He had been later than usual coming to her, and Margaret had been dozing, curled on her side, one hand beneath her cheek. She had opened her eyes when he sat on the edge of the bed and took one of her braids in his hand.
"I am sorry, Richard," she had said, turning on to her back. "I must have fallen asleep."
He had looked down at her, his eyes smiling, but not his mouth. "My poor dear," he had said, "this is a very tiring time for you, is it not?"
"Indeed, Richard, I enjoy all the activity," she had assured him.
"But you are pale, my dear, and I noticed tonight that you played with the food on your plate instead of eating it."
"Indeed I ate sufficient, Richard," she had protested.
"And I am a cruel and selfish husband to come demanding more of your energy when you only wish to sleep," he had teased gently, a strange twist to his mouth.
"No, Richard," Margaret had said, calling all her training to her aid to keep her voice calm and her face expressionless. Her hands beneath the bedclothes had been clenched into tight fists. "I am your wife. I am never too tired for you."
"Then do your duty and obey this command," he had said. "Sleep, my dear." He had continued to gaze smilingly into her face, unaware of the painfully beating heart beneath the bedcovers. He had lifted the heavy braid that he was still holding, and placed it against his lips. And his lips had finally smiled.
Margaret could not obey his command. After he had left, she had wept into her pillow until she had finally gained comfort from holding the braid he had kissed against her own mouth. She had fallen eventually into an exhausted sleep.
No matter how busy her mind or her body might be over other matters, Margaret was almost constantly aware of her now-sure pregnancy. She felt well. Her tiredness was the only discomfort. The thought of having Richard's child growing inside her filled Margaret with a secret ecstasy that almost choked her at times. No matter what happened, or did not happen, between them in the future, part of him belonged to her and would continue to do so. Surely he would demonstrate her love when he knew, she sometimes thought. And she hoped fiercely that the child would be a boy so that Richard would be pleased with her.
Then at other times she would remember that he had married her only so that she would breed his children. Why should he love her for merely doing the duty for which she had been chosen? And would he stop coming to her altogether once he knew that his visits were no longer necessary? The thought filled Margaret with cold terror. She decided that she would wait until she was more certain before telling her husband.
For his part, Brampton did not welcome quite so eagerly the demands on his time and energy. He had arrived at the Brampton Court desperate with un-happiness over the loss of his angel and almost cursing his fate that had held her from him until it was too late for them to let their love grow openly. He had found it difficult to accept his wife's quiet, uncomplaining presence in his life. He had kept his distance from her, in an effort not to inflict his own unhappiness and ill-humor on her. For a few days he had been wretched with self-reproach. How could he have let her go without at least acquiring enough information to allow him to contact her again if he wanted? Only in his saner moments did he admit that what had happened was inevitable. There was no other alternative.
He had come into the country with the determined resolution to put the past behind him and to make a new start on his marriage. He intended to spend more time with his wife, to get to know her better, to resume his physical relationship with her.
He had found that matters were turning out not quite as planned. The obligation to entertain his guests proved quite arduous, particularly after plans for the fair got under way. He saw his wife probably more frequently than he had during the rest of their married life, but he was almost never alone with her, except when the press of business made personal talk impossible.
At night he saw her, but he always made his visits as short as possible. It had not escaped his attention that she sometimes looked pale and tired. And he believed that her slight little figure was even thinner than it had been. He hoped that his suggested house party was not going to reduce her stamina to the point at which she would become ill.
Brampton also found that putting the past behind him and trying to work on his marriage was not as difficult as he had expected. Physically, he missed his angel terribly, but apart from that, he found there was not a great deal to miss. She had had a vitality and an impudence that had brightened his own mood, but really he had known almost nothing about her, not even her name. When he turned his attention to his wife, he discovered that she had great depth and strength of character. She was never a leading light among the people gathered at Brampton Court; one rarely heard her voice or noticed her-not unless one were deliberately watching. But Brampton began to notice that she was, in fact, a perfect hostess. She could initiate a conversation with just the right remark or question to set her companion talking on a favorite theme. Then she would sit and listen with a look of real interest.
He noticed that she quietly and unobtrusively ensured that everyone was always occupied in a way that would bring greatest satisfaction. And although Mrs. Foster was an efficient and able housekeeper, he noticed that it was his wife who really ran the household. And amazingly none of the servants seemed to resent the fact. In fact, Brampton noticed with fascination, they seemed to have a deep respect, even affection, for his wife.
Before many days had passed in the country, Brampton discovered that his wife was just the kind of person he would have liked his angel to be if he had had the chance to get to know her. Now if only his wife could have the life and passion of the other woman… He found himself wondering somewhat wistfully if she would allow herself to be loved, if he took the courtship very slowly and very gently.
But, he asked himself, did he want to love her? Was he ready to make the total commitment? He could not answer his own question with any satisfaction.
But he did know one thing: he was annoyed and-yes!-jealous of the friendship between his wife and Devin Northcott. He could not and did not suspect either of them of improper feelings for the other, but he resented the fact that they seemed to find it easy to converse with each other and to smile and laugh together.
Now he was concerned about his wife. She was not quite well, and he feared that this infernal fair would tax her strength beyond its limits. He found himself hoping, for the first time since his marriage, that he would not get her with child too soon. He feared that her tiny frame would make childbearing difficult for her.
The weather had turned cold and showery four days before the fair, so that everyone feared that the day was going to be ruined. However, the final preparations were put into effect the day before. Numerous booths were erected by the male servants and tenants on the lawns and in the closest meadow to the house. The women were busy at home baking or putting final stitches to the entries for the competitions next day. The wooden dancing floor was laid in place and stands erected for the orchestra. In the stables the grooms were giving unaccustomed attention to the two ponies to be used for the children's rides-brushing their coats and laying out ribbons to twine in their manes the next morning.
In the house the cook was threatening every half-hour to hand in her notice as she rushed through the endless lists of foods to be prepared and cooked. Yet during the afternoon, when the earl's chef arrived from London to help with the preparations, the threats continued for a different reason. Did his lordship think she was incapable of handling such an event on her own, without calling in "that man" who gave himself airs just because he was from the city?