"Madam, it is my duty to inform you that we are running very much behind schedule," said Peter, and would have sounded tense had his robotic mind not been capable of it.

"I know, Peter," said Lilith. She was standing on the landing pad next to the Farrars' larger hovercraft. Only she and Peter remained outside, for Peter was the only one of the twelve male androids - plus Mary - that was not inside and seated.

Even Thomas, Christopher's valet-android, was buckled into the correct seat and awaiting Lilith's orders to Simon to take off.

"Should I go fetch Mr. Farrar, madam?" asked Peter.

"I shouldn't think so. To save time, go buckle yourself in," she instructed. Peter inclined his head an obeyed, leaping into the hovercraft with a breathtaking elegance.

Lilith glanced at her watch and tightened her scarf around her neck. It was frigid outside, and Christopher was late, as usual. When she'd risen at six thirty, she'd woken him and he'd promised to hurry to the hovercraft so they could depart by seven thirty.

But there was no sign of him.

Lilith weighed her desire to be on the way to Bancroft inside a warm and spacious hovercraft as soon as possible against the fact that she did not want to demean herself and play the scolding, nagging mother to Christopher, shooing him out the door like some angry nanny.

Eventually, as a bitter wind set in, making her eyes water and her skin burn with cold.

Giving a sigh, she turned and went into the house, the computer automatically opening the door for her. The moment she was inside she was assailed with warmth and shuddered with pleasure. Lilith felt safe in removing her coat, scarf, and gloves, laying them on a nearby table as she went in search of her husband.

She did not find him in either the dining room or the parlour, which made her grit her teeth in irritation, as there was only one other place where he could be.

So, when she walked into the bedroom she shared with Christopher on nights when it was not occupied by one of his lovers to find her husband sprawled, fast asleep, still tucked into bed.

"Christopher," she snapped.

He did not stir.

"Christopher!" she said, louder this time. She poked his shoulder and he grunted, opening his eyes. He took one look at her and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in a pillow.

"Go away," he said, and put a pillow over his head. "I don't want to get up, Lilith."

Lilith rolled her eyes and simply crossed her arms, waiting.

"Lilith," he whined.

She refused to speak, knowing that her very presence would cause him to move, petulant creature that he was.

"Lilith, I don't want to go to some bloody country estate for a weekend," he moaned, throwing the pillow off him and sitting bolt upright in bed. Tousled, bleary-eyed, and with dark smudges under his eyes, Lilith nearly pitied him for how tired he looked.

But she was his wife and the manager of his household, not his mother.

"It was your idea," she pointed out, and crossed her arms.

He moaned and clawed his way out of bed, completely naked and utterly lazy. Lilith paid him no mind as he moped about the room trying to find something to wear.

"Thomas laid out your clothes," she said, and pointed to the neat pile she'd had the android assemble on the divan at the foot of the bed.

Christopher slouched over to the clothes and pulled them on, looking up at Lilith as he did so. "How late are we?" he asked.

"An hour and a half," she said. "But all we need is for you to get into the hovercraft. Everything else has been taken care of."

"Always organized, aren't you, my Lilith?" he said, sending her a smile as he buttoned up his shirt.

"Would you have married me for any other reason?" she asked, smiling in return as he donned his jacket and the pair of them made their way back to the front foyer.

"Married you, no. Taken you as a mistress, yes," he said, winking and patting her arm in a shockingly innocent gesture of camaraderie.

"Then I should be glad I'm organized, shouldn't I?" returned Lilith.

"Cruel to me again," he said, slouching out of the room and into the cold. He left her alone in the hallway as she donned her gloves and sighed.

"Honest, again," she replied, as she always did. Then she followed him out into the hovercraft. The moment they were strapped in, Simon took off and Bartholomew entered their compartment, ahead of and far more luxurious than the compartment of the androids.

"Your tea, sir?" he asked, and handed Christopher a cup.

"Excellent!" he cried, and downed the whole thing in one gulp. Lilith would have been perturbed by his energy had she not been so used to it. He was just as full of vim and vigour now as he had been full of lethargy only moments earlier.

At that moment, Lilith would have preferred the lethargic Christopher, as an energetic one was far more irksome.

"How far is it, Lilith?" he asked.

"Approximately seven hundred kilometres," she replied, considering the hovercraft's speed. "Apparently, it will take about three hours."

Christopher nodded and then, seeming to let go of his energy, relaxed against the seat, stretching like a cat before going limp.

Lilith turned to look out the window. As the hovercraft climbed, she could look down at the city. She scanned it for any sign of a hawk with her wings set, soaring, but found none. Giving a sigh, she settled back as the hovercraft accelerated, gradually reaching its optimum speed of nearly two hundred and fifty kilometres an hour.

"Lilith," said Christopher.

"Yes?" she replied, and cocked her head.

"Is it supposed to be cold this weekend?" he asked, and Lilith watched as he batted his long lashes, staring at her with brilliant, sparkling eyes.

His beauty had no effect. "Unseasonably cold, yes," she replied, and glanced over at him. He was trying to get a rise out of her for some reason, teasing and prodding her.

"And is there supposed to be a lot of sunshine?" he asked, cocking his head in a birdlike manner.

"No," she said, and arched her brows, wary of the coy smile on his face.

He grinned and then simpered in a way that made Lilith sigh.

"Have you ever considered, Lilith dearest, that you're too unkind to me?" he asked, leaning back and steepling his fingers.

"No," she replied, knowing it would drive him wild (as it always did) that she refused to rise to his teasing. "I haven't considered that for a moment."

He pouted, the very picture of childish unhappiness. Lilith had to admit that it was charming on the face of one so beautiful. "But you are. You're terribly unkind to me."

"I don't see how," she said and, sighing internally, decided to indulge him to keep him in good spirits. "I manage your affairs, practically run your business, appear when I am obligated to as a devoted spouse, and spend very little of your money."

"Doesn't change your temper towards me," he countered, now leaning forward and anchoring his elbows on his knees, face to face with Lilith, so close she could reach out and brush his lips.

"That's my temper towards everyone," she replied, and leaned back. She sent Christopher a glare as she always did when he got too close or pushed the physicality of their virtuous relationship. He responded in kind, smirking.

"Yes, but I don't hear Essex complaining," he volleyed back.

"That's because you and his Lordship are vastly different people. He, for example, isn't an egotistical narcissist, and he doesn't suffer from satyriasis," she retorted.

Christopher flinched back, pretending to be offended. "I didn't realize you thought of me so badly," he said, laying a hand to his heart.

"I don't," she said. "As I will always say, I'm only honest with you."

Christopher smiled. "Besides," he said, giving a flick of his hand. "I don't suffer from satyriasis. I'm simply very, very-"

"Depraved?"

"I was going to say liberal, but I suppose that works, too," he laughed. "You know, Lilith, my...escapades aren't a medical condition. They're simply a personal preference."

"I think that makes you more debauched, not less," she sniffed, chin in the air, the right amount of haughtiness to ensure that Christopher knew she had the moral high ground.

"Says the woman who's so prudish she won't take a lover," he returned, and now there was a malicious edge to his voice. Had his tone been light, she would have dismissed his comment, but something had changed.

Lilith scowled, all her desire to cater to his playfulness gone at a personal affront to her. "Don't speak to me that way, Christopher," she growled. "You know I won't abide it. As I have told you many times before, I don't have a lover because it's enough of a job dealing with your lovers without the added risk of dealing with even one of mine."

His eyes widened and he smiled. The maliciousness faded and was replaced with teasing, but there was enough of it still there that Lilith went on.

"And, if the job of managing the affairs of the lovers of two people were too much for me, and I let something slide, your depravity and my infidelity would be exposed, after which it would be expected that we divorced," she went on, as if speaking to a stubborn child. "And, as per our pre-nup, I get none of our wealth in a divorce. I'd be left with no prospects, no money, and no one to help me. So that is why I do not have a lover."

"I think Essex-" began Christopher, but Lilith did not allow him to continue.

"Henry would be unable to marry me, even if I wanted him to. It would ruin his reputation," replied Lilith, her voice cold and detached. Then she held up her hand to silence him as he opened his mouth once more. "I manage your affairs to protect you. It's a tough line of work, and I do a fucking good job. I don't have affairs to protect myself. I think that's fair."

"Sensible, sensible Lilith," mocked Christopher.

"Exactly," she agreed, and watched him colour with irritation that she had concurred and not opposed him.

They were both silent for a long time. Bartholomew interrupted once to bring Lilith a cup of tea, and she sipped it in silence, her mind far away from thoughts of Christopher, soaring amongst the clouds like the hawks she loved.

"Lilith," he said.

She turned her face to him, and would have been disarmed by the utter beauty of his expression had she not been immune to it.

"Lilith, I...spoke badly. I'm sorry," he said, fiddling with the awkwardness of apologizing.

"It's unlike you to apologize," she said, and it was. Christopher was a child in that way, as he was in many. Accepting blame was not his strong suit.

"For fuck's sake, Lilith, can't you just say thank you?" he snapped.

She inclined her head and smiled. "Thank you," she said, to humour him.

Christopher rewarded her with a dazzling smile. "Can we be friends again, then?"

"We've never been friends," replied Lilith, looking away and taking a sip of tea.

"Can you at least be kind to me?" he replied, and Lilith could hear good spirits creeping back into his voice, accenting his plea and making it more like its usual, teasing nature.

"Being kind is not in my contract," she said.

"Is it too late to write it in?" he said, eyes wide with pretend hopefulness.

"Yes," she said, and smiled at him.

He grinned back. "Alas," he said, and turned his face away.

The rest of the trip went by without incident. They made conversation sporadically, the longest one being when Lilith briefed Christopher on the events of the following week, which she was sure he'd forget moments later.

So when they finally descended over the trees, Christopher was lounging in his seat and Lilith had her eye out the window, watching as they circled over the rooftop of the house and the stables. She could see the only person Christopher employed, the groom and trainer, out with a horse in the ring, obviously exercising the animal.

"Welcome to Bancroft, Mrs. Farrar, Mr. Farrar," said Paul when he opened the door.

Christopher brushed past him but Lilith smiled, accepting Paul's hand as she climbed out of the hovercraft.

Lilith, despite what she had said to Christopher, had always liked Bancroft. She'd always liked the woods, and the house, and the horses. It had reminded her of the cottage her family had owned as a child, deep in the woods.

What was more, she could actually spend some time alone and away from everyone, especially Christopher, who had quickly become bored with the house and had begun to mope in the parlour.

Lilith, who retreated there after walking alone in the woods for several hours, arched her brows and said:

"Go ride your horses, Christopher," she suggested. "It's a good cure for boredom."

He groaned loudly and simply rolled over on the sofa, wallowing in what Lilith knew was loneliness. Christopher, despite his flaws, was a gregarious and social creature, and pined for companionship when it was absent.

She noticed this even more when she got up to take her own advice and Christopher was on his feet in an instant, following her.

"Going somewhere, husband dear?" she asked as he shadowed her steps, pausing at the door to their bedroom, where Mary had laid out a pair of breeches, a pair of boots, and a warm riding coat.

"I thought I'd go for a ride," he said, his eyes twinkling as he immediately began to strip off his clothing and don similar attire.

He smirked when Lilith did not follow suit, but politely waited outside while she dressed.

"Well, come along," he said, stamping his foot impatiently, much like a horse himself. "After all, I did say we were good riders, didn't I?"