In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (50 page)

Did she know with what force of feeling he loved her? A paradox of uncommon strength and fragile femininity, she was fire and gentle rain — perfect refinement and bold rebel — everything fascinating and e
ndearing in the anomaly of one Southern girl.

He was under her power, and had been from the moment such beauty had spoken to him with self-assurance and dignity.

She had accepted him: a wonder he would never relinquish. And he had loved her and would love her with all the power of his being for as long he drew breath in this world.

He wished above all things that it would be his love, constant and true, that would enable her to walk in glorious sunlight midst the darkening trials of life and the uncertainties of daily existence in the drab, toil-filled town that would be their home.

He had for years been an authority over hundreds, and was accountable for the success of a vast enterprise that affected the lives of hundreds more. But as he drank in the sight of his young wife in peaceful repose, he marveled at the responsibility of keeping her happy and safe in his care.

He reached out to carefully brush away a strand of hair that lay across her face.

Her eyes fluttered open and he watched, transfixed, as the light of recognition crossed her features and she gifted him with a waking smile. “Good morning,” she said groggily.

His heart turned over at the look of love that beamed from her eyes. “Good morning,” he answered in kind, incapable of speaking anything further, so profound were the emotions swelling in his breast. He brushed the back of his fingers along the silken expanse of her cheek.

In her drowsy happiness she stretched out her hand to touch the skin at his chest that appeared so enticing at the open collar of his untied nightshirt.

He stilled as her fingertips lightly stroked him until they caught against the draping fabric. She withdrew her hand as if suddenly aware of the brazenness of her act.

John sat up swiftly in alarm and divested himself of the offending garment. Lying down beside her again with the sheets pulled to his waist, he grasped her hand and placed it over his heart, his eyes imploring her to continue her discovery of him.

He closed his eyes as she hesitantly renewed her exploration, at first following the line of his collar bone with tentative fingers, and then more boldly running her palms over the smooth, molded surface of his chest.

Something began to stir deep within her, wakening every nerve with tingling energy. Increasingly aware of the power that she held over him, her whole body pulsated with anticipation as she listened to the pattern of his breathing grow low and uneven at her sensual touch.

When he could no longer bear it, he pulled her roughly to him and began his own exploration of her womanly shape.

A twinge of thrilling fear raced through her to witness what her gentle ministrations had unleashed, but she welcomed his amorous assault and shivered as his hands glided over her shoulders, waist, and hips.

The sensuous feel of her supple curves beneath his palm made him nearly delirious in the desire to know all of her.

He slid his broad hand over the soft mound of her covered breast, eager to claim as his own that intimate softness that so enchanted and seduced him — that seemed the essence of all feminine allure and comfort.

Her breathing deepened as he continued his exploration, hindered in accessing the whole of her bare flesh by a fine stretch of cotton and lace.

She disengaged from him without a word and wriggled in the attempt to free herself from her nightdress. With his help, and not a little awkwardness, she managed to slip out of the restraining garment.

He drew in his breath as his eyes roved over the vision of her uncovered form. The hue of her creamy skin pinked under his hungry gaze as she nervously lay down beside him.

He let out a low sigh in incredulous wonder of all that was offered to him. Marble and canvas had been inadequate to capture the full glory and beauty of the female form, which now lay before him.  He brought his mouth to hers to kiss her, valiantly struggling to contain the furious urge to devour her whole.

He caressed the tender skin of her breast with hands and fingers and then, much to her surprise, with his mouth.

She gasped and gripped his neck, delving her fingers into his dark hair. An explosion of sensations left her breathless. All power to resist or deny ebbed away as he ravished her until she arched her back in utter surrender to his amorous possession.

Enflamed by her response, he sought her mouth again and kissed her hungrily, pressing the weight of his body upon her in growing desire. She wrapped her arms around him in rapturous accord, the burgeoning need to pull him closer banishing all maidenly inhibitions.

His need could no longer be suppressed. Lifting himself from her, he gave her a desperate look of love as he slowly entered her the second time.

His tender communication dissolved the fearful tension she had held. In incredulous wonder of what they were doing, she slid her hands helplessly down his back. The world beyond disappeared. She was lost, her senses engulfed in the bliss of receiving his ardent affection. He was above her, pressed to her, and loving her, arousing in her feelings she had never known.

She tried to catch her breath as his gentle, fervent rhythm pulled her deeper and deeper into unknown suspension. Her body was under his command, craving for something that was just beyond her reach. She clutched at him tighter, dimly aware of the faint sounds that were her own gasps.

Electrified by her amorous reaction, his ardor increased. He bound himself more boldly to her, transported to a place beyond the grasp of reason and at the very edge of ecstasy.

  His passionate lovemaking consumed her. The rising ache to be one with him was answered in the strain of his own fervent yearning until they reached that place where all barriers between them were broken and she cried out as wave upon wave of crashing sensation flooded through her.

He cried out above her in echoing rapture as her body quivered in the ebb of release. Silence ensued for a moment before he brought his face to hers.

“I felt it, too,” she quietly confessed in innocent wonder, her eyes searching his.

He let out a breathy laugh in the joyous discovery that she would find equal pleasure in their union and bent to reward her with a rain of kisses over her flushed and glowing face.

He collapsed to the bed and she nestled into his arms. They touched and adored in the unhurried luxury of their first morning as husband and wife until a sharp rap at the door startled them both.

Holding the covers tight to her breast, Margaret was astonished and perplexed to watch her husband climb out of bed to swiftly pull on his trousers. Donning a shirt without bothering to tuck it in, he headed for the door.

“John!” his wife called out in horror, not only for his own shocking state of undress but for her own.

He merely grinned at her outcry and opened the door.

Much to Margaret’s relief there was no human figure in the hall; instead, her husband rolled in a tea cart laden with a tray of covered dishes and fine china tea service.

“I thought we might like to eat breakfast a
lone,” he stated, his mouth curved into a mischievous smile as he looked to his surprised wife. She could only blink as a smile slowly formed at his thoughtful foresight.

“Will you please recover for me my nightgown? I believe it has slipped to the floor,” she asked with timid embarrassment.

“And if I should not oblige?” he teased as he approached the bedside, taking devilish delight in her helplessness.

Her face pinked at his taunt. “Then I shall be forced to remain in my bed,” she declared in brave defiance, recognizing at once her mistake as a wicked grin stole over his face.

He gathered the abandoned garment from the patterned carpet and held it out to her. “Take care, or I shall be obliged to keep you in bed all day,” he warned in sultry tones, his eyes boring through hers with an intensity that sent shivers over her flesh and roused heat from the pit of her belly.

She turned her flushed face from him. “The tea will be getting
cold …” she murmured in distraction as she clutched the recovered gown to her breast.

Reluctantly, he stepped to the small table to set out their breakfast, his back to her. He would allow her to set the boundaries upon this new arrangement of intimacy between them, fo
r he was certain that if all were left to his instincts, they might remain in this room all day.

She dressed quickly and, tightening the sash around her dressing gown, joined him at the small table near the door.

She studied him in mute amazement as he poured a cup of tea and reached out to hand it to her. “Thank you,” she mumbled, blinking her confusion. How was it that the Master of Marlborough Mills was serving her tea? She peeked at him over her cup with new adoration. A flood of feeling swelled in her heart. There would be no formal boundaries to constrict how they should care for each other.

She took a long breath of deep contentment to have been matched to such a man.

*****

The early morning mists had cleared, and golden sunlight chased away fading patches of gray as the lovers stepped out to explore the sights of the harbor town.

The beauty of nature surrounding them burst forth with exhilarating energy. Lush green grass spread to the cliff’s edge where the wide-open sky reflected the sea in vibrant blue.

A brass band played on a rounded stand built in the center of the front esplanade as patrons took their morning walk in the salty air. Mr. Thornton and his wife joined the small crowd at the bandstand for a time before sauntering off to take the path to the cliff.

The strains of a ballad followed them as they reached the magnificent view of town, sea, and sky. To the left was the town of Scarborough and her harbor. Beyond rose a towering cliff where the ruins of an ancient castle stood prominent guard over nature and man below.

To the right, lay unmarred grass-covered cliffs that curved to gather the sea in silent splendor.

The newlyweds bid good morning to other strolling guests as they continued their pleasant walk. Mr. Thornton beamed his contentment. The corners of his mouth were lifted in buoyant happiness and could not be constrained this day. But Margaret kept her eyes lowered as she nodded her greeting upon each encounter, discomforted by the notion that every stranger could divine by the blush of her face what had transpired in private last evening and again this morning.

Her gaze lingered on other women led about by their husbands, marveling that she now shared the secret of what it meant to be a wife. Did all new brides feel the same tingling warmth and exuberant joy that she did this day?

On their way to Scarborough, they crossed an iron pedestrian bridge that spanned a verdant gorge. Spectacular views of the city, sea, and
arbored gardens below surrounded them and they stopped to take in the sights before reaching the other side and wending their way down through garden pathways to the foreshore promenade along the sandy beach.

A few water carts stood near the wet sand not far from houses and lodgings that arose six floors from the sea. Brick and stone structures lined the shore of the town rising up to the distant Castle Hill.

They strolled toward the far harbor, where a lighthouse stood at the end of a curving pier and the masts of fishing boats of all sizes cluttered the skyline. Several herring girls worked by the docks, gutting the day’s catch and tossing the shiny fish into barrels according to size.

Margaret looked upon their splattered aprons and dreary appearance with a pang of sympathy. Doubtless the gruesome work would help feed and
clothe their families, but she could not help but feel hope well up that they would someday be able to give up such employ.

The couple turned to follow winding cobbled streets through the Old Town, past terraced brick houses that had weathered years of sun and storms.

Treading gradually uphill, they at last reached the stone stairs that led to a small medieval church with blackened spires. Mr. Thornton carefully assisted his wife up the steep, worn steps to the open graveyard where the newlyweds could look back over the harbor to the green South Cliff where their hotel stood.

Margaret spent a few moments of solemn contemplation at the grave of Anne Bronte, whose promising young life had been cut short only two years ago. Then, after wandering a while on the lonely church grounds, they continued up the lane to the castle beyond, through the arched entryway to the long abandoned domain of earls and kings.

Tall stone walls stood in crumbling testimony to a majestic medieval keep, ravaged by the wages of time and civil war. The newlyweds followed the ancient fortress walls, high above the harbored town below, as they continued to walk the grassy summit where nobles and sentries had trod through the centuries.

The occasional sound of a gull overhead pierced the windswept silence of the desolate plateau. Mr. Thornton stopped to examine the astounding integrity of the stone walls, built so long ago, while Margaret ambled toward the cliff’s edge.

Mr. Thornton turned from his distraction to see the solitary figure of his wife standing on the vast horizon, her skirts swaying in the breeze as she looked out over the endless ocean.