Before you start reading, I want you to know that this is by no means the first fic I have written for North and South. It is, however, the first fic I am putting on this site for the world to see, and you might as well know that I am quite nervous about this! Anyway, this particular fic is set in series-verse, in the time between the end of the series and Margaret/Mr. Thornton's wedding. It's just some shameless fluff, really.
Constructive criticism is very much welcome. Feel free to point out any spelling mistakes and whatnot. I hope you enjoy!
The title of this one-shot comes from a Kate Bush song.
All We Ever Look For
"Good afternoon, Margaret. Have you seen my mother?" Mr. Thornton began upon entering the drawing room and seeing that the only woman present in the room was his fiancée.
"She is not here, she is paying Fanny a visit. I thought you had been informed of this," Margaret said without looking up from the letter she was writing. It hit her that her soon-to-be-husband had spoken to her directly, and this distracted her so much that she dotted her i's and looked up.
The fact that he was talking to her surprised her so much because the previous day they had not even had the time to exchange a full sentence; they had not gone beyond a casual 'good-morning' and a 'good-night', the reason for this being that Mr. Thornton had been busier than ever, and the revival of Marlborough Mills was marked with the utmost priority. Margaret could not blame him - after all, the mill was his lifeline.
As for herself, Margaret had been busy as well. Her own proceedings had not failed to leave her exhausted in the evenings, and she wished that her wedding preparations were less excessive. She had always wanted to keep her own wedding rather simple, after all. However, Margaret had needed to settle for more elaborate plans, for Mrs. Thornton had not taken "I do not require a wedding dress" for an answer.
Mr. Thornton coughed, perhaps to hide his embarrassment caused by forgetting his mother's errands.
"Of course she is, you are right. It seems I have been distracted and have not heeded to matters other than the mill…or a certain pleasant event that is planned to take place in the near future," Mr. Thornton frowned, his voice filled with a certain bitterness Margaret could not quite place. He was not having cold feet, was he?
She turned her face towards Mr. Thornton, who was staring out of the window. He moved away from the glass to sit down on the settee, but when he saw she was looking in his direction, he patted the seating next to him.
"Margaret, would you sit here with me?"
"Is your mother not supposed to be around if you and I are to be in the same room?" Margaret said.
"I hardly think it matters," he answered, "I believe our clean slates have already been soiled."
Margaret knew that he had alluded to their first kiss. The moment still lay fresh in her memory, and she regretted that he had not kissed her like that since, for he had resorted to soft pecks on her cheek when they were in the presence of his mother.
She stood up hesitantly, leaving her writing materials behind. When she sat down she left a decent space in between them, but he shifted closer instantly. Her pulse quickened; she had not been prepared for this physical proximity. She realized how restless she had become simply because she had not been close to him in a couple of days. The feeling of love in her belly had been relatively dormant, but when Mr. Thornton took her hands in his, butterflies started fluttering around in her stomach in large numbers.
"I have neglected you," he said, his tone one of regret, "and I am terribly sorry."
"Please, you do not owe me an apology. You must do what you must. As a matter of fact, I have been quite busy myself; we should both be filed for neglect."
Mr. Thornton chuckled, "no one will be filed today, not if I can help it. How have you been advancing with your preparations? Mother told me you have been quite busy and that you barely accept help of any kind."
Margaret dismissed his remark with a frown.
"Your mother is exaggerating most vigorously. She has offered to help me multiple times, and I have accepted her aid if I believed her to have a better knowledge of local customs."
"I see," Mr. Thornton smiled knowingly, his thumbs brushing against the back of her hands.
Margaret could not hold back the rush of love that filled her, and in an impulsive motion she laid a burning cheek against his shoulder. He held her close, unclasping one of his hands to tuck some strands of hair behind her ear. For a minute or so they simply enjoyed each other's company in silence.
"I cannot wait to be married," Margaret said eventually, "it would certainly give me more peace of mind. If there is anything I have learned over the past few days, it is that my material needs are not as excessive as other women's. Perhaps one would consider speaking of my own needs to be rude or improper, but I am positive that my need for simplicity is in our – and not just my own - advantage."
"Need for simplicity? I am afraid you have lost me there, love."
"It is a matter of principles, and I am afraid it weighs heavily on my conscience. All these preparations keep reminding me how I once vouched to simply put on my favorite dress and walk to church on my wedding day. Yet here I am, having to decide whether I want bows or buttons on my newly made wedding dress, and additionally it is calculated to be more expensive than anything I have ever owned," Margaret said.
Her eyes flew wide open then, and she lifted her head, staring him in the eye while she exclaimed in dismay: "But oh! You coaxed me into talking about my dress, while I should not be discussing the details in your presence at all!"
Mr. Thornton had not the heart to tell her that he had not tempted her into discussing her dress at all, and that it had been her own doing. He swallowed back a comment because he had noticed that Margaret was more nervous than she let on. He tried to distract her, steering their conversation into a lighter direction.
"Why, that is curious, I promptly forgot what you were talking about," he said. Margaret shook her head, but a tentative smile peeked through her stern expression. Even the hint of a smile on her features was completely disarming, and he vouched to make their future household a place where stern faces would be the exception rather than the rule.
"I want you to know that I cannot wait to be married either," he said, his tone growing more serious, "and not in the least because it would make it decisively easier to do this more often."
Upon this remark he cupped her head in his hands and quickly pressed his mouth to hers.
Margaret exhaled shakily against his lips while her pulse beat quickly, and she believed he was able to feel her sudden blush underneath the palms of his hands.
It felt strangely forbidden to be engaged in such an act of affection. Margaret hoped she would not be unfortunate enough to have a servant walking in, or worse, her future mother-in-law. She chided herself for her own hypocrisy because she had allowed him to kiss her in a public place not a week before, and back then she had not cared about people seeing her behave so shamelessly.
She ran out of breath and leaned back. He tried to kiss her again, but she halted him, her fingers shooting up against his lips to prevent him from pressing his mouth to hers.
"Wait - Mr. Th- I mean, John," her cheeks flushed an even brighter red at the near-slip of the name she had been allowed to reject ever since he had taken her hands in his on a station bench.
"Complaints, Miss Hale?" he asked with a teasing look upon his face. Margaret shook her head.
Mr. Thornton's expression changed into one of stern pensiveness.
"Say," he began, "'Margaret' does have more syllables than 'Miss Hale', does it not?"
"It does, but why is that important?" Margaret said, feeling slightly perplexed, for she could not follow his trail of thought. She was quickly liberated from her musings however, when Mr. Thornton leaned in once again and whispered the first syllable of her name against her mouth.
"Mar," he kissed her, "ga," he kissed her a second time, "ret," he sealed her name with a soft peck.
When he had spelled it out for her, he leaned his forehead against hers. He seemed completely happy at that moment, and Margaret marveled at the hue of his eyes, which seemed to be even brighter than usual. A new wave of fondness washed over her, and she closed her eyes. When she reopened them, Mr. Thornton was still looking at her intently.
"I can certainly see the appeal of my Christian name for this practice," Margaret smiled faintly, "would another reason for looking forward to being married be that 'Mrs. Thornton' has more syllables?"
Mr. Thornton chuckled, "I do not think it would be a good idea to use that title, it reminds me of my mother too much."
"I suppose you could use 'Margaret Thornton', although it is rather lengthy."
"Would that not make us run out of breath?" he replied, his eyebrows raised.
Margaret blinked, and, trying to sound perfectly solemn, she said: "We cannot know until we try - is Empiricism not the mode of the century?"
"I believe you are right," was his reply, and he repeated the syllabic-ritual with this name, his lips lingering a little longer with each represented sound. His quintupled kiss managed to render her quite breathless indeed, but Margaret decided she liked this uneven number of kisses quite well.
She heard murmuring voices down the hallway all of a sudden, and she started. Despite her physical state, which made her temporary less attentive to events that happened around her, she still had the clearness of mind to get to her feet and straighten the fabric of her gown.
Mr. Thornton quickly got up from his sitting position as well, bidding Margaret adieu for the time being - using the excuse that he really should be going back to the mill - before leaving the room. The look he gave her before closing the door behind his back became engrained in her mind, for it spoke of a sweet promise.
When the door fell shut Margaret was alone once again, and she swore she could hear the faint giggles of the servants downstairs.