**Diary Entry 29th March, 1898**
The news that *William Hartwell* intended to marry off his only daughter set the entire village of *Briarwood* abuzz. And no wonderhis *Margaret* was not just plain, but outright unfortunate in looks. With a prominent nose, a slight squint, and legs of uneven length, she hardly drew a queue of suitors. Even a simple walk to the market invited jeers, trailing after her like persistent shadows.
*”Must you hobble about like poor limping Maggie?”* scolded mothers whenever their children mimicked her uneven gait in play.
Yet *William* adored *Margaret* beyond measure. Being a man of meansafter all, he was the village *magistrate*he promised a handsome dowry. Soon, whispers rustled through *Briarwood*. For such a sum, one might overlook the girls faults. She was hardworking, they conceded, and meek in temper.
Two suitors emerged: *Thomas* and *Edward*. *Thomas*, the schoolmasters son, was educatedthough his family was modest. Hed even built a cottage on the village outskirts, ready for a bride. His parents, too, were keen to ally with *William Hartwell*.
*”Tom, best prepare to wed,”* his father declared. *”Ive settled on Margaret Hartwell for you. Shell make a fine wife.”*
*”What? That crooked, homely thing? Id rather have Maryanne!”* protested the reluctant groom.
*”No arguments. The Hartwells have wealthjust think of their horses. Beauty fades, boy,”* his father replied.
The other suitor, *Edward*, was poorer still. Raised by his widowed mother in a crumbling cottage, he had no prospects to speak of.
*”Have you lost your senses, Ned?”* his mother fretted as he brushed his Sunday coat for courting. *”Theyll laugh you out of the village! And the girls no great beauty.”*
*”No beauty? Her eyes are blue as cornflowers, and her braid like firelong and sharp. The limp matters naught to me. Fetch your shawlwere calling on the Hartwells.”*
Sighing, she obeyed. Her *Ned*, she supposed, had eyes that saw past the wrapping.
*William*, shrewd with years, was stunned by two suitors. His daughters face was no prizehe knew it well. After weighing both offers, he favoured *Thomas*.
*”Father, I prefer Edward,”* Margaret murmured, eyes downcast. *”We met by the millpond last weekmy yoke broke, and he helped swiftly. Kind he seemed, with warm eyes. But Thomas his gaze is cold, sly almost.”*
*”Edwards never known wealth,”* *William* countered. *”Hed squander your dowry in a year. Thomas will keep you comfortably. His familys respectable.”*
Margaret acquiesced. Her heart leaned to *Edward*, but defiance was unthinkable.
The wedding was hurriedlest the groom reconsider. Within a month, the couple settled into their cottage. Margaret, despite her flaws, was tireless: the house thrived under her hands. *Thomas*, however, lazed abed, buried in books. The schoolmasters son had grown up among them.
*”Have you read Austen, Margaret? Or perhaps Dickens?”* hed sigh. *”Good Lord, youre dull. What is there even to discuss?”*
*”The paddock fence needs mending,”* shed reply. *”And the pigs trough is too narrowthey slop half their feed.”*
*”Always the pigs and fences,”* hed groan. *”Your father gave us horsessee to them yourself.”*
So it went. Margaret laboured dawn to dusk, while *Thomas* read and scorned her simplicity. Once, she appealed to his parents.
*”Let him read,”* her mother-in-law shrugged. *”Women are sturdy. Work harder, lest he trade you for a prettier face.”*
And *Thomas* did. By autumn, the village knew of his evenings with *Maryanne*a comely, willing girl. Soon, he flaunted it.
*”At least Maryanne can converse,”* he sneered. *”And *you* cant even give me an heir.”*
That cut deepest. Childlessness haunted herperhaps from overwork. Often, she wondered of *Edward*. Had she chosen him, might life have been kinder?
Then, fate twisted. *Maryanne* swelled with *Thomass* child. The village gossiped relentlessly.
*”Margaret, dont take it ill,”* *Thomas* said airily. *”A man needs sons. Since youre barren, back to your father you go.”*
Weeping, she crept home at dusk. *William* was furious but helplesswhat use was a childless daughter?
By dawn, he reclaimed the horses, only to find *Maryanne* lounging in Margarets shawl, smugly surveying *her* home now. Spitting in disgust, he left.
The village cluckedthen forgot. Until *Edward* returned.
Clad in a city-tailored coat and hat, *Edward Carter* seemed from another world. A walking stick drew sneers (*”fancy twig”* they called it), but envy simmered beneath.
*”Im home for good, Mother,”* he said, embracing her. *”Theyre opening a veterinary post here. Well fix the cottage proper.”*
Respected now, *Edward* still worked with his hands. By day, he treated livestock; by evening, he patched roofs, mended fences, pruned the apple orchard.
*”You need a good wife,”* his mother mused. *”No city girls suit?”*
*”Pretty shells, empty inside. No soul to speak of.”*
She pursed her lips. *”Thomas tossed his wife asidesays shes dull. Now youre as bad.”*
*”Thomas? The schoolmasters boy? I thought his wife died.”*
*”No. He threw out Margaret Hartwell for Maryanne, whos breeding. William took her back, poor lame”*
*”Dont!”* *Edward* nearly dropped his hammer. *”If Thomas discarded her, Ill wed her myself.”*
*”Lord, boy! Shes barren! What good”*
*”Enough.”*
The next day, *Edward* called on *William Hartwell*.
*”Edward Carter!”* *William* sighed around his pipe. *”I refused you once. God knows, I regret it.”*
*”Ive no house yet,”* *Edward* admitted. *”But the districts building my surgeryand a home beside it.”*
*”Marry her Saturday, if shell have you. Whod take a cast-off lass now? Ill fund the wedding.”*
*Margaret*, hovering in the doorway, flushed and nodded wildly.
*”Then its settled!”* *William* beamed. *”Fetch the elderberry wine!”*
Within days, Margaret moved into *Edwards* cottage. The village murmuredthen hushed. Whod slight the new veterinarian? And when *Edward* brought her spectacles and a fashionable hat from *London*, even the sharpest tongues bit back, addressing her as *Mrs. Carter*.
Soon, *Margaret* was with childnot one, but *twins*. *Edward* rambled of medical explanations, but she cared little. After years of sorrow, shed found happinessthough the path had been cruel.
