Because of my poor English I've asked for help. And I've got it from amazing Beta – coldie voldie. Now this story has two authors. Even if I have written the scheme of "Different way", this is she who is filling it with colours and life. Thank you, coldie voldie!
Chapter 1
She had been in London four months, and still had not gotten used to the habits and rituals of her new life. There were calls to make, people to chat with, and shops to visit with her cousin Edith. Sometimes she fancied herself a doll: a pretty face to be dressed and pampered by her aunt and cousin, and then placed on a sofa by the fireplace to entertain their guests. Margaret knew that they loved her very much, but presently she felt quite ungrateful. She shouldn't really; she had no one but this family. No one who would love her, support her during her hard days of grieving over the loss of her mother and father. When no one was looking at her, she would close her eyes and picture herself miles and miles away, in a far less elegant sitting room in Crampton. She pictured a pair of bright blue eyes, and saw herself opening her mouth to say "Yes!". When she was lucky enough to remain undisturbed for even longer, she would imagine his expression at her answer. How his face might morph from perpetual seriousness to something lighter. These were her favorite pastimes of each day.
And the happiness she felt from these images was so great, that anyone who saw her in that moment could easily recognize the Margaret Hale of Helstone.
But she was no longer in the North; she was in London again, and presently involved in her social duties. Calls, chats, tea…in short, everything that irritated her while simultaneously saddening her with longing. And any who had taken time to observe her closely would plainly see that she was not yet recovered from the death of her father. From the loss of the life she had come to truly cherish, perhaps more than her childhood haven. And she was mourning the loss of a hope she hadn't realized she even possessed. Those who were closest to her each had their own opinion on what was best to bring her out of her reverie:
Edith thought that Margaret ought to entertain.
Her Aunt Shaw though that Margaret out to marry.
Henry thought that Margaret ought to marry him.
When Margaret did finally catch on to the fact that each person believed they knew what was best for her, and each (in their own way) was forcing her to take part in their schemes, she fought back. She tried to show them how mistaken they were. That none of their solutions would help her. But after many weeks, she admittedly had very little success. They listened, but they did not hear, it would seem.
She began to feel like a foreigner in a strange country that she knew nothing about. No one understood her, and she understood less about them. A loneliness greater even then when her father died, began to settle upon her heart, and she felt homesick. At least she had been at home then, surrounded by familiarity and comfort. But this was home now, wasn't it? No, home wasn't here. It was in Milton.
After all, home is where your heart is.
But there was no way back home for her, was there? She had no money, and had been placed in her aunt's care. Worse still, she knew she was being ungrateful by wishing so desperately for her independence.
The day Mr. Bell visited her was memorable. It was the first time she had truly smiled in ages. The others in the household thought it a true and proper miracle: she was talking, questioning, even teasing the old man! Mr. Bell himself, a keen observer if ever there was one, noticed the puzzled expressions on the others faces, and caught a few remarks as they passed between her aunt and cousin. He was used to reading between the lines, and was not disappointed in himself. Upon his third visit to Harley Street, he asked Margaret if she wanted to visit Helstone.
Her enthusiastic response had convinced him, and a surety settled upon his chest as he felt he was certain of the reason for her response. There had always been a strange connection and silent understanding between them, and Mr. Bell would beat around the bush in this matter. He waited only until after their rather unpleasant visit to the Parsonage, he led her to a bench sitting upon a bank in the old garden. Margaret seemed somewhat preoccupied, and rather disappointed. After much persuasion on his part, she eventually told him about herself: the lie she had spoken to Mr. Thornton, her concerns and doubts regarding his opinion of her, and just how very, very lonely she was. For a moment hesitated, unsure of himself, and the plan he concocted. But his academic sense won out in the end. After all, it really was the only way.
"Margaret," He said slowly. "I want you to listen to me completely, and remain calm until I finish." She looked at him somewhat alarmed. "I want you to marry me."