Three days after the gathering, life at Blackwood Manor settled into something resembling normalcy. The staff cleaned and restored order. The gardens returned to their usual maintenance schedule. And Margaret and Edward found themselves in the strange position of being... content.
"It's unsettling," Margaret announced over breakfast.
Edward looked up from his correspondence. "What is?"
"This. Us. Being happy without waiting for disaster." She gestured vaguely with her toast. "I keep expecting something terrible to happen. Thomas to return with a lawsuit. Caroline to reveal she was secretly plotting against us. The house to catch fire."
"Those are remarkably specific anxieties."
"I'm thorough in my catastrophizing."
"You're determined to be miserable even when you're happy." Edward set down his letters. "Perhaps we should discuss this tendency of yours."
"There's no tendency. I'm simply being realistic."
"You're being paranoid. There's a difference." He came around the table, pulling her up from her chair. "Come with me. I want to show you something."
"Edward, I'm eating—"
"You're catastrophizing. It can wait."
He led her through the house to his study, where he'd been spending increasing amounts of time lately. The desk was covered with papers, ledgers, architectural drawings.
"What is all this?" Margaret asked.
"Plans. For the estate, for the tenant cottages, for new agricultural methods we discussed with your father." Edward spread out the drawings. "Look here—these are the renovations to the south wing. We can convert it to proper guest quarters. And these are the designs for the new cottages. Better heating, better layout, more space."
Margaret studied the drawings, impressed by the detail. "When did you do all this?"
"Late at night, mostly. While you were sleeping. Or catastrophizing. Sometimes both simultaneously." He pointed to another document. "And this is the partnership agreement with your father. Formal terms, profit sharing, everything properly documented. We're not just in-laws anymore. We're actual business partners."
"I know that. I was there when Papa made the announcement."
"Yes, but look at the terms. He's not just investing in the estate. He's giving me—giving us—equal partnership in several of his railway ventures. That's not charity, Margaret. That's genuine respect."
Margaret read through the documents, her throat tightening. The terms were extraordinarily generous. More than generous—they were the kind of partnership offered to equals, to people whose judgment you trusted completely.
"He believes in you," she said quietly.
"He believes in us. In what we can build together." Edward took her hands. "That's what I wanted to show you. Evidence that what we have isn't fragile. It's not going to collapse at the first challenge. We've built something solid, with foundations that can support weight."
"Mixing architectural metaphors now?"
"I'm being sincere. Try to keep up." But he was smiling. "The point is, you can stop waiting for disaster. We've already survived the disasters. The worst is behind us."
"You don't know that."
"I know that we survived three years of genuine hatred. We survived Thomas's sabotage, Caroline's interference, a fraud investigation, and public humiliation. We've faced actual knife-wielding criminals, Margaret. What could possibly be worse than what we've already endured?"
She wanted to argue. Wanted to catalog the thousand potential disasters that could still strike. But looking at Edward's face, at the evidence of his planning spread across the desk, at the solid proof of their partnership in legal documents and architectural drawings, she found her anxiety loosening.
"You're right," she admitted. "I'm being ridiculous."
"Not ridiculous. Cautious. Protecting yourself." Edward pulled her closer. "But you don't need to protect yourself from this anymore. From us. We're safe now."
"Safe feels dangerous."
"I know. But try it anyway. Try believing this is real and it's going to last."
Margaret leaned into him, letting herself feel the solidity of his embrace. The steadiness of his heartbeat. The warmth of his certainty.
"I'll try," she said. "Though I reserve the right to panic occasionally."
"Occasionally is acceptable. Daily is excessive."
"I'll work on it."
They stood in the study, surrounded by plans for their future, and Margaret allowed herself to feel something she'd avoided for years: hope without qualification. Hope without the constant mental preparation for disappointment.
A knock at the door interrupted them. Mrs. Dawson appeared, looking apologetic. "My lord, my lady, there's a messenger from London. He says it's urgent."
Edward and Margaret exchanged glances. "Show him in."
The messenger was young, windblown from hard riding. He handed Edward a sealed letter. "From Mr. William Thornton, my lord. He said I was to deliver it personally and wait for a response."
Edward broke the seal, scanning quickly. His expression shifted from concern to surprise to something like joy.
"What is it?" Margaret asked.
"Read it yourself." He handed her the letter.
Edward and Margaret,
I write with news that may interest you. Thomas Blackwood has been arrested in London on charges of public drunkenness, disturbing the peace, and attempting to assault a police constable. He's currently being held pending trial.
I mention this not to gloat, but to inform you that his arrest has effectively ended any credibility he might have had. The rumors he was spreading are now viewed as the ravings of an unbalanced man. Your names have been cleared not through our efforts, but through his own self-destruction.
More importantly, I've received inquiries from three separate business associates wanting to invest in ventures with you both. Your handling of the fraud investigation has impressed people who matter. They see you as intelligent, capable, and trustworthy—exactly the qualities needed in this modern age.
Opportunities are opening for you. Don't let them pass unused.
Your proud father and father-in-law,
William Thornton
Margaret read it twice, then handed it back to Edward. "Thomas is in jail."
"Apparently."
"I should feel something about that. Satisfaction? Vindication?"
"Should you?"
"I mostly just feel tired." Margaret sank into a chair. "He brought this on himself. We didn't need to destroy him—he destroyed himself."
"That's generally how self-destruction works." Edward dismissed the messenger with instructions to tell William they'd respond formally tomorrow, then turned back to Margaret. "How do you actually feel about this?"
"Relieved, mostly. He can't hurt us anymore. Whatever power he had is gone." She looked up at Edward. "Does that make me a terrible person? Being relieved your brother is in jail?"
"It makes you human. And honest." Edward crouched beside her chair. "Thomas made his choices. We made ours. The consequences followed accordingly."
"Your father would be ashamed. Of both of us, probably. But especially of Thomas."
"My father created this situation by favoring Thomas when we were children, then leaving everything to me as the proper heir. He poisoned Thomas with expectations he couldn't fulfill." Edward's voice was surprisingly gentle. "I'm sad for what Thomas could have been. But I'm not responsible for what he chose to become."
Margaret touched his face. "You're wiser than you pretend to be."
"Don't tell anyone. It would ruin my reputation."
"Your reputation as what?"
"A reformed rake who married for money and somehow stumbled into actual happiness. It's very romantic. People love that story."
"People are idiots."
"People are romantics." He kissed her palm. "Though in this case, the romance happens to be true. I did stumble into happiness. With you."
"That's remarkably sentimental."
"I'm feeling sentimental. Thomas's downfall has made me contemplative about life choices and consequences and—"
"And you're catastrophizing about happiness just like I was earlier."
Edward laughed. "Perhaps. Though I prefer to think of it as philosophical reflection."
"Call it whatever you want. You're still being ridiculous." Margaret stood, pulling him up with her. "Come on. We have work to do. Those estate plans won't implement themselves."
"Work? I thought we'd celebrate Thomas's downfall with expensive wine and inappropriate midday activities."
"We can do both. I'm excellent at multitasking."
"Are you?"
"I managed a household and avoided you for three years simultaneously. I'm remarkably skilled."
"You're remarkably impossible."
"You love it."
"I really do."
They spent the afternoon working through the estate plans together, Margaret offering suggestions that Edward incorporated immediately. Equal partners in truth, not just in name.
That evening, they received another letter—this one from Caroline.
Edward and Margaret,
I've heard about Thomas's arrest. How perfectly fitting that he should destroy himself so thoroughly. You must be relieved.
I write primarily to inform you that I'm leaving England for a time. I've accepted an invitation to stay with friends in Italy. Perhaps a year abroad will help me determine what I want from life beyond being a cautionary tale in London drawing rooms.
Thank you both for showing me that change is possible. That people can choose differently, build differently, be different than circumstances would suggest. You've inspired me to try.
Your friend (I hope I can claim that title now),
Caroline
"Italy," Edward said, reading over Margaret's shoulder. "Good for her."
"Do you think she'll find what she's looking for?"
"I think she'll find something. Whether it's what she's looking for remains to be seen." He wrapped his arms around Margaret from behind. "But she's trying. That's what matters."
Margaret leaned back against him. "Everyone's changing. Caroline, Thomas—albeit not in a positive direction—even Papa, adjusting his view of aristocracy and trade."
"Change is the only constant."
"That's terribly philosophical for someone who was threatened with knife-wielding criminals two weeks ago."
"Near-death experiences are clarifying."
"You weren't near death. You were near minor injury at most."
"I'm embellishing for dramatic effect. Our children will want good stories."
Margaret went very still. "Our children?"
Edward tensed, clearly realizing what he'd said. "Hypothetical children. Potential future children. If we decided to have them. Which we haven't discussed. And I'm now going to stop talking before I make this more awkward."
"Edward."
"Yes?"
"I want them too. Children. Not immediately—I'm not ready yet. But someday." She turned in his arms to face him. "I want to build that with you."
His expression softened with something like wonder. "You do?"
"I do. I want messy, complicated, stubborn little people who inherit your intelligence and my organizational skills and neither of our past bitterness."
"That's remarkably specific."
"I'm thorough in my future planning."
"You're thorough in everything." Edward kissed her softly. "Someday, then. When we're ready."
"When we're ready," Margaret agreed.
They stood in the library as darkness fell outside, holding each other, planning futures that weeks ago had seemed impossible.
Thomas was neutralized. Caroline was finding her own path. William Thornton had offered genuine partnership. And Margaret and Edward had built something from the wreckage of obligation and resentment.
"We're going to be fine," Margaret said, and for the first time, she believed it completely.
"Better than fine. We're going to be extraordinary."
"That's ambitious."
"I'm an ambitious person. You knew this when you married me."
"I knew nothing when I married you. I was terrified and angry and convinced I'd made a terrible mistake."
"And now?"
"Now I know it was the best mistake I ever made."
Edward's laugh was warm and genuine. "The best mistake. I'll take it."
"You'd better. It's all you're getting."
"It's more than enough."
And standing there in their library, in their home, in the life they'd chosen and built and defended together, Margaret finally let herself believe it.
They were going to be happy.