Edward and I, hand in hand, walk toward the carriage, waving our farewells to the remaining guests of the wedding. We have exchanged our extravagant wedding attire for more simple travel clothes. Edward has swapped his mauve-and-gray ensemble for a casual light brown suit and bowler hat, while I have traded my intricately designed, handmade floral wedding dress for a light indigo linen gown and a straw hat, trimmed with delicate baby-pink ribbons and lace. Behind us, the carriage driver bears our luggage, for we are embarking on our honeymoon.

The carriage itself is ordinary, black in color, but Margaret and the others have adorned it with a charming display of flowers and white ribbons in every hue of the rainbow, creating a scene far less dreary than the usual. In front of the driver’s seat stand the gray horses. In the afternoon sunlight, their coats glisten like polished silver, the kind you only find in fine jewelry.

We step into the carriage, which is spacious, and the driver places our heavy suitcases in the back before closing the door. I peer through the window and catch sight of Margaret, dressed in a long-sleeved satin yellow gown, the skirt reaching the floor. A pearl necklace rests at her neck, and her bonnet, adorned with artificial yellow roses, complements the dress perfectly. Her gaze meets mine, and she smiles shyly, waving a gloved hand in my direction. I wave back, my bare hand trembling.

The driver finally takes his place on the seat and, with a nudge to the horses, we begin our journey. I turn my head to glance back at the faces of the crowd, their smiles and waves growing smaller and smaller as we move farther away. The scene quickly shifts to woodlands and winding dirt roads. As I turn back, I spot a family of white-tailed deer. The mother, the color of coffee with milk, watches us curiously, while her two fawns, still dotted with white spots, frolic and play. The father grazes farther back, in the distance.

“Are you happy, Florence?” Edward’s voice pulls me from my reverie.

I look at him as he places a hand gently on my thigh, his touch soothing as he rubs it lightly. Laying my head on his shoulder, I look up, my gray eyes meeting his dark brown ones. “Of course I am. How could I not be? I just married you, the love of my life. What of you?”

“Indeed, I am as well,” Edward replies. “But during the ceremony, you seemed to be elsewhere. I was concerned you were upset.”

“No! I simply felt a touch nervous amidst the crowd,” I say quickly. “And I could hardly believe we were finally wed.”

“Ah,” Edward says, his hand shifting from my thigh to stroke my hair.

We fall into a peaceful silence, Edward staring out the window, lost in thought, while I close my eyes for a moment.

“I’ve been thinking about our future,” Edward continues after a while. “How many children would you like?”

I blink at him, surprised by the question. “I haven’t given it much thought. Why do you ask?”

“Well, you know how society expects it of us,” he says. “A large, growing family. And they expect us to begin without delay.”

“I suppose... three or four children would be sufficient,” I reply thoughtfully. “Though, our house is rather small, so I imagine that will be all we can manage for now.”

Edward’s face brightens. “Once I save enough, we could move to a larger cottage.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Can’t your parents simply lend you more? Surely, they have the means.”

“Ah, yes, I neglected to mention,” he says, rolling his eyes. “They’ve made it clear they will no longer provide financial support. They say I must be ‘an independent man who can care for his wife without the help of others.’”

“Oh,” I respond, absorbing this new information. Edward’s forgetfulness never ceases to surprise me, though it has become something I must learn to tolerate.

“Imagine it, Florence,” he continues. “A large, comfortable cottage in the woods. We could have four children—two boys, two girls—and at least three bedrooms: one for us, one for the boys, and one for the girls. Perhaps a fourth room, where you can run your knitting business. It will be a life full of joy.”

“I could save some money from my business too,” I suggest. “Maybe we should wait a year or two before having children. That might work better.”

“Perchance,” he replies with a smile.

A yawn escapes me, and I stretch, hearing the faint crack of my joints. My eyes feel heavy, and despite the early afternoon, I am overcome by exhaustion.

“Edward, I think I shall sleep. Wake me when we arrive in Eastbourne.”

“Of course, love.”

I settle back, surrendering to my fatigue, but my mind wanders to Margaret.

Before returning to the wedding reception, we had shared a flurry of kisses. I remember the thrill when Margaret pressed me against the bathroom wall, her lips tracing a path down my neck. A warmth stirred within me, urging me to take things further, but I knew better than to indulge. I gripped her waist and spun us around, now pressing her against the wall, my lips capturing hers. Our tongues met in a slow, deliberate dance, and though desire pulsed through me, I pulled away, knowing we could not linger too long.

“Margaret, we cannot,” I whispered, breathless. “It will lead to more, and this is not the time.”

She sighed deeply, but nodded. “Alright, I suppose.”

As she turned toward the door, her fiery hair nearly brushing my face, I reached out and stopped her.

“Wait,” I murmured.

I pulled her back to me and kissed her gently. “Do not worry. Everything will be fine. We will continue in secret, just as we have before. I promise you.”

She nodded, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, and I kissed her one last time before we hurried back to the reception.

As I recall this memory, a sense of ease washes over me. I shift in my seat, my body relaxing, and soon, sleep claims me.