With the assistance of a footman, Mrs. Thorton rose from her chair. It was time for the ladies to adjourn to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port and cigars. Each gentleman stood to assist the lady seated next to him, but somehow, Miss Hale found herself without an aid. Discovering it impossible to rise on her own when her companion's chair leg entangled her gown, Margaret felt her composure slip. She glanced around shyly, relieved that none of the guests noticed her discomfiture, absorbed as they were in the idle chatter so common at dinner parties.
Following the tense exchange over aid to the strikers that rendered the soup course tasteless, Mr. Thorton seemingly dismissed Miss Hale from all thought and lavished his attentions on the lovely Miss Latimire seated to his left. However, Mr. Thorton found he was ever-aware of Miss Hale and wished to save her any embarrassment from her current predicament. With an ease belying the stern look he leveled on her moments ago, Mr. Thorton moved to her side, gently released her gown from its prison, and assisted Miss Hale from her seat. He uttered not a word, not even when Miss Hale breathed her thanks. Neither ventured a glance at the other, each still uncomfortable from their cross words.
Margaret was the last of the women to enter the drawing room. A few ladies gathered near the impressive grand piano, already sipping from delicate china cups. Hearing their spirited discussion about London fashions, Margaret decided to take a turn about the room. The others gathered at the opposite end, where Fanny poured out from a lavish coffee service. Margaret watched Fanny entertain her guests with witty anecdotes, some, she noted painfully, at the expense of acquaintances not among the party. The ladies broke into smaller conversations amongst themselves, asking after each other children and telling of difficulties with their domestics. With no stories to share and no inquiry from the others, Margaret remained silent, feeling somewhat invisible. She moved to stand behind the elegant settee upon which Fanny sat, making eye contact and smiling politely. Fanny responded with a twitch of the lips that was more sneer than smile then turned away to continue her hostess duties. While handing a pretty china cup to the woman seated across from her, Fanny became so engaged in conversation that she ceased her duties, leaving Margaret the only women in the room without refreshment.
The slight, only served to validate Margaret's belief that, in this fast-paced world of manufacturers and tradesmen, she was of little consequence and quite forgettable. She stepped back from the settee, positioning herself near the balcony doors, centered between the groups of ladies, and contented herself with simply observing. Apart and alone. This was how Mr. Thorton found her when the men cut short their talk of business and politics and joined the ladies in the drawing room. Upon entering the room, Mr. Thorton's attention found her immediately and his expression was clearly disapproving. Margaret attributed his grimace to her outspokenness at dinner and glanced away, unsettled. Without moving from his spot, he searched out his mother, who read his ire correctly. With a fresh cup and saucer in hand, Mrs. Thorton crossed to Margaret.
"Some coffee, Miss Hale?"
"Thank you, Mrs. Thorton." Margaret took a sip, her mind wildly searching for a topic of conversation. Indicating the piano with a glance and a nod, Margaret asked "will Fanny play this evening?"
"No." Mrs. Thorton responded curtly. "My son thought it best not to this evening, given the strike."
"Well, perhaps another time." Margaret replied and could think of no other conversation starters. The ladies each bowed their heads as Mrs. Thorton moved on to visit with her other guests.
As Margaret continued her observations, she found her attention repeatedly drawn to Mr. Thorton who mingled graciously among his guests. His countenance was – dare she admit - affable. He did not dominate his guests but spoke with them in companionable tones, taking time to listen as well. Margaret realized that she liked this side of the man and wished he would turn those sincere smiles and warm blues eyes on her. With a disappointed sigh, she acknowledged this would never be. No, disapproval was the only visage she would be treated to.
With the addition of the men and the heavy scent of cigar that clung to them, the room became heated. A servant stopped to set ajar one of the balcony doors, letting in the mild night air. Through the open doorway, Margaret was drawn to the full moon shining down on the empty mill courtyard. She moved out to the small balcony setting her hands on the cool iron railing and raising her face to the sky.
"Enjoying the silence?" Mr. Thorton uttered the benign words like an invective. The mill was silent because of the strike, and she supported the strikers. Catching her breath, Margaret was startled to be found outside and glanced back towards the door. Even before she saw his tall figure, she knew it was Mr. Thorton and imagined his reproachful expression. With a dispirited sigh she returned her gaze to the courtyard.
"I regret that we quarrel when ever we meet," She spoke with such remorse that his ire melted, and he questioned if his anger was actually a façade, manufactured as a reason to search her out. He stepped out onto the balcony and his gaze fell upon her hair glinting in the moonlight, the creamy complexion of her bare shoulders, the fall of her gown from her slight waist, and finally her graceful hand resting on the railing. Each a tiny perfection that made up the whole. With his tone softer and more congenial, he replied.
"It was bound to happen, I suppose, as we each learn each other's ways."
"My ways," she quietly scoffed, shaking her head. She raised her eyes to the moon again. "It's hard to believe that is the same moon that shined down on me in Helstone. Everything is so different here. Back at home, my life had import. I was useful. I brought food to the hungry and nursed the sick. I helped children with their figures and read to the elderly. I shared all I had with those who were not as blessed. 'My ways' were respected. Here, they get me shunned." Her voice caught with sadness, or was it frustration?
As she spoke, he moved forward laying his hand aside hers on the railing. Of their own volition, his eye rested on her profile and he beheld a beauty more profound than he had observed a moment before. His breath stopped. He was in awe of her and had been for some time, he admitted to himself. Never had he met a woman as benevolent - or as forthright - as she. Suddenly, he wanted to tell her, make her understand how much he admired 'her ways.' "Have patience, Miss Hale. I …all of Milton benefits from your presence here." As he spoke, he turned to face her as she turned to face him, surprised by and quizzical of the kind words he had spoken. He continued. "You radiate a goodness and serenity that casts a beautiful warm glow on our world. How could any of us remain untouched?" They stared into each other's eyes slowly becoming aware of a different type of tension than they usually felt around each other. "Margaret," he breathed and lowered his head towards hers, when suddenly Margaret noticed Mrs. Thorton standing at the doorway. Immediately, Margaret stepped back, dropping her gaze as Mr. Thorton looked toward his mother.
"Miss Latimire and her father are taking their leave." Mrs. Thorton announced after an awkward pause.
Replying in a strong, steady voice, Mr. Thorton returned his gaze to Miss Hale as he spoke "Thank you, Mother, I'll be there shortly." Worriedly, Mrs. Thorton hesitated slightly before moving away. Mr. Thorton continued to look longingly at Margaret's averted head, knowing she would not allow them to try and recapture the moment. Without a word, he turned and walked away, her eyes following him as he moved through the door and across the room to say goodbye to his guests.