to marry." Sure enough, their father, looked up at Mike with wide eyes at his words, his objections to being interrupted apparently having vanished by the utterance of that simple word.

"Marry? To whom?"

"Miss Angela Fishwick, father."

"The London girl?"

"Yes. In fact, I have already asked for her hand and both she and her father agreed to the match."

"But that is fantastic news!" Jim McCartney said as he got up from his chair and walked over to his youngest son, clasping his hands into his own and bringing them up to his lips to kiss them, a bright smile on his lips. "Miss Fishwick... yes, I know her father. What a wonderful match. Of course, I will have to see her before the marriage, but I do not think there will be any reason why I should not give you two my blessing. A fantastic match indeed! Then again, I never thought you would make a horrendous choice, unlike some. Please tell me you brought her here with you?"

"I am sorry, father. She had to finish some business first. I only asked her hand two days ago, but I simply could not wait any longer to tell you. She is coming here by coach next week to meet you."

"Fantastic, son. Oh, what happy news. You must write your aunt in Scotland. She has been feeling particularly ill over the last few weeks and she could use some happy news to cheer her up. Now, you two must excuse me, I shall make some arrangements with the cooks to have them prepare something special for supper this evening - dinner they probably will not manage any more, but that is no bother. We must celebrate this!"

Paul had not said anything yet during the course of the conversation, and felt like he might faint if he were to try. All blood seemed to have rushed out of his brain, making him feel light-headed as he tried to process the news. His brother was getting married. The words of his father hurt and kept repeating themselves in his head, knowing very well whom his father was referring to when he spoke about "some". The whole ordeal felt like a horrible joke to him, and he felt himself shaking in his seat as he watched his father congratulate his brother, pulling him into a hug.

It wasn't so much about the marriage that was so off putting for Paul, as he had always wished only the best for his younger brother, but his father's happiness at the news, the proud look in his eyes, and the affection he expressed towards Michael, combined with the implicit disdain for him, made it difficult for Paul to breathe in that moment, let alone think. All he could do was feel - a mixture of happiness for his brother, as well as fear and pity for himself, or perhaps even hatred. He barely even noticed it as he got up from his seat and excused himself, saying he was going out to get some fresh air for a moment. It was only when his father called after him to not be late for supper that evening, when he came back to himself and noticed he was already standing by the door.

"Yes, father. I just... I will be back on time," he said, but didn't wait for an answer as he walked on and closed the door behind him, letting out a frustrated groan, before making his way upstairs, needing to leave for a moment to gather his thoughts and be alone for a while. He got his coat, scarf, and gloves, as well as some money which he put into the left pocket of his trousers, and put everything on, before going back downstairs, where, to his luck, he ran one of the servants whose name he knew.

"Carter!" he yelled at him as he hurried down the stairs. "Forget everything you were doing and get the coach ready for me. I am going into town."

"At this hour, sir? But dinner is almost ready."

"I am well aware, Carter. The coach, if you please," Paul snapped in reply and the man nodded as he quickly hurried off to do as Paul had asked of him. The man had only just left, or Michael came back into the hall, looking rather annoyed. When he spotted Paul, he walked over to him, a deep frown on his brow.

"Paul, what are you doing?"

"I am going out."

"Out?"

"I have an appointment," Paul lied, turning around to face the front door as he waited for Carter to return to say the coach was ready for him. Mike, however, was not pleased with that as an explanation.

"You have no appointment. This is about me, about my marriage!"

Paul scoffed. "Listen, brother dear, I am happy for you that you have found a woman you love, but really, that is not what I am upset about."

"Then what is it?" Mike demanded, but Paul refused to answer. "You are behaving like a child!"

"You know what this is about, Michael. It has nothing to do with you. I just need to go out for a while, okay?"

"If this is about father-"

"Of course it is about father! Listen, Mike. I love you, and I want to be happy for you, but I simply can't right now. I'll be back and happy again before supper," Paul said and Mike stared at him for a moment in disbelieve, before he began to speak again, much to Paul's disappointment.

"Father does love you, if that is what you are worrying about," he said, but Paul only scoffed again as he glanced at his brother, but before he could say anything more, Carter returned, saying the coach was waiting for him outside. Paul nodded and thanked him, before walking over to the front door, only to be stopped by his brother, who grabbed his by his wrist.

"He does love you, Paul. I know you don't believe it, but he does."

"Don't lie to yourself, Mike. It is not healthy. Father was about ready to give you the entire estate for merely finding yourself a wife to decorate your bedroom with. I will be fine, I promise you. I just need some time to myself," he said, tugging his wrist free, and with that, he stepped outside and hurried down the stairs and over the gravel pathway to where the coach was waiting for him in front of the large decorative fountain, and stepped inside. The moment he closed the coach door behind him, they drove off and a wave of relief washed over him as they drove away from the estate and into the city, leaving his problems behind him.

When they had driven into the city, he tapped on the coach to catch the driver's attention, telling him to stop. Slowly, the coach came to a halt, just outside the centre of the city, and without a word Paul climbed out of the coach, not waiting until the driver would open the door for him.

"Thank you, Miles. I will go further alone."

"Alone sir?" The driver asked, looking over his shoulder in surprise at the young master's words, but Paul simply nodded. "But it is not save for you to go out alone, sir."

"I am twenty-two years old, Miles. I think I can handle myself for a couple of hours. Please wait for me at The King's Arms, and I will see you there in a few hours to drive back. I want to be back at the manor before supper, so I should not be gone for long. Have a drink while you wait."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," the driver said, looking reluctant to leave his young master alone in the city, so Paul, not wanting to give him enough time to change his mind about leaving him alone, handed him some money for his drink, before walking off into the night, waving Miles goodbye as he took in the chilly city air and simply walked wherever his legs were taking him, not having a clear goal in mind. For now, he simply wanted to be alone.