Even after being back from the plateau for nearly six years and home in Avebury for near to five, Lord and Lady Roxton were only now meeting the Baron of Avebury. Second Baron, to be more precise, who was only just returning to Avebury due to business that had kept him abroad. The first Baron, a strong, agile man in his eighties, was a man Roxton had known quite well and respected a great deal. There was little Marguerite knew of the relationship, apart from the aspect of Roxton's Marriage to the Baron's youngest daughter, Claire. Something to which she'd slowly, very slowly, come to terms with. She'd had to, because with the years they'd spent on the plateau, she deserved something karmically appropriate to hit her for dangling stories of ex-husband's in the dashing and loyal, Lord's face.

"Lord Roxton, such a pleasure to see that face again. And you've changed so much from the boy I knew." Roxton smiled warmly as they were greeted by an elderly woman in a fine gown. Gallantly, he took the lady's hand and kissed it and Marguerite smiled at the small blush that appeared on the woman's cheeks.

"Baroness Avebury, it's lovely to see you again. May I introduce, my wife, Lady Marguerite Roxton." He gestured to Marguerite as he patted the hand she had in the pit of his elbow and Marguerite painted her face with the most pleasent of smiles.

"Baroness I-"

The Baroness was staring at her. If she were less of a lady, she'd have likely been slack-jawed, though her expression was simply blank and focused. "Your name is Marguerite?"

Marguerite glanced at Roxton, then turned back to the Baroness. "Yes."

"Marguerite." The Baroness whispered and Marguerite was feeling somewhat uncomfortable under her scrutiny.

"Yes." Was all she knew to answer because the lady's actions were rather strange, even with the weird and wonderful they'd seen on the plateau. "...My name is Marguerite."

Suddenly, the Baroness shook her head and smiled warmly. "My apologies, dear, you caught me off-guard. You remind me of someone I once knew. Please, please come in." She gestured them into the large house and with the flury of gestures she made all the way to the dining room, the awkwardness of the moment ebbed away, for all but Marguerite.

All through the marvelous dinner, Marguerite sensed the Baroness was watching her. Every so often, when Roxton was enraptured by a hunting story the Lubbock brothers were recounting, she'd glance toward the Baroness - seated at the head of the table beside her son the Baron Avebury - she would quickly look away.

As the party retreated to the ball room and the sound of Violins and a deep Cello filled the halls. Marguerite felt a tug at her hand and absently started to dance with Roxton. She knew he'd eventually notice her own strange behaviour and decided that, instead of having him breach the subject, she would do it herself.

"Have you noticed anything strange about the Baroness?" She asked him, hugging closer to his chest for both warmth and privacy.

"No, why?"

"She's been staring at me all night."

"Oh, Marguerite, you're just being paranoid." He laughed and Marguerite abruptly stopped dancing.

"No. I'm not." Dropping his hands, Marguerite headed out of the ballroom and into one of the empty hallways of the house. Leaving her husband standing in the centre of the dancefloor with a very confused and somewhat lost expression on his face. She wasn't angry with him, not really, though she couldn't precisely place where her anger had come from. She felt awkward in this house, almost like she shouldn't be here. As she slowed her pace, internally coaxing herself to calm down, she looked up at the many paintings lining the walls. She studied the faces of ancestors dating back hundreds of years.

As the sounds of the party dimmed the further she walked and Marguerite found herself wandering into a small library filled with leatherbound first editions and no small amount of dust, she set her eyes on a painting above the small fireplace.

"My husband, John Lubbock."

Marguerite startled and turned around to see Baroness Avebury standing in the doorway, her hands clasped in front of her.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude, i'll go back to the party." Marguerite rushed to move past her, feeling even more uncomfortable the longer she spent with this woman, but Baroness Avebury grabbed her arm and met her eyes.

"Please, I must speak with you."

"Me?" Marguerite, not so delicately, pulled her arm away.

"Yes, I..." Baroness Avebury walked past her and took a seat on the large leather sofa. "-I have questions."

"About me?" Even with the Baroness patting the sofa beside her, Marguerite didn't make a move to sit.

"Yes, I-I don't know quite how to say this..." Marguerite's eyes became glossy, as she looked into the dark-green eyes of this woman. Moving to stand in front of a chair, any chair, Marguerite watched the Baroness very closely as she took a deep breath.

"Thirty-six years ago, I had a daughter"

Marguerite dropped into the chair behind her and one tear broke free. "No." She gasped, holding a hand against her stomach as she sobbed, all the while, she couldn't look away from the woman sitting, poised and strong before her.

"She was the most beautiful baby, I-." The slight tremor in her voice was the only thing that gave away the Baroness as she looked away from Marguerite's penetrating gaze. Marguerite couldn't speak, she couldn't move. She stared at the Baroness and the Baroness stared at the floor. " -When I saw you tonight, my heart it..." She could barely speak the words.

The thought didn't even register in Marguerite's mind. She didn't wonder what it was like, after all these years, to stand before a woman that could be your daughter, to see her grown and beautiful, strong and happy and know that you had no part in it. To look her in the eye and see yourself and a stranger at the same time. She didn't think of how the Baroness felt. All she could see, through the haze of tears in her eyes and the terrible pregnant silence between them, was the life she'd suffered alone.

"Are you my mother?" The words left her lips without her ever realising it. The Baroness finally met her eyes, her head tilted up quickly and Marguerite could see the tears that matched her own. She watched the Baroness steel herself and stand, she stepped towards her and Marguerite leaned as far away as she could. But the Baroness moved closer and as she elegantly bent to her knees before her, she clasped Marguerite's locket with her fingers and popped it open.

Marguerite stared down at her hand, holding the only connection she'd ever had to where she came from and for some reason, she resisted the urge to rip the treasured necklace from this woman's hold.

"Yes." The Baroness whispered, still holding the locket and staring at the words inscribed in the heart. "To our daughter, Marguerite, Forever in our thoughts."

After a moment the Baroness opened her mouth to speak but Marguerite practically leapt from the chair, sending the woman staggering to stand. "Marguerite!" She gasped. "Please, I-"

"You're my mother!" Marguerite's voice echoed like an accusation and the Baroness dropped herself into the chair that Marguerite had vacated.

Marguerite ran for the door.

"Please!" The Baroness begged, but Marguerite kept running.

Roxton was standing in the doorway to the ballroom, absently listening to one of Capt. Eric Lubbock's war stories, trying desperately to impress the Lord. But regardless of how often he did like to converse with the youngest of the Lubbock men, who was by far, the most intrigued by the Lord's life and travels, he couldn't take his eyes off the hall where Marguerite had disappeared. Turning away from the hall, just for a moment, he was startled to hear the pattering of heels on the wooden floors and spun back around to see Marguerite fleeing down the hall with her cheeks wet with tears.

"Marguerite!" He called after her, as she passed him. But she didn't hear him. Quickly he collected their things and chased her out the door. As he staggered his way down the stairs, he could hear the anguish in her voice as she begged for their driver.

"-my husband can find his own way." He heard her and with a slight glance at the ground beneath his feet, he tossed his jacket over his arm and held her shawl up to her shoulders.

"Your husband, will follow wherever you lead." He smiled as gently and as reassuringly as he could, when she turned to see him there, right behind her. She breathed out, almost as if she were releasing a great flood of emotion and let him wrap the shawl around her and wrap her in his arms.

To be continued.