In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (39 page)

“I see,” she answered, thinking that there was only one manufacturer with whom she would like to dance. “The mayor will be wanting to show the importance of all of Milton’s industries?” she asked.

“Yes, although the cotton mills predominate. You will recognize many of the other masters from my mother’s dinner party. Fanny will be attending with Mr. Watson. He has taken an interest in her,” he explained, answering her surprised glance.

“Is Fanny … interested … in him?” she asked hesitantly.

“She is interested in making a favorable match that will allow her to continue living in the comfort she now enjoys,” he answered. “Not everyone marries for love,” he added more softly, the deep timbre of his Darkshire voice sending tremors through her body. Their eyes met in shared understanding, and her heart lurched to see the depth of his devotion in his clear blue gaze.

When they arrived at Margaret’s house, Mr. Thornton followed her inside to the small hallway. She felt the flutter of anticipation at being alone with him during this time of parting. “Thank you for the walk. It was very kind of your family to invite us for luncheon,” she stammered as she untied her bonnet distractedly and hung it on the wall. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him step nearer and her
heart beat faster.

When she turned to face him, he closed the distance between them, placing his hands on her waist. “I’m glad we were able to find some time to ourselves,” he murmured in sultry tones as his gaze roved over her loveliness, so near to him now. He placed a light kiss on her lips, but then drew back, his brow creased in regret. “I may not be able to see you for some days. Mr.
Colthurst and the others will want to see Marlborough Mills, and I have orders still backed up that must be finished,” he explained.

“Oh … I understand,” she faltered, endeavoring to cover her inevitable disappointment at his words. Her gaze dropped to her hands, which rested on his chest. “Then I shall have Thursday to look forward to,” she resolved with attempted cheer, raising her eyes to his.

He saw the glint of melancholy in her eyes. How he hated to cause her any sorrow! He pulled her closer and brushed his lips against hers, wishing to show her how much she would be missed. The bliss of her willing response sent tremors of desire through his every nerve ending. He snaked his arms around her, splaying his broad hands possessively on her back as he sought the sweetness of her kisses, the mingling of their lips slow and tentative in repressed ardor. He had begun to capture her mouth with greater desperation when the sound of a guttural throat-clearing startled them apart.

“Dixon!” Margaret exclaimed in befuddled shock as she stepped back, the glow of her embarrassment appearing on her cheeks and neck.

Mr. Thornton let his arms fall reluctantly to his sides as he shot the intruding maid an aggrieved look of bitter annoyance.

Dixon, pressing her lips together, shot a look of haughty triumph at the Master and then set her attention on her young mistress. “Your mother has been awaiting your return, Miss Margaret. She won’t take her rest until she’s spoken to you,” she announced with important urgency.

“Thank you, Dixon. I’ll be up directly,” Margaret answered summarily, drawing herself up in a regal posture.

The Hales
’ long-standing maid made no move to vacate her protective stance, casting a wary look at the Milton manufacturer.

Margaret blushed anew at the thought of what the family servant had seen. “Please tell your mother it was a delightful afternoon,” she said to her betrothed in flustered confusion.

Ignoring the presence of an observer, Mr. Thornton took her hand and lifted it to press a lingering kiss on her fingers. “I will come for you at seven on Thursday,” he answered, piercing her with a longing look from his searching eyes.

Margaret nodded. The sensual gallantry of his kiss and the intensity of his stare stilled her breath for a dizzying moment.

Mr. Thornton cast one last hardened glance at the stubborn maid before retrieving his hat from the side table and going out the door.

Dixon raised her chin in proud defiance and then turned to follow the young miss to her mother’s chambers. “I’m certain you don’t need me to remind you that a lady conducts herself with propriety at all times,” the stout woman lectured as she lumbered her way up the stairs behind the girl.

“We were saying goodbye, Dixon. Mr. Thornton is my betrothed,” Margaret responded firmly in her defense as she climbed the stairs, her ire rising at the servant’s counsel.

Dixon huffed at her retort. She had seen the way the Master had ensnared his bride-to-be in his grip and the predatory way he had sought her lips! “Betrothed or na
y, these Northern men have a wildness about them, Miss Margaret — not at all like the well-bred manners of the Southern gentlemen you have known,” she warned the innocent girl with a shake of her head.

A fleeting image of Henry as the model of proper decorum came to Margaret’s mind, and she smiled devilishly at the realization that she much preferred the pa
ssionate nature of her untamed Northern manufacturer to the staid sophistication of the Southern barrister’s suit.

“Mr. Thornton is a gentleman, Dixon, and he will soon be my husband. I wish that you will not speak against him again,” she stated as she reached the landing and turned to face her mother’s faithful servant.

Dixon pursed her lips and gave a reluctant nod before the young miss disappeared into her mother’s room.

*****

A pink haze gathered in the sky where the ocean had swallowed the setting sun as Frederick Hale stood out on the balcony of the old building where he resided, the sound of echoing voices rising from the narrow, cobbled streets below. The smell of the ocean air, pervading this ancient southern port, sparked his senses with its pungent saltiness. The call of the sea tugged at all his memories, both dark and bright.

Adventure had beckoned him — lured him — to the life of a seafarer. He had received his fair share of adventure, and more. Though his native country may have branded him as a traitor, never to welcome him home, he had experienced more excitement and seen more of the world than any other Helstone lad ever would. Mexico and South America had for a time been home to him, during his search for a place where he could belong.

And now, just as he was certain he had found his place — his purpose and future — he was being called back to England, the country that had formed him. It would be his chance to
embrace, perhaps for the last time, the mother and father who had given him birth, nurtured him, and still loved him. A twinge of helpless guilt gnawed at his conscience for having abandoned them.

And Margaret! His sweet, fearless sister was only a child when he had left them all in
Helstone. How well he remembered her happy laughter at his antics and her joy in freely roaming the fields and forests of their childhood home. He yearned to see her now, scarcely able to believe she was no longer a girl, but a woman who in a matter of days would be claimed in marriage by a man he did not know.

His countenance darkened. What had impelled his father to move his family to the ceaseless hustle of an industrial city far from every familiar comfort and company? Was it this move that had sickened his mother? Frederick was not altogether convinced that she was truly dying. He would not believe it until he had seen her condition with his own eyes. Perhaps the sight of him might renew her strength and give her comfort to continue. He had hope that the doctor was mistaken.

And what of Margaret? How had the move affected her? He wondered that his parents should consider a Northern manufacturer to be an agreeable match for his dear sister, despite her own written lines of encouragement that this man was well-respected and of fine character.

What was his name?
He brought the letter, still clutched in his hand, up to the fading light in front of him.
Mr. Thornton of Marlborough Mills.

He shook his head in doubt. Such a match would never have occurred had they stayed in
Helstone. It was hard for him to imagine that the Margaret whom he had known — the girl who was so carefree in the countryside of Hampshire — would be happy to be paired to a tradesman who would confine her to life in a Darkshire city.

He would go. He knew it as soon as he had opened the missive to read his sister’s pleading.

His thoughts flew to his own love — Dolores. He took a deep breath and let it out with a long sigh. The very first time he had met her, Dolores had enchanted him with her silken black hair and bewitching green eyes. His heart had been captivated by her innocent adoration of him, an Englishman who worked for her father. He would ask for her hand as soon as she came of age and live his life here in Cadiz.

He could envision the worry that would flash in her vibrant eyes when he told her tomorrow what he must do — what he must dare — to see his mother.

He cast his gaze over the open sea. Twilight darkened the horizon where the distant waves faded from blue to graying oblivion. He felt the quickening excitement of embarking upon a dangerous journey, even as a sweep of dread chilled his heart at the thought of leaving his happy contentment behind.

England was no longer home, not with Dolores here. But he would return one more time to the land of his birth and venture to the strange city his father had chosen, where no one would know his name.

He would soon set sail for Milton.

Chapter Fifteen

The following week could not pass swiftly enough for Margaret as she waited for Thursday evening to arrive. Throughout the days, her thoughts inevitably drifted to the man she was to marry with a measure of joyous contentment. As the shadowy quiet of each evening wore on, her ears strained to hear his familiar footstep at the door. However, the deep resonance of his voice and the animated glow of his face were left to her conjecture for a time. So she turned over in her mind every cherished memory of him, keeping the special moments they had shared close to her heart until he would at last stand before her again in living flesh and boundless power.

It had taken her mother a day or two of rest to recover from the exertion of going to luncheon at the Thorntons, which reminded Margaret all too forcefully that the days that remained to her under her parents’ roof were precious gifts to be cherished. She spent treasured time with her mother and listened patiently and cheerfully to the recounting of returned cards from the wedding invitations as well as to the rehearsal of a great many details concerning the forthcoming event.

When Mrs. Hale had the energy, mother and daughter worked
side by side embroidering or sewing lace onto the new nightdresses, camisoles, drawers, and petticoats of Margaret’s trousseau. The young bride-to-be was sent out to see about acquiring a new traveling dress as soon as her mother learned that Mr. Thornton planned to take his new wife to the sea. Margaret worried about the economy of purchasing so many new garments on her father’s humble income, but her mother had no compunction in insisting that her daughter look the part of a wealthy manufacturer’s wife.

The day before the mayor’s dinner gala was spent fussing over the gown Margaret would wear, as they added a few
faux rosettes to the wide skirt’s layered flounces of burgundy tulle and secured the satin trim at the hem of the dress she had worn once before in London.

At last, the evening she had awaited arrived. All dressed and coiffed at a quarter to seven, Margaret turned herself about in Mrs.
Hale’s chamber to accolades of praise from her weary mother and from Dixon, who proclaimed that Milton would be much enhanced with Margaret as a refined and gracious addition to its social circles. The young miss blushed and smiled at the compliments to her appearance. The energy of excitement at the thought of presenting herself to Mr. Thornton coursed through her until she almost felt dizzy in expectation.

Her heart leaped and skittered erratically when the doorbell sounded and Dixon left the room to answer it.

*****

Mr. Thornton had similarly spent his week thinking of Margaret. Although his days had been consumed by work and the presentation of his factory to various visiting notables, he found that the image of her sweet countenance was never far from his mind.

It was at the close of each day, when he finally retired to his empty bedchamber late at night, that he yearned to feel her arms about him and tortured himself with the sweet remembrance of her delectable kisses.

His gaze was drawn to the new ornately carved dressing table that now sat next to his own dresser, contrary to all his mother’s intimated protests that there was ample room in the house to accord Margaret her own bedchamber. Satisfied by his mother’s dutiful efficiency in complying with his strict demands, he glanced at the new wardrobe, which had been placed along the back wall, ready to hold all the delicate feminine garments of a lady’s apparel.

As his room was slowly transformed into a bridal chamber, the arrival of each new furnishing brought with it a palpable reminder of what was to come. He imagined his new bride sitting at the dressing table, brushing the long waves of her chestnut hair as he loosened the binding of his cravat and unbuttoned his waistcoat at the end of a wearying day. The vivid images parading through his thoughts only intensified his restless longing to bring her into his home.