Hello readers,

Thank you for your reviews of the last chapter. I am so sorry there has been such a long wait this time- a lot has been going on recently. Thank you also to those who messaged me or reviewed to ask if I was ok. I have rubbish excuses. First, I became unusually invested in the World Cup and then I went away on a school trip for a week and was too busy rock climbing to write! I admit I enjoyed it far more than is really acceptable for someone in their mid-twenties. I'm back now and it is summer so I should be more regular with posting! Wow- this chapter is nearly 10,000 words again. I am sorry! I just feel like these scenes are really important for the story and when I tried to cut parts I just ended up making them longer.

I hope you enjoy. As ever, please do review.

Elle X.

John gazed at his wife across the sitting room as she chatted and giggled happily with her cousin. The house was full, of her family members, Mr Bell, Fanny and Watson and a few of the other mill owners and their wives, who his mother had suggested it would be wise to invite. Margaret would have wanted to invite Nicholas and Mary and probably all the workers she seemed to sympathise so with, but he had been forced to draw the line. He was thankful she had not yet mentioned their absence and had no intention of bringing it up unless she did. As it was, John couldn't remember a time he had ever seen her look so care free, certainly not since her mother had become ill.

Outside, the down pour from earlier had not calmed and the sky was dark and grey, but inside the lights were bright and warm, and Margaret's eyes glistened as they reflected them. Hungrily, his own swept over the cream of her neck and down to the glimpse of skin that showed through the thick lace pattern of her dress. They lingered transfixed on the gleam of a thin silver bracelet, just visible through the lace covering at her wrist as she still clutched the bunch of yellow roses tightly in her small hand, having refused her aunt's offer to place them safely upstairs. With the other hand, she sat unconsciously stroking the soft petals of one rose and he watched each slight movement transfixed.

He was staring, he knew. At the back of his mind, he was vaguely aware that he was causing much good-natured tittering from her aunt, Dixon and Mr Bell who were watching not so inconspicuously from the corner and earning a contrasting icy glare from Henry Lennox. Earlier, he had spotted his mother's worried gaze boring into his side as she observed the direction of his attentions, but he didn't care about any of them. If he was being obvious, then so be it. Acting as though he was in love with her would not require any effort on his part. Acting as though he wasn't required so much more.

Since their conversation in the carriage, the first almost completely truthful one they had engaged in, he had been unable to stop thinking about all she had said. The man at the station had been her brother! Yet, still the memory of how his insides had twisted uncomfortably as she embraced the unknown figure lingered. Some part of him refused to accept the truth and unrelentingly warned him that she may still be deceiving him- that the man may yet really be her lover- but he knew she had finally told him the truth. Knowing who the man at the station was, realising that he was not the lover he had feared and assumed him to be, had not had the effect he hoped. He had released her from that aspect of the agreement, wrongly thinking he could live his life not knowing and yet neither knowing nor living in ignorance could quell the unsettled feeling in his stomach.

As he had gazed upon her at the end of the aisle in the church, he had been filled with nerves that he had not experienced before. The fear that she would turn around and walk away from him without looking back was completely overwhelming, yet so was the thought of her going through with it purely because she believed her father to wished it. Until Mr Bell had informed him of her knowledge of the letter, he had thought she had accepted because she respected him and wanted to help the workers, but since yesterday's revelations, he had feared she had only done it to please her absent father and that had hurt almost as much as when she refused him the first time. It was not hard to believe she would place Mr Hale's wants above her own. Yet now he knew all. She would have married him anyway! He did not understand what had changed, but he would be eternally grateful it had.

Still, even after her openness about that night at the station, instead of feeling a sense of closure, acceptance that she loved another but wished for his friendship, he felt an unquenchable sense of yearning pulling at his heart and knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wanted her more than ever. Despite his promise, he would spend his life yearning for her to really be his. He would lie next to her each night and eat breakfast with her every morning and talk with her each day and work with her at the mill if she wanted, and he would always yearn for more but he would keep his promise and never voice that wish or ask for her love in return.

Of course, he had been a coward again, unable or more truthfully, unwilling to admit the real reason he had proposed with no expectation of any of the privileges of marriage in return- unable or unwilling to admit he was in love with her still, so completely and utterly in love with her and always would be.

She was a good actress, he'd not deny her that. Since they had entered the house and the guests had begun arriving, she had been nothing but charm itself, thanking everyone for coming profusely and (on request) sharing anecdotes about when they met that he had almost started to believe himself. With her arm linked through his, she had stood with him- the pair of them together- surrounded by the small collection of guests, who asked about how they had grown in affection and she had told a tale-his tale but not hers. Instead of lingering on the differences in their opinions as they had clashed in her father's study, she instead omitted those moments from her account, and spoke only of the moments in which they had started to bond, the moments that had given him false hope in changing nature of their relationship in the first place. Of course, she had not lied about any of it, rather presented events in the best light and missed out others (for which he was grateful) and it had left her captive listeners giggling in amusement and smiling fondly at them both. Even he had listened in rapture as she spoke of her respect for him growing, and as she ended her speech she turned to look at him with such happiness in her face that he had quite forgotten in that moment they it was all for the benefit of others and not representative of their relationship at all.

Her good mood had lasted and he knew her well enough to be assured that their conversation had changed things between them for the better. She would not pretend to be happy for so long purely to please her family, she must indeed feel happier than she had since so much sadness infiltrated her life and that gave him hope.

Edith Lennox caught him staring at his bride and excused herself from Margaret, who happily obliged and went to talk to Mr Bell and her aunt. She crossed the room and took the seat beside him.

"Don't the decorations look lovely. Your mother really has done a most wonderful job." She gestured to various flowers, dotted around the room and he nodded appreciatively as he noticed the yellow roses, integrated with the more traditional pink blooms, hanging around the room.

"She will be pleased to hear your praise." He looked to his mother who was speaking to Martha about the arrangements for the rest of the evening. She may not have been the greatest supporter of his choice of bride but you would not have suspected it today. As ever, she hid her feelings in front of others, loyal to her family first and foremost, only allowing herself the occasional worried glance between him and her new daughter-in-law.

"Thank you for helping Margaret with the wedding preparations, Mrs Lennox. Your assistance has been invaluable to her." He commented sincerely to Edith, who smiled prettily in response.

"Oh, it has been my pleasure, Mr Thornton!" She glowed, watching Margaret closely as she chatted to Fanny and Watson and John followed the subject of her gaze with equal interest. Fanny must have been boasting about something Watson had done as the man puffed with pride and Margaret nodded approvingly, at Fanny's encouragement. Wisps of hair had escaped from her pinned curls and hung prettily around her face and down her back and he had to tear his attention away from the sight and back to focus on her cousin.

"The dress was the hardest thing to choose, of course. She was so desperate for you to like it."

Well if that was her aim then she had succeeded. He had meant it when he said she would look lovely in anything but the ivory lace against her brown hair and sapphire blue eyes was particularly striking.

"She was?" He asked trying to temper his curiosity.

"Oh yes, she was very keen to hear Fanny's guidance to make sure you would approve of her choice."

As if she could sense she was being spoken about, Margaret glanced over at the pair and her eyes settled on his face, meeting his stare confidently and smiling at him, such a beautiful smile that reached her sparkling eyes and took his breath away. To see her smile like that was a rare but welcome thing. It was reminiscent of the way she had smiled at him on the night of the annual Thornton party so long ago and he knew that if she only looked at him like that once a week, he would not wish for more. He felt himself smile in response and for a moment, happiness threatened to overwhelm him, but as she turned away a prickle of sadness returned and reality crept back in.

"I'm sure you will understand that I cannot quite forgive you fully for taking my cousin away from me and making her stay in this dirty place…" Edith carried on. His pride caused him to feel a little insulted by that damning assessment of his home, but she continued, oblivious to any insensitivity on her part, "but since she is so obviously completely in love with you, I will do my best not to resent you, Mr Thornton." Her tone was happy and teasing and John could not help but like her despite her unfair judgement. Truly, Margaret was doing a good enough job of acting so in love with him that she had thoroughly convinced her cousin.

"I am sure she looks at many others like that, Mrs Lennox." He replied in a manner he hoped came across as flippant rather than doubting and self-deprecating as he knew it was. Clearly, at least one other man had thought she had looked at him like that and had fallen foul of the same rejection as himself.

Edith shook her head sadly at him. "I had so hoped she would marry Henry, you know…" she trailed off, looking wistfully at the man in question, and John stiffened a little at the mention of Henry's name voiced aloud, whose eyes continually followed Margaret like a hawk, stalking its prey.

"…but I see now that he would not have made her happy. She has never looked at him in the way she looks at you. I've never seen her look at anyone in the way she looks at you. I thought that on the night we came for dinner."

If only her cousin knew the truth. Absurdly and without warning, he wanted to stop the pretence and just tell everyone the nature of their marriage- to forget about their opinions and just admit to everything, as if doing so would have some sort of cleansing power and all would be well. As he gazed as Margaret he knew he could not do that to her and he pushed the urge down.

He continued to study his bride as she happily talked with Fanny and Watson, the yellow roses still clutched tightly to her chest. To John's annoyance, Henry Lennox crossed the room purposefully, passing him and Edith, without a backwards glance and grabbed Margaret's arm, dragging her away from her audience to the corner of the room where they would not be overheard. Perhaps his eyes were deceiving him, by displaying what he wished to see, but he thought the shadow of annoyance crossed Margaret's brow as the other man led her.

What one earth could he have to talk to her about alone?

They stood together conspiting for a moment in hushed voices, leaning a little into one another as the conversation caught her attention and no sign of annoyance remained. Lennox's hand still lingered on her elbow and John could feel jealousy rear up inside him at their intimacy, despite her cousin's miss-placed confidence in her love for him rather than 'Henry' and her own assurance of her disinterest in the man. John knew she had refused Lennox and chosen him and by all accounts there had been reason enough in the other man's favour, and that comforted him, but how could he be pleased to see another man so shamelessly seek time alone with her?

"Do you play the piano, Mrs Lennox?" he asked suddenly, surprised at how little thought he had given his response to Henry' Lennox's proximity to his wife.

"Yes. Oh, you must dance with Margaret. Shall I play a waltz?" Edith rose, excitedly.

He strode away from her before she could finish her offer and walked across the room to Margaret, who turned her smile towards him again at his approach.

"Dance with me." He commanded her holding his hand out in invitation and waited as she sceptically looked first at his outstretched hand and then back to his face as if unsure whether he was joking, an incredulous smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Still, he waited, unwavering. He half expected her to refuse and walk away but she did not, finally nodding her assent. Slowly, she took his offered hand and allowed him to lead her into the centre of the room before spinning her in towards him.

"Oh yes, Mr Thornton, you must dance with your bride!" exclaimed Mrs Shaw happily, clapping her hands and Margaret giggled at her aunt's excitement. The intensity of Henry Lennox's frown threatened to burn through the clothes on his back but John did not flinch, clutching his wife's hand tighter.

Suddenly, John realised he was actually going to have to dance with her. He had always felt awkward dancing and avoided doing so at all costs, but he had wanted her away from Henry and his jealous mind had acted before he had considered the implications. His mind raced as he tried to remember the last time he had danced and how he had done it.

As if she sensed his predicament, Margaret took one hand in her own and, prompted, he placed the other on her waist, drawing her closer to him than was strictly necessary (he was not proud of his reasons for doing so or the satisfaction he felt at Lennox's deep frown, but after all he was only human). Sharply, she inhaled and seemed to be holding her breath as if waiting for him to start the dance before exhaling.

Edith began to play the piano and they started to move. Every eye in the room was trained on them and he felt himself start to sweat, cringing a little at the scrutiny. He was immensely relieved when Mr Bell offered to dance with his mother, who accepted with a pointed look at him. Later, knew he must remember to thank her- she would be hating to dance in public and he knew she had purely accepted for his benefit so that less attention would be focussed on he and his companion. Watson and Fanny also joined in and he relaxed.

John had not had the opportunity to dance frequently, but had been made to dance with Fanny to had insisted that he allow her to practice. The yearly Thornton party held by him and his mother sometimes included dancing for those who wished to and Fanny would not have forgiven him if he had refused to dance with her. He was no dancer but Fanny had begrudgingly admitted he was better than Watson, and he easily worked through the steps he remembered. Now at ease, John began to lead his partner and she relaxed a little also, allowing him to set the pace and direction of their movements.

"I did not know you liked to dance, Mr Thornton!" Margaret declared. Her curiosity was evident, and her gaze searching, as if she was trying to figure him out.

"Do you intend to call me Mr Thornton for the entirety of our marriage, Margaret?" He asked, amused. His mother had pointed out to them both that they could now call each other by their Christian names and he had strived to since, but Margaret had continued to call him Mr Thornton nonetheless.

She stilled for a moment. "No…I suppose I must call you, John now."

"I shan't make you call me anything, but it may appear a little odd for two married people to continue to call each other by their surnames, even in private."

She nodded but did not comment, still looking at him in the same inquisitive manner as they twirled in time to the music.

"I don't like to dance. Besides, I don't usually have time to dance Margaret." He replied.

"Edith and I used to always attend dances together in London. Edith constantly had a string of young gentlemen waiting to dance with her." She looked wistfully towards her cousin as the memory, momentarily stole her from him.

"I expect you had an equally long line of young men waiting for you…"

She shrugged a little at that, looking sheepish and John took it to be an affirmation.

For a moment, they danced and he caught sight of Lennox sitting on one of his mother's chairs at the side of the room, eyes still trained on Margaret.

"Was one of those men Henry?" He asked, annoyed at how persistent said man was, unrelenting in his observation of Margaret.

"I have often danced with Henry, yes. His family holds a gathering three times a year."

He had feared as much but was a little disappointed in the response regardless.

"If I'm honest, I have never liked dancing much."

The comment was loaded and her tone implied she meant something else entirely, reassuring him and his jealousy dimmed a little.

He looked towards Henry Lennox who was still scowling towards them.

"I fear, he doesn't like me very much."

Margaret's eyes searched Lennox out and she sighed at his expression of blatant hatred.

"No. I suspect not. He warned me not to tell you about Fred just now, you know."

John felt his hand clench tighter onto her waist at the sheer audacity of the man and his eyes narrowed.

"Why?" It came out harsh and seeping with anger as his mind seethed.

"He fears I should not trust you and thought he was doing the right thing by warning me."

He was surprised by her willingness to tell him of their conversation but determined to make the most of it.

"How does he know about your brother?" He interrogated sharply.

"He is a lawyer. I contacted him by letter when Fred was over here before mother's death, to see if there was anything he could do to help clear Fred's name. There was not."

He nodded. That made sense and he could not begrudge her that but he did not like it. If there was nothing the lawyer could do, the situation must indeed be seen in the eyes of the law as a mutiny and extremely dangerous for her brother to be seen in England. There must be some way he could help in his position as a magistrate but he was at a loss as he pondered what he could do.

"And what did you tell him? In response to his warning, I mean."

"I told him, I wouldn't have married you if I wasn't going to tell you everything."

His annoyance dissipated at her words and his eyes sought for her own to see the truth of her words reflected there. The deep blue threatened to drown him in their depths and for a moment he forgot to breathe as he found himself leaning towards her and kissing her chastely on the cheek as he had done at the wedding. Margaret's mouth opened a little in surprise and she brought the hand that had been resting on her shoulder to her cheek as if the ghost of his touch still lingered there and he froze in fear of her distain. He mentally kicked himself for ruining the easy nature that was developing between them and waited for her rebuke.

"I thought you said you couldn't dance?" She giggled, her happiness from earlier returning as if his mistake had never happened and the hand returned to its previous position, all trace of his action eradicated.

John remembered to draw breath once more and as he looked over at Henry Lennox in relief, he no longer seemed like a threat. It was unhealthy to obsess over the man any longer. He must trust Margaret and as she had been transparent with him, there was no reason to doubt her.

"I said I do not like to dance, not that I don't know how." He replied, trying to adopt the teasing tone she had happily reciprocated earlier.

"You should dance with me often." She stated as if it was an indisputable fact.

"You do not like to dance." He replied with equal confidence, his brow furrowed at her contradictory words.

"You shall have to change my mind."

He scoffed slightly: "I am not foolish enough to believe I could change your mind if you don't want me to change it, Margaret."

"Perhaps I do want you to."

The waltz ended and they stopped dancing abruptly. Those around them clapped Edith's playing enthusiastically and John stared at her for a moment, trying to decipher whether she was mocking him or not. The happiness she had been exhibiting seemed to falter a little under his scrutiny, and she raised her chin defiantly as she gulped thickly, but her gaze remained unflinching.

The thought of dancing with her again- alone- made his heartbeat thud louder in his ears as, with surprise, he realised she was serious. He nodded, breaking their eye contact and seizing on the opportunity to escape the heavy atmosphere pervading the air when he was approached by his mother and Mr Bell.

Margaret was exhausted but (if she was entirely honest with herself) disappointed the evening had ended. As much as she had scoffed at the concept of weddings, she had to admit she had enjoyed knowing people were there to see her and the whole thing had provided a welcome break from the sadness that had recently infiltrated her life. Telling Mr Thornton about Fred had lifted a weight off her shoulders and she felt light and carefree as a result. Now he knew everything, and if he still hated her as she feared he did deep down, it was entirely her own fault and probably deserved, rather than being based on unfairly surmised moral indiscretions.

Henry had warned her to be wary of her husband, advising her to take particular caution about revealing Fred's existence, but he did not know the man she had married like she did. Thanking him for his advice, she had quickly dismissed it as soon as her husband had stolen her away.

Dancing was not her favourite activity. Standing so close to someone you did not know well, seemed to her a pointless and awkward activity and when young men had asked her to dance, she had often only accepted out of duty to her cousin, in an attempt to appear interested in something Edith liked so much. Dancing with Mr Thornton- John- her husband- was entirely different. It helped of course that he was a good dancer, and, unlike Henry and countless others, had not once stepped on her toes once or required her to lead. There was something friendly about it, as if they had strengthened the tentative bond they had started to build together. She had never wanted dancing before as other girls so often did, but doing so with this man was different. Something about it drew her in and she craved it. Then he had kissed her cheek and she had waited for that glass string between them to shatter but it had not. In that split second, she had realised it would only shatter if they were to let it and she would not. Instead she brushed it off, after all, if they were to keep others believing in their love for one another, they would have to show some affection and a kiss on the cheek was hardly scandalous. Her godfather kissed her cheek often, had done so as he was leaving in fact, as had Watson.

The guests had left not long after their dance and Margaret's happiness had dimed only a little as she remembered the reality of her situation. Alone in a new house- her new home- were nothing of her parents existed, yet she would not let it ruin the magic of the afternoon. She had hugged her cousin longer than necessary since she would be seeing her tomorrow before she and Aunt Shaw departed. As she pulled away Edith had whispered: "Good luck. If you don't fight it, it won't hurt so much…" and Margaret had stared at her baffled for a moment before understanding had washed over her and her blood had run a little colder at the realisation of what her cousin assumed she and John would be doing tonight. If she wasn't sure before, she was sure now that she had made the right decision in marrying him. Another man would have expected her to do that or rather let him do that, but he would not. If she had married another man she would be wracked with nerves, but instead she was merely curious about what her life would be like and who her husband really was. She had thanked Edith anyway, and quickly stepped away. There had been much debate on whether Dixon would stay with her in the Thornton house hold, but finally it was decided that she would return to London with Aunt Shaw and Margaret watched her leave, still annoyed with Dixon for her behaviour since her father's death but saddened nonetheless by her parting.

Yet, instead of being wracked with nerves, she meant it when she returned his mother's "good night" and thanked her for everything. John had thanked her and kissed her and with her parting words for him to remember her advice, he had blushed scarlet and hurried upstairs. Keenly, she observed the details of the house as he led the way upstairs and across a large hallway to the back of the house and through the last door there. Then the door was closed behind them and the world shut out, leaving just she and John alone.

With interest, she looked around his bedroom, taking in the dark sophistication of it all. It was adorned with dark wood and navy coloured papers on the wall. A fire already roared in the grate, casting shadows against the walls and providing a heat that had been missing at Crampton. The drapes hanging at the double windows were thick and plush but not extravagant and Margaret reflected that this was exactly the type of bed chamber she could have imagined him having. Her eyes settled on the large oak desk in the corner and focussed on the familiar small white rectangle resting there, her father's neat print, decorating the surface. For a moment, she simply, stared at it, unable to look away but not wanting to move any closer for fear of being burned by its contents.

"You can read it."

He was stood behind her against the closed door, but he was close and his voice passed by her ear.

She shook her head determinedly.

"No. Whatever he has said, it is between you and him."

Forcing herself to look away, she continued her exploration. As her roaming eyes centred on the item in the centre of the room, she stilled and stared. A large bed of dark wood was covered in navy bed clothes and turned down ready for its occupants. Margaret froze as the daunting realisation that from now on she would be expected to share that bed with the man before her settled unpleasantly in her stomach. Of course, she knew he would not make her fulfil any wifely duties, but sleeping in the same bed with a man was still an incredibly daunting prospect.

"I could not ask for a separate room for you without telling my mother about…" he trailed off, seemingly having anticipated the direction of her thoughts, but it did not matter. She knew what he meant and understood. Despite her misgivings, she would simply have to get used to this new arrangement. That was much preferable to informing Mrs Thornton she would be sleeping separately to the woman's darling son. Naively, she had not realised this would be a problem as her parents had kept their own rooms for as long as she had lived with them, though now she realised they could not always have chosen to stay in them.

Determinedly, she crossed the room to sit tentatively on the edge of the bed, pleasantly surprised by how soft it was. He was still stood by the door, watching her as if unsure what to do with himself and for the first time she realised how odd he must be finding this change in situation too- to find his personal space so invaded by another. Smiling in a way she hoped was encouraging she patted the space next to her on the bed and he tentatively crossed the room to join her, raking a hand through his hair as he did so.

Trying to relax, Margaret laid back onto the softness of his bed, releasing her roses from her grasp for the first time and delicately placing them over the pillow, beside something soft and folded, her legs still draped over the side and her feet touching the floor as she studied the ceiling, intricately patterned by the shadows cast by the fire.

"I don't know what we are supposed to do now." He admitted quietly as if worried someone would overhear, looking at his hands in his lap rather than her.

The expression on his face was so serious that Margaret could not help but nervously laugh at the situation. After being so cruelly judged for being seen with two men alone, now she was expected to be alone with one every night. At the thought, her nerves turned into a more confident giggle as he frowned at her, clearly offended. Turning from her he stood to leave and she quickly sat to grab his hand and bring him back down with her. Luckily, he let her, so that they were lying side by side, his position mirroring hers.

"I am sorry. I was not laughing at you- rather at the situation."

For a moment, she let the silence settle over them, watching the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest out of the corner of her eye.

"I do not know what to do either." She admitted, hoping to reassure him, smiling as another giggle threatened to escape. For a moment he was silent, but as he turned his head to look at her, he smiled softly too and held her look. Those blue eyes were darker in this half-light provided by the flickering flames, almost a grey colour with flecks of blue and she allowed herself to study them fascinated for a moment, the crackle of the fire and their breathing the only sound.

"Will you dance with me?" He asked suddenly, sitting up.

"Now?" She replied, confused, sitting up also and leaning on her straightened arms behind her.

"Yes." He stood, offering her his hand like he had earlier that evening.

She accepted gingerly. She supposed since neither of them knew what they were supposed to do now they were married and expected to share a bed, dancing seemed as good an activity as any. Possessively, his hand returned to her waist and hers to his shoulder and their other hands linked. Although, she could not really feel it through the stiffness of her corset, in this more intimate setting Margaret blushed a little at his touch against her side. Slightly, roughly he pulled her into him and she deeply breathed in the smell of soup and sandalwood, letting the now familiar scent infiltrate her senses. Despite the lack of musical accompaniment, he led her in the same waltz, twirling her around the space in the room, carefully navigating her around the furniture and Margaret found dancing alone was just as fun as doing so in a room with other people. The awkwardness seemed to dissipate and they both laughed as they navigated a particularly annoying chest at the end of his bed. In the firelight it was harder and Margaret sniggered as they struggled to keep to rhythm, counting the imaginary beats as they went.

Forgetting about the other people in the house they burst into laughter, when they nearly toppled over, whilst avoiding a side table, concealed in the shadows created by the fire. She clung to him, to avoid falling and rested her head against his chest as she laughed and the same feelings of happiness and lightness she had felt when she had finally released her secret about Fred, bubbled up inside her and he clung back. They were both out of breath took a moment to catch it before he offered her his hand once again and they resumed their waltz, as energetically as before.

A clatter outside made both of them jump and they stilled instantly, clinging to each other as they gasped for breath. Someone or something moved outside the door and both fell instantly silent, listening carefully for who it might be.

"It will be mother going to bed…" John whispered but he did not move. When the footsteps faded, their laughter died with it and the room seemed suddenly smaller as the warm glow started to dim and the air thickened. Nervous now for the first time that evening, she looked up at him to see him studying her closely. Their hands were still linked and his other resting in its place at her waist but at some point, she had dropped hers and clutched it to her racing heart. His Adam's apple bobbed thickly as he released her waist and carefully gripped her wrist, playing with the thin silver bracelet that sat there beneath the lace. Slowly, he returned her hand to his shoulder, all the while his eyes never leaving hers and she felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Slowly, he pulled her closer to him, so that her body was flush against his, and began swaying her gently from side to side. They had found themselves in a similar situation to this enough times now for Margaret to know it would hurt her to see his expression in this proximity and so she turned her head to rest it against his shoulder as they danced, feeling the beat of his heart vibrate through his body and knew her own was doing the same. He rested his head against the top of hers as they slowly moved.

As he breathed in deeply, Margaret hoped he liked the smell of lavender soap as no doubt her hair carried the scent. The events of the day raced through her mind and her breathing stuttered a little as she remembered him calling her beautiful in the rain, and for the first time she wished she had at least felt how it would be to dance with someone you were in love with who would tell you that as you were doing so.

For a while they continued content and the flames in the grate began to wither and die, dimming the room further. As a crackle of ash flickered out, he cleared his throat before he spoke into her hair, his voice quiet. "You did an excellent job of acting this evening. I was most impressed."

Acting. Of course, he had told her she should pretend to be in love with him for the benefit of their families. After the elaborated version of how they had met and 'fell in love' she had quite forgotten about having to fool anyone and simply allowed herself to enjoy being the centre of attention- no acting had crossed her mind at all. Her happiness had fully overridden any thoughts of 'putting on a show' for their families. He must have assumed the happiness radiating from her was for show- certainly Edith believed it was a sign of deep affection as she had commented on it several times.

"I was relieved that very little deception was required- Father used to say that when I am truly happy it has the vibrancy of glass in sunlight. It sounds poetic but he probably simply meant that my happiness is garish and obnoxious." She smiled into his shoulder, a little sadly at the memory.

"Your father most definitely did not mean that."

She knew deep down that Papa did not, but it made her heart feel better to hear it from someone her father so respected.

"Which part of today made you feel the most happy?"

She thought for a moment, the events of the day playing over and over in her mind.

"Finally, being able to tell you the truth about Fred… my yellow roses..." She tilted her head a little, irrationally checking that no-one had touched them since they had been placed on the bed.

He remained quiet and Margaret would have given anything to have known what he was thinking.

"Did you not feel happy also?" she asked, unable to stop her curiosity. She was aware that her voice had adopted a vulnerable edge but she did not care.

"Of course, I did."

"Which part made you feel the most happy?" she mirrored his question. After all, it was only fair.

"This." His answer was quick and sure and her heart leapt a little at the word. They were alone in his bedroom, his mother had gone to bed and this was not the innocent waltz of earlier, this was slow and made her feel funny. Her stomach flopped uncomfortably as she was forced to acknowledge that this kind of dancing she had not ever done with Henry or any of the other fawning young men in London. There was no need to pretend now and yet she had allowed herself to end up in a confusing situation again. Her head was becoming cloudy and there wasn't enough air in this room. She needed to break away and so with all the might she could muster she dropped his hand and lowered her other from his shoulder to place both on his chest and push him away from her.

"Did my answer upset you?" His brow was furrowed with confusion and his face stern in the half-light.

No, she was not really upset, rather unsettled, perhaps unwell and just needed to end whatever spell she had allowed the magic of the evening to cast over her.

"No, but it frightens me." She admitted, backing away from him and resuming her place on the bed, reaching for her flowers and clutching them to her.

"Why?" He came to sit beside her. He was offended- he was trying to hide it but she could hear it in his voice.

Why did it frighten her? She had practically asked him to dance with her again so why should the thought that he enjoyed something she wanted scare her in such a manner? Her addled brain was too tired, becoming confused and the more she tried to order her thoughts, the more it ached in response.

"I don't know." It was the only honest answer she could give.

Confusion crossed his brow and the piercing blue of his eyes seemed to be reaching into her very soul and attempting to drag out all the mixed-up thoughts she was battling to keep down.

The last embers of the fire went out and the room was plunged into darkness.

"Sorry, I should have lit a lamp."

She could hear him scrabbling to find a match in the darkness and she waited. Finally, he found what he was looking for and a lamp sent light spilling out into the room once more. The lamp was placed on the bedside table carefully and Margaret realised with shock that the clock resting there read a quarter after midnight.

"I am sorry, John. I just don't feel well. I probably ate too much and I suppose I am tired after such a long day."

"I should have realised. I am sorry."

She watched him as he turned from her and removing his jacket, walked away towards his night stand and draped his jacket over it. Then he removed his cravat and placed it with his jacket and Margaret watched interestedly.

"Do you mind if I undress?" He asked, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs without pausing for her answer or looking for any sign of her consent.

She shook her head regardless and quickly looked away from him towards the wide windows behind the bed. The object folded neatly on her pillow, when picked up, turned out to be a nightdress, no doubt unpacked by Martha and Margaret supposed she should also get ready for bed. Still clad in all her wedding finery, save for the veil, she stood to survey what needed to be done. To her horror, no matter how many times she reached and stretched at many different angles, there was simply no way she could undo more than two or three buttons from the back of her dress without an assistant. Panic gripped her as the lateness of the hour, and the fact that Martha was probably long in bed struck her. It had also not escaped her that calling a maid to her now, when she was still fully dressed on her wedding night was bound to raise a few questions- her conversations with Edith before the older girl was married had told her that. She supposed she could call for Mrs Thornton but she could not face the shame of her knowing either and there was only one other alternative. Even in a marriage like theirs, it was going to be impossible to avoid him seeing her in her under garments forever. Perhaps she should just get it over and done with? Defeated, she took her place on the bed again and reviewed all her options, yet no matter how she debated it there was only one thing to be done.

"John?" She called, not brave enough to fully look in his direction.

"John?" she repeated, louder, when he did not respond.

"Yes, Margaret?" He answered, sounding tired.

How was it best to phrase her predicament? There was really only one way to say it.

"I cannot get out of this dress myself."

Gathering her courage, she turned towards him. His shirt tails were untucked and the front of his shirt nearly open but other than that he was fully dressed and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"Oh." He did not seem sure what to say to that, and looked gormlessly at her for a moment as if baffled about what had possessed her to tell him so.

"Shall I wake a maid to help you?" he asked, moving towards the door.

"No!" She blurted desperately. "I don't want to wake them."

"They will not mind."

"but they will know… know that we haven't…" she trailed off shyly, unable to voice what they would know and finally understanding crossed his face.

"Will you help me undo all the buttons down the back?"

Quickly, he gathered himself together and adopted the business-like nature she was so used to now.

"Turn around." He commanded, unaffected, as if he was asked to undo ladies' dresses every day. Perhaps he was or had been. From what she knew of him it was unlikely but her stomach churned at the thought nonetheless in a most alarming manner.

Obediently, she turned, and watched their reflection in the mirror as he first swept the stray hairs which had broken free of her hair pins throughout the day, away from her neck and she held them out of his way, trying to keep her breathing quiet. His fingers worked quickly on the buttons and his face in the mirror was a picture of concentration. As he continued to unfasten, he began to slow, painfully slow, and Margaret had to fight to keep her breathing even as his hands reached her lower back and paused.

"Is that enough?" He asked her, his mill owner voice in full force, despite his deeply blushing cheeks and she shook her head into the mirror.

"No. You need to go a little lower so I can slip out of it."

She heard as well as saw him gulp thickly in the mirror before his hands continued their work, unhooking the small buttons until he reached the very bottom her back when they stilled again and she nodded to inform him he had gone far enough.

Clutching the front of her dress to her she tried to reach around to grab the strings of her corset but found she could not.

"Do I untie it?" her husband asked quietly and she nodded again, clutching the open dress to her body tighter and his hands worked on the tightly knotted bow. She could see him fumbling with the stubborn knot in the mirror and silently cursed Edith for tying it so well.

"I'm sorry… I can't quite…" his face was focussed as he moved the dress from her shoulders down to her arms to give him a better view and she gasped sharply as his hands brushed against the bare skin of her upper back and he muttered something indistinguishable as an apology, the flames of his cheeks visible in the reflection. That thin glass thread, that they had woven between them through their revelations in the carriage, felt all the more vulnerable and Margaret feared it would snap at any moment and they would return to ignoring each other with the barest of civilities. On the other hand, if they could only get through this, it would be stronger, less fragile, and if this situation were to arise again, surely less embarrassing? His hands brushed her skin again and her nerve ends set on fire. His hands were warm but trembling as badly as they were at the wedding, which did something funny to her heart and made her feel as though she might faint. Finally, he managed to undo the knot and pull on the first few strings enough for her to assure him that she could manage the rest. Thanking him, she begged him not to look and started to remove her dress.

It wasn't that she didn't trust him, but she found herself looking around to check he was not looking every few seconds, which halted her progress considerably. Dutifully, he faced away attending to his own clothes and, satisfied, she stopped looking.

Quickly, before he could turn around, she chose a side of the unturned covers and climbed into bed, pulling the blankets as high up to her neck as she could without suffocating, her eyes closed shut so that she could not see him. Her hair was still pinned in places into its elaborate style but she did not care. She would leave it until tomorrow and deal with logistics of removing them then.

His footfall on the rug, signalled he was done and she felt the bed move a little as he climbed in on the other side and blew out the candle. Neither of them spoke as they lay there facing the ceiling in the darkness.

Lying next to someone else was going to take some getting used to. No part of their body was touching but she could still feel the heat radiating off him. Margaret bit her lips agitatedly, as she tried to remain completely still for fear of accidently bumping him or waking him if he was already asleep. It was going to be a very long night. If she could only hear his breath deepen to tell her he was asleep she could move and might be in with a chance of sleeping herself and so she waited, counting the ticks of the clock as the sound filled the otherwise silent room. After what felt like a lifetime, he still had not moved but she had the distinct impression he was still as awake as she and also staring at the ceiling.

"Margaret?"

A short time later, he whispered her name, confirming her suspicion.

"Yes." She tried unsuccessfully to respond without moving at all.

"Are you alright?"

"I think so." She whispered back, unsure why they were whispering. Silence settled back over them and she waited for him to fall asleep, returning to counting the beats of the clock.

By the time she had reached five thousand beats, she was still no closer to falling asleep and becoming more and more convinced she was going to have to go the whole night without moving.

"I am sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable." Unable to remain still and silent any longer she spoke to the empty room more for something to do than to really speak to the man beside her.

"I am sorry if I did it wrong." The fact that he had replied did not surprise her but the words caught her off guard.

"You did not."

From outside the hoot of an owl, sounded and silence fell again.

Later today her family would be gone, Edith, Aunt Shaw and Dixon and she would be left alone in a strange house with a strange man and his mother who hated her and her parents would still be dead and no amount of dancing or helping Nicholas and his family would bring them back. Tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back furiously, telling herself over and over to be brave.

She only managed to count to fifty before she could not stay quiet any longer.

"John, I am scared."

The tick of the clock sounded nine times before he responded.

"Of me?"

"No." How was she to explain it? She was not scared of him, he would not hurt her. She scared of the future and had no idea what she was doing or what their deal really held for her life, but how could she voice that fear without sounding as though she did not trust him.

"I just still don't know what we are supposed to do now." She settled for his words from earlier but this time the urge to laugh was completely absent.

"I don't know either, Margaret but we will work it out together." His voice was unwavering and confident and made her want to cry more.

"Do you promise?" She implored. It was childish and silly but she had always asked her father to promise when she was unsure of something he had said when she was little.

"I promise."

Feeling a little better, she shifted just slightly, as much as she dared, so that she was not in so much danger of falling off the bed in the middle of the night. Perhaps he had been as scared to move as she, for he too shifted just a little more fully onto the bed. She wanted to take his hand but didn't dare. Instead, she stretched her fingers out just a little to see where it was. He must have done the same, for she could feel his hand splayed also. Slowly, he shifted it just a little, not taking her hand, but resting his so that the side of her small hand and finger, touched against the side of his and Margaret closed her eyes as he softly stroked his little finger along hers. They did not speak again but he continued the simple actions long after she fell asleep hours later.