Blackwood Manor appeared through the rain like a painting, all gray stone and mullioned windows, the grounds stretching green and orderly toward the horizon. Margaret pressed her face to the carriage window, surprised by the rush of affection she felt.
When had this become home? Not just the house where she lived, but actual home—the place she wanted to return to?
"Eager to be back?" Edward asked, watching her.
"More than I expected. London was exciting, but—"
"But it's not ours. This is ours."
"Yes. Exactly that."
The staff had prepared for their return. Mrs. Dawson met them at the door, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes knowing.
"Welcome home, my lord, my lady. I trust London was productive?"
"Extremely," Edward said. "Though we're glad to be back. Has anything requiring immediate attention occurred?"
"The usual matters, my lord. The harvest proceeds apace. Mr. Henderson reports the new cottages are nearly complete. And—" Mrs. Dawson hesitated. "—there have been several letters. From Lady Ashford."
Margaret and Edward exchanged glances.
"How many is several?" Margaret asked.
"Six. Over the past week. Each more insistent than the last." Mrs. Dawson produced the stack of letters. "She demands to speak with you both. Claims to have information of vital importance."
Edward took the letters without opening them. "Did she indicate what information?"
"Only that it concerns your recent activities in London. The arrests have been reported in the newspapers, my lord. Your name was mentioned."
Of course it was. Margaret should have anticipated that. A viscount involved in exposing fraud—the scandal sheets would have feasted on it.
"What exactly do the papers say?" Edward asked.
Mrs. Dawson's expression suggested the answer wasn't pleasant. "That you heroically uncovered a criminal conspiracy. That Lady Blackwood assisted in the investigation. That you both showed remarkable courage and intelligence." She paused. "They also speculate extensively about your marriage. About whether recent events indicate a reconciliation between spouses previously known to be... estranged."
"Let them speculate," Margaret said firmly. "Our marriage is no one's business but ours."
"Of course, my lady. Though you should know that several callers have come by, hoping to discuss the matter. Lady Pemberton. Mrs. Hartley. The vicar's wife."
"All of whom I'll happily receive next week. After we've recovered from travel." Margaret turned to Edward. "What do you want to do about Caroline's letters?"
"Read them, I suppose. See what she wants." Edward broke the seal on the most recent one, scanning quickly. His expression darkened. "She knows about Thomas."
"What about Thomas?"
"That he was corresponding with her. That he came here to sabotage us. She claims he's been spreading rumors in London. About our marriage being a sham. About me being an incompetent steward living off your father's money. She says it's becoming a problem."
Margaret took the letter, reading it herself. Caroline's handwriting was elegant, her words carefully chosen:
Lord Blackwood,
I write to warn you that your brother has become increasingly unhinged since his departure from Blackwood Manor. He frequents his club nightly, drinking to excess and speaking ill of you to anyone who will listen. His accusations range from the ridiculous—that you physically assaulted him and forced him from his family home—to the damaging—that your recent business in London was actually a desperate attempt to recoup gambling losses through fraud.
I have attempted to counter these rumors where possible, but Thomas is persistent and, I fear, genuinely unstable. He has threatened legal action to contest your inheritance, claiming mental incompetence on your part. It's nonsense, of course, but the gossip is spreading.
I strongly suggest you return to London and address this directly. Silence will only allow the rumors to take root.
Yours in reluctant alliance,
Caroline Ashford
"She's right," Margaret said quietly. "If Thomas is spreading lies, we need to counter them. Silence looks like guilt."
"Or we could simply ignore him. Let his drunken ravings speak for themselves." Edward tossed the letter aside. "I'm done with Thomas. Done giving him power over our lives."
"I understand that. But ignoring him won't make this go away. He's trying to destroy your reputation."
"Let him try. Anyone who knows me knows those claims are absurd."
"Anyone who knows you personally, yes. But what about potential business partners? Your father's old associates? People who might hear these rumors and decide the Blackwood name is too tainted for investment?" Margaret moved closer. "We just established a partnership with Papa. We can't afford to have your reputation questioned now."
Edward was silent, jaw tight with frustration. "I hate that he still has this power. That even expelled from our home, he can cause damage."
"Then we remove that power. Decisively. Publicly."
"How?"
Margaret thought rapidly. "We host a gathering. Here. Invite everyone of consequence from London and the county. Show them our marriage is strong, our estate is thriving, that the rumors are baseless. Force Thomas to either put up evidence or shut up."
"That's remarkably aggressive."
"That's remarkably necessary. If we're going to build a life together, Edward, we can't have your brother poisoning it from afar. We cut him off at the knees now, or we deal with this forever."
Edward studied her face. "You're certain? A gathering means performing again. Pretending for society."
"We won't be pretending. We'll be showing them the truth—that we're partners." Margaret took his hand. "Besides, I'm tired of hiding. Tired of letting other people define our marriage. Let's define it ourselves."
A slow smile spread across Edward's face. "A gathering. A statement of intent. I like it."
"Good. Because I'm not asking permission. I'm informing you of my plans."
"How very autocratic of you."
"I learned from the best. You're quite autocratic when you want to be."
"I prefer 'decisively authoritative.'"
"You would."
They spent the evening planning. A gathering in three weeks—enough time to prepare but soon enough to counter Thomas's rumors before they solidified. They'd invite everyone: London society, local families, business associates of William Thornton. Make it impossible to ignore.
"This is going to be exhausting," Edward observed, reviewing the guest list.
"Completely. But worth it." Margaret added another name. "We should invite Caroline. Show there's no animosity there."
"Are you certain? After everything she's done?"
"She warned us about Thomas. Helped stop the fraud by bringing those letters. And frankly, having her here supporting us will do more to counter rumors than anything we could say ourselves."
Edward looked impressed. "You're thinking strategically."
"I'm thinking practically. Caroline's opinion carries weight in London society. If she endorses our marriage publicly, Thomas's claims lose credibility."
"Brilliant. Slightly manipulative, but brilliant."
"I learned from you."
"I'm a terrible influence."
"The worst. I approve entirely."
Over the next week, preparations consumed the household. Mrs. Dawson coordinated staff. Cook planned menus that would feed a hundred people. The groundskeepers manicured every inch of the estate. And Margaret wrote invitations in her careful script, each one a small declaration of war against Thomas's gossip.
Lord and Lady Blackwood request the pleasure of your company at Blackwood Manor for an autumn celebration. Join us in commemorating new partnerships, lasting friendships, and the strength of family bonds.
"That last part is pointed," Edward observed, reading over her shoulder.
"It's supposed to be. Anyone with sense will understand we're making a statement."
"What if Thomas shows up?"
"He won't. He knows he's not welcome. And if he does—" Margaret set down her pen "—we'll handle it. Together."
The invitations went out, and responses flooded back. Nearly everyone accepted. Some out of genuine affection, others out of curiosity about the scandalous Blackwoods who'd exposed fraud and apparently reconciled their disastrous marriage.
Margaret didn't care about their motivations. She only cared about attendance.
Ten days before the gathering, another letter arrived. Not from Caroline this time, but from William Thornton.
My dear Margaret and Edward,
I've heard rumors circulating in London regarding your marriage and Edward's character. I want you to know that I've taken steps to counter this gossip wherever I encounter it. I've also made it known that anyone spreading such rumors will find themselves unwelcome in my business ventures.
Your father-in-law's support carries considerable weight in the City. If Thomas continues his campaign, he'll find himself increasingly isolated from respectable society.
I look forward to your gathering. Eleanor and I will attend and make our support abundantly clear.
Your devoted father,
William
Margaret read it twice, her throat tight. "Papa's defending us."
"Of course he is. You saved him from ruin. And more than that—" Edward touched her shoulder gently "—he genuinely cares about us now. About our marriage succeeding."
"I never thought he would. When we first married, he saw you as a means to an end. A title for his daughter."
"And now he sees me as his partner. His son-in-law. Possibly even his friend." Edward's voice held wonder. "Strange how things change."
"Not strange. Earned." Margaret leaned back against him. "We've worked for this. All of it."
"We have. Though I still can't quite believe it's real sometimes. That you're real. That we're here, planning a gathering to celebrate a marriage I was convinced would be miserable forever."
"It was miserable. For quite a while."
"It was. But this—" he gestured around them, encompassing the manor, their life, the future they were building "—this is worth every miserable moment that came before."
Margaret turned in his arms. "Even the part where I told the Duchess of Pembroke you snored?"
"You didn't."
"I absolutely did. She asked if married life was agreeable, and I said it would be more agreeable if you didn't snore like a congested bear."
Edward's expression was somewhere between horror and amusement. "When was this?"
"Two years ago. At her garden party. She laughed for five minutes."
"I'm mortified."
"You're not. You're secretly pleased I was talking about you to duchesses."
"I'm secretly pleased you were thinking about me at all. Even if it was to complain about snoring I maintain I don't do."
"You absolutely do."
"I categorically deny it."
"Deny all you want. I have years of evidence."
They were still bickering cheerfully when Mrs. Dawson interrupted with news that the caterers had arrived and required consultation. Margaret went to deal with them, leaving Edward to handle correspondence.
Alone in the study, Edward read through business letters, estate reports, and one final message from Caroline:
Edward,
I accept your invitation with pleasure. I look forward to witnessing your happiness firsthand. And perhaps apologizing properly for my part in complicating your life.
Thomas continues his campaign, but with less success. Your father-in-law's intervention has been decisive. Still, be prepared for unpleasantness. Thomas is not the type to accept defeat gracefully.
C.
Edward folded the letter thoughtfully. Caroline had changed. Or perhaps she'd simply chosen a different role—ally instead of complication. Either way, her support would be valuable.
Through the window, he could see Margaret walking the grounds with the head gardener, gesturing animatedly about flower arrangements. She'd thrown herself into planning this gathering with the same intensity she brought to everything—fierce, intelligent, determined to succeed.
She was magnificent. He'd thought so the first time he met her and been too angry to admit it. Too busy resenting her father's money and what it represented.
What a fool he'd been.
"My lord?" His secretary appeared in the doorway. "The final guest list is ready for your approval."
Edward reviewed it quickly. Over a hundred names. Representatives from every sphere of their life—London society, county families, business associates, tenant representatives from the estate.
"Perfect. Send confirmation to everyone who's accepted."
After the secretary left, Edward returned to the window. Margaret had finished with the gardener and was now heading toward the house, her skirts muddy from walking the grounds. She saw him watching and waved, smiling.
He waved back, something warm settling in his chest.
Three weeks until the gathering. Three weeks to prepare their public defense against Thomas's poison.
But more than that, three weeks to celebrate what they'd built. The partnership, the love, the life they'd created from the wreckage of a disastrous arranged marriage.
Let Thomas spread his rumors. Let society gossip and speculate. Let them all come to Blackwood Manor and see the truth.
Edward and Margaret Blackwood were not a scandal.
They were a triumph.
And in three weeks, they'd prove it.