Lewis had been kind, of course, and there was the incident with Stewart, but did she love him? Not at all. They were friends! Honestly- it was a little nauseating.

So Marion put away the letter, glad that Lewis had left that morning without much fuss. She'd do nothing about it.

*****

It was a hot afternoon in late July when the news came.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Abbot..." began the doctor.

"What is it?" asked Lady Abbot, clutching her son's hand. 

"You're never going to be able to do hard labour."

"That's it?" asked James, relaxing.

"Mr. Abbot, do you play any sports?"

James shrugged. "I enjoy a football match every once in a while. Haven't played since I was on France before the bombing, though."

The doctor paused. "The pneumonia took a very heavy toll on your lungs. A football match... would not be a wise choice."

"Oh," whispered James. "Oh."

His mother sensed that James wanted to be alone. "Thank you, doctor," she said curtly. "Is that all?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "And I am sorry."

"It's not your fault," replied James. "I don't wish to shoot the messenger."

His mother looked at him with sympathy, then turned to the doctor. "I'll show you out."

*****

"Are you allowed out, James?" 

He looked up from the garden bench to see Marion. "I've improved enough," he said simply.

Her brow furrowed. "Something's wrong. What is it?"

He just looked down.

"Oh, James," she said, sitting down by him and holding his hand. "You don't need to tell me now, not if you don't want to."

It all came out slowly- how he had been doing so much better, and then that morning when the doctor had told him that he'd never play football again, not for a long time anyways, and how he'd never be able to lift large loads or do any sort of hard labour.

"I know you think that's stupid, me being upset about football."

Marion shook her head. "You loved to play before you left."

He clenched a fist. "I just wish I would have know that would have been my last game, before- before this." He gestured broadly to everything around him.

"We never know, do we?" 

He laid his head on her shoulder like a child. "No."

And without thinking, Marion laid a kiss on James's hair, not noticing that anyone was walking by.

*****

"Saw something strange, Marion, when I was walking in the garden earlier," began tall, intimidating Nurse Bellamy in a disapproving tone. Next to her, another nurse (her first name was Claudia, but Marion didn't know her last name) tittered awkwardly, with laughter that was almost cruel.

Marion closed the kitchen door behind her and went to the cupboard. She said nothing.

"Are you supposed to marry him?" 

Marion froze. "We're not engaged, if that's what you mean," she said, knowing that the nurse was referring to James. She pulled out the syringes and needles she needed and began to search for the heroin solution to fill them.

"All I'm saying is that I'm not sure it's proper for him to get so... so close to you, especially with you in uniform, and especially after you'd just been so friendly with Lewis Miller."

Marion squeezed the bottle that her fingers had just found. "Nurse Bellamy, I don't know what you're insinuating happened with Mr. Miller and I, but I'm sure you're completely mistaken."

"We saw he'd left you a note. And then you going and kissing Mr. Abbot..." 

As calmly as she could, Marion filled the syringe with a shaking hand. "I don't see how this is any of your business, at all."

When nobody answered, she continued.

"I liked Miller, I really did, but not like that. He was kind and a very lonely boy that needed someone to talk to, and since I was his nurse I felt it my duty to oblige him, but it's true that he got a bit carried away. That note you saw- and I hope for your sake you didn't read it- said he loved me but I shudder to think of it. We were friends, is all, and I swear that.

"Mr. Abbot, on the other hand, and what you may not know from my word, has courted me for a bit over a year. Before he left we had a normal sort of courtship and then we wrote each other when he was gone. I was only comforting him earlier, and I wish to all that is holy that you'd find something better to speculate about."

The Claudia girl snickered. Marion whipped her head around. "Honestly, can you do anything but laugh at someone else's expense?" She grabbed her filled syringes, put them on the tray, and walked out to do her rounds- fighting the urge to cry both of humiliation and of anger.

*****

Watford welcomed Lewis home. But the streets seemed too crowded and things were too loud. Often Lewis woke in the night from a bad dream, and the noises hadn't stopped. 

He wanted to get back to the country where he could hear other thoughts, not just the shellshock ones, and where the people knew how to help him. His family just looked at him oddly, yearning to help but not knowing how.

He thought of her often, and waited for a letter. While he waited, he wrote little notes.

I miss how you laughed.

I miss having someone to read my stories to. I can't write many anymore, unless they're about missing something.

I wish you'd write me. 

But she remained silent, even though he waited so patiently.

*****

When December of 1916 came, Marion had almost forgotten Lewis. Sometimes she'd think on him and shake her head with a smile and a cringe, but he hardly ever crossed her mind.

She sat in front of the fire late one night, out of uniform, reading a letter from her brother- fighting somewhere in Germany, doing fine, how was she? And she wanted to respond, but she didn't know how, because he really hadn't left much to reply to.

The library was empty except for her, and she jumped when the door creaked open. It was James, wrapped in a wool blanket.

"May I sit with you?" he asked.

She stood and held the door for him. "Of course. Oh, you're so pale! Are you alright?"

He smiled and sat in the chair  opposite hers, pulling a book from the folds of his blanket. "Just cold, I think. Mum won't let me light a fire anywhere. It's a bit of a miracle I decided to sneak in here and try anyways."

She settled back down and picked up the letter she'd tried to start. 

"From your brother?"

"From Jonathan, yes. I don't know what to tell him. He didn't ask any questions and just said he's doing fine somewhere in Germany."

James nodded, flipping his book open. "That's always tough. At least you always wrote me nice letters with plenty to talk about."

"And you always had those stories."

They smiled at each other a moment.

"Do you write your dad often?"

Marion shrugged. "He's not the most talkative. Besides, he's at home up Manchester way and we've never been too close."

A pause. She turned back to her letter, sucking on the nib of her fountain pen (forgetting it was inked). Black ink covered her lips and her chin but hadn't yet dripped onto her dress.

James fiddled with his hands nervously. "I wrote him, actually, and I'm still waiting for a response, but I figured I'd ask anyways."

She looked up in shock, dropping her pen. Ink drops splattered on the page a few inches in every direction.

He held a ring in his hand out to her.

"Look, I know I'm not much except a weak former soldier, but I know we could be happy," he said quietly, nervously. "I've got a lot to offer in terms of wealth and I know Mum won't be super pleased, but I know she loves you as a person, that's the only reason you still work here, if we're honest, so-"

Marion laughed and put a finger to his lips. "Don't talk so much," she chuckled and lowered her hand. "And yes- yes!"

Both laughed, he in almost disbelief. "Really? I didn't even ask properly..."

She stood and offered her hand. "When have we done anything  properly?"

James stood, too, taking her hand and sliding the ring onto her finger. Nothing quite seemed real and yet this was the most real thing that either of them had every experienced. "It's not my grandmother's ring. I knew you wouldn't like that. It's a new one."

She just stared at the gold that wrapped around an emerald, twinkling in the firelight. "I don't know what to say," she whispered, smiling.

He didn't seem to notice her ink-slathered lips, because he leaned down and kissed her without another word.

A strange feeling enveloped Marion, as she put her arms around his neck. It was a warmth in her chest, and an icy cold in her legs, sending shivers through her whole body. They stood there a long time in each other's arms before pulling away.

"Oh no," she said when they pulled away. "The ink-" She rummaged in her blouse pocket for a handkerchief and laughed. She tried to dab away the ink that covered his lips, but to no avail. "I'm afraid that might be a bigger sign than the ring."

"Let it be, Marion," he laughed, pushing away her handkerchief. "We'll just have to sneak to the kitchen to wash off." 

"I always forget that I've filled the pen," she fretted as they walked to the door. "I don't learn."

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and covered his mouth with a grin. She followed suit, giggling as they snuck down the dark hall tot he kitchen, glad nobody was out.

*****

Lewis opened the letter with trembling hands. It was postmarked from the Abbot estate, and he dared to hope...

Lady Florence Abbot is pleased to announce the marriage of her son, James Leonard, to Miss Marion Elizabeth O'Leary.

He did not read the rest. He balled it up, threw the paper in the stove, and watched it burn with hot tears streaming down his face. 

"I was a gentleman," he seethed, suppressing the urge to hit something. "I suppose it's true than the gentleman always loses."