Margaret was content when they arrived in Milton shortly after noon and Mr. Lennox showed no desire to chaperone her around the town. He merely arranged a carriage to take her where she willed, assured her that he would settle them at the inn and could be found there if she required him. His attitude was aloof for his pride had been wounded, but her smile of gratitude made him forget hard feelings and resolve to be the friend she needed. He had a feeling that she would need a friend after this meeting, for good or ill.

She was startled by the contrast between returning here and her visit to Helstone. She had felt a sad sense of loss in the place of her innocent happiness. Here, in the place where she lost so much, it felt like coming home. The first place she ventured was to the cemetery where she dismissed the carriage. It was an unnecessary luxury and she preferred to walk, memories stirring her to tears as she quietly picked flowers for Bessy's grave, smiling as she discovered a rose bush a few paces off the path to her mother's grave with a solitary rose hidden amidst the thorns.

It was a small, stunted plant, the thorns winding around a wooden fence-post already overgrown with ivy competing for sunlight. It would never compare to the roses of Helstone but it seemed to her more beautiful than any rose she had ever beheld for this one was here – and real - while more lovely ones were only memory, the roots taken up and discarded like so much of her happy childhood. A romantic ideal stole across her mind as she thought of love, comparing it to this sad wreck of a bush as it wound inextricably around her heart piercing it from all angles with deep briers, but incomparably beautiful for the production of even one determined flower.

Her feet carried her on and soon she found herself outside the open gates of Marlborough Mills. She owned this place now but did not feel any sense of pride in it. How could she feel pride in the heavy silence that greeted her, more tormenting than the noise of machinery and men shouting orders. The courtyard was clean of every scrap of cotton. The looms stood like giant skeletal monsters in quiet rows within the warehouse. She wandered aimlessly through the maze of machines before she was arrested by the sound of voices. They were speaking quietly but the slightest noise would echo through the cavernous rafters and she crept nearer at hearing the baritone notes of Mr. Thornton. The other voice she recognized as belonging to Nicholas Higgins.

"Have you heard aught of Miss Margaret?"

"She's in London. We're not likely to see her again."

"I thought she might have gone to Spain."

At these words, Margaret stumbled forward, catching herself against one of the great machines. The noise made both men turn.

"You were saying, Master," Higgins said, dryly.

"Miss Hale?" He glanced between the weaver and the woman. "Did you know she was here, Higgins?"

"No, I didn'," he crushed his cap in his hands and took a step back. "I'll be on my way, though." He paused by Margaret and added, "Come by the house for a visit wi' me an' Mary afore ye leave?"

"Of course, Nicholas" she said affectionately though she never looked at him. Her eyes were held captive by the man slowly walking toward her. He had changed. Only a year had passed, but he looked ten years older. There was a pain in her chest as she beheld the fine lines around his eyes and mouth, the silvering at the temples of his hair. He still moved with a commanding grace but his face was shuttered of all emotion though his gaze seemed to burn through her.

She had rehearsed what she was going to say a thousand times in London, on the train, during her walk. Words could not be found as he stopped before her, stared down at her. She shifted her eyes from his, found herself staring at his throat. It occurred to her that he wasn't wearing a cravat. The collar gaped open, the sleeves of his white cotton shirt were rolled up to his elbows and he was without his jacket. She had never seen him so informally attired, but it was very warm inside the mill. A blush suffused her cheeks as she shifted her gaze to a button on his black vest.

Her vision blurred when his voice seemed to vibrate through her blood

"Why would you have gone to Spain?"

Her eyes flew back up to his. There was curiosity there... and a spark of anger.

"Mr. Thornton," she attempted to speak, now that the time had come to tell him the truth, she found her courage deserting her. The high color visibly drained from her cheeks. She couldn't breath. A loud buzzing noise suddenly overwhelmed her hearing, making his next words distant and indistinguishable. What if he resented her more for the truth? He was a magistrate! Did she not compromise his position with the local law by unintentionally involving him in the defense of her brother, a declared traitor to the crown! Darkness seemed to gather at the edges of her vision. For the second time in her life, Margaret Hale collapsed into his arms, the blow of her own distressed thoughts more wounding and painful than the sharpest stone.

A fine sheen of sweat glistened on her brow as he gathered her close, picked her up, carried her to his office and laid her upon his now empty desk. Her desk, he corrected himself as he stared down at her. It was only fitting that she should acquire the part of his life that he never would have considered giving her, even though he would have given her everything else. For an uncharitable moment, he wished that she would go to Spain and leave him be, allow him to move on from the terrible truth that he had lost everything to her; his heart, his self-control, and now his very livelihood. He was overwhelmed once more as his mind conjured the image of her stepping off a ship into a world impossibly far from his own; stepping into the arms of the young, elegant gentleman from the train station, stepping out his life... forever. His hands clenched into fists and his heart cried so fiercely at this torment that the sound almost escaped through his clenched teeth.

After a moment, he composed himself. His jacket hung on the back of the office door and from it he withdrew a handkerchief, wiping the cold sweat from her brow as she began to revive.

"Oh dear," she groaned, trying to sit up, trying to gather her thoughts, trying in vain to find her composure while he stood over her with accusing eyes. He gave her the time she needed, offering a hand to assist her from the desk into his office chair as her confusion cleared. "I'm afraid you fainted, Miss Hale. Would you like me to fetch some water? I will have to go over to the house."

He started for the door before she could answer and her hand shot out to grasp his arm. "No, thank you, Mr. Thornton. I will be well in a moment. I've only shortly arrived from London and fear that I neglected to eat before walking here." Her fingers dropped from his sleeve. "And I will not lie, my emotions have been disturbed since arriving. I was unprepared for this visit."

"You came to me," he reminded her gruffly.

Her eyes sparked in their old way at his tone. "That does not mean that I was prepared."

"Why are you here, Miss Hale?" He sighed, suddenly looking incredibly weary as he leaned against the corner of his desk.

"A business proposal," she replied bluntly, finding her courage at last, or perhaps too exhausted to draw the matter out; the weakness of her doubts fleeing in the face of her determination to have everything resolved with this man before her, world weary but not broken by his circumstances. She fought through the haziness of mind to add, "I have my lawyer with me and I hoped to have you dine with us this evening to go over the scheme."

"Is that why you just collapsed in my arms? Because you came to ask me to a business engagement?" He suddenly pushed off from the desk and began to pace the floor, agitation overcoming his composure, the jealousy that had been eating him alive for the past year finally asserting itself, demanding answers. "No, I believe you overheard my conversation with Higgins and wish to conceal..."

"Do not finish that thought!" She cried, hastily rising to her feet, pale and trembling. The sudden movement caused another wave of dizziness to overcome her, but she pressed through it. "Do not speak of assumptions with no foundation of truth! I will explain, if you will let me, but I promise that you will regret your next words if you go on."

She sank back into the chair breathlessly.

He stared at her, a bit astonished but without pity.

"If I am so wrong in my assumptions then, by all means, explain."

She managed it, dry-eyed, watching his face intently for signs of incredulousness or resentment while the story of her brother unfolded. His eyes widened in surprise, his mouth tightened in consternation, but his chief expression was one of profound relief.

At last, after several tense moments of silence he said, "You were right to silence me."

"I should have told you sooner."

A tight smile curled the corner of his mouth as he glanced sideways at her. "Perhaps, but I will not fault your decision. As you told me shortly after the event, it was not your secret to tell. Am I correct in assuming that you've informed your brother of the extraordinary price that has been extracted from you to buy his safety?"

"Only just," she admitted. The shy look that entered her eyes caused his breath to catch. ". I was too unsettled in my spirit to consult him regarding the matter until recent events led me to believe I might have another chance to explain all to you, then I wrote to Fred and obtained his blessing. Your gifts of perception astound me, Mr. Thornton"

"They've not done me much good lately, I'm afraid." He extended his hand. "Will you accompany me to the house, Miss Hale? You're still very pale and I would offer you refreshment - and to continue our discussion in a more comfortable environment."

A panicked expression flitted across her features and she replied uncertainly, "I need Mr. Lennox to help me explain..."

"You don't need Mr. Lennox."