In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (27 page)

He locked the outer door and crossed the dark mill yard to the stone house that he had lived in for years. He watched as the lights in the drawing room windows were suddenly snuffed out.
How long would it be before she would be there, waiting for him?
A vision of the future flashed into his mind, and he imagined being greeted with tender kisses in the soft candlelight of his bedroom. The thought of it gripped him with a longing so intense, his body trembled.

A cry of despair escaped his lips as he climbed the darkened
stairway, grateful to avoid his mother’s prying eyes this evening.

He laughed in self-derision as he reached the sanctuary of his own room. He had been content to live in solitude for many years. It was difficult to fathom that only a week ago he had suffered the pangs of hopeless desire to share his life with a woman he thought would never have him — Margaret Hale. Now that he had won her promise, should he complain? He had only to wait, and all that he had ever wanted would be his.

But no amount of reasoning and determination to be content with his present lot would ease the constant ache to hold her in his arms. As he laid his head upon his pillow, he hoped to find refuge from his troubles in sleep and wished most fervently to meet his love in the temporal realm of blissful dreams.

*****

The following morning brought no particular gleam of glad hope. Even the sky, so often clouded with Milton’s industrial soot, seemed more mercilessly dark and gray than usual.

Margaret felt strangely at one with the gathering gloom. She scolded herself for her temperamental mood as she went about her morning routine, and could not concentrate on the verses she read to her mother. Like a mountain stream precipitously wending its way to the steady river below, her thoughts were drawn relentlessly to the man who had spoken so tenderly to her on the long train ride home.

She sought distraction in performing her daily tasks, but found that nothing could soothe her persistent longing. She was readily able to keep her body in employ, but the whisperings of his voice and the remembrance of his touch filled her mind in the surrounding silence of the house. If only he had come last night, she thought, she would not feel so strangely alone today. Wary of building up false hopes, she told herself it was very likely he would once again be too much occupied with the mill’s concerns to come this evening.

It was a welcome relief to leave the house later that afternoon to accompany her father to the Lyceum Hall. Climbing the broad stairs to the grand stone structure, she raised her eyes to the upper window of the adjacent building where she had once seen Mr. Thornton sternly surveying her. A chill traced her spine at the memory of it.

She had thought him harsh and unyielding in his governance of his workers, a man unaffected by the wordless cries of the human heart.

How wrong she had been! She had not known him then. The years had made him stolid in his convictions, but she was certain he had a tender heart. She had seen it. He was not indifferent to the suffering of others, although he felt it was not in his power to do otherwise than run his mill according to the strictest principles.

Margaret was pleased that he had asked Boucher and Higgins to work for him. It made her glow with an odd pride to think she had played a part in bringing a more compassionate view to his awareness. She hoped it was of his own true will that he sought to act upon it.

As she followed her father into the main hall and took a seat in the back of the sparse class, she continued to contemplate what her role might be as his wife. She wondered at once if she might be too forward in proposing her opinions on what ought to be done, for truly she had little understanding of how much was at stake in running so large and far-reaching a business as Mr. Thornton’s. She felt suddenly ill-prepared and unworthy to become the model of gentility and grace that would be expected of her as John Thornton’s wife. She imagined that he deserved someone of sweeter temperament and subdued nature than what she herself possessed.

He would need a wife who could happily tend to his needs and offer respite from his daily burdens, which must be great. She felt a stirring in her
breast, a pang of earnestness, to hope that she might be able to fulfill that role.

The clouds overhead had darkened ominously when Margaret and her farther emerged from the Lyceum in the late afternoon. They walked briskly to evade the coming rain. Margaret did not think it
prudent to ask her father if he’d had any message yet from Mr. Thornton. The sky above dampened her hope that Mr. Thornton would come to his lesson, and she let out a silent sigh as her father’s and her hurried footsteps kept a matched pace.

*****

The clouds broke and the rain still poured after dinner as Margaret sat with her mother in her room. The persistent pattering at the windows dissolved the sullen girl’s remaining hope that Mr. Thornton might call tonight. When her mother sent her to fetch Dixon, she descended the stairs with a melancholy tread.

Margaret might have readily mistaken the rapping on the door as she passed by, so closely was it followed by a clap of thunder, but her ears were keenly tuned for such a sound and her heart leaped in glad hope that the man she had so fondly yearned to see had come.

She rushed to the door as fast as her skirts would allow and opened it to find him standing under the overhang, the water still coursing in rivulets off his umbrella. “You’re here,” she exclaimed with unguarded pleasure, receiving a brilliant smile in return.

“I didn’t think you would come in this inclement weather,” she admitted as she flung wide the door for him to enter, taking his dripping umbrella as he doffed his hat.

“It would take more than a rain storm to keep me from my purpose,” he answered in a meaningful tone.

She caught the glimmer in his eye and averted her gaze, blushing at the warmth of his voice. “I will hang your coat to dry in the kitchen,” she said nervously as she helped him slip out of his dampened overcoat. She felt her every nerve tingle at the exhilaration of being so close to him.

She hastened to take a few steps toward the basement. “Father is in his study,” she directed.

“Will you join us?” he asked eagerly.

“I must tend to my mother’s needs first, but l will bring you some hot tea,” she answered with a flustered smile. Her eyes fell to the floor and she noted the traces of water his footsteps had left. “You must take care to remove your boots and sit by the fire to dry yourself,” she instructed, the words tumbling out of her mouth in anxious concern.

“Must I?” he quizzed her with a twinkle in his eye, taking great delight in how she had cosseted him since he had entered the house.

She blushed anew at his teasing, unable to hide the glow of joy she felt at being caught tending to him.

*****

Margaret’s heart pounded as she opened the door to her father’s study and slipped into the room with the tea tray.

Mr. Thornton turned his attention to her at once, and she caught her breath to meet the intensity of his flashing blue eyes for a second. It took all her concentration to pour the tea without spilling a drop, feeling his gaze upon her every move. The sight of his
stockinged feet eased the tension in her bearing, and her eyes sparkled to meet his as she served him his tea.

Margaret silently took her seat in the corner and grasped for the embroidery in the basket at her side as her father continued his discourse.

The fire crackled while flickering shadows danced upon on the walls. Margaret smiled to note the Master’s boots on the hearth as she listened to his deep tones as he made some reply to her father. His presence seemed to fill the room. The firelight cast a warm glow on his chiseled features. In fascination, she studied the profile of the man she had once thought of as so cold and unfeeling. Her eyes traced the firm line of his jaw, then traveled upward to note the soft look of thoughtfulness that emanated from his eyes and rested upon cheek and brow as he listened with interest to her father’s words.

This is who he really is, she thought in dazed wonderment. The
realization of his true essence broke upon her forcefully, banishing at once all notions of his stubborn intransigence. He had a kind and understanding heart; he was strong and true in everything he did. And yet, for all that he had accomplished, she saw in him a noble, humble desire to better himself and seek the right.

Her heart twisted with a pang of deep emotion. And suddenly, she knew.
She loved him
—
and would love him fiercely all her days
.

The impact of this truth staggered her. Her body froze in amazement as this realization seeped into the deep recesses of her soul. It was as if it had always been, so profound and natural was this conclusion.

As though alerted to the silent utterances of her heart, he turned to look at her, his soft searching eyes locking with hers for a timeless moment.

She could not
breathe, so intense were the feelings that swept through her. She returned his gaze with awe-filled wonder before casting her eyes to the work on her lap, afraid of revealing too much of what she had only just discovered.

With trembling fingers, Margaret endeavored to ply her needle with a semblance of skill while the men finished their discussion of Plato’s dream. She drew long, deep breaths to steady the wild clamoring of her heart.

Her eyes watched helplessly from beneath demurely flickering lashes as their guest gathered his boots from the fireside and returned to his chair to put them on.

Tossing her needlework clumsily aside, she glanced nervously at her father as he congenially bade her to show Mr. Thornton out.

Margaret gripped the balustrade for support as she floated down the stairs, aware of every footfall of his approach close behind her. “It was good of you to come. You must be very busy. I confess, I was beginning to worry I would not see you for another week,” she said in forced conviviality as she reached the landing. No sooner had she turned around, than she was pulled into his firm embrace.

“I was hard pressed to tend to my work last night — and today — when all I can think of is you,” he rasped in dark, throaty tones as he hungrily drank in the sight of her.

“I ... I’ve ... been thinking of you as well,” she faltered weakly as she rested her trapped hands upon his chest and raised her luminous eyes to his.

Her words washed over him, bringing a joyous relief, and his heart contracted with a strange new hope as he discerned the glimmer of earnestness in her eyes. He needed no further encouragement. Slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers, famished to claim her as his own. With determined effort, he tremblingly distilled his desperate passion into tenderness, carefully tasting over and over again the bliss of her soft lips against his, while the wild hunger for her churned deep within. He felt her faintly melt in his grasp and gripped her tighter, sending a surge of desire coursing madly through his veins. Temptation rose to perilous danger; he swiftly tore his lips from hers.

Margaret was at once bereft. His kisses had sent tremors of sensation through her body, awakening in her a powerful yearning to experience more of him. She cleft to him helplessly with trembling arms, her limbs weakened. She wished never to leave his embrace.

“May I call on you tom
orrow?” he asked as his quiet panting slowed, slackening his hold on her by force of will.

“Yes ... yes, of course,” she answered at first feebly and then with increasing strength as she stepped back to recover from the spell of his power. “Perhaps we could take a walk together if the weather permits,” she added with nervous cheer.

“I would like that very much,” he replied with a devastating smile.

The warm intensity of his gaze made Margaret’s insides flutter, and she averted her eyes.

He moved toward the door.

Margaret was grateful to discover that Dixon had returned the Master’s overcoat to the rack on the wall. She watched in a somewhat dazed stupor as he prepared himself to leave. “The rain has stopped,” she uttered to fill the silence.

“And I hope that the storm has dispersed, for I will not be dissuaded from our appointment tomorrow,” he said with a gleam of humor in his eye.

She smiled at his stubborn promise.

He stepped toward her and took her hand in his, carefully brushing his thumb over her fingers before suddenly sweeping them to his lips to place a lingering kiss on the back of her hand.

Margaret held her breath and let it out when he slowly relinquished his hold and let her go.

“Good night,” he murmured, his eyes kindling with the passion that he kept at bay.

“Good night,” she managed to return before he turned from her and was gone.

She gravitated to the window, nearly pressing her head to the glass as she watched his figure disappear in the darkness. Her heart beat steadily with new purpose. All her former life, the past struggles and old dreams, seemed vague and distant. Her world — her future — would revolve around him. And she knew now with astounding conviction that she was ready to begin it.

Chapter Eleven

Margaret sat alone in the half-filled church on Sunday morning. The grand vaulted ceilings and massive stone columns made the mortals quietly seated within the cavernous structure seem small and insignificant. Stained-glass windows illuminated the walls with intricate patterns of color and light, brightening the somber atmosphere with multi-faceted rays of hope.