A/N: So, here's the next chapter, in which we get to know a little more about Margaret's feelings. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint (bear with me if the next few chapters get a little too mushy-mushy and feel-good - there's trouble looming, I promise!). Please read and review (may I say here just how much I appreciate every single one - if you read and enjoy, or read and find faults, or a mixture of both please please please let me know in a review)! Now that my little rant is over, onto the story!


Chapter Two – Wedding Night


Still later on 14th October, 1851

The wedding had the desired effect. Doubt was sown in the minds of the gossips. Surely Mr. Thornton, master, magistrate and upright member of the community would not marry a girl who was said to be such a wanton, meeting secret lovers at night? Surely if a man like Mr. Thornton was marrying her, then the rumours were not true? But Miss So-and-So had been so positive about it… The wedding was a sudden affair to be sure, but if Mr. Thornton was marrying her, then…

In this way, Mr. Thornton's good reputation raised Margaret's also. However, this was a small consolation to her as she still smarted over being forced to marry in this way. She had shed bitter, angry tears when her father had told her, with more determination than she had ever seen in him, that she must be chained to Mr. Thornton for the rest of her life. He was swayed by nothing, not reasoning, not tears, not anger. There was no moving him. Margaret had briefly considered running away, like a heroine of a badly-written novel, but dismissed this notion almost immediately – it would be incredibly selfish and irresponsible to do something like that; something which would worry her father to death and would only confirm the slanders against her. And besides, Margaret had nowhere to run. Edith and Aunt Shaw were currently travelling in Italy, and she knew of nobody else to appeal to.

There was nothing for it but to yield, however grudgingly. It was the last thing she wished to do, but it seemed to be her only option. But then the thought had suddenly struck her, that until now she had only been thinking about her own reaction to this arrangement – what would Mr. Thornton think of it? He who had been mortified by her rejection of what had no doubt been goaded out of him by sharp compassion for her 'exposure'.

But no – he had said that he loved her, and surely one could not manufacture those tones of fervency, that trembling that was really more like a strong thrilling or the vibration of some tight cord, that look of pain that was so intense that even she had regretted the harshness of her words...?

Would he even agree in the first place after she had treated him so abominably?

For her words to him that day had been harsh and, she now readily acknowledged, somewhat undeserved. He had just picked an extraordinarily bad time to propose; she was convinced now that had he come a few days later, although her feelings would not have allowed her to do anything other than reject him, she would have done it considerably more gently. Anyway, even if Mr. Thornton did agree, would he triumph over her, and make her repent her refusal? Would he hold it over her for the rest of their married life, she wondered. There was no knowing.

She was brought out of her reverie as the carriage jolted as it went over a rut. She looked at the man sitting next to her as they made their way to his home, which was now apparently to be hers also. Feeling her gaze on him, he gave her a tentative smile. Her eyes blurred with tears and she hurriedly looked away.

Not once in that awkward private meeting in her father's study had he triumphed over her or reminded her of her shabby treatment of him. His voice had been gentler than she'd ever heard it as he told her that he would never hurt her and would do his best to make her happy if she'd only give him a chance.

His words softened her rigid sense of defiance and her feeling of ill-usage, but she was still determined to be honest with him. 'I cannot promise you that I will come to love you,' she had said, and her voice had come out rather colder than she had intended. He had simply nodded, but she could see in the quickly hidden flash of pain in his eyes that though her words had not been unexpected, they still hurt him.

She had hesitated before laying her small hand on his arm. Finally meeting his eyes, she had added softly, 'But I will try.' It was the only thing she could do.


That afternoon, after luncheon, Mr. Thornton left for the mill, claiming that he had to look over the accounts. His mother was astonished that he would want to leave the side of his new wife on their wedding day and annoyed that she would have to keep her company by herself, Fanny having gone to visit some friend of hers. She did not know why Miss Hale had changed her mind about her son, but if she made John happy, Mrs. Thornton could not bear her a grudge for long. She had determined to treat Miss Hale as her own daughter, and would try to love her for her son's sake, so she made no comment about her son's odd behaviour.

They were sitting in the drawing room, Mrs. Thornton finishing changing the initials on the linen, Margaret trying concentrate on her book, resolved to make the best of her present situation – after all, she was going to be stuck here for the rest of her life; it would not do to constantly dwell on her misfortune, or annoy the woman who might be her only ally. Mrs. Thornton's concentration was also not on her occupation, but was instead on something rather troubling which had just occurred to her and she glanced at her new daughter-in-law. The girl's mother had passed away, and she had promised to give advice as she would to her own daughter; it could not in all decency be avoided.

'Margaret,' she said (both women had early agreed on calling each other by their Christian names, as it would be ridiculous if they both referred to each other as Mrs. Thornton). Her daughter-in-law looked up enquiringly. 'Did your mother… did she tell you anything about… wifely duties before she passed away?'

Margaret's face showed no embarrassment. 'No, she did not tell me much, but I do have some experience in these matters.' Mrs. Thornton's face darkened as her mind inevitably flashed to the recent rumours she had heard about some gentleman at the station with Margaret – the rumours she had endeavoured to forget when she learnt from her son of his impending wedding to Miss Hale. Miss Hale shamelessly continued, 'When Mama was ill, I practically ran our household – so I am sure I can learn to organize menus with the cook, and I shall be perfectly able to oversee the general housekeeping and laundry,' her daughter-in-law finished serenely.

Mrs. Thornton was simultaneously relieved and dismayed by this reply. It told her that Margaret was all that was innocent and maidenly, but it also told her that she would have to shed some light on certain things so that the poor girl had some idea of what to expect on her wedding night.

By the end of their conversation, there was not a shade of red that either woman's face had not turned.


Margaret's reflection looked paler than usual in the mirror. Perhaps it was only the effect of the moonlight or the contrast between her dark hair and her fine-grained ivory skin, but she did feel somewhat light-headed. Mrs. Thornton did not know the nature of their marriage; surely under the circumstances Mr. Thornton would not expect her to do that

Her grip on her hairbrush tightened until her knuckles turned white. But then again, it was their wedding night and she was now his wife. She started to shiver and told herself that it was the cold. It was a lie that gave little comfort.

Just then, she heard footsteps approaching her room. Despite having known him for only a few short months, she immediately recognized his firm, deliberate footsteps. She gave a small squeak as the footfalls hesitated outside the door and she hurried over to the large bed and got in, pulling the covers over her. As she heard the door creak open and the footsteps come closer, she willed herself to stay still and keep her eyes closed.

Mr. Thornton entered the room hesitantly and walked over to the figure he could see lying in his – their – bed. Her eyes were shut tight and she appeared to be holding her breath. He sighed as he walked away from the bed into his dressing room and started to change out of his clothes. Perhaps he should have told his mother the precise details of how their wedding had come about – then different sleeping quarters for the two of them might have been arranged and would have saved them this wretched embarrassment.

As it was, all he had told her had been that Miss Hale had agreed to marry him, and that their wedding would take place as soon as possible. Although rather annoyed that the time constraint meant that the event could not be as big as a Thornton's wedding ought to be, his mother had taken it in her stride and had been in charge of almost all the preparations.

Pulling on his night shirt, he walked around to his side of the bed, and kneeling on the bed he slowly put a hand on her shoulder. 'Margaret.' His voice was gentle. Her entire body stiffened and then she whimpered and shrugged his hand off. He replaced it, repeating her name.

'Please.' The terror in her voice cut through him like a knife. 'Please don't.' How could she think that he...? What must her opinion of him be?

'Margaret, look at me,' he said quietly, his voice firm. She slowly turned on her side to face him, and he could see that she was trying desperately to mask the fear in her eyes, clutching her hairbrush even more tightly. For a moment his lips twitched as he glanced at it. 'You're not intending to knock me out with that, are you?'

She said nothing, and seeing the spark of an idea in her eyes, he hastily continued before it could fully take form and be executed. 'Margaret, I am not a monster. I meant it when I said I would never hurt you.' He paused for a moment, inwardly cursing his inability to put his thoughts into words. He continued, 'I would never force you to do anything. You must understand that the day I touch you will be the day you welcome it.' On hearing this, Margaret's eyes filled with tears of gratitude at the words of this gentleman, for gentleman he truly was, no matter what she had said that day.

He misinterpreted her tears and was dismayed. 'You must believe me. I could never impose on you – I love you too well for that.'

She closed her eyes and one tear slipped out. 'I know,' she whispered. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. 'Thank you.'

He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. 'Sleep well, Margaret.' Fortunately for her, the darkness hid her violent blush when she suddenly registered his shocking state of undress. Why, not only was the tall column of his neck completely exposed, she could see down to a few inches below his collar bone from the open neck of his night shirt. She felt suddenly faint as he kissed her forehead and his musky scent invaded her nostrils, her own lips very close to the dark stubble of his jaw.

She could not explain the twinge of disappointment which was mingled with her relief when he took his pillow and lay down on the chaise longue in their bedchamber instead of next to her on the bed.