Margaret avoided Edward for the rest of the day.
She told herself she was being practical, giving them both space to cool down. In truth, she was being cowardly. Easier to hide in the estate office reviewing accounts that didn't need reviewing than to face the mess she'd made of their first real argument.
Dinner was an exercise in careful civility.
Thomas dominated the conversation with stories of his military exploits, each more improbable than the last. Edward said little, his responses clipped and polite. Margaret pushed food around her plate and wondered how long two weeks could possibly feel.
"You're very quiet, sister dear," Thomas observed, refilling his wine glass for the fourth time. "Domestic discord already? And here I thought newlyweds were supposed to be disgustingly enamored."
"We've been married three years," Margaret said. "Hardly newlyweds."
"Ah, but Edward tells me you've only recently discovered marital harmony. A week ago, wasn't it?" Thomas's smile was sharp. "How convenient that I should arrive just as the honeymoon phase begins to wear off."
Edward's knuckles whitened around his fork. "Thomas, if you can't be civil—"
"I'm being perfectly civil. Simply observing." Thomas leaned back in his chair. "Though I confess, I'm curious about this sudden transformation. Three years of mutual contempt, then a week in London, and suddenly you're playing house like devoted lovers. It's rather theatrical, don't you think?"
"Our marriage is none of your concern," Edward said coldly.
"Of course it is. We're family. Your happiness is my utmost priority." Thomas turned his attention to Margaret. "Tell me, what changed? Did Edward finally perfect his performance? Or did you simply decide that being a countess was worth pretending to care for him?"
Margaret set down her fork with deliberate care. "I don't have to explain myself to you."
"No, you don't. But you might want to ask yourself whether you're explaining it adequately to yourself." Thomas's eyes glittered with malice. "Edward's always been excellent at temporary transformation. Plays the devoted son, the responsible heir, whatever role is required. But the performance never lasts. Eventually, the real Edward emerges. The one who resents his obligations and the people who represent them."
"That's enough." Edward stood abruptly. "Margaret, if you'll excuse me. I've lost my appetite."
He left before she could respond.
Thomas watched him go with satisfaction. "Touched a nerve, apparently."
Margaret stood as well. "You're a bastard."
"Half-brother, actually. Different mother, legitimately born. But I appreciate the sentiment." Thomas raised his glass to her. "Sleep well, Lady Blackwood. I suspect you'll need your rest. Two weeks is a long time to maintain a fiction."
In their chambers, Margaret found Edward standing at the window, staring out at the darkened grounds. He didn't turn when she entered.
"I'm sorry," she said to his back. "About earlier. About letting Thomas get to me."
"Are you? Because from where I'm standing, it seems like you were looking for an excuse to doubt this. Thomas just provided a convenient justification."
The words stung because they held a kernel of truth.
"That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" Now he did turn, and his expression was cold in a way she hadn't seen since before London. "One week, Margaret. We had one week of actually trying, and the moment someone questions it, you fold. Start looking for exits."
"I'm not looking for exits."
"Then what are you doing? Because to me, it looks remarkably like retreat."
Margaret's temper flared. "Maybe I am retreating. Maybe I need to, when your brother shows up spouting poison and you have nothing to say in our defense except that he's always been difficult."
"What was I supposed to say? That we're madly in love after one week of pretending the past doesn't exist? That would have been convincing."
"So you admit it. We were pretending."
"I didn't say that."
"You just did."
Edward's jaw clenched. "Don't twist my words. You know exactly what I meant."
"Do I? Because right now I don't know anything except that Thomas is downstairs laughing at us, and you're standing here acting like I'm the problem."
"You are the problem. Or rather, your inability to trust anything good is the problem."
"My inability?" Margaret's voice rose. "You're the one who spent three years making sure I had nothing to trust. Forgive me if I can't simply erase that history because we spent a pleasant week in bed."
"It was more than that, and you know it."
"Was it? Or was it just novel? Different from our usual antagonism? Something new and exciting that will wear off the moment real life intrudes?"
Edward crossed to her in three strides, gripping her shoulders. "Do you want it to wear off? Is that what this is? You're so convinced it can't last that you're sabotaging it before it has a chance?"
Margaret tried to pull away, but he held firm. "Let go of me."
"No. Not until you answer the question."
"Fine. Maybe I am sabotaging it. Maybe that's easier than waiting for you to do it first."
"I'm not going to—" Edward stopped, released her abruptly. "You don't believe that. You can't possibly believe that."
"I don't know what I believe anymore."
They stared at each other, the space between them charged with frustration and hurt and something that might have been fear on both sides.
"I can't do this," Edward said finally. "I can't spend every day proving myself to you, only to have one comment from Thomas undo all of it. Either you trust me or you don't."
"It's not that simple."
"It is exactly that simple." He moved toward the door. "I'm sleeping in my old chambers tonight. You clearly need space, and I need not to say something I'll regret."
"Edward—"
"Goodnight, Margaret."
The door closed behind him with a soft click that somehow felt worse than if he'd slammed it.
Margaret stood alone in their chambers, fury and regret warring in her chest. She'd done exactly what she'd promised not to do. Pushed him away at the first sign of difficulty. Built walls the moment she felt vulnerable.
She looked at the bed they'd shared for a week, rumpled and intimate. At his books scattered on the side table. At the small signs of their merged life that now felt like accusations.
You promised to stay. You promised to fight through conflict.
And at the first real test, she'd failed spectacularly.
Margaret undressed mechanically and climbed into bed alone. It felt too large, too cold. She'd gotten used to Edward's warmth beside her, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the unconscious way he'd reach for her in sleep.
Sleep was a long time coming.
The next morning, Margaret woke late to find a note on Edward's pillow.
Gone riding with Thomas. Don't wait breakfast. - E
Curt. Impersonal. The kind of note he might have left three months ago.
Margaret crumpled it and threw it across the room, then immediately felt foolish for the gesture.
She found Thomas alone in the breakfast room, looking insufferably pleased with himself.
"Good morning, sister. Sleep well?"
"Where's Edward?"
"Ah, so we're dispensing with pleasantries. Excellent. Edward's gone to inspect the north fields. Some tenant matter or other. He seemed rather eager to be away from the house." Thomas buttered his toast with infuriating precision. "Trouble in paradise already?"
"What do you want, Thomas?"
"Want? Nothing. Simply enjoying a visit with my dear brother and his lovely wife."
"You're lying. You came here to cause trouble. Why?"
Thomas's smile faded, replaced by something colder. "You want honesty? Fine. I came here because I'm tired of watching Edward play lord of the manor with money he didn't earn. Tired of him succeeding through marriage when he should have failed through incompetence."
"He's not incompetent. The estate is thriving."
"Because of your father's money. Edward married well, nothing more. He doesn't deserve credit for that any more than he deserves credit for being born first."
"You're jealous."
"I'm practical." Thomas set down his toast. "My father left everything to Edward. The title, the estate, the responsibility. And what did I get? A commission in the army and instructions to make my own way. Tell me, Lady Blackwood, how is that fair?"
"Life isn't fair. Surely the army taught you that."
"The army taught me that waiting for things to fall into your lap is for fools. That if you want something, you take it." Thomas leaned forward. "I can't take the title or the estate. But I can ensure Edward doesn't get to enjoy them. Can't have the satisfaction of his perfect life, not after what he took from me."
"He didn't take anything from you. Your father made his choices."
"And I'm making mine." Thomas stood. "Two weeks, Margaret. I have two weeks to plant enough doubt, cause enough discord, that your pretty little reconciliation crumbles. And I'm very good at what I do."
He left before Margaret could formulate a response.
She sat alone in the breakfast room, tea growing cold in front of her, trying to process the malice in Thomas's confession.
He wanted to destroy what she and Edward were building. And yesterday, she'd made it remarkably easy for him.
The question was what she intended to do about it.
Margaret found Edward in the stable yard that afternoon, brushing down his horse after his ride. He didn't look up when she approached.
"We need to talk," she said.
"Do we? I thought we covered everything last night."
"Thomas came here to sabotage us. He told me so himself."
That got Edward's attention. He set down the brush, his expression guarded. "What did he say?"
Margaret repeated the conversation. Edward listened without interruption, his jaw tightening progressively.
"Typical Thomas," he said finally. "Resentful and vindictive. He's been like this since we were children."
"Why didn't you tell me? Warn me what he was like?"
"Would it have mattered? You were already doubting before he said a word."
The accusation landed like a blow. "That's not entirely fair."
"Isn't it?" Edward picked up the brush again, returned to grooming his horse with more force than necessary. "Be honest, Margaret. Thomas gave you an excuse to retreat, but you were looking for one anyway. The moment things felt too real, too vulnerable, you started building walls again."
"Maybe I did. But you walked away last night instead of staying to fight it out. We both broke our promises."
Edward was silent for a long moment. "You're right. I did walk away. Because if I'd stayed, I would have said things I couldn't take back."
"Like what?"
"Like the fact that I'm falling in love with you, and watching you pull away is torture." He kept his eyes on the horse. "There. I've said it. And before you panic and run, understand that I don't expect you to say it back. I know you're not ready. May never be ready. But I needed you to know why Thomas's interference hit so hard."
Margaret's heart hammered against her ribs. "Edward—"
"Don't." He finally looked at her, and his eyes held a weariness that made her chest ache. "Don't say anything unless you mean it. I'd rather have honest silence than comforting lies."
"I wasn't going to lie."
"Then what were you going to say?"
Margaret opened her mouth, then closed it. What had she been going to say? That she might be falling in love with him too? That she was terrified of it? That Thomas's words had found purchase because she was still looking for proof that this couldn't last?
"I don't know," she admitted finally.
"Then we're at an impasse." Edward turned back to his horse. "Thomas is here for two weeks. We can either let him win by tearing ourselves apart, or we can present a united front. Your choice, Margaret. But I'm done chasing you. Done proving myself only to have you doubt at the first challenge. If you want this marriage to work, you're going to have to choose it. Actively. Every day. Not just when it's easy."
He left her standing in the stable yard, his words echoing in the cold afternoon air.
Margaret watched him go, torn between the urge to chase after him and the instinct to protect herself.
I'm falling in love with you.
The words should have filled her with joy. Instead, they filled her with terror.
Because loving Edward meant giving him the power to destroy her. And after three years of carefully maintained distance, that was the most frightening thing she could imagine.
Even more frightening than losing him.