Six months later, spring arrived at Blackwood Manor with characteristic English enthusiasm—rain followed by sunshine followed by more rain, everything blooming in defiant spite of the weather.
Margaret stood in the newly renovated south wing, reviewing the guest quarters that were nearly complete. The space had been transformed from dusty, unused rooms into something warm and welcoming. Perfect for the visitors they'd been receiving with increasing frequency—business associates of her father's, county families, even occasional London society making the journey to see the estate everyone was talking about.
The estate that had been saved by a merchant's daughter and her erstwhile unwilling husband.
The estate that was now thriving.
"You're smiling at the wallpaper," Edward observed, appearing in the doorway. "Should I be concerned?"
"I'm smiling at what the wallpaper represents."
"It's very nice wallpaper. Though I think the builder deserves more credit than the decorative choices."
"The builder who you supervised personally to ensure every detail was correct?"
"I may have been involved." Edward crossed to her, pulling her against him in the easy, casual way that had become natural over the past months. "Though you chose the colors. And the furniture. And reorganized my plans three times to improve efficiency."
"Someone had to. Your original layout was terrible."
"My original layout was functional."
"Functional and optimal are different things."
"Yes, darling. I'm aware. You've explained this extensively." But he was smiling. "Are you pleased with how it's turned out?"
Margaret looked around the rooms that would house their guests, their friends, their future. "I'm pleased with everything. The guest quarters, the new cottages, the partnership with Papa. All of it."
"All of it?"
"Well, perhaps not your continued insistence on reading terrible gothic novels aloud with dramatic voices."
"Those dramatic voices are art."
"Those dramatic voices are embarrassing."
"You love them."
"I tolerate them with good humor."
Edward kissed her temple. "Liar. You laughed so hard last week you nearly fell off the sofa."
"That was one time. And the villain's voice you did was objectively ridiculous."
"The villain's voice was menacing."
"The villain's voice sounded like you had indigestion."
They bickered companionably as they walked through the finished rooms, Margaret making mental notes of final touches needed, Edward pointing out architectural features he was particularly proud of.
"We're having dinner with the Hendersons tonight," she reminded him. "Don't forget."
"How could I forget? You've reminded me daily for a week."
"Because you forget things when you're absorbed in estate business."
"I forget nothing. I'm remarkably organized."
"You lost your favorite cufflinks three times last month."
"That's different. Cufflinks are deliberately evasive. They hide out of spite."
Margaret laughed. "Of course. The cufflinks are the problem."
They'd made a practice of dining regularly with tenant families—something unusual for an aristocratic household, but exactly the kind of thing that characterized their approach to the estate. Partnership, not hierarchy. At least, not rigid hierarchy.
The Hendersons had become particularly close. Young Michael, his hands fully healed from the fire, had developed hero worship of Edward that was both amusing and touching. And John Henderson had proven invaluable in implementing the new agricultural methods they'd been testing.
"I have something to tell you," Edward said as they walked back toward the main house. "I received a letter this morning. From Thomas."
Margaret stopped walking. "Thomas? From jail?"
"He's been released, actually. Six months was his sentence, and he served it. He's out now." Edward pulled the letter from his pocket. "He asked if he could visit. Not to stay—he's very clear about that. Just to apologize. Properly. In person."
"What did you say?"
"I haven't responded yet. I wanted to discuss it with you first."
Margaret considered. Six months ago, she would have said absolutely not. Thomas had tried to destroy them, to poison their marriage, to ruin Edward's reputation. But six months had changed many things.
"What do you want to do?" she asked.
"I don't know. Part of me wants to refuse. To maintain the boundary we established. But another part..." Edward trailed off, looking troubled. "He's still my brother. Half-brother. And his letter sounded genuine. Not the angry, bitter Thomas. Just someone who's had time to reflect and regret."
"Then invite him. For a day visit. Give him a chance to apologize." Margaret took Edward's hand. "We can afford to be generous now. We're secure enough that Thomas can't hurt us anymore."
"You're certain?"
"I'm certain that forgiveness isn't weakness. And that you'll regret it if you don't at least hear what he has to say."
Edward pulled her close. "When did you become so wise?"
"I've always been wise. You were just too stubborn to notice."
"Accurate."
They agreed on a date for Thomas's visit—three weeks away, enough time to prepare emotionally but not so long that anyone could build it into more than it was: a conversation, possibly an apology, nothing more.
The weeks passed quickly. The south wing was completed. The new agricultural methods yielded promising early results. And Margaret confirmed what she'd suspected for two weeks: she was pregnant.
She told Edward in the library, their usual evening refuge. He'd been reading aloud—a less terrible novel this time, though still with unnecessary dramatic flair—when she interrupted him.
"Edward, stop reading for a moment."
"But I was just getting to the good part. The heroine has discovered the secret passage and—"
"I'm pregnant."
He stopped mid-sentence, the book falling forgotten to his lap. "What?"
"Pregnant. With child. Expecting. However you prefer to phrase it."
Edward stared at her, his expression cycling through shock, joy, terror, and back to joy. "Are you certain?"
"I've missed two monthly courses. I've been nauseous in the mornings. The doctor confirmed it yesterday." Margaret watched his face carefully. "Are you pleased?"
"Pleased?" Edward set the book aside and crossed to her, pulling her up from her chair and into his arms. "I'm terrified and elated and completely unprepared and absolutely delighted. Yes, I'm pleased."
"Good. Because I wasn't giving you much choice in the matter."
"When did this happen? I mean, I know how it happened, but when—"
"Approximately two months ago, best the doctor can tell. Which means we're looking at late October for the birth."
"October." Edward's hand moved to her stomach, still flat, showing no signs of change. "There's a person in there."
"Technically just the beginning of a person. But yes."
"Our person."
"Our person," Margaret agreed. "Stubborn and complicated and entirely ours."
Edward kissed her then, soft and reverent and filled with something that might have been awe. "I love you. Have I mentioned that recently?"
"Not in the past hour. I was beginning to worry."
"I love you. Endlessly. Completely. More than I have adequate words to express."
"That's remarkably sentimental for someone who claims to be practical."
"I'm allowed to be sentimental about my wife carrying my child."
"I suppose I'll permit it. Just this once."
They stood holding each other in the library, both processing the reality of this new beginning. Another change, another choice, another piece of the future they were building together.
"Does this mean you'll stop reorganizing my study?" Edward asked eventually.
"Absolutely not. If anything, I'll need to reorganize more efficiently now. Babies require planning."
"Somehow I knew you'd say that."
"I'm predictable in my practicality."
"You're extraordinary in everything."
Margaret pulled back to look at him. "We're going to be parents."
"We are."
"That's terrifying."
"Completely terrifying. We'll probably make terrible mistakes."
"Definitely. Multiple mistakes. Daily mistakes, probably."
"But we'll make them together."
"Together," Margaret echoed. "I'm rather committed to that word now."
"As am I."
Thomas's visit, when it came, was less dramatic than Margaret had braced herself for. He arrived precisely on time, soberer than she'd ever seen him, and profoundly uncomfortable.
"Thank you for seeing me," he said in the entrance hall, not quite meeting Edward's eyes. "I know I don't deserve—that is, I appreciate the opportunity."
"Come to the study," Edward said. "We'll talk there."
In the privacy of the study, Thomas seemed to deflate. The bravado and anger that had characterized him were gone, replaced by something that looked like genuine remorse.
"I need to apologize. For everything. The sabotage, the rumors, the confrontation at your gathering. All of it." Thomas finally looked at Edward directly. "I was consumed by jealousy and resentment. Convinced that you'd stolen something that should have been mine. But the truth is, Father never intended the estate for me. I built that expectation in my own mind and then blamed you when reality didn't match."
"Thomas—"
"Let me finish. Please." Thomas took a breath. "Jail was clarifying. Humiliating, certainly, but clarifying. I had nothing to do but think about my choices and their consequences. And I realized that I destroyed my own life. Not you. Not Lady Blackwood. Not Father's will. Me. My choices led me there."
Edward was quiet for a long moment. "I appreciate your apology. And your honesty."
"Do you forgive me?"
"I don't know yet. But I'm willing to try. Someday." Edward glanced at Margaret, who nodded. "We're not inviting you back into our lives, Thomas. Not fully. But we're not shutting the door completely either. Perhaps, with time, we can rebuild some kind of relationship. Not what we had—that's gone. But something new."
Thomas looked relieved and sad in equal measure. "That's more than I deserve. Thank you."
They talked for another hour, carefully navigating years of resentment and hurt. It wasn't a reconciliation, not really. But it was a beginning. The possibility of something better than complete estrangement.
After Thomas left, Margaret found Edward standing at the window, watching the carriage disappear down the drive.
"How do you feel?" she asked.
"Lighter. Like I've set down something heavy I didn't realize I was carrying." He turned to her. "Thank you. For suggesting this."
"You needed closure. Or at least, the possibility of it."
"I needed many things. Fortunately, I married someone who seems to know what I need before I do."
"Someone has to manage you. You'd be hopeless otherwise."
"Completely hopeless. It's one of my most endearing qualities."
Margaret moved to stand beside him, looking out at the grounds of Blackwood Manor. Their home. Their life. Their future stretching out before them.
"We're going to be fine," she said.
"We're going to be more than fine. We're going to be remarkable."
"That's ambitious."
"I'm an ambitious person. You knew this when you married me."
"I knew nothing when I married you. But I know everything now."
"Everything?"
"Everything that matters." She took his hand, placing it on her stomach. "We're building a family, Edward. Built on choice and partnership and love."
"Love," Edward repeated softly. "Three years ago, I would have laughed at the idea that I could love my arranged marriage. That I could love the merchant's daughter I was forced to marry."
"And now?"
"Now I can't imagine loving anyone else. Can't imagine any other life than this one we've built together."
"That's romantic."
"I'm a romantic. Apparently. You've corrupted me thoroughly."
"You're welcome."
They stood at the window as afternoon faded toward evening, holding each other, planning their future with the easy confidence of people who'd survived the worst and built something beautiful from the wreckage.
The life they'd created wasn't what either of them had expected when they married three years ago. It was better. More real. More theirs.
It was built on honesty instead of pretense. Partnership instead of obligation. Love instead of resentment.
It was messy and complicated and imperfect and absolutely right.
"I love you," Margaret said, the words coming easily now, without fear or reservation.
"I love you too," Edward replied. "Today, tomorrow, and all the days after that."
"That's a lot of days."
"I'm counting on it."
Outside, spring rain began to fall, washing the grounds clean, nourishing the new growth. Inside Blackwood Manor, Edward and Margaret held each other and watched the rain and dreamed of the future they'd continue building together.
The end.