When the door opened he sat perfectly still, recognising the sound and scent of his wife's presence. Lady Mary looked at the undisturbed bedding still spread invitingly on the couch, pressed her lips together and said nothing to the man sitting bent over the table littered with crumbs and empty glasses. She drew back the curtains to let in daylight, and snuffed what was left of the candles.'You just missed Chris Nevilleson.' Her husband roused himself to converse. 'He ate the last of the seedcakes. We'll have to remember he likes them'I'll remember.' She stood behind him, her cool hands on his brow. He leaned his head back into the soft satin of her morning-robe.'I did sleep,' he said defensively; 'I just didn't lie down.''There are no more seedcakes,' she told him, 'but there are fresh rolls and eggs. I'll have them brought in, with dark chocolate.'He pulled her head down to kiss. 'There are no more like you,' he said. 'If it's a daughter, we'll name her Mary.''We will not. It's too confusing, Basil.
