Halfway home they stopped the car and spread a large checkered blanket on a wide, grassy hill underneath two tall oak trees. The hotel kitchen at the Ascot had packed them a luscious picnic basket complete with sandwiches, salad, fruit and two long stemmed crystal glasses. Marguerite had requested the last item. Despite a slight nippiness to the Autumn air, it was a truly lovely afternoon to eat a tasty lunch while, at the same time, opening a fine bottle of chilled champagne.

The bottle was left over from last evening when the couple, having returned to the hotel from dinner, were greeted with the Dom Pérignon in a silver bucket resting on an elegant cart. It was a “welcome home” to Roxton from his family back at the estate. As thoughtful as the gesture was, Roxton and Marguerite were far too exhausted at that late hour to do anything but sleep.

Marguerite had approached their bed and, despite her drowsiness, was visibly pleased to see several small foil wrapped chocolates lying on their pillows. She saved the sweets and tossed those into the basket the following morning when picking it and other last minute items up.

Relaxing, having eaten his fill, Roxton stretched theatrically -- like a profoundly satisfied lion in the wild. He then reclined easily on the blanket and lay his head on Marguerite’s left upper leg. His eyes closed as her slender fingers gently ran through his dark hair.

Marguerite wasn’t sure if Roxton intended to sleep but she certainly didn’t mind his submission to leisure. Silently, tilting her head back and closing her eyes, she listened to birdsong and a serenaded of moos by a few grazing cows. They noshed in a meadow across the gravel road from she and Roxton, far enough to be picturesque but not annoying. Marguerite opened her eyes and looked up at a clear blue sky, feeling a comfortable, cool breeze against her face.

Inspired, she popped a small chocolate into her mouth, allowing it to melt over her tongue, and smiled. Sometimes simple pleasures, such as these, were the best. Although she would never verbally admit it to Roxton or anyone else for that matter. She preferred to allow them think she enjoyed the more extravagant joys in life. And yes, she nearly chuckled, there was a place for those as well.

Too bad the simple peace and bliss she and Roxton were currently feeling was going to come to an abrupt end once they returned to Avebury.

Marguerite wasn’t really certain what to expect from the celebration. She had not been asked an opinion from his family and hunting fox was one of the few things she had never embarked on during her eventful life. Nonetheless, from what Roxton told her, The Roxton Annual Fox Hunt was always organized chaos. His Uncle Andrew had started the tradition with Roxton’s father over thirty five years ago and it stood the test of time. Every year more and more neighbors, mostly mere acquaintances from distinguished families, showed for the festivities.

Earlier on their drive home, Roxton mentioned once again how wealthy families would camp out on the Roxton estate lands, actually bringing huge tents and beds -- not to mention the household staff to set up those tents and beds -- just in time for afternoon tea. This all happened a day or two prior to the main event; groups of friends, families and associates gossiping on grounds, proudly boasting of their accomplishments, and often doing business during the frivolity.

“That’s roughing it for the gentry.” Marguerite chuckled, sardonically. “Love to see those fine families camping out on the plateau, wondering if a raptor might show up to knock over their dainty silver sets.”

Roxton laughed with her as he drove, his goggled eyes managing to look both at his wife and the road before them. “There are also shooting competitions, darts, arm wrestling, croquet, rugby …”

“Lovely. I can see the lawn now with all those potholes and ruts. Not to mention the refuse laying about after everyone leaves.”

“Does tend to keep our estate staff busy for awhile.” Fondly, he placed a hand on her jodhpur panted knee.

Marguerite responded by placing her hand on the back of his. With a half-hearted chuckle she, comfortable despite a nagging trepidation, could push all her problems to the back of her mind as they drove. The wind whipped through Marguerite’s single braided hair, loose tendrils gently slapping her cheeks and forehead as Roxton pushed the compact, convertible Roadster forward.

Yet now, sitting here in the quiet, with Roxton’s head on her lap, Marguerite could not help but remember the past. Their supper with the Charleston’s did not help to erase a troublesome fear and regret.

“Nothing.” Marguerite insisted, straight faced. No one but John Roxton would know she was lying.

“Well, I guess we need to go if we want to get to Avebury before dark.” Roxton murmured, looking up at his distracted spouse, her sea green eyes gazing at the livestock across the road without seeing them.

Marguerite smiled down at him, “Better wait a little bit longer. It’s not a good idea to drive a car after just polishing off a full bottle of champagne.” Her knuckles gently tapped the ice bucket beside her left pant leg.

Roxton acquiesced but was not fooled. Both he and Marguerite could drink nearly anyone under the table. She was comfortable, sitting here with him, and didn’t want to break the spell so soon. Still, there was something pensive in her expression that made him curious. “You look a little too thoughtful, Marguerite. Anything you care to share?”

She blinked and glanced down at him. Marguerite hadn’t realized she was so transparent. However, never missing an opportunity when it was presented to her, she decided to bring up something that had been on her mind. He may not want to talk about it but there was no harm in broaching the subject. “Roxton, I understand what you went through in India was enough to make you question a desire to ever hunt again but … I just feel there’s more than what you’ve told me. You are a hunter, John, and to have you decide you’ve had enough just seems so wrong. Why give it up altogether? And please don‘t say it‘s because of me.”

With a deep exhale of breath, Roxton sat up and gently touched his sore shoulder before replying. “Not altogether, Marguerite. I still intend to go on the fox hunt tomorrow at the estate. It’s the traveling I’m going to stop and …”

“And?”

He hesitated then, “When I took a good look at Oscar Mathers …”

“The hunter that accompanied you to India? You said he reminded you of Summerlee.”

“He reminded me of someone and I thought of Summerlee, probably do to his maturity and determination, but that’s not quite right.” Roxton paused before saying, “He reminded me of what I could have become if I had continued living without ever having gone to the plateau … and meeting you.”

Marguerite shook her head, “I don’t understand.”

“He hunted all his life, Marguerite. That is all he did. He had a chance at love, at an idyllic life with a doting wife and children, but he slapped it away because hunting was what was most important to him. And in his twilight years, instead of settling down, he hunts more -- even though doctors told him he had to stop pushing himself or suffer the consequences. If it wasn’t for that heart attack in India, Marguerite, he would be off on another escapade right now.”

“But if it’s what keeps him going … is it so wrong?” Marguerite wondered, thoughtfully.

“Yes it’s wrong if it consumes you.” Roxton’s tone was tight with emotion, “If you hide behind it, if that is all you think about morning noon and night, then yes -- it‘s wrong.”

Marguerite stared at Roxton’s brooding profile, deciding he was speaking more from personal experience then of Mathers. She made it easy for him. “You were once like that? After William’s death …”

“Yes, once. I used it to fill the pain then later the emptiness inside of me.” He looked directly at her, “I don’t want to be that way again, Marguerite. I want to be with you, love you, and have a life that’s full and rich … not constantly fraught with danger and the unknown. I don’t want to be an Oscar Mathers who has hunted his life away with no more to show for it then a few trophies hung on his library wall. I’m done with that. Done.”

Noting his seriousness, the passion behind his words, Marguerite placed a gentle hand on his arm. She had always felt that Roxton thrived on danger and the unknown. If strangers were to hear him now they would never believe he had battled and won against ape men, surly headhunters, unearthly creatures and, of course, the occasional dinosaur.

“The thing is,” Roxton continued, “even though Mathers swore he was going to live with his nephew I can just see him out there in a couple months hunting all over again. Damn, he’ll probably die in the middle of a hot African jungle, either torn to pieces by his prey or from something even worse.”

‘Worse?’ Marguerite wondered then said sharply, because she knew her companion’s guilt quotient far too well. “If so, that’s his choice, Roxton, and there‘s nothing anyone can do about it. And that means you.” To soften the moment she put an arm around Roxton’s shoulders and hugged him gently. “I am sorry but you cannot save everyone, John. No, not on all your travels, not on the plateau, and certainly not here and now.” She watched as he digested her words then she whispered into his ear, “But know this, my love: You have taught me more than you could ever know. I will be with you from now on. I will never let what happened to Mathers happen to you.” She touched his face as he looked into her eyes, “Don’t think you have to give up what you love most because it will become a meaningless obsession for you.” Then her eyebrow arched, “As long as I am around, bending you to my will, you will be happy, Lord Roxton. If not, then I’m afraid I’ll have to make your life miserable. And I can do it. You know I can.”

Roxton suddenly chuckled, appreciating her candor. “One correction.” He then said, softly. “Hunting is not what I love most. And what I love most will never become meaningless.”

As he closed in for a gentle kiss, Marguerite’s thoughts were a mix of tender certainty and personal triumph. Not only was she lucky enough to have a man who was not afraid to show her sincere affection, a husband who enjoyed kissing his wife simply because he enjoyed the act of woo, but Roxton was also lucky. He had a spouse who, at least on this issue, would not hold him to his word.

Roxton, Marguerite knew, would hunt and travel again … one day.

***

“Just smile and wave, darling! Just smile and wave!” she called.

It was twilight by the time Marguerite and Roxton arrived on the grounds of the estate. While Marguerite expected there would be a reception waiting for them she did not imagine they would be greeted by their distinguished guests, who were on either side of the gravel path, announcing their appearance with appreciative and enthusiastic claps and whistles. The applause became thicker the closer they came to the courtyard, a cul-de-sac in front of the estate. Roxton and Marguerite could see the family waiting; Aunts Rose and Nora, Uncle Andrew, Cousin Stephen and his wife Clara were present. Even Cousin Harold and his newest lady friend, Gilda Sleet were there.

Roxton was merely tolerant of the fuss and waved warmly but with little gusto.

Marguerite, on the other hand, found the greeting exhilarating. She had never been modest in her opinion that she deserved to be cheered by the masses. Delighted, Lady Roxton pulled the goggles from her eyes, tossing them in the Roadster’s back seat atop their picnic blanket. She then removed the sporty but chic hat from her head and waved it at their admirers.

The salutation became even stronger. Marguerite was jubilant when hearing, in shreds of conversation as they motored passed their visitors - men, women and children - calling to each another, exclaiming how beautiful and affable the newest Roxton family member appeared.

Roxton chuckled, pleased and amused to see Marguerite in her element.

However, where there was a high a low often reared its ugly head.

They had just stopped the Roadster, applause still echoing about the courtyard, and removed themselves from the automobile. Roxton was handed a large bottle of champagne by his cousin Stephen. With an exaggerated movement, and to the laughter and amusement of their audience, Roxton shook then popped the bottle with an exaggerated theatricality. It was a ceremonial moment where Lord Roxton quickly filled the glasses of those who were closest to him then they all toasted their watching guests, wishing all good times and a successful fox hunt.

“Wearing trousers, Marguerite?” The whisper in her ear came from behind. Aunt Rose smiled too sweetly to the spectators and lifted her glass, “One might wonder about your pedigree, my dear.”

The elder Lady Roxton, spinster daughter to William Roxton Senior, had never been fond of Marguerite but less so when the new Lady Roxton began to prepare their supper menus. That had always been Rose’s job, inherited when Roxton’s mother had passed away, but Marguerite insisted it was now her obligation. Perhaps Aunt Rose would not have been as miffed if Marguerite had been merely satisfactory in her selections but, to her chagrin, their estate chef - Monsieur Perrault - was not shy in his praise of Lady Marguerite’s culinary sophistication. Marguerite encouraged the French chef to try new things, unlike Aunt Rose who was far more traditional and bland with her approach to cuisine.

“I do hope you will be wearing something a bit more suitable at supper tonight.” Rose spoke once again from behind, for Marguerite‘s ears only. “You would not want to embarrass John and the rest of us anymore than you already have.”

Clenching her teeth, Marguerite glanced briefly over her shoulder and was seconds away from telling the old trout that she had a nice piece of burlap all picked out for tonight. But then she saw Roxton’s arm had extended for her. Marguerite took his hand, smiling graciously to all who watched, as he told their visitors that he and Lady Roxton were eagerly looking forward to tomorrow’s hunt.

Roxton continued, “However, it has been a very long ship’s journey and we have had a very lengthy drive. We ask your indulgence. A rest, reunion with my family, and a change of clothes for dinner await both of us.”

With a shout of “Hip-hip hurrah!”, sending them off, the couple turned from their applauding guests and made their way into the Roxton estate.

Marguerite met Rose’s small, arrogant eyes briefly. She then purposely looked away from the older woman, a clear indication that - for Marguerite - Aunt Rose’s words were merely that. Words. They would never hurt a woman of Marguerite’s lofty character.

But somehow, despite Marguerite’s immeasurable poise and confidence, the words and their meaning did hurt.

***

The connecting door between their bedrooms was open. Both Roxton and Marguerite had washed up quickly, getting as much of the perspiration and dust off their bodies from the road journey as possible. Tomorrow both would bathe early in the morning before the hunt but, for now, they needed to move quickly. Supper was being served in less than a half hour.

“… and she really said that about your jodhpurs?” Roxton called, slighted for Marguerite’s sake but not really surprised.

“Yes, apparently the woman does not have a contemporary bone in her body. I was going to explain to her that they make the perfect travel attire, comfortable and warm on these cooler Autumn days, but I didn’t see the point in bringing her up to date. Sometimes I think Aunt Rose has it out for me.”

“I’ll have a word with her.”

“No John, don’t.” Marguerite’s tone suddenly sounded uneasy, “I’d rather work it out for myself. I will let you know if I need your help.”

‘Of course.’ Roxton thought, a little disappointed. Despite their nearly eight month marriage there were still times when, despite her trust in Roxton, Marguerite still kept her guard up, thus erecting a wall between them. He accepted it was a part of the woman he had come to love and marry but it perturbed him nevertheless. But, on the brighter side, Marguerite’s secrets were not as plentiful as they once were and the couple could laugh at so many things both thought were an issue between them but truly were not..

Roxton changed the subject, “I wish we didn’t have to go down there again tonight.” he commented, adjusting the silver cufflinks on his crisp white dress shirt. “We are both dog tired and entertaining is the last thing we should be doing.”

“We just need to make an appearance, Roxton.” Marguerite said as she walked into his abode, attempting to attach the snap of a delicate diamond bracelet on her wrist. She lifted it for his help. “We will eat, talk merrily for awhile then come back up here and get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be another busy day.”

“Sleep is the last thing I have in mind for tonight.” Roxton said, assisting her then deftly nuzzling her left ear.

Marguerite could not help the small chuckle that parted her lips. “So much for being dog tired.“ she murmured then, “Sir, you are insatiable.“ she said.

“Just trying to make up for lost time. Besides, we missed out on last night - got in too late - and this morning because we were in a hurry to leave early.”

Empathizing, she took his hands into her own and faced Roxton directly, looking up into his dark eyes. She was very much aware of how incredibly striking he looked in his tuxedo. “Maybe I can make an excuse … a headache … and as my concerned partner you could follow and …” she cracked a seductive smile, “we can meet in my room tonight.”

“Yes.” he said instantly then allowed his forehead to gently connect with her own.

While the couple did have their own bedrooms, as was typical for any self respecting Lord and Lady of the manor, they did not spend much time unaccompanied in either. There had only been one night spent alone in bed after their wedding night and before Roxton left for India and that had been a misunderstanding, something trivial that was now forgotten by both.

When she had first moved into the estate Marguerite, although enlightened, found separate bedrooms rather odd and interesting. However, knowing what she did about the elite, the new Lady Roxton did not mind the custom. As a matter of fact, she welcomed it.

There was no doubt that Marguerite loved her husband dearly but she and Roxton were of two different minds when it came to decorating. Roxton had simple tastes which included heavy furniture, dark wood, a few photographs in plain frames on his classically papered walls. There was also an area set aside for a tall lamp, some books and an arm chair. Marguerite, on the other hand, enjoyed an airier bedroom with antiques, light furniture and pricey oil paintings. She also required a full length mirror and a far more extensive wardrobe than her husband, which occupied nearly a quarter of her large quarters.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look?”

“No, not yet but I am a patient woman.” she quipped. Marguerite had gathered her hair to the back of her head in a simple but elegant braided bun. Her feet were adorned with black, glossy short heels with contemporary stretch buckles. She wore a lavender gown with see-through lace sleeves to the elbow. The garment gathered gently at the hips to flow freely just above her ankles. She still felt amused by how styles had changed so dramatically over the last few years. Marguerite never thought she would see the day when a woman would be allowed to show her ankles -- or wear thin garments which were so soft and cozy against the skin -- and it would still be considered proper.

“We will give them our company for two hours tonight.” Roxton said, “Then the rest of the evening is ours.

Marguerite smiled and nodded.

***

“George?!” Marguerite called his name the moment she and Roxton entered the dining hall. She had recognized tufts of ginger hair on his tall lean form.

They had expected to have an intimate supper with about thirty or forty of their closet friends, those Uncle Andrew felt had somehow merited a fine supper from the lavish kitchen of their estate, but never expected to see Professor Challenger. Of course, George had been invited but these days the good Professor was so busy with his plans for a second expedition to the plateau he had little time for anything else.

Challenger had been talking with Mathew Gallwin, an imminent scientist and, for the Roxton family, an extraordinarily talented electrician. He had advised and supervised the revamping of the estate over the last six months.

“Where is Jessie?” Roxton asked, shaking Challenger’s hand warmly.

“A close friend of the family is ill. She’s nursing her back to health.”

“George, we’re so happy to see you.” Marguerite hugged him appreciatively, genuinely pleased to see their friend.

“Goodness gracious, another greeting like that and you won’t be able to keep me away.” Challenger exclaimed with a cheerful smile.

“If you will excuse me,” Mister Gallwin bowed very slightly but respectably, seeing a reunion was in session. “Lord Andrew has been trying to get my attention all night …”

“Certainly,” Marguerite gave a nod to the silver-haired scientist, “but I would like to talk with you about the dimmers in the east wing library, Mathew. Tomorrow if we get a moment?”

Gallwin took Marguerite’s hand and kissed it gently, “I am at your service.“ He then left them.

“Brilliant man.” Challenger commented as he watched Gallwin approach Roxon‘s Uncle, “The innovations he is making in the area of magnetism and his research into what he calls “solar power” are remarkable if a little implausible.”

“A man before his time.” Marguerite commented, “Trying to bring the estate into the twentieth century has not been easy. If Mathew hadn‘t been a friend of Stephen’s I doubt he would have taken us on.”

“Mathew is it?” Roxton asked in a teasing alarm but wasn’t truly jealous. He squeezed her hand affectionately.

“Silly.” Marguerite replied then looked back to their friend.

“Well, in any event, I believe you are in good hands.” Challenger said. “I look forward to seeing the estate once the renovations are complete.”

There was a moments pause as the one time associates took in the situation. Roxton and Marguerite hadn’t seen Challenger for months. Their reunion was bittersweet as might be expected but also, somehow, awkward.

“I am glad you’re here, George.” Roxton said, honestly. “I have something I want to talk with you about. I saw something in India …”

“But not now.” Aunt Nora approached unexpectedly, touching both Marguerite and Roxton on their shoulders. The kindly woman smiled warmly but she was firm. “Supper is being served as we speak and it’s time to take our seats.”

“Of course,” Challenger agreed, “Besides, I have something I want to discuss with you as well, Roxton.”

***

After supper, while the rest of their guests mingled in the drawing room and library, Roxton retired with Challenger, Marguerite, and Dr. Wrapple into the parlor.

Marguerite wanted the family medical practitioner to take a look at Roxton’s shoulder. She noticed during supper he had reach to touch it a couple times and she grew concerned.

“To my surprise those savage doctors in India did a rather good job with your care, Lord Roxton.” Wrapple feigned irritably, as he always did, looking at the healing wound over the top of his wire-rimmed half glasses. “I must give credit to the ship’s surgeon as well. How often did he check the laceration?”

“Once every few days.” Roxton replied, “Or whenever I made it down to his office.”

“I see a very small infection starting where the bandage was wrapped too tightly but as long as you treat it with this antiseptic.” He passed a small bottle into Marguerite‘s hands, “and rewrap the shoulder every couple days for the next week he should be fine. You should be able to remove he bandage entirely by next Thursday. However,” Wrapple looked tiredly into Roxton’s eyes, “you will have a lovely scar, John.”

“Just another reminder of why it is a good idea to stop while I‘m ahead.” Roxton remarked. He did not see the disquiet on Marguerite’s face or the disillusionment on Challenger’s as they watched the doctor redress his wound.

“Do you think he should participate in the hunt tomorrow?” Marguerite asked.

“I’m all right.” Roxton spoke, confidently.

“Yes, he can ride. Just don’t fall off the horse and open up the wound again.” Dr. Wrapple recommended as he stood. “Although, knowing John Roxton as I do he will do what he damn well pleases.”

Marguerite chuckled, “I’ll keep him in line.“ she assured.

“Good.” Dr. Wrapple closed his medical bag and took it by the handles, “Now, if you will excuse me I am going to go get some of that fine port before your Uncle Andrew finishes it off.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Marguerite nodded with a small smile and watched him walk out of the room.

“Only John Roxton can come face to face with a saber-toothed tiger yet come back with a mere scratch.” Challenger encouraged, having heard most of the story before the doctor arrived to tend to Roxton’s wound, “Amazing.”

“It was like the plateau all over again.” Roxton said as he gingerly put his jacket on.

“But how did it get to India? It could not have come from South America on its own.”

“A window, a portal of some kind.” Roxton said. “It’s right there, in the jungle, and I have a good idea where it is. I can make you a map, George.”

“Amazing!” Challenger enthused, unaware he was repeating himself. He appeared more excited then the day when he and the others initially arrived in South America to start their initial The Lost World adventure. “But really, you and Marguerite should …”

“What?” Marguerite stared at Challenger. She knew he wanted something from them. At first she wondered if George was having problems with funding, perhaps wanting to ask Roxton for a loan, but she soon came to realize the Professor wanted more from them than currency.

“I would like you and Roxton to consider coming on the second expedition to the plateau.”

“George, we’ve already discussed this …” Roxton began.

“I know we have but I was hoping, over time, you might reconsider.”

“Why would you think that?” Marguerite asked, a bit flummoxed by the notion.

“We were all a part of something special, Marguerite. We were physically present for moments in time, as inexplicable as they were, few others will ever observe or encounter. I am not just speaking of the run-ins with dinosaurs but the phenomenon that was our Lost World. History will record what we found, the evidence we brought back with us, and will probably get it all wrong. But we know what really happened there …" He then added, "And we made good everlasting friendships in the process. Be honest, you two. Don’t you miss Veronica, Malone and Finn just a little bit?”

“Of course we miss them.“ Marguerite asserted then, after a thoughtful pause, said: “But we also faced more danger day to day than most people ever will in a lifetime, George. Name a date on the calendar and I can tell you which one of us nearly lost our life because of that bloody plateau.”

“But wasn’t it worth it?” He looked from Marguerite to Roxton, appealing. “Wasn’t what we experienced worth the peril?”

“Going to the plateau was worth it, George.” Roxton said. “For many reasons.” He met Marguerite’s eyes and smiled, “But now … We’re home.” There was a near sadness in Roxton’s tone that both Marguerite and Challenger heard but did not comment on.

“All right.” Challenger sighed, “But I will come back and ask you one more time before the expedition leaves. Perhaps I can come up with a more convincing argument.”

“Good.” Marguerite piped, taking both men by their arms, coaxing them out of the parlor. “And next time bring Mrs. Challenger with you, George. Jess is the only person I know who can bring you down from your flights of fantasy.”

****

The rest of the evening moved along smoothly. Lord and Lady Roxton spoke with their guests, had drinks with them, and were the cordial host and hostess. Roxton talked of his adventures in India and other expeditions while Marguerite spoke of the sights and news she had seen and heard in London recently.

The predictable evening was broken up somewhat by a Charleston* demonstration by Gilda Sleet. No one saw it coming although her shrill laughter could have been a warning beacon about five minutes before the display. Miss Sleet’s antics charmed most but a few of the older guests found her performance rather vulgar. Reluctantly Harold - who was one of the more amused observers - was called over to rein in the enthusiastic woman. Later, as an apology, it was revealed that Gilda may have imbibed a bit more than what was fitting for the evening.

Soon after Marguerite excused herself, mentioning the beginning of a headache and fatigue. She wanted to be fresh for the hunt the following morning. No, she was not going to participate in the fox hunt herself but she would certainly be there to cheer on those men and women who did, including her husband.

Roxton watched her ascend the steps, she met his eyes briefly, and he acknowledged her with a secretive wink.

He followed a half hour later.

She had changed into her silk nightgown, the fawn color he liked best with the slim shoulder straps and daring décolletage. Marguerite combed out her thick, luscious chocolate colored hair then obviously decided to lie on her comforter - just for a few moments - awaiting his arrival. He could almost hear her whisper: “I’ll just rest my eyes.“

Perhaps initially, seduction was the plan but eventually exhaustion won out. She lay, sleeping soundly and Roxton could not find it in his heart to disturbed her.

Gazing down at his wife, appraising her while she slept unaware, he could not help but compare Marguerite to an exquisite angle. She lay so still, her eyes closed, her hair a fan on the plump pillow. Only her chest gently rose and fell to show she was of this world.

Who would have thought he would find himself a woman of such beauty, with a mind, talent and astounding intelligence to match? Yes, there were times when she drove him mad, futile arguments that caused his blood pressure to raise to dangerous levels, but - more times than not - she also infused him with a feeling of deep love. Marguerite would say or do something which tugged at his heart ... or she would just sit and listen to him. Honestly, how did he get so lucky?

With a combination of regret and approval, Roxton quietly pulled a russet cashmere throw off a rocking chair near Marguerite’s bed. Gently, he lay it over her, to keep her from becoming cold during the night. Roxton leaned down and kissed Marguerite softly on the cheek and forehead, “Tomorrow’s another day.” he whispered, “Good night, my love.”

He then grudgingly back away and walked to the door to their adjoining rooms. Roxton then turned, gave his slumbering seraph one last look, then shut the door behind him.

**

She could hear the pound of the horse hooves, the excitement, the terror, the snorting of their flaring nostrils as they raced, as they did what their masters demanded of them. She could hear the hounds too, their howls and grunts of conquest as they hunted the fox … Marguerite saw it all. She was a spectator … or no … she was the fox!

Oh no … No, not again. It was supposed to be different. He came home. John was home …

Confusion. She could see the fox hunt and hear the angry words … The cries of the hunters, the anger of another … William wanted her gone … but he was dead … Yet he was also pleading with her … He needed her help.

She awoke panting, desperately trying to catch her breath … then she saw him in the dark, a mist in human form, looking at her, lifting a hand in appeal.

She could not cry out. What might be a scream caught in her throat -- but she certainly could move. Frantically, Marguerite tossed the cover away and sprang from the bed. Flustered but not beyond reason, she ran to the door adjoining she and Roxton’s bedroom. She swung the heavy wood entry open in a panic. Marguerite rushed to the bed and nearly awakened Roxton, but when she looked back to her own darkened room … William was not there.

It did not matter. She was not going to sleep in that bedroom alone ever again. It was too much … The nightmares were too damn much!

Roxton was deeply asleep, for it was very late and their day had been draining, and Marguerite slipped into bed beside him, hugging his strength, letting him take away her fears, praying to whoever was listening.

Dear God, she did not want to go mad … but that must be what was happening. There was no other explanation … It had finally happened. She was being driven mad … by a ghost, an apparition that wanted her gone from Avebury but also wanted her help … No. This was insane. A nightmare … that’s all it was … Nightmares!

In his sleep, Roxton’s arms came around his wife, hugging her close. Even oblivious he sense she needed his embrace. In the morning Roxton would wake to find her with him and he and Marguerite would make a gentle but intense love.

Marguerite would later recall this night as a turning point where fantasy and reality melded to nearly make her forget she had survived stranger and even more demented things than this … and this time she had not just the potency of her own wits but also of Lord John Roxton, the man she had promised to love and honor until death did them part.

***