In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (19 page)

He watched her flee from him and felt his heart grow leaden. 
What had he done?
 A stab of self-loathing tore through him so that he hung his head and gripped the nearby wall for support. He had resolved to win her heart with tenderness and patience, and this is how he demonstrated his love — roughly taking what he wanted of her as some common brute might? 

The knowledge of what he had done pierced him to the core. What must she think of him now, he wondered? He had proven himself to be what she had always thought — a great rough fellow, without polish or refinement. She deserved better.
 

His soul ached to be worthy of her.

*****

Margaret rushed through the busy mill yard, desperate in her desire to escape this place. Her limbs trembled beneath her. Over and over again, she relived the moment he had so fiercely possessed her. Try as she might, she could not shake the image from her mind, nor quell the rampant beating of her heart. 

She had imagined a lover’s kiss would be gentle, full of sweet tenderness. His kiss had been almost violent in its power. She had not expected ... could never have been prepared for such a display of passion.
 

She could not make sense of her thoughts and feelings; her head spun with dizziness. Propriety insisted that she be sorely displeased with his actions. She had been well and truly shocked to find herself suddenly in his grasp, but when she recalled how it had felt to be locked securely in his arms, a shiver of frightened excitement traced her spine. Was this how it would always be, to be desired by a man of such power?

 
She touched her fingers to her mouth, remembering the way his lips had pressed so fervently against hers. A shudder of warmth spread through her entire body. She endeavored to relinquish the vivid memory with a shake of her head and walked on with wobbly footsteps, utterly baffled at the ease with which he had dispossessed her of her sensibilities. She swallowed to regain her fortitude and self-control. A rush of anxiety swept through her at the thought of having to face him again.

*****

The long summer evenings extended daylight until well past dinnertime. A gray light still glowed in the sky at dusk as Mr. Thornton headed toward
Crampton for his lesson.

The Master’s face was stern, but his hope was indefatigable. He was determined to seek her forgiveness and regain her trust in him by carefully controlling his every movement. He would be the very model of restraint and decorum and prove himself worthy of her gentle affections. He could endure any hardship, but he could not suffer to see her look at him with cold disdain. He would patiently earn her respect, no matter how long it took.

His brisk pace through the sultry air was invigorating. He was anxious to see Margaret again after her hasty departure this afternoon. Although he sorely regretted his lack of self-control, he could not forget the sublime feel of her soft form pressed to his and the all-too brief taste of her honeyed lips. But such a reward was worth the waiting, he reminded himself as he reached the stairs and bounded up them to rap on the door.

He let out a silent sigh of disappointment when Dixon opened the door to receive him. He glanced furtively about as he made his way to Mr.
Hale’s study, hoping to find a glimpse of the girl who held his heart in her hands, but she was nowhere to be seen.

The Master covered his restless gloom with a ready smile as he greeted Mr. Hale in his study. He threw himself into the discussion at hand, only occasionally glancing at the closed door as if he expected someone to enter.

When the appointed hour had nearly passed, and Margaret had not come to sit in on the conversation or bring tea, Mr. Thornton grew increasingly apprehensive.
What if she did not wish to see him today?
He became distracted with worry, hearing only the hollow speech of Mr. Hale’s words without grasping their meaning. His thoughts began to reach a pitch of fevered despair at the thought of her dismissal of him, when the door was pushed open and Margaret came in carrying the tea tray.

The sight of her was an instant balm to his agitated state. Her eyes flashed briefly to meet his, but then she bowed her head demurely and busied herself in preparing the tea.

Mr. Thornton’s attention was riveted to her. She had changed from her soiled clothes and now wore a soft muslin gown with a fair amount of pink in it, which made her look delicate and lovely in the candlelight. His heart pounded in hopeful desire that she would look at him and see the penitence in his eyes. How desperately he desired to be requited with one look of forgiveness from her!

But she would not meet his gaze. He watched with poignant longing as she handed her father his tea with a loving smile.

Entranced by the graceful movement of her hands, he stared at her slender fingers as she prepared his tea. He would never know that it took all her concentrated effort to keep her hands from shaking as she did so.

When she carefully stretched out her hand to give him his tea, he let his finger graze hers as he had done many weeks before. Her eyes flew to his, and he made a silent plea for her mercy with his piercing gaze.

She instantly turned away, afraid of the intensity of his stare. A flush of pink colored her cheeks as she retreated hastily to sit in the corner chair, picking up her sewing.

Mr. Thornton endeavored to listen patiently to Mr. Hale for another quarter hour, straining mightily against the impulse to turn his head in Margaret’s direction, still uncertain if she would grant him pardon for his impulsive behavior hours before.

Although to outward appearances, she was serenely intent upon her needlework, Margaret could not control the fluttering in her stomach. She had seen the contrition in his eyes. Her stitches were uneven and sloppy, and she knew that she would have to unpick the work she was now doing.

At last, Mr. Hale concluded their session with a summary of what they should discuss next Tuesday. “Margaret, why don’t you see Mr. Thornton to the door,” he encouraged with a warm smile, granting the newly betrothed couple a little time to be alone.

With a nervous smile, Margaret rose and silently led their guest downstairs. When they reached the hallway, she turned to face him, lifting her eyes to meet his briefly and then dropping them again as she felt the tingling charge of tension between them. “I’m sorry for thrusting such an unexpected request upon you. It was only that I had seen the children at Mary’s and....”

“There’s no need to apologize,” he interrupted gently, his heart lifting with glad relief to hear
her own contrition. “It is I who must ask your forgiveness. I … behaved in a manner....”

“Please, let us not speak of it,” she begged him, wringing her hands distractedly as she kept her gaze on the floor. Her heart beat wildly at the memory of it all.

He gulped in swift agreement, pressing his lips closed so that he would utter nothing to distress her. Silence enveloped them and he groped for something to say.

“Would you ... I ... perhaps you might care to join me for a walk this Sunday,” he offered falteringly, hoping to find every opportunity to see her in the coming days.

She smiled sweetly at his hesitancy. “I would be pleased to accept your invitation, but I believe I will be on my way to London,” she replied.

“London?” he repeated vacantly, perplexed by her answer.

“Yes, my cousin Edith wishes me to come to the Great Exhibition with her, and my mother is much convinced that I should go. I believe arrangements are being made for Captain Lennox, Edith’s husband, to come for me on Sunday,” she explained meekly, looking up into his eyes when she had finished.

His brow was creased in wary concern.
“How long will you stay?” the bewildered lover asked, disconcerted by this unexpected development. He did not relish the thought of her surrounded by the dazzling splendor and finery of London with which Milton could never compete, nor was the image of her entertaining the attentions of London gentlemen comforting.

“Just a few days, I suppose. I don’t wish to be away from Mother for any length of time.”

He nodded his head faintly with some relief, but felt the impending emptiness of the coming days at her absence. “I will look forward to your return, then,” he told her with a forced smile and moved to retrieve his hat. He glanced at the delicate hands resting gracefully against her soft gown but suppressed the urge to take them into his own rough hands, remembering the boorish way he had treated her the last time they were alone.

“Good night,” he uttered with a stilted nod and quickly turned to leave.

Margaret’s kindly smile faded. She felt her hope deflate with his departure, and stood alone for a moment in a haze of strange confusion. He had made no attempt to kiss her hand or take her into his arms. Was he displeased, she wondered anxiously? Her mind raced frantically to their afternoon encounter. Had she said or done something to make him shrink from her?

She had not known how much she had anticipated his touch until he was gone. An uneasy feeling of discontent began to settle over her, leaving her with a tender ache inside.

*****

A light west breeze stirred the night air.  Mr. Thornton took a deep breath and expelled it slowly. It had taken every ounce of his willpower to leave her like that.

A sense of gloom descended upon him at the thought of the lonely stretch of time before him. Every day that held no promise of seeing her would be a torture. How quickly he had become enamored of her, not wanting to spend a day without some glimpse of her! He had recently found himself conjuring up every possible reason for making a daily visit to
Crampton.

His mind grasped for something to save him from the despair of her impending absence. As if in answer to this unspoken request, a string of forgotten utterances and mentioned possibilities tumbled into his thought.

Oblivious to the shadows cast by the glowing street lamps, Mr. Thornton strode past rows of darkened houses as he began to formulate a course of action. He resolved to meet with his banker the very next morning.

Chapter Eight

Margaret swept her fingers along the familiar marble of the dressing table and fondly touched the white linens of the carved oak bed where she had slept for many years. The room smelled of lemon water and candle wax. Everything within was the same as she had left it a year ago, she mused. A low sigh escaped her as she walked forlornly to the window to look out over the rooftops of Harley Street. But so much had changed since then, she thought, with the wistfulness of one who was yet uncertain of the future.

Aunt Shaw would never understand the strange appeal of the industrial north — the unpretentious ways of her people, the earnest pace of life, and the hopeful struggle of men to forge their own future.

Her eyes dropped to the windowsill where her diamond and emerald ring glinted in the late afternoon sun. She had known her aunt would not approve of her engagement to a Milton manufacturer. Edith, too, had cast a look of despair at her mother upon hearing the news.

Margaret looked out again and watched well-dressed passersby stroll along the cobbled streets below. She had held the same views once herself; it had not been long ago when she had felt that tradesmen were an unseemly set, pretentious in their desire to be accorded respect for their accumulation of wealth. She had supposed their kind to be far too preoccupied with money, and undisturbed by their lack of proper education.

She bowed her head in shame, disconcerted by the surge of sorrow that swept through her as she contemplated how harshly she had judged the man who now fascinated her. She felt her indignation rise at the thought that others should evaluate Mr. Thornton by his occupation in trade, instead of his fine character.

But what did she truly know of him, she wondered still? His rise to power from adversity had required remarkable tenacity and determination. What principles he held, he held firmly with resolution. She knew, too, that his thirst for higher learning was sincere. He was widely admired in Milton for his intelligence and judgment.

Underneath this strong and confident exterior, he had shown to her a tenderness and vulnerability that she had not known he possessed. And yet, there seethed within him such force of feeling that he occasionally burst forth with an unguarded vehem
ence that alarmed her.

A shiver ran down her spine and she closed her arms around her as she recalled the way he had roughly taken her and pressed his lips to hers. It frightened and bewildered her to think that she had aroused him to such action.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. “Margaret?” she heard Edith’s tentative voice call.

“Come in,” she
answered, bracing herself for whatever her cousin had come to say.

Edith’s pretty face was contorted with worry as she slipped into the room. “Margaret, I fear I was not prepared to receive your unexpected news. It’s only that I had hoped that you would return to London one day,” she began apologetically. “You must own that it is surprising for us to discover that you would choose to marry a tradesman from the north. Why, you have said yourself in your letters how gray and dirty and cold it is up there, and you have not cast a favorable light on these cotton mill owners! Is it any wonder that I should be aghast at your announcement?” she asked quite innocently.