Two days before the gathering, Caroline Ashford arrived unannounced.
Margaret was reviewing seating arrangements when Mrs. Dawson appeared, looking flustered. "My lady, Lady Ashford is here. She says she's come early to help with preparations, but her coach has broken down and—"
"Show her in. And arrange rooms for her. She'll stay with us." Margaret ignored Edward's raised eyebrows. "Better to have her here where we can manage her than at an inn spreading commentary about our hospitality."
Caroline swept in minutes later, looking windblown and irritated. "Your country roads are absolutely dreadful. My axle snapped a mile from here. I've sent my driver to the village for repairs, but I'm told it will take at least two days."
"Then you'll stay here," Margaret said. "We have plenty of rooms."
"How gracious. I promise to be the perfect houseguest." Caroline's expression was wry. "Though I suspect you'd prefer me anywhere else."
"Actually, your timing is convenient. We need someone with London connections to help navigate the social dynamics of this gathering." Margaret gestured to the seating chart. "Where would you place the Duke of Richmont? Near the head table for honor, or further back to avoid making the less-titled guests uncomfortable?"
Caroline blinked, clearly surprised by the direct appeal for help. She studied the chart. "Neither. Put him in the middle, next to Mrs. Hartley. She's witty enough to keep him entertained, and middle placement shows you're not overly impressed by titles. It makes a statement."
"What statement?"
"That you value substance over rank. Which, given your background and recent activities, is exactly the message you want to send." Caroline pointed to another name. "And move Lord Pembrook away from the business section. He's a terrible snob about trade. Put him with the younger set who won't care about his opinions."
Margaret made the changes, impressed despite herself. "You're good at this."
"I've been managing social disasters for years. This is relatively straightforward." Caroline accepted the tea Mrs. Dawson brought. "Though I should warn you—Thomas has been increasingly volatile. He's telling anyone who'll listen that you stole his inheritance and that Edward is mentally unfit to manage the estate."
"We expected that."
"Did you expect him to challenge Edward to a duel?"
Edward, who'd been reviewing correspondence, looked up sharply. "He did what?"
"Sent a letter to your club. Challenged you to meet him with pistols at dawn. Completely absurd and illegal, of course. The club refused to deliver it. But the fact that he tried shows how unhinged he's become."
Margaret's stomach dropped. "A duel. He actually challenged Edward to a duel over inheritance disputes?"
"Over honor, technically. He claims Edward slandered him by implying he was attempting fraud. That his reputation has been irreparably damaged." Caroline sipped her tea. "It's nonsense. Everyone knows Thomas is desperate and drunk. But it does indicate he might attempt something dramatic."
"Will he come to the gathering?" Edward asked.
"I think he might. Not to be social, but to cause a scene. To force a public confrontation where you can't simply ignore him."
Margaret and Edward exchanged looks. They'd prepared for subtle sabotage, whispered rumors. Not public confrontation.
"Then we prepare for that possibility," Margaret said firmly. "What's the worst he can do? Accuse us publicly of the things he's been saying privately?"
"He could become violent. Especially if he's been drinking."
"Then we ensure he's removed before he can cause damage." Edward's jaw was tight. "I'll speak with Henderson. Have some of the estate men positioned discreetly. If Thomas appears and causes trouble, they'll escort him out."
"You're taking this remarkably calmly," Caroline observed.
"Because panic won't help. Thomas wants us to be afraid, to cancel the gathering, to hide. We're not going to give him that satisfaction." Edward moved to stand beside Margaret, a united front. "We're going to proceed exactly as planned. And if he shows up, we'll handle it."
Caroline studied them both, something like approval in her expression. "You've changed. Both of you. When I first met you, Edward, you were bitter and angry. And Margaret, you were..." she paused delicately.
"Cold and defensive?" Margaret supplied.
"I was going to say guarded. But yes, cold works too." Caroline set down her teacup. "Now you're neither of those things. You're... formidable. Together. It's quite impressive."
"Thank you," Margaret said, surprised by the sincerity in Caroline's tone.
"Don't thank me. I'm not being entirely altruistic. If you succeed in shutting down Thomas's campaign, it benefits me too. His rumors have included me—suggested I was Edward's mistress, that I encouraged his neglect of his marriage. I'd like those rumors stopped."
"Then we have common cause." Margaret returned to her seating chart. "In that case, I'm putting you at the head table. Next to my father. Your presence there sends a clear message."
"That you're confident enough in your marriage not to be threatened by your husband's former friend?"
"Exactly that. And it gives Thomas no ammunition if he tries to claim we're hiding something."
Caroline smiled slowly. "You're far more cunning than I gave you credit for."
"I'm a railway magnate's daughter. Cunning is genetic."
The next two days passed in a blur of final preparations. Caroline, true to her word, was invaluable. She helped Margaret navigate the complex social hierarchies, suggested conversation topics that would neutralize potential gossip, and generally made herself indispensable.
"She's not what I expected," Margaret admitted to Edward the night before the gathering.
"No?"
"I expected her to be... I don't know. More vindictive. More interested in causing trouble."
"Caroline's many things, but she's not stupid. She's recognized that aligning with us is more valuable than opposing us." Edward was attempting to tie his cravat and failing. "Also, I think she genuinely wants to move on. Find a different role than 'the widow everyone gossips about.'"
"Help me with this," Margaret said, taking over the cravat. "You're making a mess of it."
"I'm nervous."
"You're not nervous. You're Edward Blackwood. You don't get nervous."
"I'm nervous about tomorrow. About whether this works. About Thomas potentially showing up and ruining everything we've built."
Margaret finished the cravat, smoothing it down. "If he shows up, we handle it. Together. We've handled worse."
"Have we?"
"We've handled three years of mutual hatred. Fraud investigations. Knife-wielding criminals. Family sabotage. Thomas is just one more obstacle."
"When you put it that way, it does seem manageable." Edward caught her hands. "I'm glad you're here. Glad we're doing this together."
"Where else would I be?"
"I don't know. But three months ago, you might have chosen elsewhere. Let me handle this alone."
"Three months ago, I was an idiot." Margaret kissed him softly. "I'm trying to be less of an idiot now."
"You were never an idiot. Guarded, yes. Protecting yourself. Understandably so."
"And now?"
"Now you're brave. The bravest person I know." He pulled her closer. "Tomorrow we're going to show everyone what we've built. And it's going to be magnificent."
"Or a disaster."
"Magnificently disastrous. Either way, memorable."
Margaret laughed despite her nerves. "Come to bed. We need rest if we're going to be magnificent tomorrow."
"Or disastrous."
"That too."
They climbed into bed, and Edward pulled Margaret against him, her back to his chest, his arm secure around her waist. Their usual sleeping position, comfortable and familiar.
"Margaret?"
"Mm?"
"Whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to know—I'm proud of us. Of what we've become."
"I'm proud of us too."
"Good. Remember that tomorrow when we're surrounded by gossips and social climbers and possibly my deranged brother."
"I'll remember."
But as Margaret drifted toward sleep, she couldn't quite shake her anxiety. They'd worked so hard to build this—their marriage, their partnership, their life. And tomorrow they were inviting everyone to examine it, judge it, potentially tear it apart.
What if it wasn't enough? What if the gossip was too entrenched, Thomas's poison too effective?
What if they'd rebuilt everything only to watch it crumble under public scrutiny?
"Stop thinking," Edward murmured against her hair. "I can feel you worrying."
"How do you know I'm worrying?"
"Because you do this thing where you breathe differently when you're anxious. Faster, shallower."
"I don't do that."
"You absolutely do. I've been observing you for months. I know all your tells now."
Despite herself, Margaret smiled. "That's slightly unsettling."
"That's being married to someone who actually pays attention." His arm tightened. "We're going to be fine. Better than fine. Trust me."
"I do trust you."
"Then trust this. Tomorrow will be hard, but we'll survive it. We always do."
Margaret took a deep breath, letting Edward's certainty settle over her like a blanket. He was right. They'd survived worse. Together, they could survive anything.
Even a gathering of a hundred people, all waiting to see if the Blackwood marriage was real or just another aristocratic performance.