Margaret spent the afternoon in the library, ostensibly reviewing household accounts. In reality, she read the same column of numbers seventeen times without comprehension.
I'm falling in love with you.
Edward's words played on an endless loop in her mind. Not a tentative admission or a pretty speech crafted for effect. Just raw, honest truth delivered in a stable yard while brushing down a horse, as though he couldn't hold it in any longer.
And she'd stood there like a fool, unable to respond.
The door opened without preamble. Thomas strolled in, already half-drunk if his unsteady gait was any indication.
"Ah, the lady of the manor. Hard at work, I see." He poured himself brandy from the decanter without asking. "Tell me, do you actually understand those numbers, or are you simply playacting at competence?"
"Get out, Thomas."
"So hostile. And here I was hoping we could be friends." He dropped into the chair opposite her desk. "You're wasting your time, you know. With Edward. Whatever you think you're building, it won't last."
"Because you'll sabotage it?"
"Because it's built on sand. Money and convenience and temporary attraction." Thomas took a long drink. "Do you know why I really came here? Not just to torment Edward, though that's certainly a bonus. I came to see if the rumors were true."
"What rumors?"
"That Edward had actually fallen for his merchant bride. That he'd gone soft, trading his London life for domestic bliss." Thomas's smile was cruel. "I had to see it for myself. The great Edward Blackwood, reduced to playing house with a woman he married for her dowry."
"You know nothing about our marriage."
"Don't I? I know Edward. Know how he operates. He's excellent at temporary devotion, at making people believe he cares. But it never lasts. Eventually, the obligation starts to chafe, and he finds ways to escape. London. Cards. Women who demand nothing from him." Thomas leaned forward. "You think this past week means something? It means he's bored and you're convenient. Give it a month. Two at most. He'll be back in London, and you'll be here alone, wondering what you did wrong."
"You're wrong."
"Am I? Then why are you sitting here instead of with him? Why did he sleep in separate chambers last night? Why do you look so uncertain, Margaret?" Thomas's voice turned almost gentle. "You know I'm right. You've known it since yesterday. That's why my words landed so well."
Margaret wanted to argue. Wanted to defend Edward, defend what they were building. But the words stuck in her throat.
Because Thomas was articulating her deepest fears. The ones she'd tried to silence with hope and physical intimacy and desperate wanting. The fear that this was temporary. That Edward's feelings would fade once the novelty wore off.
That she was, once again, fooling herself.
"Nothing to say?" Thomas stood, swaying slightly. "Smart woman. At least you're not deluding yourself completely. Do yourself a favor. Guard your heart. Take what pleasure you can from the physical side of marriage, but don't make the mistake of believing it means anything more."
He left, and Margaret sat alone in the gathering dusk, his words settling over her like poison.
She thought about Edward in the stable yard, his eyes weary but honest. I'm falling in love with you.
She thought about the past week. The bookshop. The gallery. The easy intimacy of reading together in comfortable silence. The way he touched her like she was precious.
Was it real? Or was Thomas right that it was simply novelty, bound to fade when reality intruded?
Margaret pressed her hands to her face, exhausted by her own doubt.
This was what Thomas wanted. What he'd come here to accomplish. Plant enough uncertainty that she'd destroy what she and Edward were building through her own fear.
And it was working.
Dinner was a silent affair. Edward was coolly polite. Thomas was smugly satisfied. Margaret picked at her food and said nothing.
Afterward, Edward disappeared to his study. Margaret returned to their chambers alone, the empty bed a reproach.
She undressed and climbed under the covers, but sleep remained elusive. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Edward's face in the stable yard. Heard his words. Felt the weight of her own inadequate response.
Near midnight, the door opened softly.
Edward stood silhouetted in the doorway, his cravat loosened, his expression uncertain.
"I thought you were sleeping in your old chambers," Margaret said.
"I was. I can't." He closed the door behind him. "I hate this, Margaret. I hate that we're letting Thomas drive us apart. Hate that I've slept better in the past week than in three years, and tonight I couldn't sleep at all because you weren't there."
"You said you were done chasing me."
"I lied." He moved to the bed but didn't get in. "Or maybe I'm just weak. But I can't do this. Can't pretend I don't care. Can't sleep in separate rooms and make polite conversation and act like my chest doesn't ache every time you look at me with doubt in your eyes."
Margaret sat up, pulling the covers around her. "Thomas said something today. About you getting bored once the novelty wears off. About finding ways to escape when obligation starts to chafe."
"And you believed him."
"I don't know what I believe." The admission cost her. "I want to believe you. Want to believe this is real. But Edward, what if he's right? What if this is just temporary fascination, and in a month you'll resent me again?"
"Then we'll deal with it. Together." He sat on the edge of the bed. "But Margaret, you can't live your life based on what-ifs. You'll drive yourself mad trying to protect against every possible hurt."
"Better than being blindsided."
"Is it? Is being perpetually guarded better than risking vulnerability?" He reached out, his hand hovering near her face but not quite touching. "I told you today that I'm falling in love with you. That wasn't a ploy or a performance. It was the truth. And yes, it terrifies me. Because you have the power to hurt me more than anyone ever has. But I'd rather risk that hurt than spend my life behind walls."
"You make it sound so simple."
"It's not simple. It's the hardest thing I've ever done." His hand finally made contact, cupping her cheek. "But it's worth it. You're worth it."
Margaret leaned into his touch despite herself. "What if I can't do this? Can't be as brave as you?"
"Then I'll be brave enough for both of us. Until you can catch up." He moved closer. "Let me back in, Margaret. Not because Thomas is trying to drive us apart, but because you want me here."
She looked at him, this man who'd somehow become essential to her in the span of weeks. Who'd shown her versions of himself she'd never imagined existed. Who was looking at her now with a vulnerability that matched her own.
"I'm not good at this," she whispered. "At trusting. At letting someone close enough to hurt me."
"I know. But you're trying. That's all I ask."
"What if trying isn't enough?"
"Then we'll try harder." He smiled slightly. "We're both stubborn enough for this to work, if we commit to it."
Margaret thought about the essays on connection she'd been reading. About choosing relationship over righteousness. About remaining present through conflict.
About the fact that Edward had come back tonight, even after she'd pushed him away. Had admitted to being weak, to being unable to stay gone.
That took courage. Perhaps more courage than protecting herself required.
"Stay," she said quietly. "Please."
Edward's expression softened with relief. He finished undressing and climbed into bed beside her, pulling her close. Margaret fitted herself against him, her back to his chest, his arm secure around her waist.
"I'm sorry," she said into the darkness. "About yesterday. About doubting. About making this harder than it needs to be."
"We both made it hard. I walked away when I should have stayed and fought." His breath stirred her hair. "But we're learning. That's what matters."
"Thomas is going to keep trying to cause trouble."
"Let him. We know what he's doing now. We can protect against it."
"How?"
"By not letting him drive wedges between us. By talking about the doubts instead of letting them fester. By choosing each other, even when it's difficult." Edward's arm tightened around her. "By remembering that what we're building is worth protecting."
Margaret laced her fingers through his. "You said you're falling in love with me."
"I did. I am."
"I don't know if I can say it back. Not yet."
"I don't need you to. Not until you're ready."
"What if I'm never ready?"
"Then I'll love you anyway." His lips brushed her shoulder. "Though I suspect you're more ready than you think. You're just too stubborn to admit it."
Margaret turned in his arms to face him. In the dim moonlight filtering through the curtains, she could see his face, open and honest and hers in a way she was only beginning to understand.
"I'm terrified of you," she admitted.
"Good. I'm terrified of you too. Means it's real."
She kissed him then, pouring into the kiss everything she couldn't yet say. The wanting and the fear and the tentative, fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, they could build something lasting.
Edward responded with equal intensity, rolling her beneath him, his hands sliding beneath her nightgown.
"I need you," he murmured against her throat. "Need to feel close to you. Reassure myself that you're still here."
"I'm here." Margaret arched into his touch. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
They made love slowly, thoroughly, Edward taking his time to map every response, every sigh. When Margaret finally came apart beneath him, his name on her lips, he followed her over the edge with a groan that sounded remarkably like relief.
Afterward, they lay tangled together, both breathing hard.
"That was either very good reconciliation or very good goodbye sex," Margaret observed. "I'm hoping for the former."
Edward laughed against her shoulder. "Definitely reconciliation. Though if you keep doubting me, we may need to reconcile frequently. For purely therapeutic purposes."
"How noble of you. Taking one for the team."
"I'm nothing if not self-sacrificing." He propped himself up on one elbow, looking down at her. "Seriously, though. Are we all right? Or are you going to retreat again tomorrow when Thomas says something cutting?"
"I'm going to try not to. That's the best I can offer."
"I'll take it." He traced her collarbone with one finger. "We should discuss strategy. For dealing with Thomas. He's here for another thirteen days."
"Thirteen days." Margaret groaned. "How are we going to survive?"
"United front. No matter what he says or does, we present a unified position. He can't drive us apart if we refuse to be driven."
"And if I start doubting again?"
"Then you tell me. Immediately. Before it festers." Edward's expression was serious. "That's the real promise I need from you, Margaret. Not declarations of love or grand gestures. Just honesty. Tell me when you're scared or doubting or pulling away, and we'll work through it together."
It was such a simple ask. And yet it required the kind of vulnerability Margaret had spent three years avoiding.
But looking at Edward's face, open and hopeful and surprisingly fragile, she found herself wanting to try.
"All right. I promise. Honesty, even when it's hard."
"Especially when it's hard."
They sealed the promise with a kiss, and then another, and soon enough they were making love again, slower this time, savoring each touch and sigh.