John took the stairs to his room two at a time, his long muscular limbs making short work of the climb. After selecting fresh clothes, he splashed water on his face and examined his whiskers in the mirror. He decided not to shave at this late hour. He had hoped to finish earlier at the Mill; a problem with the machinery had waylaid him.

As he dressed, John reflected on his day. After a frustrating and unfruitful meeting with his banker, he had run into Mr Hale on the street - completely by chance. The older man had seemed anxious; which made John feel remorseful. It was only natural that his tutor should wonder at his sudden withdrawal. John, in his attempts to put the older man at ease, accepted a dinner invitation for this evening. But now as he readied himself he questioned whether he should go after all.

He yearned to see Margaret again; almost to the point of feeling physical pain at the deprivation of not seeing her. But after their last quarrel he had begun to wonder if he should not take his mother's advice and abandon his hopes of ever winning her. It did not seem that they could even be in each other's company without passionately disagreeing about one thing or another. And yet there was still so much that he admired about her. Qualities that, if he was honest, he greatly desired in a woman. Her wit, intelligence, compassion, independence, beauty and grace made her seem like female perfection itself.

John shook his head as he buttoned his freshly starched shirt. He had wasted more time than he cared to think about debating this in his head. On a number of occasions in the last week he had been sorely tempted to walk to Crampton. But the recollection of her harsh condemnation of him at their last meeting kept him from doing so. He did not know how many more times he could bear to have his spirits crushed by Margaret's censure and scorn.

But his present state of anticipation at seeing her told him he would not be rid of his feelings for her easily. He wondered how she would receive him, whether she knew that he had taken Higgins on at the mill.

Very few people in life surprised him, but Nicholas Higgins was definitely one of them. When other workers – and disappointingly his own foreman – had ignored the problem with the weave this afternoon, Nicholas had defied orders to keep working and marched to John's office to demand he look at the machine. His action had saved John a day's wages in clothe that would otherwise have needed to be destroyed. Higgins had also offered to stay back to finish the order – without payment.

John found him difficult to fathom. He was unlike most workers; he genuinely seemed to care about his trade and the people he worked with. There were few others that could match the quality of his craftwork. And he toiled away for longer hours than were required of him.

Indeed it was Higgins's reputation that impressed John the most when he started to make enquiries about the man two weeks ago. Whilst his leadership in the union had made him a persona non grata to mill owners in Milton, no one could speak ill of his work.

It was this that had motivated John to offer him work. Orders were still flowing in, but Marlborough Mill was desperately behind. Problems with machinery regularly went unchecked and wastage was high. John needed skilled men like Higgins – now more than ever – to ensure that capacity could be maintained and re-work avoided to contain costs.

John conceded that part of his reluctance to see Margaret this evening was the thought of facing her after his about-face on Higgins. She had been right about him – of course. But he could not bear it if she exulted in her triumph over him.

John straightened his frock coat and with one last glance, made his way out of his room and down the stairs. His mother was waiting for him.

'You will not be dining with us tonight then John?'

'No mother, Mr Hale has invited me to dinner. ' John reached for the fruit basket he had asked Cook to put together.

'That is surprising, given the state of Mrs Hale.' Mrs Thornton enquired cynically.

'Just a simple affair, Mother. A meal between friends.'

'And yet you dress up for them John. You look…' Mrs Thornton stood close to her son and sniffed him, 'and smell good enough to be attending a ball.' She reached up to straighten his cravat. 'Miss Hale has nothing to do with this I hope?'

'I shall be home directly, Mother. Do not wait up though.' John kissed her cheek before walking out the door.

John braced himself for the cold and walked briskly. He waved as he saw Higgins and two of the other men leaving the mill having finished off the large order they had been working on. He would need to find a way to reward them for their extra efforts.

As John reached the tiny house in an inauspicious part of town, he had to balance the basket of fruit on his knee to knock on the door. Expecting the servant – Dixon – to answer, he was surprised when Margaret appeared.

His heart betrayed him in his chest. She was a picture of loveliness in her pink muslin. Her hair was pulled up in a chignon, her complexion cream against the pastel fabric. She mesmerized him – he wondered if she knew that? Just the site of her rendered him dumb.

Her eyes twinkled and betrayed the slightest smile. Not a smile of self-righteousness or self-satisfaction as he had feared, but a private smile, like it was meant only for him. One glimpse at her and he was possessed. Any immunity he thought he had built up to her charms were washed away by the promise in those eyes.

'Mr Thornton, may I take that from you?'

John felt himself staring at her and realized that Margaret was eying the basket in his hands. 'Good evening Miss Hale. It is rather heavy, I brought it for your mother.' Stepping inside the door he came close enough to inhale her heady scent of linen and lavender. His senses were reeling. 'Perhaps I can put it in the kitchen for Dixon to plate?'

Margaret smiled at him again. John marveled at how breathtaking she was right at that moment.

'Of course sir, come this way.'

Margaret walked ahead of him. John could not help but admire her tiny waist and elegant neck as he strolled behind. Tiny whispers of curls were escaping her carefully coiffed hair and caressing the tiny clasp of her necklace. There were pearl buttons down her back and John wondered how she managed to undo them…

'Just put it down here Mr Thornton.'

He obeyed, placing the basket on a small wooden table. He could feel the heat of the fire in the small room. The aroma of a hearty broth made him realize it had been some hours since he had last eaten.

'That really is very thoughtful of you Mr Thornton – to bring my mother such tasty treats. I know that she is touched by your kindness.' Margaret looked down, a small blush touching her cheeks.

John was now leaning against the doorframe, his full height taller than it. 'How is your Mother, Miss Hale?'

'Unchanged since the last time we spoke, Mr Thornton,' Margaret's blush deepened at her words, 'she spends more time in her bed now I fear.'

'And how are you Miss Hale?'

Margaret's head looked up, surprised by his question. 'Me? I am quite well Mr Thornton.' She nodded nervously but did not elaborate.

John watched her face a little longer, bemused by her expression. She seemed to be debating her thoughts. If only he knew what they were..

'Mr Thornton, I want to thank you for accepting my father's invitation to dinner this evening.' Her face was earnest. 'He has missed your visits.' Margaret chewed her lip before proceeding. 'I fear I am to blame for your reluctance to come.'

'Miss Hale..'

'Please, Mr Thornton, there cannot be any other explanation. I must accept my culpability. If I had not been so unforgivably arrogant and presumptuous of late, I am certain that we would have enjoyed your company at Crampton more often.'

John appreciated her humility but it reminded him that he was still vulnerable to her righteous outbursts.

Margaret continued, her tone beseeching. 'Please I beg you not to allow our differences of opinion to stand in the way of your friendship with Papa. It means a great deal to him to have you here…to all of us.' Margaret's voice faltered and she swallowed quickly. 'I promise I will work harder to hold my tongue, if you will just..well..if you will please continue to visit Crampton.'

John did not know whether it was the heat in the small room affecting him, or the way the glow of the firelight made the tears that pricked her eyes shimmer. Without realizing it he took a step closer to Margaret. She did not waver, so he moved closer still. Their eyes transfixed, John leaned forward and whispered, 'Margaret,..

'Good evening Mr Thornton.' The portly lady walked through the doorway squeezing through the space between John and Margaret. 'Miss Margaret, your father is waiting in the sitting room for Mr Thornton. Perhaps you should show him through.'

Surprised out of the dreamlike moment, John stepped back, hitting his head against the top of the doorframe. Margaret stifled a giggle.

'Thank you Dixon.' Turning to John, Margaret's eyes held a little of that earlier twinkle. 'Come Mr Thornton, I will take you to my father.'