The morning of the gathering dawned clear and bright, which Margaret took as either a good omen or the universe's cruel joke before disaster struck.
"Stop catastrophizing," Edward said, watching her pace the bedroom in her dressing gown. "Your face is doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you're imagining seventeen different ways this could go wrong."
"I'm being prepared."
"You're being anxious." He caught her hand as she passed, pulling her to a stop. "We've planned meticulously. The food is exceptional. The house looks beautiful. The guest list is perfectly balanced. What more can we do?"
"We can worry about Thomas appearing with a pistol and shooting you in front of a hundred witnesses."
"Specific. I appreciate the detail." Edward kissed her knuckles. "If Thomas appears with a pistol, Henderson and his men will disarm him before he gets within twenty feet of me. We've planned for this."
"Planning and execution are different things."
"True. But we're exceptionally good at execution. Evidence: the fraud investigation, where nothing went according to plan and we still succeeded."
Margaret wanted to argue but couldn't find the flaw in his logic. "Fine. We're brilliant at execution. That doesn't mean I can't be nervous."
"You can be nervous. Just be nervous while getting dressed. Guests arrive in two hours."
Beatrice arrived to help Margaret into her gown—deep sapphire silk that brought out her eyes, elegant without being ostentatious. The kind of dress that said confidence, not desperation to impress.
"You look beautiful, my lady," Beatrice said, pinning the final curl into place.
"I look terrified."
"You look determined. There's a difference."
Downstairs, the staff moved with practiced efficiency. Mrs. Dawson directed traffic like a general commanding troops. Cook's dishes emerged from the kitchen in perfect succession. The groundskeepers had transformed the gardens into something from a painting.
Everything was ready.
Margaret found Caroline in the drawing room, already dressed and looking immaculate in bronze silk.
"Well?" Caroline asked, turning. "Do I look appropriately supportive but not overshadowing?"
"You look perfect. Thank you for this. For being here."
"Don't thank me yet. The gathering hasn't started." But Caroline's expression was kind. "Though I will say, you and Edward have created something remarkable here. This house feels like a home now. It didn't before."
"You've been here before?"
"Once, years ago, when Edward's father was still alive. It was cold then. Empty. A monument to fading glory." Caroline gestured around the now-warm drawing room, filled with flowers and light. "This is different. This is alive."
Margaret felt unexpected gratitude toward this woman who'd once been a complication, now an ally. "Whatever happens today, I'm glad you're here."
"Even if I flirted with your husband for years?"
"You weren't flirting. You were offering companionship to someone who felt trapped and miserable. I can hardly fault you for that when I was part of what trapped him."
"You've forgiven him remarkably thoroughly."
"I've forgiven us both. We were young and angry and in an impossible situation." Margaret straightened her shoulders. "But we're not those people anymore."
The first guests began arriving at noon. The Hendersons and other tenant families, nervous but clearly honored. Then county families—the Harringtons, Lord and Lady Pembrook, the vicar and his wife. Followed by London society, arriving in carriages that clogged the drive.
Margaret and Edward stood in the entrance hall, greeting each arrival personally. A united front, presenting as exactly what they were: partners, lovers, friends.
"Lord Blackwood, Lady Blackwood," Lady Pemberton gushed, clasping Margaret's hands. "What a lovely gathering. And how wonderful to see you both looking so... content."
"We are content," Margaret said simply. "Very much so."
"And after such trials! The fraud investigation, the scandal with your brother—though of course no one believes those ridiculous rumors."
"Don't they?" Edward's tone was mild but pointed. "How refreshing."
Lady Pemberton had the grace to flush. "Well, anyone who knows you both understands the truth. That you're devoted to each other and to this estate. Why, my husband was just saying—"
She continued talking, but Margaret had stopped listening. Because through the crowd of arriving guests, she'd spotted a familiar figure.
Thomas Blackwood, standing just inside the entrance, looking disheveled and drunk and furious.
"Edward," Margaret said quietly, touching his arm.
He followed her gaze, his expression hardening. "Henderson."
The estate manager appeared immediately. "My lord?"
"Thomas is here. Keep him in sight but don't approach yet. Let's see what he does."
Henderson nodded and melted back into the crowd, positioning himself with clear sight of Thomas.
Thomas made no immediate move. He simply stood there, swaying slightly, watching Margaret and Edward greet guests with visible contempt.
"He's waiting," Caroline murmured, appearing at Margaret's elbow. "Building up courage or waiting for the right moment to cause maximum damage."
"Then we don't give him that moment." Margaret turned to Edward. "We proceed as planned. Greet everyone, move to the gardens for drinks, then the dining room. We don't react to his presence."
"He wants a confrontation."
"And we're not going to give him one. We're going to ignore him until he either leaves or forces our hand."
It was the longest hour of Margaret's life. Moving through the crowd, making conversation, all while tracking Thomas's position. He followed them from room to room, never approaching but always visible. A malevolent shadow on the edge of their celebration.
Other guests noticed him too. Whispers spread. The disgraced half-brother, showing up uninvited. How dramatic. How unseemly.
"Let them whisper," Edward said, reading Margaret's tension. "Their sympathy is with us."
"Is it? Or are they waiting to see if Thomas's accusations have merit?"
"Both, probably. Human nature." Edward smiled at the Duke of Richmond, who was holding forth about railway investments. "Which is why we give them a show worth remembering."
In the gardens, William Thornton made a speech. He stood on the terrace, commanding attention the way only a man accustomed to boardrooms could.
"Friends, I want to thank Lord and Lady Blackwood for their hospitality. My daughter and son-in-law have created something special here at Blackwood Manor—a home, yes, but also a model for how traditional estates can thrive in modern times. Through their partnership, combining old values with new innovations, they've shown that change need not mean loss."
He continued, praising Edward's estate management, Margaret's organizational skills, their recent heroism in exposing fraud. Each word a deliberate counter to Thomas's rumors.
Thomas listened from the edge of the crowd, his expression growing darker.
"And now," William concluded, "I'm pleased to announce a formal business partnership between Thornton Industries and the Blackwood Estate. Together, we'll be investing in new railway ventures, agricultural innovations, and rural development. This is not charity—this is smart business. My son-in-law has proven himself a capable, intelligent partner. I'm honored to work with him."
The crowd applauded. Edward looked genuinely moved. Margaret felt tears prick her eyes.
And Thomas finally snapped.
"Lies!" he shouted, pushing through the crowd. "All lies! You're not partners—you're master and servant! Edward sold himself for money and now he pretends it's something noble!"
The crowd went silent. Everyone turned to watch.
"Thomas," Edward said quietly. "You're drunk and you're not welcome here. Leave before you embarrass yourself further."
"Embarrass myself? You're the embarrassment! You stole my inheritance! You married a merchant's daughter for her dowry! You're a disgrace to the Blackwood name!"
"The inheritance was never yours. Father left it to me according to law and tradition." Edward's voice was calm but carried across the silent gardens. "As for marrying Margaret—yes, I married her for practical reasons. Just as she married me for a title. We've never hidden that."
"But you pretend it's a love match now! You pretend you didn't spend three years hating each other!"
"We did hate each other," Margaret said, stepping forward. "For three years, we were miserable. We said terrible things. We avoided each other. We built walls between us."
Shocked murmurs rippled through the crowd. This was not what anyone expected to hear.
"But we changed," Margaret continued. "We chose to change. We chose each other. That's what marriage is, isn't it? Not the beginning, but what you build over time. We built something real from something that started as transaction. I'm not ashamed of that. I'm proud of it."
"You built nothing!" Thomas was almost incoherent now. "You're performing! Pretending! And all these people are too stupid to see it!"
"Thomas." Edward's voice cut through the gardens. "I've been patient with you. I've tolerated your resentment, your schemes, your attempts to destroy my reputation. But that patience is over."
He walked toward Thomas, and the crowd parted. Margaret started to follow, but Caroline caught her arm.
"Let him handle this. This is between brothers."
Edward stopped a few feet from Thomas. "You want to know the truth? The real truth? I hated my life three years ago. Hated that I had to marry for money. Hated feeling like I'd failed. And I took that hatred out on Margaret, on everyone around me. I was bitter and resentful and miserable."
"Finally, honesty—"
"But that changed. Not because of some grand romantic revelation. Because Margaret refused to let me wallow. Because she challenged me, frustrated me, made me realize that my misery was my own choice. And slowly, despite myself, I started to respect her. Then like her. Then love her."
He turned back to face the crowd, including Margaret in his gaze.
"Is our marriage conventional? No. Did it start ideally? Absolutely not. But it's real now. More real than any arrangement built on illusions and pretense. We chose this. We choose each other, every single day. And Thomas can spread whatever rumors he wants, but they won't change the truth."
The crowd was absolutely silent.
Thomas looked around, realizing he'd lost. His accusations sounded hollow after Edward's honesty. His bitterness was obvious, petty.
"You'll regret this," Thomas said, but the words had no power. "Both of you."
"No," Edward said quietly. "I really won't. Now leave, Thomas. Don't come back."
Henderson and two other estate men appeared, flanking Thomas. He looked at them, at the hostile crowd, at Edward and Margaret standing together.
Then he turned and left, stumbling through the gardens toward the drive.
For a long moment, no one moved. No one spoke.
Then William Thornton began to clap.
Slowly, others joined in. First Caroline, then the Hendersons, then the entire crowd. Not polite society applause, but genuine appreciation.
Edward returned to Margaret's side, taking her hand. She squeezed back, hard.
"That was terrifying," she whispered.
"That was necessary."
"Everyone knows now. Everything."
"Good. Let them know. We have nothing to hide."
The gathering continued, but the atmosphere had shifted. People approached Margaret and Edward differently now. Not with judgment or curiosity, but with something like respect. They'd watched a public confrontation and seen honesty instead of scandal.
Lady Pemberton cornered Margaret later. "My dear, what your husband said—about choosing each other daily—that was quite moving."
"It's the truth."
"I know. That's what made it moving." She patted Margaret's hand. "You've built something rare. Don't let anyone make you doubt it."
Similar conversations happened throughout the afternoon. People who'd come expecting scandal found themselves witnessing something else entirely—a marriage that had survived its own collapse and rebuilt stronger.
As the sun set and guests began departing, Margaret found herself exhausted but oddly exhilarated.
"We did it," she said to Edward as they waved goodbye to the last carriage.
"We did. Though I'm not certain what exactly we did."
"We won. We showed everyone that our marriage is real. That Thomas's rumors are baseless. That we've built something worth protecting."
"At the cost of airing all our dirty laundry publicly."
"Was it a cost? Or was it freedom?" Margaret leaned against him. "No more pretending. No more performing. Everyone knows the truth now."
Edward considered this. "You're right. It does feel freeing. Like we've shed something heavy."
Caroline appeared on the terrace, her traveling cloak already on. "My carriage is repaired. I'm departing tonight—I prefer not to overstay my welcome."
"You're welcome to stay," Margaret said, and meant it.
"I know. But I've served my purpose. Provided my support. Witnessed your triumph." Caroline smiled. "Besides, I have my own life to rebuild. Watching you two has been... instructive."
"Instructive how?"
"You've shown that it's possible to change. To choose differently. To build something even when circumstances are against you." She pulled on her gloves. "I've been stuck for years, playing the same role. The beautiful widow, the dangerous flirtation, the woman everyone gossips about. Perhaps it's time I chose differently too."
"What will you do?" Edward asked.
"I don't know yet. But that's rather exciting, isn't it? Not knowing?" She kissed Margaret's cheek, then Edward's. "Be happy. You've earned it."
After she left, Margaret and Edward stood alone on the terrace, looking over the now-empty gardens.
"Do you think Thomas will truly give up?" Margaret asked.
"Eventually. Once he realizes no one's listening anymore." Edward pulled her closer. "And if he doesn't, we'll deal with it. Together."
"Together," Margaret echoed. "I'm rather fond of that word now."
"Are you?"
"Extremely. It implies partnership. Equality. Choosing each other."
"All the things we are."
"All the things we've become." She turned in his arms. "Thank you. For today. For the honesty. For defending us."
"Thank you for building something worth defending." Edward kissed her softly. "Shall we go inside? I believe we've earned some privacy after performing for a hundred people."
"I wasn't performing. That's the point."
"No. Neither was I." He took her hand. "Come on. Let's celebrate properly. Very important husbandly—"
"Don't say it."
"—duties to attend to."
"You're incorrigible."
"I'm dedicated to my responsibilities."
Margaret laughed, and Edward joined her, and they walked back into Blackwood Manor hand in hand.