So this one is not verbatim from the show, but still picture the faces and setting. I have no idea if the Latimers were at the party. I sincerely hope Anne was stuck over by the buffet. N&S feels a bit easier to write with the practice. Thanks for the reviews all! Especially for the writing prompt. I think a Bessie one shot is in order. Maybe where she looks at Mr Thornton, shakes her head, and tsk tsks.


True to her word, his mother had spared no expense for the night they chose to host.

The table setting were immaculate and the rooms shone with the soft glow of candlelight that sparkled in the cut glass chandelier. But he keenly felt the silence from the mill, which echoed louder than the polite chatter that filled the elegant parlor. A tiny furrow appeared in John's brow as he glanced out the window into the courtyard.

So empty and desolate.

A voice called him gently from his musings. He turned to regard his mother as she solemnly looked out the window with him. "You are neglecting your guests," she reprimanded him, just out of earshot of the Latimers.

He inclined his head, hiding a sigh as he turned around to brace himself for another round of perfunctory greetings. Only a slight grimace passed over his features as he shook hands and quickly moved away before any one lady could engage him in conversation. Their hopeful faces looked more than a little crestfallen as the striking mill master glided away, his attention brought to another lady by one his peers.

"Thornton, who is that fine young lady over there?"

John's eyes flit up to reach the clear blue-green eyes of Miss Hale and felt an unexpected lightness as he made his way to her. In her light colored gown, she stood out in a sober sea of midnight black, indigo, and burgundy. Her hair held no ornaments save a scattering of pearl pins, the mass of curls secured in a coiffure at the base of her neck. But in her elegant simplicity, she was undeniably lovely and managed to make the other ladies in the room appear overdone with their layers of lace and starched petticoats.

She smiled graciously and promptly offered her hand, eliciting a genuine albeit small grin to turn up the corners of his mouth as he gently grasped her fingers. "See? I am learning Milton ways, Mr. Thornton," she said softly.

Her small hand was not adorned with silk gloves or fine rings, but was unbelievably soft to the touch of his roughened hands.

John blinked once as his mind scrambled for an appropriate response. She was not the sort to smile coyly and pretend to be pleased with just anything that came out of his mouth. For that he was grateful, although it had caused him more than one headache in their acquaintance.

Holding her earnest gaze, he offered, "I am sorry your mother could not join us this evening."

She dipped her head and both allowed their hands to drop to their sides, John with more than a little reluctance.

Yet again, a voice called for his attention, but this time there was more than a hint of urgency about Slickson as he nervously cast a look about him in the corner he inhabited. With an apologetic look towards Miss Hale and a quiet, "Excuse me," he moved towards Slickson and bent his head to listen to the man's frantic queries.

His mind once again occupied with the mill's troubles, he almost did not notice as his long time acquaintance and landlord, Mr. Bell, swoop in and loudly proclaim John's own callousness at leaving such a beautiful woman alone.

John cast an almost mournful look up as he watched Mr. Bell offer his arm to Miss Hale and escort her further into the room. She turned at one point, to cast an uncertain glance over her shoulder, meeting his eyes in what he guessed was wariness. The almost brusque manner of the north, he guessed, was more than a little disquieting for one with more gentile manners. But a small voice in his head offered that perhaps, she was just as sorry to end their conversation as he had been.


They had started off well enough that night. Had managed at least two civil sentences between themselves, he lamented.

But when she had thrown her perception of his cruelty in his face, his temper had boiled to the surface. And things had taken their course . . . .

It probably had not helped that Fanny had brought her charity to light, or that he had publicly, SLIGHTLY, humiliated her by denouncing her actions as harmful rather than helpful.

Next time, he ought to limit his conversation to the weather. Or books. Books were fairly safe.

John sighed and sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, his mind bringing back the memory of the fire in her eyes as she verbally sparred with him in front of the Milton elite. Strong feelings arose in her presence and in a strange sequence. Attraction, irritation, admiration, and ultimately some sort of angry respect in that that she still continued to challenge him.

Lord, but she was a handful. In the privacy of his room, he cracked a full smile and moved to extinguish the lone candle in the room.