In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (44 page)

Margaret’s heart beat wildly. Never before had she been so intimately situated with a man. She could not move, but closed her eyes to feel his warm breath on her neck, which caused shivers of anticipation to ripple through her every nerve.

Moments passed. He did not stir. She felt the weight of his arm lying across her lap and fluttered her eyes open to observe it. She studied with fascination the sinewy strength of his forearm, noting how masculine his dark-toned skin appeared against the white cotton of his sleeve, which was rolled nearly to the bend of his elbow.

Instinctively, she sought to touch what her eyes feasted upon. Her fingers hesitantly traced over the skin at his wrist, brushing over the fine hairs of his arm as she slid her hand along his bare skin.

She heard his breath catch with an inarticulate sound as her own breathing grew ragged and uneven at the sensations that the simple feel of his skin under her hand aroused in her.

The muscles of his arm grew taut as he tightened his grasp on her. His lips, once still, now began to nip and brush against her neck with excruciating slowness.

She was lost in the headiness of his soft touch, the nearness of him drowning out everything around her. She gripped his arm to steady herself. Her mother’s words swept through her thought. If this was submission to him, then this duty was sweeter — and more thrillingly natural — than any obligation she had ever known. It was a consuming compulsion to bend to his every motion.

His lips traced the path of her jawline, inch by inch.

Delirious in her need to feel his kiss, she turned her face haltingly towards his as if moved by magnetic force to the pull of his sensual power.

At last his lips slowly slid over hers, brushing them tentatively before he fused his mouth to hers with an urgency that was willingly met by her own desperate need.

He felt her delicate arm reach up to wrap about his neck, and his whole body shuddered at her willing submission. The notion that she had sought his kiss — wanted his touch — shattered any expectation that he would receive tempered love from the woman that would be his wife.

Their kisses deepened. His body was on fire, his passion ignited by the unquenchable yearning to be one with her.  The promise of what was to come sent every emotion into an agonizing frenzy of desire to claim her.

It was well that there was no surface on which to comfortably recline, or he would be sorely tempted to take her as his own, casting aside five days as naught against the years of their binding union.

They were lost in the all-consuming ecstasy of sensual communion, starved from their days of separation. The emptiness they had endured in each other’s absence had only increased their latent passion. Mr. Thornton fleetingly prayed for strength to halt the outpouring of his amorous affection before it reached a perilous brink.

A rap at the door brought them abruptly apart. Margaret scrambled to her feet, taking up her place beside the basket she had brought.

“Come in,” the Master called out as he leaned over his desk, his voice taut with forced brusqueness.

The door opened, and Higgins took two steps into the stifled quiet of the room.

“Nicholas,” Margaret breathed in a quavering voice. The bloom of shame tinted her face as she flashed her eyes to his. Bowing her head again, she busied herself emptying the contents of her basket. 

A comprehensive glance at the flushed girl’s manner and the Master’s rather evasive and guilty expression gave the intruder a fair picture of what he had interrupted. Higgins contained the sly smile that pulled on his mouth.

“What is it?” the Master demanded with creased brow, a trace of annoyance in his voice. He tried to muster some semblance of authority as he sat behind his desk, trapped in his seat at such an untimely interruption.

Higgins looked to him, endeavoring to hide the spark of amusement in his eyes. He swallowed as he recalled the seriousness of his purpose. “I’ve the names of a round of men who would work after hours,” he revealed.

“I should go,” Margaret interrupted in flustered haste, her body still quivering from the passion that had been so abruptly halted. She had no desire to intrude upon business affairs.

Mr. Thornton shot her a desperate glance, unwilling to let her go without further words between them.

“My aunt arrives on Saturday. Perhaps you could join us for luncheon on Sunday,” she posed as a parting hope to arrange their next meeting.

“It would be my honor,” he replied with some relief at her wish to secure his company. He watched helplessly as she nodded and disappeared through the open doorway.

“She’s the pick of the crop. There’s none like her in all of Milton,” Higgins offered after she had gone. “
Yo’re a lucky man,” he appraised, studying the forlorn lover’s face.

The Master’s lips twitched. “Fortune has not always smiled upon me. I b
elieve ‘luck’ comes most often by hard work and self-sacrifice. But I do not, and will not, take for granted what is given to me,” he uttered in solemn tones as he returned the steady gaze of the man before him.

“What of this list?” he added, turning the conversation to business once again.

“Aye, there’s more than on here that’s looking to put a few more coins in their pocket. I’ve got men from Hamper’s and the like who’ll work for yo’. Yo’ said yo’ll give us Monday morning if we got the work finished by Saturday,” he reminded him, eyeing hungrily the good-smelling ware laid out on the desk.

“I’ll give you all of Monday if the work is done by the last whistle on Saturday,” the Master offered with dubious hope. “You’re welcome to a morsel of food,” he added, noting the laborer’s longing glance at the small pile of scones.

“I’ll not take what’s meant for thee,” Higgins politely countered.

“Go on,” his employer encouraged, gesturing with a quick jerk of his chin.

“I reckon we can finish that order if we work every evening ’til then,” Higgins proposed, taking a bite of scone. “I thank yo’. I’ve not eaten a thing since this morning, as my belly is sorely aware,” he added with a rueful grin.

“You’ve not taken lunch?” Mr. Thornton inquired, his brow knit in perplexed interest.

Higgins met the Master’s inquiring gaze with a sheepish expression. He’d let his stomach rather than his brains govern his mouth, and now he would have to out with it. “I gave what I’d brought wi’ me to another who was starving hisself to feed his family, so his children would have a bit o’ bread and meat,” he answered, satisfied to have revealed to the wealthy mill owner the hard choices some of his employees faced every day.

The Master’s gaze shifted f
rom the Union leader’s scrutiny, and his brow furrowed deeper. He took a long breath. “When can the men start? Have you got the list?” he asked, pressing forward with the issue at hand.

“I told ‘
em to come today, after hours. I figured yo’d not want to waste time. I’ll give yo’ the names then, when we can count ‘em,” he returned.

Mr. Thornton could not suppress his inclina
tion to be impressed by Higgins’ prompt diligence and quick initiative. “I’ll commend your boldness this time if it will not grow your head. You’ve got a mind to get things done which I like; as long you still take your orders from me, I think you’ll be a fair help,” he assessed, giving his collaborator a wry smile.

Higgins’ eyes sparkled and the corners of his mouth quirked upward in response. He nodded in acknowledgment of his usefulness and turned to leave.

“Higgins,” the Master called out as he reached the doorway. “How many of the workers go without sustenance at midday?”

“More than
yo’d suspect, I reckon,” he replied without cavil.

“But a man cannot attend well to his work if he’s hungry,” his employer returned.

“I know,” the long-time laborer replied soberly, giving the Master a penetrating look before he turned back into the mill.

The Master sat and stared at nothing for several long minutes, a crease of concern etched on his forehead.

*****

Mr. Thornton’s eyes glossed over the newspaper in his hands although he comprehended not a word. Sitting, but not truly relaxing in his accustomed seat in the gas-lit drawing room of his home, the groom-to-be endeavored to treat this Sunday evening as any other when the next morning would bring the most significant day of his life.

It would be the last night he would spend with just his mother and sister. For his mother’s sake, he was present with them although all his thoughts centered upon the girl who lived two miles hence. Fanny’s chatter about expected wedding guests, apparel, and the spectacle of every arrangement did nothing to alleviate his distracted nerves.

Throwing down his paper at last, he walked the room aimlessly before returning to the long windows overlooking the mill yard. He stared through the panes of glass to the darkening night scene. It was here, on the portico below him, where everything had begun to unravel between them. The electrifying moments that they had shared the day of the riot were as vivid to him as if they had transpired yesterday. The mere thought of all she had done to save him, her touch and the way she had looked at him, still evoked powerful emotions of amazement.

Although he did not claim to comprehend how it all had happened, he would be forever grateful for the dizzying succession of events that had led her straight into his waiting arms. All that he had vainly dreamed of had tumbled into his hands; he had only to wait hours before everything he had hoped for — longed for, waited for — would be his.

At times, it seemed too perfect. Gathering clouds of uncertainty began to form in his mind, his impatient anxiety to hasten the morrow instilling the fear that something might mar this happiness. Mrs. Hales’ declining health and Frederick Hale’s intrepid arrival loomed over the bright image of the day that was planned. He prayed with all his soul that every contingency would work in their favor, leaving the morrow unscathed by calamity of any sort.

His mother silently eyed his restlessness as she sewed to calm her own nerves, enduring the prattle of her young daughter on this auspicious eve. Startled when he broke his reverie to briskly gather his coat, she called out to him. “Where are you going?”

“To Crampton,” he replied crisply, pulling on his long frock coat.

“It is growing late. I’m certain Mrs. Hale will wish to retire early tonight,” she returned in a calm voice that belied her agitation at his impulsive intention. Fanny looked to her brother curiously for his response to their mother’s reasonable objection.

“I will not stay long. I only wish to ascertain that all is as it should be and that Mrs. Hale is well,” he answered, unmoved by her persuasion.

Hannah Thornton let out a small sigh. “Very well, but I hoped you would be here for our readings tonight,” she pleaded with a hopeful countenance.

“I will be back by ten,” Mr. Thornton promised, giving his mother a fond smile.

*****

Margaret sat in the upstairs drawing room, relaxing in the company of her father and Mr. Bell, who had arrived in Milton for the wedding.  As she listened to the comforting sound of the congenial conversation between the two old Oxford friends, she reflected upon the events of recent hours. Her mother had just retired, weary from entertaining Aunt Shaw with cheery smiles and pleasant talk.

The visit had gone very well, Margaret mused, concerning her mother’s embarrassment in their less than fine dwellings. Margaret had noted the secret, disparaging looks that occasionally passed over Aunt Shaw and Edith’s faces as they noted the cramped quarters and simple decor of the Hales’ house. But her mother had not seen these disparaging looks, and remained assured that the grandeur of the wedding would impress them about the status of wealth attached to the Thornton name.

Margaret had been dismayed, but not wholly surprised, that Aunt Shaw was unconvinced that Maria could be courting death. Her remarks to her slight sister were sympathetic encouragements that suggested that the cure for her ailments and any unhappy disposition could be found in travel or temporary adjournment to more scenic environs. The rich widow refused to believe that Mrs. Hale suffered from anything more serious than the lethargy and peculiar bodily aches that plagued her own existence.

Margaret was involved in such sobering thoughts when the tall, dark figure of the man she most adored walked through the doorway.

“John!” she exclaimed with open affection as she sprang from her seat to meet him. They clasped hands in fond greeting, unaware for a fleeting moment of the others in the room as their eyes flashed in ardent joy at this impromptu reunion.

Mr. Bell raised a brow in some surprise, but was well pleased to observe the developing relationship of such an intriguing match.

“Thornton! I didn’t expect to see you until the morrow,” the visiting scholar declared.

“I came to ensure that all was well here,” the younger man offered as his excuse for the unexpected call. “I would invite you to stay at Marlborough Mills, but I believe my mother is much absorbed, and I confess that the conversation at my house consists largely of contingencies and arrangements concerning the wedding which would not be of interest to you,” he added with a rueful grin.