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John Thornton sat in his chair, eyes intent on the books before him. In his lap sat a little girl, Elizabeth Margaret Thornton – or Marley as she was known to her family – her face just as intent as she scribbled away on her own piece of paper.
When the post was deposited on the edge of his desk, he spared it minimal interest as he lined up his last line of numbers.
Shortly after, numbers adding up satisfactorily, he eased back. Wrapping an arm around his eldest daughter's stomach, he stood briefly, reached for the mail and sat once again.
Marley's interest in drawing waned as she turned attention to the letters he had received. As he put business correspondence to the side, he came across an envelope at which his daughter declared "F".
John Thornton pressed a kiss to the side of her head. "That's right sweetheart, it's from your Aunt Fanny."
He slit the letter open and saw it addressed to him.
Fanny didn't visit much, now that their mother had passed away and she'd insisted on moving further from the mills to a place not so dirty or sooty, swearing of the necessity for her delicate nature.
The death of Lydia Thornton had been sudden, a heart attack at the mills. There had been nothing to do but bury her nine months ago. His only regret was that she had not lived long enough to see the Thornton heir born, Hale born mere weeks after he sudden demise.
As much as he loved his three daughters – Marley joined by Frederica and Gwendolyn eighteen months later – he had been relived when his beloved wife had given birth to a son. There would be no more snide comments or smug looks from his spoilt sister over his lack of male heir when she had produced one so quickly, not long after he and Margaret had wed.
Reading the letter, he could see that Fanny had given birth to another son, to be christened Thornton Watson. The baby was on the larger size, but skipping to the last line, he read that all was well. She also expressed her annoyance that her husband had been detained on business and not home when she gave birth.
Throwing Marley up into his arms, smiling when she laughed gleefully, plaits swinging, he was determined to find his wife and apprise her of this new development.
Three days later, Fanny Watson was dead.
Coming up: The funeral.