Several days after the hunt, Veronica and Marguerite set at a tea table set on the lawn under the shade of a large oak tree. They were drinking lemonade, and Veronica was cradling baby William in her arms, gently rocking him.
She said, "I'm not biased or anything, but he's perfect in every way."
Marguerite, leaned back with a soft smile, her gaze lingering on the pair.
"Yes. He has utterly won me over the moment he was born."
Marguerite's step into motherhood turned out to be a journey of self-discovery and unexpected joy. Her days with William were filled with laughter, love, and a kind of happiness she'd never known.
Although the nanny had been a standard part of such households, if Marguerite had just a bit more faith in her abilities as a mother, she might not have felt the need for a nanny at all.
Surprisingly, Marguerite found herself enjoying the tasks most aristocratic ladies would balk at - bathing him, changing his diapers, and being there for every little part of his day. It wasn't about duty, it was about love. Doing these things made her feel closer to William, and she cherished every minute of it.
In essence, she hired a nanny more as a guide to teach her how to care for a baby than to delegate the entire child-rearing experience to someone else. She viewed the nanny as a mentor in motherhood.
Then Veronica came along, and the household dynamic shifted even more. Veronica had taken on the role of a beloved aunt and with her help, the nanny had very little to do.
However, despite all of this, Marguerite knew the nanny was still important in a traditional sense. In her role as Lady Avebury, Marguerite still had many social obligations to fulfill, which took away from her time. So she made sure the nanny knew she was still a crucial part of their family, valued and needed.
Charles Goodwin, the butler, approached them.
"Excuse me, my lady. A woman named Annie-Marie Schmidt has arrived. She entered the hall without permission and refuses to leave until she speaks with you, despite not having an appointment. We've tried to ask her to leave, but she insists on staying."
"Thank you, Goodwin. I'll see her."
Marguerite stood up from the table, and Veronica did the same, holding the baby.
"Veronica, please, take him to the nursery. After I deal with our unexpected guest, I'll come to nurse him, and then it will be his naptime."
Marguerite kissed William and gently stroked his head before they headed towards the house.
Annie-Marie Schmidt had been a charming girl, now a woman, with brown hair, hazel eyes, and a smattering of freckles across her face. However, her demeanor was rather brusque. Marguerite used to not mind this, in fact, she sometimes found it refreshing. But now, after all these years, things were different.
When Marguerite entered the hall, Annie-Marie Schmidt was facing away from her, surveying the interior as if she were in a museum.
"Good afternoon." Marguerite said formally.
Annie-Marie turned around and spoke English with a hard accent. "This is a beautiful house. Much larger and lovelier than all the previous ones."
"Allow me to welcome you. Would you like to come in?" Marguerite offered.
"I didn't come here to socialize. We were never friends."
"That's true. May I know the reason for your sudden visit then?" Marguerite asked.
"I've come for what you owe me." Annie-Marie stated bluntly.
"I don't owe you anything." Marguerite responded evenly.
"Oh, but you do. If you recall, you never paid me my last wages and you threw me out on the streets."
"That's because I caught you in bed with my husband. You brought it on yourself."
"Don't make me laugh. You never loved the Baron." Annie-Marie scoffed.
"Whether I loved him or not doesn't change the fact that you betrayed me."
"After you threw me out, you killed him."
"Don't be absurd." Marguerite dismissed her claim sharply.
Annie-Marie persisted, "Then I suppose he decapitated himself."
Marguerite, unnfazed, explained, "The Baron was a Prussian of German descent living in London during the war. He had many political enemies. He himself believed his life was in danger."
"Your previous husband also died."
"He had a heart attack." Marguerite clarified.
"And the husband before him disappeared." Annie-Marie pointed out.
"That was his profession. He was an illusionist."
"But he never reappeared." Annie-Marie said.
"Clearly, he wasn't a very good illusionist." Marguerite concluded with a touch of dry wit.
"Marguerite, I didn't come here to play games with you. I came for my thousand pounds."
Marguerite, standing her ground, replied, "Annie-Marie, you had lived with me for five years. You know I haven't killed anyone."
"I have your old letters and documents. Guilty or not, a lot can be taken out of context."
Marguerite accused, "You're a thief then, and a manipulator."
Annie-Marie retorted, "Yes, I am those things. And you're a mysterious woman with a rich past. I happen to know just how rich."
"You're not the first to try to blackmail me."
Annie-Marie laid out her terms, "Then you know how this works. I'll be leaving now, but know that I will return."
As Annie-Marie made her exit through the door, she brushed past Malone and John, who were returning from a meeting at the local solicitor's office concerning the estate management.
"Who was that young woman?" John asked curiously.
"Someone after money. The usual thing." Marguerite replied simply, dismissing the significance of the encounter.
"Did you give her any?"
"Not at all."
In that moment, Marguerite and Malone exchanged knowing glances.
Sensing the need to shift the atmosphere, Malone quickly stepped in. "Well, we had some luck at the solicitor's office. We've managed to work out a plan that not only secures the estate against future disputes but also introduces new agricultural practices. Plus, we found a way to streamline the estate's finances. It's going to be a lot of work, but the solicitor is optimistic about the impact it'll have."
Marguerite, with a hint of amusement in her voice, responded, "I'm glad to hear that… Malone, the estate agent. Who would have thought?"
John added, "And an excellent agent at that. I must admit, I'll miss having you around the day you decide to return to The Plateau."
Malone, modest yet clearly pleased, replied, "I'm glad I can help. I had no idea I would enjoy all of this so much."
Marguerite advised, "Just make sure not to overwork yourself. Take some time to rest. There's a fair in the village tonight. You and Veronica should take a stroll there."
John had a few more duties around the estate to attend to. Once all was taken care of, he retired to his room to get ready for bed. Marguerite and John each had their own room - like any self-respecting lord and lady of the manor would - yet they rarely slept apart, in fact, almost never.
John's room served more as a dressing room. After his bath and changing into something more comfortable, he opened the door of their adjoining bedrooms.
Marguerite was sitting on the bed, her night robe flowing around her like a whisper of silk. William lay beside her, his eyes wide with wonder.
With the gentlest of motions, she played with him, her fingers tickling his tiny hands and feet, eliciting bursts of laughter and happy giggles that filled the room with life.
She began to sing.
"Lavender's blue, dilly, dilly, lavender's green,
When you are king, dilly, dilly, I shall be queen.
Who told you so, dilly, dilly, who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly, dilly, that told me so."
John felt he could melt at the sight.
When they returned to England and got married, Marguerite began to sing more and more frequently, and John enjoyed every moment of it. She had a beautiful voice. While he had once been slightly annoyed by her rendition of "A Bird in a Gilded Cage," now he could listen to her sing every day and never grow weary of it. Since William's birth, her repertoire consisted mainly of lullabies and nursery rhymes, but there were moments when she sang just for him—soft, romantic songs. When they were cuddling, with his head in her lap, she would often burst into song.
Standing at the doorway, he simply observed the beautiful scene, not wanting to interrupt. But she felt his presence and turned to look at him.
"Come, join us."
He sat beside them and said, "There's no sight more beautiful in this world than the two of you."
"These are our favourite moments together."
"He's growing up so fast. Soon he'll be crawling, then before we know it, walking and running. We won't be able to keep up with him."
"Yes, lucky us." Marguerite replied with playful sarcasm, but John knew it held a deep sense of joy and anticipation for all the milestones and chaos their little one would bring into their lives.
John asked, "Where's everyone?"
"Ned and Veronica went to the fair. Along with half the household."
"Why didn't you?"
Marguerite raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like I'm interested in a peasant fair?"
John chuckled, "You praised it to Ned and Veronica."
"Because everything's a new experience for Veronica, and I know she'll enjoy it. For me, this is enjoyment."
They cuddled a little more before William began to tug gently at Marguerite's shirt. Understanding his needs without a word, Marguerite smiled tenderly at John, adjusting her position on the bed to accommodate her son. She rearranged the pillows behind her, finding a comfortable position that supported her back and allowed William to nestle closer to her.
The room was filled with a sense of completeness and utter contentment as Marguerite nursed William. Her eyes, filled with maternal love and tenderness, never left her son. John, moved by the scene, reached out to gently caress William's soft hair, his touch feather-light so as not to disturb the moment.
Marguerite's heart swelled. Each gentle tug, every soft sigh from William, reinforced the profound connection between them, a bond so primal and deep it transcended words. She observed his tiny hands, one resting against her, the other moving in the peaceful rhythm of satisfaction. Occasionally, she brushed her finger against his cheek, marveling at the softness, a touch filled with wonder and a mother's infinite love.
At one moment she shifted slightly, wincing from a mild discomfort of William's enthusiastic nursing. With a playful smirk, she said. "It appears William has inherited his father's fervor..."
John, his cheeks flushing with surprise and amusement, replied, "I'd say he comes by it honestly. Though, I hope for your sake, he learns the virtues of a softer touch."
He took a moment to capture the scene in his mind, knowing it was these quiet, unassuming moments that would become the treasures of his memory. He imagined the future, filled with more sweet moments like this one, where the simple act of being together was enough to fill their hearts with joy.
Taking Marguerite's advice, Malone and Veronica decided to explore the village fair that evening. They were immersed in the lively atmosphere filled with the laughter of children, the aroma of sweet treats, and the melodies of folk music that floated through the air.
As they walked among the stalls, they sampled local delicacies and engaged in light-hearted attempts at the various games. Malone found himself admiring Veronica's adaptability and the ease with which she interacted with the locals. Her charm and genuine interest in their crafts and stories endeared her to many. It wasn't long before they were treated as honored guests, with vendors insisting they accept samples of their finest goods as gifts.
At one moment during their stroll, Veronica and Ned encountered the staff of Avebury Manor, who had also been granted permission to enjoy the fair. Among them was Marguerite's maid, Anna, who these days had been assisting Veronica. Veronica was capable, of course, but the fashions of the 1920s were demanding.
"Hello, Anna." Veronica greeted warmly.
"Good evening, my lady." Anna replied, her tone respectful.
"Anna, please. I'm not any kind of lady. I'm Veronica... just Veronica. I really wish you called me by my name."
"I daren't." Anna responded.
"You have to try. Please." Veronica insisted.
Veronica had always felt uncomfortable with the staff addressing her with such reverence and formality. She considered herself closer to them than to the aristocracy. To be frank, she didn't particularly liked the high society. In her view, they often fretted over trivial, insignificant matters and indulged in too much pretense.
Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden crackle of fireworks, painting the night sky with bursts of color and light. The fairgoers gathered to watch, oohs and aahs echoing around them. It was truly a beautiful evening.