Wednesday afternoon brought disaster in the form of Lady Caroline Ashford.
Margaret was taking tea with her mother in the drawing room when Beatrice announced the visitor. The name alone made Margaret's teacup rattle against its saucer.
"Lady Ashford," Eleanor said pleasantly, oblivious to the way her daughter's spine had gone rigid. "How lovely. Is she a friend of yours, dear?"
"An acquaintance," Margaret managed, setting down her cup before she could shatter it. "Of Edward's."
Lady Caroline swept in like a ship in full sail, all golden curls and fashionable silk, her beauty as sharp-edged as a knife. She was the widow of a viscount, young enough to be interesting, old enough to be dangerous, and wealthy enough not to care about scandal.
She was also, Margaret had long suspected, sleeping with her husband.
"Lady Blackwood! I was passing through the county and simply had to stop." Caroline's smile was all teeth. "I hope I'm not intruding. Oh, you have company." Her eyes landed on Eleanor with calculated assessment.
"My mother, Mrs. Thornton," Margaret said, each word carefully controlled. "Mama, may I present Lady Caroline Ashford."
The two women exchanged pleasantries while Margaret's mind raced. This was calculated. Caroline never did anything without calculation. She'd come here specifically because she'd somehow learned about Margaret's parents' visit. To what end?
"I haven't seen dear Edward in weeks," Caroline said, settling gracefully into a chair. "How is he? Well, I hope?"
"Quite well," Margaret replied evenly. "He's walking the estate with my father at present. Inspecting the drainage systems."
"How thoroughly domestic." Caroline's laugh was like breaking glass. "Edward was never one for such mundane pursuits when we—" she paused delicately "—when he was in London. But marriage changes a man, doesn't it?"
Eleanor glanced between them, her social instincts finally catching the undercurrent.
"It changes everyone," Margaret said. Under the table, her hands clenched in her lap. "Edward has taken wonderfully to estate management. He's quite devoted to it. And to his family responsibilities."
"How fortunate for you." Caroline accepted a teacup, her fingers adorned with rings that probably cost more than Margaret's entire wardrobe. "Though I must say, he seemed rather at loose ends when I saw him in London last month. Quite melancholy, actually. I worried about him."
Last month. Edward had been in London last month, ostensibly for business. Margaret had been grateful for his absence. But now—
"He didn't mention seeing you," Margaret said carefully.
"Didn't he? How odd. We had quite a long dinner at the Ashford townhouse. Just the two of us. We talked until quite late." Caroline's smile was poison wrapped in honey. "But perhaps he thought it not worth mentioning. Men can be so forgetful about such things."
Eleanor's expression had gone very still, very watchful.
The conversation limped along for another excruciating fifteen minutes before Caroline finally rose to leave. "Do give Edward my regards. Tell him I hope to see him again soon. Very soon."
After she left, Eleanor turned to Margaret with surprising sharpness. "What was that about?"
"I don't know what you mean."
"Margaret Catherine Thornton Blackwood, I wasn't born yesterday. That woman had her claws out. She wanted you to know she'd been alone with your husband." Eleanor's voice dropped. "Has he been unfaithful?"
"I don't know," Margaret said, and the admission cost her. "Probably. We don't... we're not..." She couldn't finish the sentence.
"Not what?"
"Not in love, Mama. We've never been in love. This marriage is exactly what you and Papa designed it to be—a business arrangement. He needed money. I needed a title. That's all it's ever been."
The words hung in the air like an accusation.
Eleanor's face crumpled. "Oh, my darling. I didn't know. You seemed... yesterday and Monday, you seemed..."
"We were performing. For you and Papa. So you wouldn't regret your investment."
Her mother crossed to her, pulling Margaret into her arms the way she had when Margaret was a child. "My poor girl. I thought... I hoped you'd found what your father and I have. I wouldn't have pushed for this marriage if I'd known it would make you so unhappy."
Margaret wanted to protest, to maintain her dignity, but the dam had broken. "He can't stand me, Mama. And I can't stand him. We avoid each other as much as possible. This week has been the most time we've spent in each other's company in months."
"But yesterday, the way he looked at you—"
"Acting. All acting."
Eleanor pulled back, studying her daughter's face. "Are you certain? Because what I saw didn't look like acting, Margaret. It looked like a man trying very hard not to care and failing."
"You're seeing what you want to see."
"Perhaps. Or perhaps you're so busy protecting yourself that you can't see what's in front of you."
Before Margaret could respond, voices echoed in the entrance hall. Her father and Edward, returning from their walk. Margaret hurriedly wiped her eyes, trying to compose herself.
Edward entered first, stopping short when he saw Margaret's face. Something flickered in his expression—concern? But then his eyes slid to Eleanor, and his mask snapped into place.
"Ladies. I hope we're not interrupting."
"Not at all," Eleanor said smoothly. "Margaret and I were just having a lovely chat. Oh, and you had a visitor, Lord Blackwood. Lady Ashford stopped by."
Edward's face went carefully blank. "Caroline was here?"
"She seemed quite eager to see you," Margaret said, proud of how steady her voice remained. "She mentioned you had dinner together last month. In London. At her townhouse. Quite late into the evening, apparently."
The silence that followed could have shattered diamonds.
William looked between them, his sharp business mind clearly calculating. Eleanor watched with a mother's penetrating gaze. And Edward—Edward looked at Margaret with something that might have been guilt, or anger, or some complicated mixture of both.
"It was a business dinner," he said finally. "Her late husband owned shares in several ventures that might benefit the estate."
"How industrious of you," Margaret said. "Networking until late into the night. Alone. With a beautiful widow. All for the good of the estate."
"Margaret—"
"I'm sure Papa appreciates your dedication." She stood, her composure hanging by threads. "If you'll excuse me, I have a headache. I'll rest before dinner."
She walked from the room with her head high, each step measured, refusing to run. Only when she reached her chambers did she let herself collapse into a chair, pressing her hands to her face.
She'd known. Of course she'd known about the affairs, or suspected them. But knowing and having it thrown in her face were different things. And doing so in front of her mother, watching her parents' fairy-tale perception of her marriage shatter—
A knock at the door. "Margaret."
Edward's voice. Of course.
"Go away."
He entered anyway, closing the door behind him. Propriety be damned, apparently.
"It wasn't what she made it sound like," he said.
"Wasn't it?"
"Caroline is—" He stopped, ran a hand through his carefully arranged hair, disrupting it. "She's a friend. We dined together. We've dined together many times. But there's nothing... we haven't..."
"Haven't what, Edward? Slept together? Shared intimacies? Given each other comfort that you certainly don't get from your cold, insufferable wife?"
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Put words in my mouth. Make this uglier than it is." He moved closer, his voice dropping. "Yes, Caroline and I have a friendship that probably crosses lines it shouldn't. But we haven't been to bed together, Margaret. I've never been unfaithful to you in that sense."
"In what other sense can one be unfaithful?"
"In the sense that I've sought companionship elsewhere because I've convinced myself I couldn't find it here." He sat heavily in the chair across from her. "In the sense that I've spent three years avoiding my own home because facing you means facing what I've made of my life. In the sense that I've told Caroline things I've never told you, shared thoughts and fears and frustrations with her because it felt safer than trying to breach the walls we've built between us."
Margaret stared at him. This raw honesty was so unlike their usual interactions that she didn't know how to process it.
"Why?" she asked quietly. "Why did you let her come here? She wanted to hurt me, Edward. Surely you know her well enough to know that."
"I didn't invite her. I didn't know she would come." He met her eyes. "Caroline has been... persistent about wanting more from our friendship than I'm willing to give. When I told her last month that I couldn't see her anymore, she didn't take it well."
"When you told her—" Margaret's breath caught. "What do you mean, you can't see her anymore?"
"I mean exactly that. I ended our friendship. The dinner she mentioned so pointedly? That was me explaining that whatever we'd been to each other, it was over." He laughed without humor. "Apparently she decided to exact some revenge by making you think the worst of me. And why wouldn't you? I've given you every reason to assume the worst."
Margaret's mind reeled. "Why did you end it?"
Edward was quiet for a long moment, his eyes fixed on his hands. "Because being here this week, pretending to be your husband, pretending we have something real—" He stopped, shook his head. "Because pretending started to feel less like a performance and more like something I wanted to be true. And that terrified me. So I tried to put distance between us, to maintain that safe separation. But then your parents came, and I had to be near you, had to touch you and talk to you and act as though..." He trailed off.
"As though what?"
"As though we were what we should have been from the start." He looked up at her, and his eyes held something she'd never seen before—vulnerability. Raw and unguarded. "I don't know what's happening, Margaret. I don't know if this is real or if we're both just so starved for connection that we're manufacturing it. But these past few days, being near you, learning to see you instead of just reacting to you—" He stopped again, seemed to struggle with words. "I don't hate you. I don't think I ever really hated you. I hated what you represented. What marrying you meant about my failures. But you? The actual person you are? I'm realizing I never gave myself a chance to know her."
Margaret couldn't breathe. Couldn't think. Three years of carefully maintained antagonism, and he was dismantling it with words she'd never expected to hear.
"I don't know if I can trust this," she whispered. "Trust you."
"I know. God, I know." He stood, moved toward the door, then paused. "But your mother said something to me earlier, while we were walking. She said marriage was a thousand small choices. That love wasn't something that happened to you but something you built, choice by choice." He turned back. "I've spent three years choosing anger and distance. Maybe it's time to try choosing differently."
He left, and Margaret sat in the growing darkness of her room, her mind spinning.
Outside her window, the sun was setting over the estate, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. Beautiful and temporary, like this fragile thing blooming between them.
She thought about Caroline Ashford's calculated cruelty. About Edward ending a friendship rather than maintaining the one escape he had from this marriage. About his admission that pretending had started to feel real.
Margaret pressed her fingers to her lips, feeling the tremor in them.
She was terrified. Absolutely terrified.
Because hating Edward had been safe. Hating him meant she couldn't be hurt by him.
But this? Whatever this was becoming?
This could destroy her.