ii.
"I will not!" Margaret's skirts swished and flicked about her as she agitatedly paced the small confines of the family parlor. "How can you even ask such a thing of me, Father?"
"Margaret. My dear, be reasonable," Richard Hale exhorted his daughter. "What choice do you have? A woman's reputation is a fragile thing and people are already talking."
"I do not know!" she exclaimed. "But there has to be some other solution." She pressed her hands against her flushed cheeks. "I know!" Her eyes lit up as a desperate inspiration struck. "I shall go to Spain and join Fred!"
Maria Hale made a choking noise and buried her face in her hands. "No," she wept. "Oh, no, please. No."
Dixon leaned down to whisper softly in her mistress's ear while shooting a warning glance toward the younger woman.
"Margaret!"
She startled at her father's sharp tone. She could count on one hand the number of times he had raised his voice to her in her lifetime.
"You are upsetting your mother," he chided.
Dropping to her knees before him, Margaret raised a pleading face to her father.
"Father. Papa," she entreated. "You and Mother married for love. Even Fred in his exile speaks of his love for a woman. Is this truly what you want for me?" She stared beseechingly into her father's warm, dark eyes. "Am I to be the only one among us to wed where there is no love?"
"Oh, my dear." Mr. Hale laid his hand on the crown of his daughter's head and gave her a gentle smile. "But there is love. John loves you very much."
She made a scoffing noise in her throat and shook her head rapidly back and forth in denial of his words.
"I do not believe a man such as he can understand love," she gritted. "I believe he wishes to possess me, nothing more."
"He is a good man, Margaret. Do you think I could entrust you to a man I did not admire?"
"Father. Does it not matter to you that I do not admire him?" she whispered tearfully.
"Is there truly nothing about him which you find to be estimable?" Mr. Hale asked curiously.
She looked away, fixing her gaze on the cabbage rose pattern of the carpet beneath her knees, her shoulders moving in a sulky shrug.
Rising to his feet, Mr. Hale beckoned her to follow him from the room.
"Margaret." He took her hands in both of his and gave them a gentle squeeze. "I know John to be a good man," he said again. "I believe he loves you. And I cannot help but notice…" He bent his knees slightly, bringing his face level with hers to give her a knowing look. "I cannot help but notice that he engenders strong feelings in you as well."
"Strong feelings of dislike," she retorted reflexively.
"Perhaps," he mused. "But it is said that love and hate are two sides of the same coin." He held up a forestalling hand when she opened her mouth to argue.
Margaret wrapped her arms around her middle. "And are you so sure of this that you willing to risk my life's happiness on a hunch?"
"On a hunch… and the hope that you are intelligent enough not to wallow in self-pity and spite yourself." He laid two fingers beneath her chin and forced her to look up at him. "It matters not, Margaret. For there is no other choice."
Tears flooded her eyes again and she allowed him to draw her into his embrace. Wrapping her arms around his middle, she buried her face against his coat, inhaling the familiar scents of peppermint and old parchment which she always associated with her father.
"You and I both know that your mother is failing a little more every day," he whispered against her temple. "And I was already an older man when the Lord blessed us with you," he reminded her. "There is no money to settle on you, and with a tarnished reputation…"
His voice trailed off and broke. "I have to know that you will be taken care of when your mother and I are both gone."
"Oh, Father." She clutched him close and shook her head against the rough wool of his jacket. "Let us not speak of such things," she begged.
"But my dear, we must settle this," he insisted. "Do you really dislike Mr. Thornton so very much?
"I think him arrogant, pompous and rigid," she declared with a haughty sniff.
"Indeed," Mr. Hale said agreeably. "Though I dare say he deliberately cultivated those traits as I imagine they served him well when he pulled his family out of poverty, do you not think?"
"He is a cold man," she argued. "A harsh taskmaster."
"Yet his mill is considered by most here to be the best run and the safest for his workers."
"A fact of which I am quite sure has more to do with profit than pity or concern for those who slave away for starvation wages," she countered, stubbornly determined to give no quarter.
Mr. Hale made a humming noise in his throat. "I'm sure there is some truth in what you say, Margaret. But right or wrong, I think Mr. Thornton believes that if he could rise from poverty armed with little more than a fierce determination and hard work, then anyone should be able to do the same."
Margaret tipped her head back and stared into her father's eyes.
"Not everyone has the same strength of will," she noted. "It is harder for some than others. And that lacking in another's character is not something to be sneered at, but rather to be pitied."
"That is true." Allowing for a beat or two of silence, Mr. Hale smoothed a gentle hand over his daughter's back. "I do not say he is a perfect man, but I know him to have an inquisitive mind and not as little care for the plight of the less fortunate as you would ascribe to him."
Margaret let out a shuddering sigh and closed her eyes. In the distance she could hear her mother's quiet sniffles and the murmured drone of Dixon's soft assurances; felt the crushing weight of her father's silent expectations and, ever the dutiful parson's daughter, she surrendered her will to her parents' wishes.
"If you believe it to be the best course, Father," she whispered in a tear-clogged voice, "I will do as you ask."
0o0o0
The next evening, she brushed her lips over her mother's cheek and left her in Dixon's care with a murmured 'good night.' Slowly and quietly she descended one flight of stairs on wooden legs. Standing outside her father's study, she reached up to tighten the pins holding her hair in a severe coil at the base of her scalp and smoothed her hands over the pale gray of her skirt. Inhaling deeply, she drew her spine erect and tapped her knuckles against the door.
"Is that you, Margaret?" her father called. "Come in, my dear."
She pushed the door open and entered the room, her gaze falling on and skittering away from the man seated across from her father.
John Thornton rose to his feet and set aside the book in his hand. Plato had failed to hold his interest this evening and he had been on tenterhooks since the moment of his arrival at the Hale household, only pretending to hear half of what Mr. Hale had said throughout the evening.
Margaret cast her eyes wildly about the room before her gaze settled on the tea service on a low table between the two men.
"Shall I pour more tea?" she asked, desperate for some task to occupy her, but both men demurred and she sank into a chair at her father's urging, staring at her feet and wishing desperately to be any other place in the world at that moment.
The two men returned to their own seats and thumbed through their books as if to resume their prior conversation. Mr. Hale cleared his throat to end the long and excruciating silence which had followed Margaret's appearance and stood.
"If you will forgive me, I think I shall bid your mother a good evening." His excuse to leave the couple alone was transparently flimsy.
Thornton leapt to his feet. "Perhaps I should…" He gestured wildly toward the door but Mr. Hale made a tsking noise in his throat and waved the younger man back into his seat.
"Nonsense. I will be gone but a trifling time," he fibbed. "Please, stay John. Margaret will keep you company." And slipping from the room, he eased the door closed behind him.
A painfully awkward silence fell over the two remaining occupants of the room. Margaret's unease grew with each passing second, her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her skirt as the tension between the two built until she could stand it no more.
"I must commend you on your determination, sir." Her words spoke of admiration but her tone conveyed only disdain. "By bringing my father into this, you have outflanked me and won my surrender." She lifted her gaze to his, the serene composure of her face at odds with the wild beating of her heart.
Propping an elbow on the arm of his chair, he rubbed a thumb over his lip and matched her calm gaze with his own.
"I do not believe there are any winners here, Miss Hale."
Inclining her head regally, she studied his face. The shadows darkening the skin beneath his eyes matched the smudges under her own and attested to a lack of sleep on his part. The deep set lines bracketing his mouth made a mockery of him as a triumphant bridegroom and she felt a reluctant sense of shame at having accused him of underhandedly recruiting her father to his cause.
"You are right." Her sense of fair play insisted she offer an apology. "I know you to be too prideful to secure my consent in such a deceitful manner."
"You say that in such a way that I do not know whether you consider pride to be a virtue or a flaw."
A dimple flickered into view as her lips briefly quirked into a wry smile. "Having more than a just share of pride myself, I can truthfully answer that I find it to be both."
They shared a rare moment of companionable silence. He heard her swiftly indrawn gasp of surprise when he rose from his perch on the edge of his chair to kneel before her. Noting the white-knuckled grip of her hands in her lap, he rested the tips of his fingers over hers, one part of his brain idly aware of the icy cold of her skin.
"Margaret." He bent his head over their hands and ran a thumb over each rigidly held knuckle. "I know this is not what you want… that I am not who you want. But I swear I will do my very best to be a good husband to you," he vowed.
His chest rose and fell as he sucked in a deep breath and lifted his gaze to hers. "Will you do me the honor of agreeing to be my wife?"
Staring into his red-rimmed eyes, she swallowed hard, but no sound could pass the knot in her throat and she settled for a jerky nod of her head. As if in a dream, she watched him reach into his breast pocket.
"I had to guess at your size," he told her, sliding a ring onto her finger. She lowered her gaze to their joined hands. The ring was a lovely concoction of rose gold and opals shot through with radiant shades of blue and green. She traced a finger over the flowers etched into the shank on either side of the stones and though the ring was beautifully delicate and feminine, she saw it only as a brand of ownership and a symbol of the loss of her freedom.
0o0o0
"I can see that you are tired, Mrs. Hale." Setting aside her teacup, Hannah Thornton rose to her feet. "I believe we have made an admirable start with our plans," she continued and wrapped her shawl tightly around her shoulders. "If you feel up to it, perhaps you and Miss Hale will come to our home in two days' time to continue. If not, I would be happy to attend you here."
"I am… I am sorry that my health necessitates such a hastily planned wedding." Maria Hale dabbed a lace-trimmed handkerchief against her lips and bent a sorrowful look first toward Margaret and then toward her daughter's future mother-in-law.
Though as straight-laced and rigid as ever in her posture, Mrs. Thornton softened enough to press a hand kindly over the frail woman's. "Tis nothing to apologize for," she declared gruffly. "The wedding shall be small, but splendid nonetheless." She straightened to her full height. "Now, I must be going."
"I will see you out," Margaret murmured. Stopping to tuck a blanket more securely over her mother's legs, she followed Mrs. Thornton down the stairs.
The older woman paused near the door to tie the black ribbons of her bonnet beneath her chin. Struggling not to fidget beneath the severity of the other woman's gaze, Margaret nervously lifted a hand to brush a wisp of hair away from her forehead.
Mrs. Thornton's gaze was riveted to the younger woman. It was easy to see why her son was so attracted, for the girl was beautiful and spirited. Reaching out, she caught Margaret's hand in her own, studying the smooth, porcelain skin and the ring adorning it. She absentmindedly traced a finger over the intricate scrollwork of vines and petals etched into the gold.
"Is it a family heirloom?" Margaret ventured quietly.
"No. We sold almost everything of value when my husband passed." Hannah Thornton gruffly cleared her throat and ran her thumb over the plain gold band encircling her own finger, remembering the pearls and sapphires that had once accompanied it.
"No," she continued. "My John chose this ring for you. He said the blues and greens reminded him of your eyes," she muttered distractedly.
"It is a beautiful ring," Margaret said softly.
"But unwanted by its wearer," Mrs. Thornton remarked shrewdly. She shook her head as if to clear it and raised her eyes to meet her future daughter's. The look of quiet reverie fell away from her face and her features hardened once more into a familiar cold mask.
"I will say this once and then, because I know it is what John would want – and I desire my son's happiness above all else – I will do my best to hold my tongue and not interfere in the future." She folded her hands demurely before her and bent a stern gaze toward the younger woman. "You do not know my son. You cannot understand what sort of man you once rejected, this Milton manufacturer," she spat. "Nor of his great and tender heart."*
Her upper lip curled into a disdainful sneer. "I had not approved of my son's attachment to you. You do not appear to me worthy of him," she said with brutal frankness. "But he would not rest until he had laid himself bare before you and God help me, I encouraged him."
Margaret was stunned to see tears brighten the other woman's eyes, though she stubbornly refused to allow them to fall.
"I could not bear to see my proud son stripped of confidence and made so vulnerable and I told him not to be afraid, assuring him that your actions that day when the mob broke through the mill gates were proof you returned his feelings." Mrs. Thornton took savage satisfaction in seeing a wince distort the girl's delicate features as mortification flushed the pale cheeks a fiery pink.
"I raised his hopes," she continued, "and you crushed them beneath your heel with no more care than you would in exterminating the life a bug. And still he loves you!" She wilted suddenly as if all her anger fled in a rush and the normally harsh lines of her faced shifted, allowing a mother's love to shine through.
"I beg you to have a care for my son, Miss Hale. My poor boy whom life has treated as harshly as any of the rabble you see fit to champion." She pressed two fingers against her lips, fighting to regain her composure and once again adopted the habitual regal manner in which she carried herself.
Wrapping her fingers around the knob, she yanked the door open and stepped out into the cool afternoon air. Pausing on the second step, she gripped the railing tightly. "You do not love him," she tossed over her shoulder, "but I ask that you remember the love he bears for you and treat him kindly."
Margaret closed the door, pressing her forehead against the smooth wood and released a shaky breath as tears sprang to her eyes. She could not help that Mr. Thornton loved where she did not. Could not force herself to feel something she did not. She chafed against the heaping dose of guilt doled out by Mrs. Thornton. She felt her heart break – for Mrs. Thornton whose pride would yield only to spare a beloved son; for Mr. Thornton who loved in vain; and for herself, trapped in this melodrama from which there was to be no escape.
0o0o0
A/N: * Some dialogue lifted from the book and/or movie.
I realize after my third go-round in proofing this chapter that I've given John and Margaret very little interaction; I imagine that will change in the next chapter and beyond.
I have a very (very) loose outline for the rest of the story; quite a bit of scribbled notes but no cohesive next chapter. And I'm leaving for a week's vacation this weekend. While I may start organizing those notes, I have no expectation of posting anything until after my return.
Thanks to everyone for the kind reception this story has received thus far.