“Five minutes,” came the voice from outside.
The room shifted at once. Her veil was straightened, her gloves adjusted, the final touches made with unnecessary precision. Clara stepped forward and took Margaret’s hands.
“If there is more than practicality,” she said quietly, “you may admit it. We will not judge you.”
“There is nothing to admit.”
Anne smiled gently.
“Your cheeks disagree.”
Margaret felt the warmth deepen despite her effort to suppress it. She remembered the house beyond London, the way he had stood between her and Eliza without hesitation, and the steadiness in his voice when he offered her freedom within his name.
She had seen no calculation in him then. She had seen fear.
“Whatever this is,” Clara said softly, “it is not empty.”
“It is what we have agreed,” she replied.
But the firmness lacked finality. Another knock sounded, firmer this time. Her friends stepped back, forming a small semicircle around her. Excitement flickered beneath their restraint.
“Are you frightened?” Anne asked.
Margaret considered the question honestly.
“No,” she said.
That, at least, was true. The door opened. Light from the nave spilled into the small chamber. The murmur of assembled guests drifted inward, hushed yet charged with expectation. Clara squeezed her hand once before releasing it.
“Go, then.”
Margaret stepped forward. As she moved toward the aisle, she caught a glimpse of him at the far end of the church, tall and still and watching. Something passed between them in that single look. It was not triumph, and it was not strategy.
It was recognition.
And as Margaret began her walk down the aisle, aware of every eye in London fixed upon her, she realized one thing with quiet certainty. Whatever this marriage had begun as, it no longer felt entirely practical.
The wedding ended as it had begun. Well wishes followed them into the carriage. Smiles, bows, and restrained curiosity spread as though they were content to have been denied spectacle, yet it had not been denied satisfaction.
The door closed, and for the first time that day, there were no witnesses. Margaret sat opposite her now husband. The title settled differently now. Herhusband. Nathaniel removed his gloves with measured care and set them beside him. Thecarriage jolted forward, wheels turning toward his estate beyond the city.
“You handled it well,” he said.
“So did you.”
A faint pause followed.
“I did not thank you,” he added.
“For what?”
“For choosing this.”
“I do not recall choosing blindly. I wanted this. I still do, for what it is worth.”
A subtle shift of expression passed across his face– something almost like relief.
“You may yet regret it,” he said.
