In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (15 page)

My heart aches to think of you in any sorrow. I wish that I might be a comfort to you. Will you accept my love, even though you may not feel the same toward me?

Margaret, if you will be my wife, I will count it as a blessing all of my days. No one will cherish you as much as I, nor care for you as I promise to do. I do not claim to know how or why, but I believe I have loved you from the very first. No one else has ever laid so bare my failings nor has any woman ignited such a powerful yearning in me to become worthy of her love.

You must know that I will do everything within my power to ensure your happiness. I do not wish to possess you as some acquisition — to bind you to my will and crush that spirit within you that so enthralls me. Henceforth, your joys and sorrows will forevermore be linked to mine. I cannot be joyful if you are in despair. Neither is it possible for me to remain in gloom if you will only gift me with your enchanting smile.

I beg of you to call upon me if there is any service that I may offer you or your family. I am entirely yours,

John Thornton

Margaret lifted her eyes to stare at the flowers in dumbfounded amazement. His devotion was sincere. Her stomach churned with the uncertainty of ever matching his intensity of feeling. Could she come to love him with the same fervency of devotion? She could not fathom it at present, but his words had moved her in a way not altogether unpleasant, and she could not discredit the thoughtfulness of his beautiful gift.

“What does he say?” Mrs. Hale asked impatiently, startling Margaret from her reverie.

She took a breath to steady herself before replying. “He is sorry for my loss and asks that we call on him if there is ever a need,” she deftly summarized.

Mrs. Hale settled back into her chair with a contented smile. “He is so very considerate — so gentlemanly. I’m certain you will not lack for anything. He seems quite wealthy and willing to oblige you. Why, I believe he has a real fondness for you, Margaret,” she told her daughter with a tinge of amazement that she had so effortlessly won his affections.

Margaret bowed her head in discomfiture. She did not covet the privileges of wealth as her mother did, but could not understand how she had earned such intense admiration from one who seemed more and more genuine in character.

“You remember of course what his mother said about being sought after by all the girls in town. It seemed so droll then, but I’m beginning to believe it was quite true. And to think that you are the one to capture his attention — I cannot help but feel a little motherly pride,” she elaborated. “It lifts my spirits to think that something good is to come from moving to this dismal place,” her mother finished with a dramatic sigh, allowing her bitter burden of complaint to be lifted from her for the moment.

“We must ask him to dine tomorrow night,” Mrs. Hale added decisively. “Surely, you cannot wish to postpone him any longer, Margaret?” she gently but firmly posed.

“No, Mother,” Margaret consented, her voice barely above a whisper.

The decision had been made. Beyond her grasp, all the forces of nature and circumstance seemed to align themselves in perfect accord with this design. She felt carried away again by the relentless
tide of fate, which drew her ever closer to the harbor of his strong influence.

*****

With his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows and a film of perspiration on his brow, Mr. Thornton helped unload the mountain of cotton that had been delivered to the hot, dusty mill yard that afternoon. His occasional bellow of instruction to those who aided him alerted the arriving messenger boy to distinguish the Master’s familiar form from the other laborers.

“A message for you, Master,” the lad announced with faltering voice, as he bravely attempted to gain the mill owner’s attention. “From the Hales,” he added with a gulp as the steely gaze of the Master fell upon him.

Mr. Thornton’s expression changed instantly, and he abandoned his work to take the missive from the boy’s hand. He fished for a few coins and dropped them in the lad’s hand with a twitch of a smile, engendering eager praise from the lad as the boy nodded his thanks before dashing off.

He greedily examined the note, recognizing with quickening nerves the script from Mrs. Hale’s hand. He barked a few more commands to his workers before speedily heading inside to the privacy of his own office.

The mounting anxiety of waiting for such a communication had been excruciating. He tore open the letter with conflicting pulses of dread and anticipation.

His eyes swiftly scanned the folded paper to determine his fate, and he let out his breath as glad relief washed over him.
She would keep her promise.
The taut muscles in his shoulders and back relaxed, lifting the heavy weight of apprehension that he had carried since the last message had been delivered. The corners of his mouth turned upward as he thanked the powers above for granting this all-important wish.

He sat down in his chair to peruse the letter more carefully. He was invited to dine with the Hales tomorrow evening.
His heart resumed its more vigorous pattern, sending fervid hope and expectation coursing through his veins.
She would marry him!
The realization of it staggered him once more. The fear of losing her had been so great that he had almost convinced himself she would not have him. Now, he could not contain the happiness that rose from the depths of his being. He would no longer live his life alone.

With long fingers, he carefully pulled out the ring in his waistcoat pocket to examine it, as he had often done in the quiet privacy of his office. He ached at the thought of putting it on her finger and sealing the commitment they had made. He stared with rapt amazement at the delicate beauty of the precious
object which was now in his grasp.

*****

The next evening, Margaret nervously appraised the sloping neckline of her gown in the oblong mirror as Dixon pinned up her hair from her bare shoulders. She would have felt more comfortable wearing her usual day dress, but secretly agreed with her mother’s insistence that she appear at her best advantage.

Margaret gazed at the translucent skin of her reflection and the shimmering emerald green silk that clung to her curvaceous form. She studied the round shape of her face, the slight protrusion of her full lips and the gentle slope of her nose. She had never considered herself a great beauty, but was well pleased with her likeness. She stared back at the wide, blue-gray eyes of her reflection, incredulous still that she had attracted the attention of Milton’s most sought-after bachelor. The tall, dark, brooding man who had asked for her hand was still a mystery.

Her stomach fluttered and clenched in a curious mixture of excitement and trepidation as she imagined the intensity of his approving gaze upon her, and she worried about how she would retain her poise in receiving him.

“There!” Dixon announced with satisfaction as she finished affixing a few white rosebuds from the morning’s bouquet into the elegant coils of copper hair on Margaret’s head. “You’re a fine prize for a manufacturer, I’ll say that much,” she added haughtily, admiring the young lady whom she had once cared for as a babe.

Margaret swallowed in slight discomfiture at such a remark, but remained transfixed at the vision before her as she bewilderingly tried to recall when he had suddenly become so much more to her than a mere tradesman.

*****

Hannah Thornton watched from the drawing room window as her son crossed the mill yard. Her heart twisted to see the exuberance in his stride as he made his way toward Crampton.

His face had fairly glowed when he showed her the diamond and emerald ring he intended to give to the vicar’s daughter. She had not said a word, but had wondered at the wisdom in such
an expenditure when the mill was still recovering from the effects of the strike. He had read her thoughts, for he had felt the need to justify his actions; he eagerly reminded her that such a purchase was made once in a lifetime. She had felt a pang of guilt to hear his explanation, for she could not deny him this one extravagance, when he had never asked for anything else during the many years of deprivation.

She hoped that the girl knew how fortunate she was to be the recipient of his affections. She did not know if Miss Hale had planned to catch her son for his position and wealth, or if she might truly have some feelings for him. She would not be certain until she discerned it with her own eyes.

As his figure disappeared from view, she cried out silently to the girl who awaited him. “Be kind to my son; he has a gentle and good heart. Love him; he is the best you will ever find.”

*****

Mr. Thornton was impatient to see Margaret again, and this impatience was reflected in his long strides to reach his destination. Aware that his pace matched his eager anticipation, he could not force himself to slow his gait. He was astounded at the power that she seemed to wield over his mind; although the mill required his strict attention, he had scarcely been able to think of anything else but her all day long. He could not wait to look into those innocent, expressive eyes to see what chance he might have of gaining her affections.

The past twenty-four hours had been torturous; that she had kept her promise seemed to him a small miracle, so tenuous had his fortune seemed in attaining her acceptance. He could not help but wonder if his message had helped calm her misgivings. He found that his hope could not be contained. He could not think of a more sublime way to pass an evening than to spend it in her presence.

As he bounded up the stairs to the familiar residence, a tingling shiver of electric anticipation traced his spine and flowed to his fingertips.
Mr. Hale warmly greeted him at the door and ushered him into the drawing room, where Mrs. Hale and her daughter were seated upon a cream-colored damask sofa.

His very heart-pulse arrested as Margaret lifted her luminous eyes to his with timid uncertainty. Her full pink lips quivered but remained silent.

She was unutterably beautiful! Fine tendrils of auburn hair cascaded from her temple to her neck where the curve of her ivory shoulders beckoned his eyes to rove over the burgeoning mounds of silken flesh which rose and fell with each breath. It suggested a hidden softness so intimate and inviting that his veins flowed with molten desire.

Margaret quickly averted her eyes, feeling a warm blush creep up her neck to be so ardently admired.

Seeing her timid response, Mr. Thornton reluctantly directed his gaze to Mrs. Hale, who greeted her guest with great animation as he took a seat.

His eyes inevitably returned to Margaret, taking in the voluptuous shape of her figure, clad in form-fitting emerald silk that seemed to display every feminine curve with the intent of holding him spellbound. His mind wandered, as he errantly imagined tracing his mouth down the bare curve of her neck. His
breath quickened in response to his thoughts.

The vision of his guilty pleasure entangled all coherent thought as he dazedly returned his attention to Mrs. Hale and fumblingly answered her polite inquiries concerning his mother and sister.

He was somewhat relieved when Dixon announced that dinner was served. Stepping forward to escort Margaret to the dining room, he suddenly recognized the flowers in her hair to be from his morning gift to her. Hope swelled in his breast at the thought of her receptive gesture and as he caught a demure glance and smile from the woman that so beguiled him, his spirits soared to perilous heights.

He delighted in the gentle pressure of her delicate grasp as she threaded her arm through his, and he was amazed once again that such a rough, unpolished man as he had won the hand of a woman so divine.

He relished every moment of their physical contact and felt a pang of loss when, upon arriving at her chair, she withdrew her hand from his arm. He happily assisted her seating at the table, and the sweet fragrance of roses and lavender enticed his senses as he glimpsed the narrow hollow at the back of her neck.

As Mr. Thornton took his seat across from her, he exalted in quiet satisfaction at his surroundings, pleased to be welcomed into the company of Margaret’s family. The atmosphere was close and inviting; the room was small but elegantly and comfortably arranged. A few bookcases lined the walls, accommodating the overflow of volumes from Mr.
Hale’s collection. On every available surface were placed either flowers or burning candles which bathed the walls in warm tones of pale yellow light. Wholly unlike the grand, glacial effect of his mother’s decor, this room suggested a place filled with an unalloyed pleasure in beauty, learning, and love.

Margaret listened with amusement and not a little relief as her mother engaged Mr. Thornton in idle conversation, augmented by the occasional word from her father at the other end of the table. Tucked away for years in her country setting, it now seemed the cork had come unstopped from the social graces and exuberance bottled up within the once-heralded Beresford belle.  She delighted in receiving one of Milton’s wealthiest and respected citizens as her daughter’s intended.

While Mr. Thornton was thus engaged, Margaret’s gaze roved approvingly over his broad form in a gray woolen waistcoat, and lingered to notice how the crisp white collar of his shirt and the flourish of his burgundy cravat accented the strong line of his jaw. When he suddenly returned her gaze with a piercing glance, she cast her eyes to the table, feeling her cheeks burn.