Three days passed in the blessed silence that came from two people inhabiting the same house while pretending the other didn't exist. Margaret took her breakfast in the morning room. Edward took his in the study. They crossed paths once in the entrance hall, and the look they exchanged could have curdled fresh cream.
It was Thursday when Margaret's father's letter arrived.
She was reviewing the household accounts in the library when Beatrice, her lady's maid, brought in the silver salver. Margaret recognized the bold handwriting immediately and felt her stomach tighten. Her father wrote infrequently, and when he did, it was rarely to share pleasant news.
She broke the seal and read:
My dearest Margaret,
I write to inform you that I shall be arriving at Blackwood Manor this Monday next, accompanied by your mother. We have business in the county, and it has been far too long since we've seen how you fare in your new station.
Your mother is most eager to see the improvements that have been made to the estate with the funds we have provided. She speaks often of how proud she is to see her daughter as Lady Blackwood, mistress of such a fine property.
I trust you and Edward are well. Your mother sends her love.
Your devoted father,
William Thornton
"Damn," Margaret said softly, then looked up to find Beatrice still standing there, eyes wide. "That will be all, Beatrice."
"Yes, my lady." The maid bobbed a curtsy and fled.
Margaret read the letter again, translating her father's carefully chosen words into their actual meaning. Business in the county meant he wanted to inspect his investment. Most eager to see the improvements meant he expected visible proof that his money hadn't been wasted. I trust you and Edward are well meant he expected them to at least pretend to be a functioning married couple.
She needed to tell Edward. The thought alone exhausted her.
She found him in the stables, of all places, examining one of the horses with the head groom. He was dressed for riding, and for a traitorous moment, Margaret noticed how the afternoon light caught in his dark hair, how his posture had that easy confidence that came from generations of aristocratic breeding. Then he turned and saw her, and his expression shuttered closed.
"What is it?" he asked curtly. "I'm rather occupied."
"My father is arriving Monday," she said without preamble. "With my mother. They'll be staying for at least a week."
The head groom suddenly became very interested in the far end of the stable and made himself scarce.
Edward's jaw worked. "I see. And I suppose we're expected to play happy families for their benefit?"
"Unless you'd prefer to explain to my father why his investment has produced a marriage that would make the Borgias look affectionate." Margaret crossed her arms. "He's coming to inspect the improvements to the estate. The ones his money has paid for."
"Ah yes. The improvements." Edward ran a hand through his hair, disturbing its careful arrangement. "The new roof on the east wing. The repairs to the tenant cottages. The updated drainage system. All very impressive monuments to your father's generosity and my complete lack of masculine pride."
"Your masculine pride was already mortgaged to the hilt when we married," Margaret snapped. "At least now the roof doesn't leak."
"How practical you are. It's one of your most endearing qualities." His voice dripped acid. "Very well. For one week, I shall play the devoted husband. God knows I've suffered through worse theatrical productions."
"The feeling is entirely mutual, I assure you." Margaret turned to leave, then paused. "And Edward? Try to look as though you can at least tolerate my presence. My father may be a self-made man, but he's not an idiot. If he suspects this marriage is the disaster it actually is, he might reconsider his continued financial support."
"Is that a threat?"
"It's a fact. The quarterly allowance from my trust pays for this estate's upkeep. Displease my father, and that allowance becomes subject to review." She met his eyes. "We're chained together, Edward. You can hate me all you like, but we both have too much to lose if this arrangement falls apart."
He stared at her for a long moment, something complicated flickering across his features. Resentment, certainly. But also something else she couldn't quite name.
"Monday," he said finally. "I'll be ready."
"See that you are."
Margaret walked back toward the house, her spine rigid, every step measured. Only when she was safely back in her rooms did she sink into a chair and press her fingers to her temples.
A week. She had a week to transform Blackwood Manor from a battlefield into a tableau of domestic bliss. A week to make Edward look at her without contempt. A week to become the happy couple her parents had paid so dearly to create.
It might as well have been a week to move mountains.