MARGUERITE awoke slowly, stretching luxuriously in the large, comfortable bed. Bright sunlight poured in through the windows as her maid pulled back the weighty curtains. Shielding her eyes from the sudden glare, Marguerite realised what was wrong - there was too much room in the spacious bed.
She had quickly grown used to having him by her side when she woke, to feel his warmth in the middle of the night, to be able to reach out and touch him. Now, instead of the six-foot odd of her husband, she had a cold and empty bed.
Louise had turned and bobbed a curtsey in her direction. "Would you like some breakfast, my lady?" she asked.
"Yes," Marguerite thought for a moment, "Just some chocolate and some fruit, please."
As the woman turned to leave the room, known as the Queen's Bedchamber in token of the time a distant Blakeney once hosted a visit from Elizabeth I, Marguerite called her back.
"Stay, Louise," she paused, "Has Sir Percy left any message this morning?"
"No, my lady. Will there be anything else, my lady?"
"No, thank you." She sank back on to the pillows, a little disappointed.
Her thoughts drifted as she gazed out of the window at the attractive parkland stretching for acres around the Hall. She wondered where he could have gone, and why he had not woken her before he left. More estate business, perhaps, she thought gloomily. She couldn't stand another stiff, formal day like yesterday, creeping around the house with one of the servants.
Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of someone at the door. Thinking it must be her breakfast arriving she sat up, propped some pillows behind her and waited expectantly.
The door swung inwards, and she was greeted by her husband's lazy drawling tones.
"Good morning, m'dear," he said, as he deposited the tray on her lap and a kiss on her lips.
He sat on the edge of the bed as she began to sip at her chocolate; waiting for an explanation she peered at him over the rim of her cup. He was dressed in the severely-cut riding habit that became his massive figure so well, which answered her question about what he had been doing.
His face was alight with laughter in the way she had come to love and she wondered what had amused him so.
"You are wondering why I left you without a word this morning," he said, divining her feelings accurately. He loved this growing feeling of intimacy, the feeling that he could almost read her thoughts. Despite being a tolerably good judge of character, he had never felt so in tune with another person before, and was relishing new-found sensations of possessiveness, belonging, and even the sense of vulnerability that they brought.
Her slight look of annoyance at having been caught out told him his venture had been correct.
"I had some business which had to be done at the lodge and I hoped to have it arranged and be back before you woke up," he explained. "I have the rest of today planned, so I had to go out early."
Not attempting to hide her disappointment, Marguerite frowned, and determined to at least leave the house today - she couldn't bear the idea of further domesticity with the housekeeper.
"Which of the carriages can I take out? I'm not staying indoors on a glorious day like this," she said, with an air of defiance. "Do I have to take a groom if I stay on the estate?"
She would show him that she was independent and self-sufficient: she didn't have to wait around for him to be finished with his interminable business dealings. She had lived a full and interesting life before she met him and she did not need him beside her to be happy. She caught herself up on that last thought - who was she trying to convince; herself or her husband?
Realising his teasing had gone a little too far for the newly-formed bond which they had been creating between them, Percy took the tray away and gently grasped both her hands.
"Darling Margot - you won't need a groom at all. My plans are to spend the day with you, and unless you have something to complain of in my driving ability..."
She turned from her contemplation of the bedpost to Percy and saw the wicked gleam in his eyes. Aware of how quick she had been to assume the worst, she hunched a shoulder, and said, slightly petulantly:
"Well... that all depends on what plans you have in mind."
His smile broadened at her volte-face, as he said:
"I thought, a picnic..."
Looking out of the windows at the trees being blown by a brisk breeze and clouds scudding across the sky, Marguerite eyed her husband dismissively.
"What have you really planned?"
"Do you doubt me? Meet me on the roof in an hour and I will show you - did the redoubtable Mrs Roberts show you the staircase yesterday?"
She nodded and smiled; his enthusiasm was infectious.