Coming to London had been a mistake. She and John had travelled down the day before, expecting Edith to arrive at a similar time. However, the spring seas had proved rough and Aunt Shaw told them the family's journey had been delayed by several days. And so, the party that had been arranged to welcome Edith home went ahead without the guest of honour - Aunt Shaw had arranged too much, she said, to delay it any further. Margaret sat in a corner, observing the room as she had always done at parties such as these. However, it was not merely boredom that had her sitting down out of the way.

Margaret felt enormous. She was in her seventh month of pregnancy, her stomach already vastly swollen and stretched. Her skin itched constantly, her usual clothes were now far too tight to be comfortable yet the clothes she had ordered to see her through her pregnancy felt ugly and matronly. Her face had swollen, along with her ankles. Her fingers were so puffy she had had to remove her wedding and engagement rings, lest they become permanently stuck and painful. She felt grotesque and miserable, stuffed into a gown she had borrowed from Fanny that was not to her taste.

Matters were not helped by the fact that there was a beautiful young woman across the room, laughing and touching the arm of a handsome man.

That handsome man just happened to be Margaret's husband.

The young woman was one Miss Elizabeth Grant, Aunt Shaw had told Margaret earlier that evening. She was seventeen, come from Wiltshire to London for the season with her mother and brother. Her mother was an old friend of Aunt Shaw's who rarely came to the city, apparently. The lovely creature talking to her husband was tall, with a strikingly handsome figure clad in a rich navy gown cut off the shoulder. Her hair was a glossy brown, piled in a stylish fashion high on her head. Her eyes were a bright blue - Margaret was sure she could see them sparkle even from this distance, and she wore a fashionable gown in a similar shade. She was slim and young and beautiful.

Margaret shifted in her seat, more aware than ever of her current condition. Of course she was almost deliriously happy to be awaiting the arrival of her first child. Of course she knew that her body would not remain in this state forever. Yet it did not make it any easier to see her husband engaged in conversation with someone so utterly bewitching.

"Are you alright, Margaret?" Anne was by her side. "You do not look well."

"I am quite well." Margaret shifted again. "It is my back, that is all. It is not so easy carrying around such weight all day, and the baby does rather press on me."

Anne smiled, and Margaret's eyes were drawn to her stomach. Anne had announced she was expecting a baby in the autumn that very afternoon. She was far smaller than Margaret, only around three months into her time. Her stomach looked to be as flat as it had ever been, but she had an undeniable glow about her that Margaret envied greatly.

"I shall see for myself before long. Come, Margaret, would you care to take some air? Or perhaps rest?"

"I am quite well." Margaret repeated, her eyes moving back to John. "It would not do to leave so soon, I am sure."

"Your aunt would understand. She is so busy talking to her guests that I doubt she would notice. You do not enjoy parties like this, I think." Anne was not being cruel - there was real warmth and kindness in her voice.

"No. I never have." Margaret explained. She winced as her back throbbed, winded all of a sudden. She felt so breathless all of the time. "Even less now I am so uncomfortable."

"It shall all be worth it when you have a lovely baby to cherish. I do hope our children can play together one day when they are old enough. Here, or when we come to Milton to visit."

"How lovely." Margaret smiled. "I cannot imagine having a child old enough to play. I can scarcely imagine what things will be like when this one is here."

"I am sure you will make a fine mother. And Mr Thornton a good father, of course. Oh Margaret, are you sure I cannot tempt you to go and rest? I do not wish to be unkind but you look exhausted."

"You are right. I am exhausted." Margaret admitted, her eyes still on her husband.

Miss Grant had him backed into a corner, her brother by her side, as they engaged in a conversation that Margaret could not hear. Margaret was too far away and the room too loud with chatter to hear what was being said. John laughed; a real laugh, one that reached all the way to his eyes. Margaret felt an ugly stab jealousy.

"Perhaps I will retire." Margaret relented. She heaved herself up, resting her weight on the arms of the chair. Anne took her arm, and Margaret was grateful for the assistance. "I shall find my aunt and make my excuses."

The pair found Aunt Shaw, and Margaret wished her a good night. Anne kept a firm hold of Margaret's arm as the two of them slipped up the stairs without stopping to tell John where she was going. Anne wished Margaret a good night, before Margaret found Dixon in her room unpacking the rest of their things. Once in her nightgown, she sat down heavily at the vanity table in the room and dismissed Dixon for the night.

She looked at herself in the mirror as she ran her hairbrush up and down, one hundred times each night as she had done since she was a girl. She should not be so unsettled by her appearance, but she scarcely recognised herself. Her face was even more rounded than usual, her eyes red and watery with fatigue. Her hair was thicker than it had been previously, and the brush got stuck a few times. Everything felt different. It was frustrating.

The door opened and Margaret glanced up. It was John, his face tight and expressionless. When he saw her sitting at the vanity table, his shoulders slumped and his brow relaxed.

"Here you are." John said, relieved at the sight of her. "I couldn't find you downstairs. Anne said you are not feeling well."

"I was a little tired." Margaret said. "I asked Dixon to help me get ready for bed. My back is hurting again."

John frowned.

"You should have told me, I would have come up with you. I don't like you being alone when you aren't feeling well."

"You seemed to be occupied." Margaret shrugged as she brushed out her hair. "I did not like to disturb you."

"Occupied?" John frowned. "You know I would take any chance to be rescued from all these fine Southern ladies and gentlemen with all their poorly hidden snobbery. They talk to me pleasantly enough but I see it in their eyes they all think me quite the savage."

"Even Miss Grant?" Margaret asked lightly, setting down her brush.

She placed her hands on either side of the dressing table, pushing herself up with some difficulty for the stool was too low. Before she could rise an inch, John rushed to her side and helped her up. One hand supported her lower back, the other coming to rest on the bump of her stomach.

"Careful, love."

He walked slowly with her to the bed, his hand rubbing small circles on the small of her back. He was so gentle, so fiercely protective of her. She felt a surge of guilt for her jealousy - as though he would ever look at another woman!

"Thank you." Margaret said as he helped her into bed. He placed the covers over her, and helped her get comfortable as she arranged herself on the pillows. The care he took with her softened the angry fire in her chest. "Thank you, John."

"You looked very lovely this evening, Maggie." John smiled, sitting on the bed next to her. His hands stroked at her long hair, loose and trailing over her shoulders, the ends curling over her belly. He placed his palm flat against the swell of their child, as he often did when they were alone. "So lovely."

"I feel like a cow." Margaret said, shifting so his hand was not on her. "Enormous and ungainly."

"'Never." John said, rubbing his cheek against hers. "Love, you have never looked more wonderful than you do when you are carrying our child. It suits you."

"What were you talking to Miss Grant about?" Margaret asked lightly, shifting herself to be more comfortable.

John looked up from her belly at the sudden change of topic.

"I was talking to her brother about the best trade routes from Africa through Europe. He runs an estate in Wiltshire that exports goods." John said, frowning in confusion at his wife's enquires. "I did not speak much to Miss Grant."

"She looked to be enjoying your company, that is all."

She would not stop touching your arm.

The words went unsaid.

Margaret winced as a sharp pain shot from her stomach to her pelvis. It had been happening for weeks, and Doctor Donaldson had reassured her it was nothing to worry about. It hurt greatly, and caught her by surprise every time. John caught her eye, and she shook her head.

"I didn't notice." John stood and began to undress. He paused, looking at her carefully as she winced again. "Are you sure you feel alright? Do you need a doctor?"

"I am fine!" Margaret said sharply. "I am sick of everybody asking me that! It is all anyone has asked me for the past three months since they found out and I have had enough!"

"There's no need to snap at me." John said, his own voice low and defensive. "I was merely asking if you are well."

"I already told you that I am. Am I not to be trusted to know my own body?" Margaret asked.

"Why are you being like this?" John retorted. "Why are you speaking to me so harshly when I am only worried about you?"

"I am not being like anything!" Margaret protested. "I am tired of everyone thinking I am incapable of making any decisions merely because I am carrying a child. I am expecting, not a fool."

"I never said you were a fool." John frowned. "Maggie, what's going on?"

"Nothing!"

"You are not yourself." John tried to take her hand, but she snatched it from his reach. His voice was exasperated, his face wide eyed at her uncharacteristic aggressiveness. "Margaret!"

"I am tired."

He sat down beside her on the bed, stroking her face with his fingertips. Margaret tried not to flinch at his touch, for it felt tickly and itchy.

"Then rest. It's been a long day, a long journey. Perhaps it was not wise to travel when you are so-"

Margaret's head snapped up.

"So what? So big? So large and useless that I cannot even rise from a chair unaided?!"

John stood, continuing to undress as he muttered under his breath before raising his voice to a level Margaret could hear. It was still low, as though it was taking every ounce of his self control not to shout at her.

"Margaret, stop it. I was going to say so uncomfortable. Do not talk about yourself like that." John told her.

"It is how I feel. I feel enormous, and ugly." She swallowed heavily, feeling tears prick at her eyes.

"You are neither."

"You have not touched me for weeks. Months." Margaret whispered, tears finally pooling in her eyes. "I repulse you."

"Have you gone mad?" John asked, though his tone was soft rather than accusatory. "I haven't touched you in - in that way because I am scared I will harm the baby. You really think I do not want you? That I do not miss you wildly?"

"You smiled at her."

"What?" John asked, visibly baffled.

"Miss Grant. You smiled at her. She made you laugh. She touched your arm."

John exhaled sharply, his forefinger and thumb rubbing at his temples. His shoulders sagged as he realised the root of his wife's bad mood.

"I was talking to her and her brother about trade. It seems she takes an interest in their family estate, that is all. She made some joke about something or other, it amused me. She touched my arm and I moved away. I do not know if she knows I am married, but I think the girl had too much wine and lost her decorum. I was talking to her brother, I wasn't even looki- Maggie, is that what all this is about? Are you - are you jealous?!"

The words fell from him with utter disbelief - as if it were impossible for her to be jealous of anything he did. That somehow made her angrier.

"Would you not be, if a handsome young man made me laugh?" Margaret asked, her fists clenching defensively. "If a man even looked at me in the way she looked at you, I do not think you would be pleased."

"Aye, I'd be jealous." John admitted freely. His words were sharp, his temper fraying as he desperately tried to contain himself. "But I would not start a petty fight with you over it, we're better than that now. We have been married for almost two years, you're carrying my bloody baby as we speak. You think me capable of betraying you? You think I would even think of another woman in a dishonourable way? I would never break our vows, never. It is you. Only you. Do you not know that by now?"

"I do." Margaret said, shamefaced. "I know. I just - I can not control my emotions. One moment I am overjoyed, the next cast down with sadness so enormous I feel I might drown in it. This baby is making me take leave of all my senses."

He covered her stomach with large, splayed hands. He was so tender, so loving that it made her ache with regret for speaking so harshly to him. She felt like she could weep.

"Mother warned me to be gentle with you. We shouldn't have come, it's too much for you."

"Thank your mother for her advice, but I do not wish to be treated any differently. I am fine. We will stay as planned." Margaret said firmly.

Had John and his mother been discussing her behind her back? It riled her even more; she was not sick, nor was she infirm. She did not need to be talked about like some sort of patient, nor did she need to be treated "gently".

"Are you quite sure?" John asked. "I'll take you home tomorrow if you just ask me to."

"No." Margaret shook her head. "No, Edith is coming home any day now and I want to see her and the new little one. She will not forgive me if I leave without seeing her. You have meetings, you have things to do here."

"Your health is more important. Maggie, please."

"I am well. I have two, perhaps almost three more months left of this, John. You can't keep me penned in. I may look like a cow, but I shall not be treated like one."

John stood, grunting in frustration as he removed the burgundy cravat tied around his neck. He began to unbutton his waistcoat, but stopped and looked at his wife.

"I don't wish to trap you, Maggie. I wish to keep you safe because I love you. Your good health and the health of the little one matter to me more than anything. And for the last bloody time, you do not look like a cow."

Margaret opened her mouth to reply when she felt a firm kick to her belly. She had been feeling the baby move for weeks, tiny pops and bubbles that were undetectable to John. Those small sensations had turned into flutters and kicks, yet he had still not managed to feel their baby move within her. She quickly pulled on the material of her nightgown, pushed the covers back and grabbed her husband's hand. She planted it on the bare skin of her stomach.

"Feel. He is kicking."

John stared intently at her rounded stomach, his hand pressing firmly against her skin. They waited in silence for several minutes. Finally, Margaret felt it again - so strongly that John could not fail to feel it. John's face broke out in a slow, broad grin.

"Our child doesn't like us bickering." He said softy. "He's telling us off. Or she, of course."

John had been careful these past few months to never only say "he" - Margaret knew he wished for a boy, but a girl would not be unwelcome either. After all, this would be their first child, there would be others. Margaret, however, hoped for a boy - not only because she would like a son, but it would mean there would be no great rush for the next pregnancy. A terrible thing to voice out loud, but an easy thought when one felt so miserable.

"I think it will be a boy." Margaret said. "I just have a feeling."

"I will be happy with either." John said, leaning down to kiss her stomach. "As long as you're both healthy."

"Of course, I pray for that." Margaret sighed, her hands stroking over his. "I am sorry, John."

"I am sorry too. I know this isn't easy for you, darling. If I could take some of it from you, if I could ease your suffering-"

"I cannot keep my temper down." Margaret said. "Everything makes me angry, or makes me cry. Or both. I am quite without my senses and the worst part is I know full well how unreasonable I am being."

"You were right though, Miss Grant did touch my arm. If I saw a man do that to you-"

Margaret laughed, the sound hollow even to her own ears.

"You need not worry, John. I doubt any man would look twice at me, especially now."

Her husband grunted from his place at her feet. She looked at him, and she was struck by the tenderness in his face. She had seen him look at her adoringly, plenty of times. This was different. She could scarcely breathe.

"You really do not know how lovely you look, do you? Your eyes sparkle, your lips are plumper, your face is shining. I know you do not feel it, but you are as beautiful as ever. Gorgeous."

"Gorgeous?" Margaret asked with a laugh. "Oh John. I do not deserve your tenderness. I am a monster."

"You deserve it more than ever. I know it is not easy carrying a child, and I know you have been suffering with your back."

"It will be worth it. You must think me terribly ungrateful - after all the tears I shed in my longing for a child, now I am shedding them because I am expecting! It does not make any sense at all."

"It doesn't have to make sense." John shrugged, his hands still firm on her stomach. "It just is."

"Oh, Migs!" Edith exclaimed as she burst into the drawing room, still clad in her coat and hat. "How wonderful you look!"

Margaret had been sitting reading a book, too engrossed to hear the bell. She smiled broadly at her cousin, easing herself out of the chair and embracing her fondly.

"I am sure that isn't true." Margaret laughed. "It is good to see you, cousin. Where are the boys?"

"Gone to the nursery to rest. It has been a very long journey and Ranulph fussed the entire way." Edith sighed, rubbing at her temples. "I have such a headache!"

"I would love to meet him." Margaret smiled. "When he has rested, of course. And Sholto must have grown so much!"

"Yes, he is a real little boy now. Oh Margaret, I cannot believe you will have a child of your own!"

Edith, never one for restraint, flung her hands to her cousin's midsection. Margaret almost recoiled at the unexpected physical contact, but she allowed her cousin this. Nobody had touched her stomach save for John and Doctor Donaldson. Edith was like a sister to her, and she could not refuse her the chance to feel the baby. Even if it did make Margaret even more aware of just how large she looked.

"It is very exciting." Margaret smiled.

"Are you terribly exhausted?" Edith asked, straightening herself and smoothing out her skirts. "I remember being most dreadfully tired all of the time when I was seven months into my time. And my moods! Poor Maxwell did not know if he was coming or going, I changed my opinion of him so often. One moment he was the most wonderful man in the world, the next I could not stand to have him near me."

"I have experienced a little of that." Margaret admitted. "I quite bit John's head off the other evening for no reason at all."

"It will only get worse." Edith said happily, taking her cousin's arm in hers and walking to the drawing room. "Oh I have so much to tell you! Corfu was wonderful but I should be happy to be home."

"Mama, Mama!"

In through the door burst Sholto. He was far bigger than Margaret remembered him, of course. A real little boy! Margaret felt her heart leap at the sight of him - she really was most fond of the child, and had missed him terribly.

"Sholto! What are you doing here, where is Nanny?" Edith asked.

Edith tried to look cross, but was rather ineffective at it. She was more useless still when Sholto began to climb her leg begging to be lifted onto her hip. Eventually, she relented, taking the boy into her arms and pressing a kiss to his ruddy cheek. Though he was still as fair as ever, he had obviously caught the Medeteranian sun - unlike his mother. He looked healthy, Margaret thought. He reminded her of the children she had seen Cadiz, though none of them had had hair so strikingly blonde.

Sholto's nanny, a woman of about thirty who looked thoroughly exhausted, trailed after the boy, taking him from Edith's arms at Edith's request and setting him down on the floor. Sholto pouted, crossing his arms and stamping his foot.

"Sorry, Mistress. He wished to say hello to his aunt."

"Oh, Sholto! How you have grown!" Margaret knelt down, with some difficulty, and held her arms open.

Sholto was almost four now, with a mop of blonde hair and a mischievous smile. He ran to Margaret, knocking into her with such force she nearly flew backwards. She was winded, but still held her arms out to hold the child close.

"Hello!" He exclaimed, kissing her on the cheek. "I missed you."

"You remember me?" Margaret asked. "It has been a long time since I have seen you. Surely you must have forgotten me, my darling."

"I told him stories of his Aunt Margaret. He has been so excited to see you!" Edith explained. "I read him the well wishes you sent to him in your letters, and told him of his uncle's factory. He was fascinated."

Margaret smiled at the thought of Edith talking about Marlborough Mills far away beneath Mediterranean skies - so very different to Milton that Sholto probably couldn't even create an image in his mind. Margaret appreciated Edith's loyalty to her - she had always been a great support and Margaret suspected she was rather proud of her for marrying a man such as John. It might not have been what she wanted at first, but Edith had been quite swept up in the romance of it all.

"I have missed you too, little one."

"Baby?" He asked, pointing at Margaret's stomach. "Like Mama?"

Margaret looked up at her cousin. Edith was grinning, trying not to laugh. Margaret raised an eyebrow and looked at her cousin's midsection.

"I was going to tell you later." Edith smiled. "I suppose his way is as good as any. I hope it will be a girl this time."

"Are you excited to be a big brother again, Sholto?"

Sholto shook his head, his blonde hair bouncing.

"'Nulph cries all the time." He told her, looking weary. "Make my head hurt. Silly baby."

"Sholto!" Edith exclaimed, exasperated. "Nanny, please take him to the nursery. Sholto, it will simply not do to talk about your brother like that. I shall see you in the morning, goodnight darling."

Though the child pouted, he pressed a kiss to his mother's cheek as instructed.

"Goodnight, Mama. Goodnight Aunt Margaret."

"Goodnight, Sholto." Margaret smiled, pressing a kiss to the blonde crown of hair. "Sweet dreams."

"Oh, that boy is so cheeky!" Edith smiled fondly as the blonde head disappeared around the corner. "I do not know where he gets it from. Maxwell and I are both too besotted by him to discipline him properly."

"He's a sweet thing. His manners are there, he just has spirit. I like that."

"You would." Edith laughed. "Oh, Migs you really do look wonderful! Where is that dashing husband of yours?"

"I believe he will be home from a meeting soon. He arranged several while we were here, to make best use of the time. We need to get back to Milton tomorrow, unfortunately."

"I am so sorry we were delayed. There was the most terrible storm in France and we simply could not sail out. I was terribly sea sick even when it was calm enough to cross. Still, we are here now. I wish to know everything."

"Everything about what?" Margaret laughed. It had been a year since they had last seen one another, so 'everything' could take quite some time.

"About the baby! How you are feeling, what you are craving, how you are sleeping! Is John excited? I wager he is worshipping you like a goddess."

Margaret blushed from her cheeks to the tips of her toes.

"Do not be ridiculous!" Margaret spluttered. "He is being very kind to me. Though he is treating me more like a china doll than a goddess. The moment I try and do anything more strenuous than, say, lifting a teaspoon he jumps up to stop me."

"He is nervous, probably. He is excited to be a father?"

"Yes. Yes, he is excited." Margaret smiled softly. "I am lucky. I am very lucky to have him, to have a husband that is so sympathetic to what it is like to carry a child. I have never felt so loved in all my life."

Edith reached out and rubbed Margaret's arm, smiling broadly. The warm climate had not changed her cousin; Edith's skin was somehow as clear and pale as it had ever been. Margaret wondered if she'd been outside at all in the entire time the Lennoxes had lived in Corfu.

"I am so glad for you! Every month I was waiting for a letter and every month nothing arrived. I was starting to worry!" Edith laughed.

"It did not happen so quickly for me." Margaret said, remembering the bitter disappointment that grew with every month that passed. She cleared her throat. "But here we are now, that is the main thing."

"And are you well?"

"Yes. Save for back ache." Margaret rubbed at her spine. "Constant back ache."

"Oh, poor thing! I do hope you are not working in that school room!"

"I do as much as I can, but I am struggling to stand for too long. And I am sure I am so round that I block the blackboard!" She laughed. "Did you hear that Henry's wife is expecting also?"

"Anne? No! I had not! Oh, how lovely. How funny that I used to have you and Henry in mind. Now, I cannot imagine you being happy with anyone besides Mr Thornton. Everyone is settled, it is lovely!"

From the hallway, the doorbell rang. Margaret sat a little straighter in her chair, hoping that it was John returned home. She was right; she heard his familiar footsteps. It was funny that she could identify him merely from the way he walked, but she could. He walked through the doorway, his eyes immediately sweeping over Margaret.

"Oh, hello John!" Edith trilled, standing up and shaking his hand most enthusiastically indeed. "How nice to see you again."

"Edith." He nodded his head. "How was the journey?"

"Oh, dreadful, dreadful! Still, it has all been worth it to come home at last. Corfu was wonderful but I was most ready indeed to come home. And it is so wonderful of course to see Margaret looking so well! Isn't she just blooming?!"

"Aye." John said with a soft smile. "She is. Is your husband joining us?"

"No, unfortunately he has had to go straight to the barracks to discuss arrangements of his leave." Edith sighed. "Still, I shall be glad to have time to find somewhere to live. We cannot live here forever, not with three children."

"Edith is expecting again, John." Margaret explained.

"Congratulations." John nodded. "The family grows ever larger."

"Doesn't it just! I have heard that Henry and Anne are expecting too! Is she nice, Migs? I do not know her at all, and we missed the wedding!"

"I do not know her well, but her father is John's banker." Margaret supplied. "I have spoken with her a little. She was here at your mother's dinner party, we spoke for a while."

"Do you know her, John?"

Margaret thought he looked a little sheepish then; of course he knew Anne Latimer. He had kissed her all those years ago. Though looking back, Margaret could perhaps admit to jealousy, it was so long ago that it did not bother her in the slightest. Anne was happily married now, seemingly besotted with the rather severe Henry Lennox.

"A little, yes." John said. "She is great friends with my sister."

"Oh, how is Fanny?!" Edith asked. "We got on so well at the wedding."

"She is well." John said. "Her daughter is keeping her busy."

"Oh to have a daughter!" Edith exclaimed, rubbing at her stomach. "I suppose you want a boy first?"

John looked a little surprised to be asked such a thing. It was always assumed men would want boys. Margaret knew that he would be just as thrilled with a firstborn daughter.

"I don't mind." John shrugged. "Most men'll say they only want boys, but the women in my life have more sense than any man I've ever met."

Margaret found herself grinning widely. She half wondered if Fanny was included in that group of sensible women.

"Oh, what sense this man speaks!" Edith tittered. A yawn overtook her, and she covered her mouth. "If you'll excuse me, I will rest before dinner."

Edith wished them both goodbye. Margaret shifted uncomfortably in the chair, her back throbbing. John did not miss this movement, and he was by her side in a moment.

"Maggie, are you alright?" He asked, kneeling beside her. "You should rest too."

"I am alright it is just-"

"Your back." John finished the sentence for her. "Come, I'm taking you to bed."

"There was a time when those words excited me." Margaret said, groaning as he helped lift her from the chair. "Now I know they mean boredom and idleness."

"When you have had our child, I will make those words exciting again." John murmured in her ear, allowing his tongue to trace the very tip of her ear. "I am desperate for you, wife."

Margaret shuddered, his unexpected words thrilling her for a brief moment. It was not fair that he should taunt her in such a way. She knew he did not want to lie together until she had safely delivered, and while she understood his concerns it did not do anything to lessen the feeling that she was no longer attractive to him in her current state.

"Don't." Margaret muttered, crossing her arms. "That is not fair and you know it."

"I'm sorry."

"You do not need to come with me." Margaret said. "I'm sure you have things to be getting on with."

"Are you leaving me alone with your aunt?" John asked in a jovial tone, his fingertips dancing over her knuckles as he tried to pull her hand free from its crossed position. She shrugged away from him, and he sighed deeply. "Margaret, don't be like this. Not again."

"Like what?" Margaret asked, her hands moving to her hips.

John closed his eyes for a moment, rubbing at his forehead. Margaret narrowed her eyes; had he always been so irritating?

"I do not know what I am doing but I constantly seem to upset you! I don't want to but how am I to know what I am doing wrong if you are not telling me?!"

"You are not doing anything wrong!" Margaret protested. "I am just tired!".

John threw a hand up hopelessly, before rubbing at his forehead.

"That is a lie and you damn well know it. I feel like I am walking a very rickety rope bridge above a ravine when I speak to you - never knowing when I will misstep and fall!"

Margaret could not help it - laughter burst from her chest. She clapped a hand over her mouth as she dissolved into helpless giggles. John smiled, cupping her chin and kissing the very tip of her nose.

"I'm sorry John. I cannot help my moods, I really am the most terrible beast."

"My beast." He said fondly, guiding her up the staircase. "Come, let's get you to bed before you decide what I have done wrong next."

A/N: Just two chapters and an epilogue to go before the end now! Thanks for sticking with me this far!