This is my first story written for North and South. I hope to write a collection of one-shots of conversations between Margaret and John after their marriage. The book and the series made me hungry to know things about their married life together and these will be my own headcanons between the two. Please enjoy!
In the days following their wedding, Margaret takes to waking up unnaturally early.
When she wakes up the morning after the wedding, she believes it's due to her surroundings. The larger bed, the fluffier pillow against her head, the presence of a man next to her…a pleasant soreness between her legs.
She blushes to recall the pleasurable whimpers and moans she made just some hours ago in that very bed, something she could truthfully say she had never conceived up for her wedding night, but now coveted greatly. Turning her head, she smiles to find her dear John (for dear he would always be now) fast asleep, his head facing her, his hand resting close to where she was sleeping, a peaceful look upon his countenance.
Watching him for a brief moment, her heart fills with such a deep ache of love, she can't help but to kiss his hand gently, bringing herself closer to him. There is a small part of her that still cannot process that she's finally here with him, that she is still not pining away in London, in fears that she would never see John again. Unwillingly, her mind drifts back to those London moments, how dark her thoughts were then. She recalls nights filled with bitter tears, self-loathing thoughts, and the pain that she had lost the love and respect of the only man she would ever adore.
Her heart feeling suddenly heavy, she curls herself around her husband, willing the thoughts to disperse, and slowly finds sleep once again.
The next few nights, she despairs to find herself continuing this pattern. During the day, her new responsibilities and the joys of married life take up her mind. Mrs. Thornton, slowly but surely warming up to her, shows her the routines of the home. She visits John at midday for lunch, and the happiness on his face when she comes through the door could sometimes render her speechless.
Dinner is an insightful time, with most conversation surrounding the mill and its future. She listens admiringly as John tells her about his work and he in turn is vastly interested in what her thoughts on the matter are. This night, he's not wearing his cravat and has rolled up his sleeves after a day of working more outside of his office. She can't help the burning of her desire watching him sit there in such a disheveled state. When she excuses herself to make her way to bed, she doesn't miss the darkening of John's eyes as she gives him a look or Mrs. Thornton's eyeroll at the display.
If she was embarrassed at all at being caught, John ends that worry when he enters her bedchamber, hunger deep in his eyes, and kisses her like she is his last breath of air.
"You drive me absolutely mad," he whispers against her lips, echoing her exact thoughts. His hand slips into her nightgown, and there's really only one thought in her mind for a time.
Eventually, they drift to sleep and it's during this time when her heart's troubles float back to the surface. Harsh words she once threw at him ring out in her head, even in sleep.
"I suppose I should expect no less from someone in trade!"
"I don't wish to possess you, I wish to marry you because I love you!"
It feels like a punch, the memory of her words and the heartbreak written on his face. And of course, his own words, that hurt her more than she would admit.
"I hope you realize any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over."
God, how those words haunt her. She deserved them to hear them, after all her prejudice, cruelty, and her refusal to tell the truth
And what a perfect punishment for her. The only man she cares for now loathed her.
Waking up, she's surprised to find her eyes wet with tears. With a hesitant look at a sleeping John, she stands up, slipping into her nightgown, and walking over to gaze out her window. She realizes a simple thing, looking down upon the quiet mill.
They've forgiven each other, but she still has not forgiven herself.
She does not know how long she's standing there, but soon she hears the rustling of sheets and a soft groan from the bed.
"Margaret?"
Turning, her eyes soften to see John shifting up in the bed, the moonlight hitting his bare skin. She would blush if she was not in such a mood.
"I had trouble sleeping," she tries to say in her assuring manner. Despite the strength in her voice, she knows her ever observant husband hears the sadness edged in her tone and she has to give a small smile as he wordlessly gets out of bed, pulls on his trousers, and makes his way to her.
He wraps his arms around her and she does not hesitate for a moment to lean into him, allowing herself to be comforted. Could she even begin to describe how close she always wants to be with him? She wonders if other married women in the world felt like, this raw need and adoration for their husbands. She hopes so. John had once told her that he loved her like no man had loved woman before. Now she believes that if a wife out there loves her husband half of how she feels for John, then they must be very happy indeed.
"Will you tell me what's really wrong?" he asks softly, planting a soft kiss to the top of her head. His hand comes up to cup her cheek, gently turning her head up so he could meet her eyes. He tries to hide it, but she sees a little flicker of fear in his eyes and it breaks her. She was so cruel to him and even now, he still clutches on to the possibility that she regrets this decision to be with him.
Wanting to reassure him even in a small way, she rises up on her toes and kisses him, smiling when she feels his arms wrap around her a little tighter.
"You won't distract me, love," he laughs against her lips, pulling away softly. The flicker in his eyes is gone and she feels a little at ease.
He must feel her hesitation, because he brushes her cheek once more. "You can tell me anything, Margaret. I promised you that on the train and I still mean it now."
Memories of their reunion on the platform brings a smile to her face, although she feels worse knowing that despite all that joy, she still feeds into the memories of their judgements.
He's still looking at her, patiently waiting and she takes his hands in hers.
"It's…I don't precisely know how to say it," she pauses for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "John, I haven't forgiven myself."
His face doesn't change, but she can detect his confusion from such a statement.
"The way we once spoke to one another. The cruel things I said to you. I can't seem to get move past them.,,and…"
"And?" He prompts, no judgment in his voice, although she is uncertain if that will remain the same once she speaks again.
"What you said to me, that day you asked if I had any explanation for my behavior…" She can't bring herself to say the words, but the tightening of his hands indicates he knows exactly what she's speaking of.
"Forgive me, John, but sometimes those words keep rushing back into my head, as if they're trying to persuade me that you could still feel that way in your heart."
His jaw tightens and she aches knowing the memories she's bringing back to him. When he speaks his voice is soft, but pained.
"Margaret, you must know I never meant that. I was hurt, angry…jealous, but I never stopped loving you. I would take those words back in a moment if I could."
"I know you would," she responds, bringing his hand up to kiss it. She found she could easily reassure him of worries when she did that. He half-smiles, but quickly moves on to the other part of her confession.
"But Margaret, if you think I am holding you in contempt about your past words…"
"No, it's not that. It's like I said…it appears I may still hold contempt for myself."
He looks at here with a contemplative look upon his face, as if considering his response. In a hesitate voice, he responds, "Would it surprise you if I said I have been feeling a similar contempt?"
"Really?" She whispers, feeling a balance of ease and sadness that John should feel the same self-loathing.
He nods, with a self-deprecating smile. "The image of your face when I told you I was done with you is still fresh in my mind. Although I believe I was speaking to myself in a way…in a last effort to move on from you, I now wish I could go back and give myself a sharp punch for making you feel so helpless and despaired."
"It's like you said to me, John," she whispers, having moved closer to him again as he spoke. "I could not hold you in contempt for such a thing. I had lied to you and refused to tell you anything. You must not let that eat you alive."
She feels a soft laugh against her chest and looks up to see him slightly smiling once again. "It appears we both should be taking the other's advice on this subject."
She smiles back, thankful he is finding some humor for the both of them. His confession helps soften the ache in her heart.
"Maybe in time we will find the forgiveness we want. I do not know if it can be solved within the night."
"Probably not," he sighs, but there is a tone in his voice that she has come to associate with her husband's teasing nature. "We are two passionate and stubborn people, I fear we may have to often remind each other of the other's own worth and the love we have for one another."
His hand moves up to her shoulder and she has no doubt of where this is going.
"Indeed, although I fear I am not one for public displays of affections…most of the time that is," she blushes, thinking of their heated kisses on an open platform.
"Lucky for both of us, I am very partial to affection behind closed doors," he leans down, kissing her forehead, both her cheeks, and then a soft kiss on her lips. Still learning this side of herself, she ignores her hesitance and runs her hands up his chest, feeling the heat and strength of his body. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in closer, opening her lips and allowing for a deeper kiss.
"I love you, Margaret. More than I could possible say," he whispers, trying to speak before they completely give in to each other.
"I love you, John," is all she can say back, too overwhelmed to say anything more, as he gently leads her to the bed with his hands on her waist.
As she loses herself to his caresses, she knows they will need to continue helping each other move on from the mistakes of the past. That night is a revelation…that he suffers too.
She vows to help him heal and find the strength to forgive herself, and as he whispers sweet nothings into her ear, she knows he's making a similar promise to himself as well.
Both of these characters suffer from their own self-loathing in their own ways, and I believe they would have had to deal with that at some point in their marriage, especially early on.
If you feel inclined, leave a kudos and/or comment! I have some more ideas for what these two said and did after the credits rolled and the book ended. How I wish Gaskell had given us a sequel, but I hope I can fill in some small blanks!
(I have posted this on Archive of Our Own and a different category on FF, thus why it's possible you may already have seen this. I've moved my story on FF to this category as I realized my chapters will better fit for the Book category of North and South.)