The next few days fell into an uneasy rhythm. Thomas prowled the manor like a caged animal, looking for openings that never appeared. Margaret and Edward maintained their united front with what she privately called "aggressive politeness"—treating Thomas with impeccable courtesy while systematically denying him opportunities for mischief.
It was exhausting.
On the fourth morning after Thomas's failed Bath accusation, Margaret was arranging correspondence in the morning room when she heard raised voices from the entrance hall.
"—absolutely not welcome here, and if you think I'll simply let you waltz in—"
Thomas's voice, sharp with anger. Margaret moved to the doorway in time to see him blocking someone's entrance. A woman, elegantly dressed, her traveling cloak still damp from the rain outside.
A woman Margaret recognized with a sinking feeling.
Caroline Ashford.
"Thomas, darling, don't be tedious. I've come all this way." Caroline's voice was honey over steel. "Surely Edward won't turn away an old friend?"
"Edward isn't here. And when he returns, he'll tell you the same thing I am. Leave."
Margaret stepped into the hall. "Lady Ashford. What an unexpected surprise."
Caroline's eyes lit with malicious pleasure. "Lady Blackwood! How lovely. I hope you don't mind my dropping by. I was in the area and simply had to visit."
"You were in the area. Of course." Margaret glanced at Thomas, whose expression was oddly protective. "How convenient. Thomas, would you give us a moment?"
"Margaret—" Thomas began.
"Please."
He looked between the two women, clearly torn, then nodded reluctantly. "I'll be in the library if you need me."
After he left, Margaret turned to Caroline. "You have exactly one minute to explain why you're here before I have the footmen escort you back to your carriage."
"So hostile. I simply came to warn you." Caroline pulled off her gloves with deliberate slowness. "Edward's brother has been writing to me. Charming letters, full of gossip about you and Edward. I thought you should know what he's been saying."
Margaret's stomach dropped. "Thomas has been corresponding with you?"
"Oh yes. Quite extensively. He seems to think I might be interested in reclaiming Edward. Keeps suggesting I should visit, cause trouble, remind Edward of what he gave up." Caroline smiled coldly. "But here's the thing, darling. I don't want Edward. Not anymore. He made it quite clear when he ended our friendship that he's pathetically devoted to you. And honestly? It's rather boring. The Edward I knew had edge. Danger. This domestic version isn't interesting."
"Then why are you here?"
"Because Thomas is using me as a weapon against you both. And I may be many things, but I don't appreciate being used." Caroline's expression hardened. "He wrote to tell me about his plans. How he's going to drive you and Edward apart, ensure the marriage fails, somehow use the scandal to contest Edward's right to the estate. It's ridiculous, of course. The law doesn't work that way. But Thomas isn't exactly rational."
Margaret's mind raced. "You're telling me this why? Out of the goodness of your heart?"
"Hardly. I'm telling you because I'm petty and vindictive, and Thomas insulted me in his last letter. Called me a 'washed-up widow desperate for relevance.' I don't take kindly to insults."
"So this is revenge."
"This is setting the record straight." Caroline pulled out a packet of letters from her reticule. "Here. Every letter Thomas sent me. Read them. Show Edward. Let him see exactly what his charming brother has been plotting."
Margaret took the letters warily. "What's in them?"
"Detailed plans for destroying your marriage. Suggestions that I seduce Edward. Proposals that we spread rumors about Edward's financial mismanagement or your supposed infidelities. It's quite thorough, really. Almost impressive in its malice." Caroline's smile was sharp. "Thomas is more dangerous than you've realized. He's not just trying to cause discord. He's trying to destroy Edward's reputation completely. Make him unable to hold the estate. Unfit in the eyes of society."
"Why would he do that?"
"Because he's convinced that if Edward falls far enough, the family trustees will remove him and appoint Thomas as estate manager. It's delusional, but Thomas has always had an inflated sense of his own importance."
Margaret stared at the packet of letters. "Edward needs to see these."
"Obviously. That's why I'm here." Caroline moved toward the door, then paused. "For what it's worth, Lady Blackwood, I'm glad Edward chose you. You're stronger than I gave you credit for. He needs someone who won't let him retreat into himself. Someone who'll fight for him even when he's being insufferable."
"I thought you didn't want him."
"I don't. But I did care about him, in my way. Enough to want him happy, even if it's with someone else." Caroline's expression softened fractionally. "Don't let Thomas win. Whatever he's done, whatever he's planning, don't let him take this from you both. You've worked too hard to build it."
She left before Margaret could formulate a response.
Thomas appeared from the library moments later, his expression wary. "What did she want?"
Margaret held up the letters. "To tell me about your correspondence with her. Your plans to destroy my marriage and ruin Edward's reputation. Shall we discuss it, or would you prefer to start packing?"
Thomas went pale. "She told you—"
"Everything. In detail." Margaret's voice was cold. "Did you really think Caroline would help you? After Edward ended things with her? She's more likely to set you on fire than assist in some pathetic scheme."
"You don't understand. Edward stole everything from me. The estate, the title, the respect—"
"Edward inherited what your father chose to leave him. That's not theft. That's primogeniture. It's unfair, certainly, but it's also law."
"It should have been me. I would have managed better. Been better."
"Would you? Because from where I'm standing, you're a bitter, small man trying to destroy something good because you can't have it yourself." Margaret moved closer. "Here's what's going to happen, Thomas. You're going to leave. Today. Right now. And you're not coming back unless you can behave like actual family instead of an enemy."
"Edward won't—"
"Edward will agree with me. He's been tolerating you for my sake, because I said we should try to reconcile. But I'm done trying. You're not interested in family. You're interested in revenge. And I won't have it in my home."
Thomas's face twisted with anger and something that might have been hurt. "Your home? This is Blackwood Manor. It's been in our family for generations. You're just the merchant's daughter who bought her way in."
"Yes. And my money saved this place when your father's gambling and Edward's debts nearly destroyed it. My money pays for the roof over your head right now. So yes, Thomas. My home. And you're no longer welcome in it."
They stared at each other, years of class resentment and family dysfunction crackling between them.
"Fine." Thomas's voice was tight. "I'll leave. But this isn't over."
"Actually, it is. Because if you try anything else—if you spread rumors or attempt to damage Edward's reputation—I'll destroy you. My father may be a merchant, but he has connections. Influence. The kind that can ruin a half-pay officer with delusions of grandeur." Margaret smiled without warmth. "Don't test me, Thomas. You'll lose."
After Thomas stormed upstairs to pack, Margaret sank onto a hall chair, trembling with adrenaline. She'd just threatened Edward's brother. Thrown him out of his family home. Edward might be furious.
Or he might be relieved.
Edward returned an hour later to find Thomas's luggage being loaded onto a hired carriage and Margaret in the library with a glass of brandy.
"What happened?" he asked, taking in the scene.
Margaret handed him Caroline's letters. "Read these first. Then I'll explain."
She watched his face as he read, seeing shock give way to fury give way to something that looked like weary resignation.
"Thomas was working with Caroline to ruin us."
"Was. Caroline decided she'd rather ruin Thomas instead. Brought me the letters as proof." Margaret took a drink. "I threw him out. Told him he wasn't welcome back unless he could behave like family. If you want to override that decision—"
"No." Edward set down the letters. "God, no. I should have done it days ago."
"He's your brother."
"He's a poison. Always has been." Edward crossed to her, pulling her up into his arms. "Thank you. For protecting us. For being strong enough to do what I should have done."
"I may have threatened to ruin him if he tries anything else."
"Even better. You're terrifying when you're protective. It's extremely attractive."
"I'm serious, Edward. If he spreads rumors—"
"He won't. Thomas is many things, but he's not stupid. He knows your father's reach. He'll slink away and nurse his grievances somewhere else." Edward kissed her forehead. "How do you feel?"
"Shaky. Angry. Oddly triumphant." Margaret looked up at him. "Also slightly guilty. He's your family."
"He's my father's son. That doesn't make him family. You're family. What we're building is family." Edward's hand came up to cup her face. "Thomas has spent his entire life resenting me for things neither of us could control. I'm done feeling guilty about it."
Through the window, they watched Thomas's carriage pull away.
"Nine days early," Margaret observed. "Think we can enjoy the peace, or will something else go wrong?"
"Definitely something else. We're not that lucky." Edward pulled her toward the sofa. "But for now, let's enjoy the victory. We survived Thomas. Together."
They settled on the sofa, Margaret tucked against Edward's side, both watching the fire.
"Caroline said something strange," Margaret said after a while. "She said I was stronger than she gave me credit for. That you needed someone who would fight for you."
"She's not wrong."
"Did you love her? Caroline?"
Edward was quiet for a moment. "I cared about her. She was easy company, undemanding. But love? No. I don't think I understood what love was until recently."
"And now?"
"Now I'm beginning to suspect it has something to do with wanting to murder anyone who threatens your wife. Or being willing to read terrible poetry because she finds it amusing. Or discovering that separate chambers feel wrong because you've gotten used to someone stealing your blankets."
Margaret smiled against his chest. "You steal my blankets."
"I do not."
"You absolutely do. I wake up freezing because you've cocooned yourself."
"That's warmth efficiency. Perfectly reasonable."
"It's blanket theft. Criminal behavior."
"Then arrest me. I plead guilty." Edward's arm tightened around her. "Though I should warn you, I have no intention of reforming."
"I wouldn't want you to. Reformed Edward sounds boring."
"Does he?"
"Absolutely. I prefer you slightly disreputable. Keeps things interesting."
Edward shifted, pulling her more fully into his lap. "Interesting. I can manage interesting."
"Can you?" Margaret looped her arms around his neck. "Prove it."
"Here? Now? In the middle of the day?"
"Why not? Thomas is gone. The servants know better than to interrupt. And I believe you mentioned something about husbandly duties?"
"I did, didn't I?" His hands settled on her waist. "Very important duties. Can't be neglected."
"Absolutely not."
They kissed, slow and thorough, the afternoon stretching before them with unprecedented freedom. No Thomas to interrupt. No schemes to defend against. Just the two of them, learning this new language of intimacy that still felt thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.
"Wait," Margaret pulled back slightly. "We should probably tell the staff that Thomas is gone. Set expectations for—oh."
Edward's hand had slipped beneath her skirts, his fingers tracing patterns on her inner thigh. "For what? I'm listening. Very attentively."
"For... I've forgotten. What were we discussing?"
"Something terribly important, I'm sure." His fingers moved higher. "We should definitely address it. After."
"After what?"
"After I've fulfilled my duties." He kissed her neck. "Very thoroughly. Multiple times, probably. These things take dedication."
Margaret's laugh turned into a gasp as his fingers found their target. "The door isn't locked."
"Good point." Edward stood, lifting her with him. "Upstairs then. Where I can properly attend to your needs without fear of interruption."
"My needs? I thought we were discussing your duties."
"Same thing, really. Your needs, my duties. It's all very official."
Margaret let him carry her toward the stairs, past a scandalized Mrs. Dawson who suddenly became very interested in a vase that needed adjusting.
"We're terrible," Margaret murmured.
"We really are. Shall we work on improving, or embrace our depravity?"
"Definitely embrace it."
"Excellent choice."
In their chambers, with the door firmly locked, they took their time discovering each other with the leisure of people who finally, finally had privacy and peace. Edward was thorough in his attentions, mapping every response, every sound, learning what made Margaret gasp and what made her laugh and what made her forget entirely that they should probably be reviewing estate accounts or planning menus or doing any of the hundred other tasks that constituted responsible adult behavior.
Later, tangled in sheets with the afternoon light slanting through the windows, Margaret traced idle patterns on Edward's chest.
"Thomas was wrong, you know. About this being temporary."
"Was he?"
"This doesn't feel temporary. It feels like something solid. Real. Worth protecting."
Edward caught her hand, pressed a kiss to her palm. "It is worth protecting. Worth fighting for, even when it's difficult."
"Especially when it's difficult." Margaret propped herself up to look at him. "I'm glad Caroline came. Glad we found out about Thomas's schemes before they could do real damage."
"I'm glad you threatened to destroy him. Very impressive. Very terrifying. Did I mention how attractive that was?"
"You may have mentioned it."
"Good. Because I meant it." Edward pulled her back down against him. "My fierce wife, protecting our marriage from all enemies, foreign and domestic."
"That makes me sound like a fortress."
"You are a fortress. A very beautiful, very stubborn fortress." He kissed the top of her head. "Though perhaps less impenetrable than you used to be."
"Is that a complaint?"
"An observation. A favorable one."
Margaret smiled against his chest. "I'm working on it. The being less impenetrable thing."
"I've noticed. I appreciate the effort."
They lay in comfortable silence, the kind that had seemed impossible just weeks ago. Outside, rain had started again, pattering against the windows in a rhythm that was almost hypnotic.
"Edward?"
"Mm?"
"Thank you. For this morning. For not being angry that I threw out your brother without consulting you first."
"Thank you for doing it. I should have done it myself, but I kept hoping he'd change. Stupid, really. People like Thomas don't change."
"Do people like us change?"
Edward considered. "I think we already have. Just slowly. In small increments. And then suddenly all at once."
"That's very philosophical for post-coital conversation."
"I'm a man of depth and mystery."
"You're a man who snores when he sleeps on his back."
"I do not snore."
"You absolutely do. Like a congested bear."
"Take it back."
"Never. It's adorable."
Edward rolled her beneath him, his expression mockingly stern. "Take. It. Back."
"Or what?"
"Or I'll be forced to take drastic action."
"Such as?"
"Such as this." His fingers found her ribs, tickling mercilessly.
Margaret shrieked with laughter, trying to escape. "That's not fair! That's cheating!"
"All's fair in love and war."
"This is war?"
"This is love." The words came out easily, naturally. Edward froze, seeming to realize what he'd said.
Margaret stopped struggling, looking up at him with something that might have been wonder or terror or both. "Did you just—"
"Say I love you? Accidentally, yes. In the middle of tickling you, which is possibly the least romantic context imaginable." Edward smiled wryly. "Though given how our relationship has gone, it's somehow appropriate."
"Edward—"
"You don't have to say it back. I know you're not ready. I just wanted you to know. In case there was any doubt." He brushed hair from her face. "I love you, Margaret. Your sharp tongue and your stubborn pride and the way you reorganize things without asking. Your courage and your fears and everything in between. I love you."
Margaret's throat tightened. She wanted to say it back. Wanted to give him those words. But they stuck, tangled in three years of self-protection and lingering fear.
"I'm trying," she whispered instead. "To be brave enough to say it."
"I know. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere."
They kissed, soft and sweet, and Margaret thought that maybe this was love too. This patience. This understanding. This willingness to let her arrive at her own pace instead of demanding grand declarations.
Maybe love wasn't just words.
Maybe it was this.