Every day, without a miss, she received a letter from him, and responded immediately. It felt like the least she could do to feel him as close as possible, when they were to be separated for so long. She had missed him significantly upon leaving Milton months ago, but it was a different kind of absence; they did not mean so much to each other then. How strange, now, to call him her future husband, and be so far away. How curious, she thought, that I will soon be his. Margaret had no illusions: she was an intelligent, resourceful young woman, she had found ways to get the information she needed. She had, mostly, asked Edith.
Oh, Margaret, what if mother comes in! Do you know, she actually did not tell me any useful thing about it before my own wedding. I only understood I was to get intimate with him, that night, and she said it would be quite painful, but that it soon would hurt less. I thought, how odd, why would you do that if it really is painful? I hated the idea of being in pain, you know me. But Margaret, Sholto is every so charming, and I was only looking forward to being alone with him. Do not you blush! You brought it up yourself! It's the most wonderful feeling, Margaret! And they move above you in such a… bestial … way. It's like you leave your body for a while, and come back later. And he just gets so happy afterwards. I hardly think something that feels so nice could ever be really wrong! Don't you agree?
Since their conversation, Margaret felt reassured. After all, if two people as careless as Edith and Captain Lennox could find happiness in the act, she was not nervous enough to think it would be an entirely different experience for her. The physics of it, she had known for a while, at least the basics. But it also felt foreign, as if she could not imagine how to get to that point. It was bound to feel a bit forced, was it not? And then at night, she would lie in bed reading over his letters, and she could not help it. That warm, tingly feeling in the pit of her stomach. She read his words. If only I could write all the things I feel, only it would be quite improper. That man! He would drive her mad with his seductive implications. My bed will only be my own for ten more days until it is ours. That she was expected to share a bed with a man was an odd fancy. One minute, you are all dressed and proper in society, the next you call him by his Christian name, and then, there you are, sharing their bed in your bedclothes. How odd of a custom. But then, she thought of the muscles she had glimpsed once, under her hands, when he put her fingers flat on his stomach, and she felt it tighten under her touch. The flush creeped through her body and made her skin burn. She would be able to see him. And he would touch her.
Mr Thornton was driven by his newfound happiness: in three weeks, he had managed to settle the affairs for the reopening of Malborough Mills, had re-hired his workers, and met with the other masters. His mother, upon learning of Margaret's offer, and of the reversal of situation, had remained silent for a while. So that was that girl's worth, then. She could not deny her gratefulness, and bitterly resented what she had known for a long time now: it was now a fact, Miss Hale loved her son. Her motherly pride saw the rightfulness of it all: even in his reduced circumstances, she would marry him, and also save the mill. It would be difficult to dislike her now. She could see the letters that left for her every day. They would be quite a couple, and he seemed happier than she ever saw him before. She had then taken it upon herself to plan the betrothal. They were to leave immediately for a honeymoon trip in the Lake District.
Mr Thornton hardly ever slept at night anymore. It was all he could do to stop touching himself to actually write to her, and yet he was running out of ways to express how he felt without being explicit and scaring her. In only three days, she would arrive, and two days later they would be married in a simple ceremony. He would go meet her at the train station, and they would be alone for a whole cab ride then.
He was nervous, as he knew of the candidness of women, whether southern or northern, in these ways of the body. He lay awake planning how, that night, he would first carefully touch her, what he would do to her, in order to make absolutely sure she would enjoy their coupling and ask for more. He had planned their escape expressively, as far and long as business would allow – which would never be enough, but would have to do. His heart, his tripes, his shaft, all burst at the idea that she would be his, that he would pump in and out of her, that he would see her breasts bounce, that he would make her scream. Oh, please, let her scream.
She saw him then, on the quay, his strong, imposing presence visible from a distance. She could not remember ever having felt so agitated. The train seemed to take forever to bridge the last few meters, and finally came to a screetching halt. He hurried towards her door and opened it wide, his smile as genuine as it would ever be. "I thought this day would never come!" she said. He held out his hand to take hers and help her down the step. They both looked up as they felt the contact, and he grabbed her bag with the other. "We are to take a cab home, it will be a half hour." He murmured, in a low voice. She knew instantly that he meant they would have little alone time in the next few days, and that he was looking forward to that half hour for that reason. They proceeded, her arm hooked in his, and found the cab waiting. He helped her up, one hand, she noticed, on her waist, lingering there. He swiftly hopped inside, sat next to her in the tight space, closed the small blinds – he had chosen the carriage wisely - and closed the door.
"John, I have missed you terribly. We shall never be separated that long again!" He looked into her eyes, and she saw as much tenderness there as longing. "I certainly will do my very best," he responded. She could tell he was subdued, and she took both of his hands into hers, "Only two days, and we will be man and wife," he said, relaxing into her hold, interlacing their fingers. He looked at her, waiting to be invited. Her lips were parted, her breating came short: "I cannot wait," she answered. He leaned in closer, and kissed her, softly at first, and then urgently. He moved his left hand to cup her jaw, and left the right one in her own. The kiss was growing heated, and nothing was to stop them for a full twenty minutes or so. She felt emboldened by the way his lips parted her own, warm all over, and she could not help it: she moved the hand she held to her left breast. He growned, and leaned back suddenly. His eyes were dazed and his mouth was half open. She blushed even more, as he seemed to be undressing her with his eyes, as his hand began to feel around the curve of her breast, cupping it, and then covering it entirely. "Margaret… you will be the end of me, I swear." She started to feel, as he massaged her breast and looked at her, what Edith had tried to express so fervently. That power, of a man desiring you. More, even, the power of that man desiring her. He had been constant, persistant but not insistant, the strength of his admiration and passion a background to all her actions for as long as she could remember. She also recalled the loneliness and despair she had felt when she thought he did not love her any longer. There could not be, she thought, two people more deserving of one another as them, perhaps. "John, I love you."
Something in his eyes shifted, and he moved his hand away, in second he was kneeling on the floor, bowing her head to her knees, smelling and touching her skirt, her hips, her waist. He kissed her knees on top of the heavy fabric of her skirt and she thought she would melt. He looked up, with such devotion she wondered if he saw the same look mirrored in her eyes. He raised himself up, still kneeling, but moved closer, parting her knees slightly, as far as the fabric would go. It was a full skirt. When he was close enough, he bowed his head down to kiss her neck, holding her steady at her waist. He then lowered his lips to her cleavage, kissing as much of her skin as was out there. 'Margaret… (he kissed lower) Margaret… do you… look forward to being mine… in that way?' He did not dare look up as he could feel her shiver under his ministrations. She sighed "Yes, she said, I do, especially in that way." He did not think he had ever felt this much joy and pride. He looked up, his eyes dark and cloudy: "Is there anything I could do… in the meantime… to make you more comfortable?"
She took his hand then, and kiss it. Driven by her instinct, she led him to sit back next to her, and she was daring enough to look him in the eyes as she said "I want to touch you, to see what it is like." He could hardly believe it. "Margaret…" he hesitated. He looked at his pocket watch. "We have ten minutes left at best." She smiled a mischievous smile, and her hand found her way to his high, and grabbed it. His breath came in short. They could both see his erection blatantly straining his trousers. She covered it with her hand, a surprised, curious look on her face, her mouth half open in concentration. "Margaret" he gasped, "that's almost too much." She felt up his length and her eyes widened. "I do not want to sound uneducated or prudish, John, but how is that supposed to…fit?" He understood what she meant, and shifted closer to her if possible. Leaning down, he gathered up her skirt and let his right hand go softly but swiftly up her leg, his eyes never leaving hers, as she pressed harder on his erection. He found an opening in her underclothes, and immediately felt the blazing heat of the curls she had there. He put his mouth on her neck and murmured "Are you comfortable, Margaret?" She hissed "Yes, please, John." And he moved his fingers down, making contact with her wetness. "This, Margaret, do you feel how wet you are? It is for me, but it is also for you, it helps me – she started to pump him as well as she could over his trousers – slide inside of you – he slid a finger inside – like so." She moaned, wanting more. He added a finger "You feel that, my love? There is plenty of space in there – he pumped in and out as she moaned her approval – for me to do exactly that." Their movements became frantic, as he now kissed her fervently. He could tell she loved it, and her hand on his erection felt divine. He would not last long, but he knew she was almost reaching a climax herself. Her touch became feather like, but he did not mind, he was already meeting her with his hips, as she moaned with each of his own pumps, moving her hips languidly. He brought his other hand to her mouth and muzzled her just as she cried out loud. He let himself go then, which felt hollow but also like the promise of more to come, soon. He nuzzled her neck, "I cannot wait – he murmured – to move inside of you." She brought her hand to his jaw and carressed it, "Come, John, let's clean up as best we can, we must almost be there."
