~Chapter 10~
Margaret wrapped her arms around John's neck, lifting herself on her toes to press her lips against his in return. A gasp escaped her as John snaked his arm around her waist and pressed her closer to him. "Stay," he demanded, dropping kisses on her eyes, her cheeks, her chin, her neck. Margaret felt feverish at his touch.
"Yes," she promised.
Realizing the public nature of the office, John regretfully pulled back. "Let us go down and inform your brother," John stated, watching a bit of sorrow flicker over Margaret's face, revealing the true divide she still felt. He thanked God that he had come out on the winning end of that division. They walked together down the stairs, John refusing despite the impropriety to release Margaret's hand, and across the mill yard to where Frederick waited impatiently.
"I cannot go, Fred," Margaret admitted.
He smiled wryly. "I thought as much."
"Try not to be angry with me for taking you from Dolores for nothing," Margaret requested.
Fred kissed her forehead. "Do not be silly. I am now sure that you are happy and I have seen you. After all, who knows if or when I shall ever be in England again?" Margaret sniffed at his words and John tucked her closer beside him.
As they talked, Edward freed Margaret's trunk from the roof of the carriage and hefted it back inside. He could hardly wait to share this development with Molly, Agnes, Samantha, and Julia!
When Edward had finished, Fred climbed into the waiting carriage, waved once, and was off. Margaret watched long after she could not see him anymore. Finally, John gently pulled her away.
"Come," he offered, "Let us work together at the accounts for this last hour before supper." Margaret obediently followed John back to the mill and up into his office. She sat at the desk and copied the numbers John figured into the large book open before her, but her heart was not in the task. Instead, her thoughts circled around the brother that she might never again see. John noted her silence and carefully monitored her expression, ready to stop the exercise if it proved too trying. Thus, his eyes were upon her when a tear rolled its way down her nose and dripped onto the page she prepared. "Margaret," he soothed. She could not bear to meet his eyes, sure that she would crumble. John removed the pen from her grasp and took both of her hands in his own. "I had hoped to distract you," he explained, "but it appears that I was wrong to do so. Let us go back to the house." Margaret nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
"I was just about to send Edward for you," Hannah stated when Margaret and John entered the house. "Supper is ready." She had stood in the window watching Margaret depart and so saw the entire episode unfold. Immensely pleased for her son, she immediately ordered Molly to prepare John's favorite supper of roasted beef. Now, however, she frowned to see Margaret step behind John as though to shield herself from a blow.
"Mother," John replied, "I believe Margaret and I will take a plate in the library this evening. I do apologize for the inconvenience." His blue eyes begged for understanding and acceptance, and Hannah could rarely refuse him anything, so she nodded her assent. Grateful, Margaret shadowed her husband into the library.
Edward brought in two plates laden with food, two glasses of wine, and utensils. "Will there be anything else?" he asked, the gossip in him longing to stay while simultaneously thinking how much more interesting the evening might be without him present to witness it.
"No," John replied. "Thank you, Edward." When the butler left the room, John closed the library door behind him, seated himself in his brown chair, and pulled Margaret onto his lap. "I am so sorry for your loss," he offered and Margaret, overwhelmed by all of her recent losses, gave in and cried heartily against her husband's shoulder. John rubbed a hand up and down his wife's back and murmured to her comfortingly.
When she once again had hold over her emotions, Margaret sat up with a hiccoughing sigh. "I believe I have cried more than I have smiled since coming into this house," she admitted, defeated by the thought.
John smoothed away an errant tear that hung on Margaret's face and shimmered in the lamp light. "That is something I greatly desire to change," he declared.
Margaret's mouth lifted at the corners at her husband's words. "And how, pray tell, do you propose to accomplish that?" she asked.
"Well," John returned, wearing a thoughtful expression that he hoped hid his nervousness in answering, "you smiled earlier today when I kissed you. I might try and see if it happens again." He looked for her reaction but instead of a smile he was stunned to watch as she lifted her face to him and closed her eyes, waiting. For the second time in this earth-shattering day, John brought his lips down to touch those of his wife.
"Margaret, Margaret," he whispered, "You are so beautiful." He traced his hands from her face down her neck and across her shoulders. Margaret thought she would be consumed by the heat that followed his fingers across her skin. Her breath quickened. When her husband did not return his attentions fast enough to her lips, Margaret ran her own hand through his hair and pulled his head down again. With that, John grew bolder and gently caught her plump lower lip in his teeth. She gave a low moan that excited him.
A knock at the library door. "Shall I come back later to collect your plates, master?" Edward asked. John growled in frustration at the interruption. "Yes," he barked. Margaret laughed and broke free of his arms, moving across the room to collect the untouched food.
"We should eat now," she stated, laughing again at the sullen expression that her words brought to his face. So they did, seated across the room from one another. John found the distance, their norm until that day, unbearable. He hurried through his meal, paced impatiently until Margaret finished hers, and then found himself hesitating over their next action. Edward would certainly return and John did not wish to embarrass Margaret with open affection before the staff, yet he feared to question the arrangements for their private space.
Setting her plate aside, Margaret stood in the path of John's pacing and so halted his movements. "Shall we –" She turned her wedding band around her finger nervously. "Are you ready to retire?" she finally managed.
"Yes," he agreed. They climbed the steps together and came to a halt before John's bedroom door. "How would you like to handle this?" he asked. His heart in his throat, he hoped as he had not dared before that she might join him in the master bedroom. In the master bed.
"I will have my things brought in tomorrow morning," she stated, blushing furiously. "Let me only retrieve a nightgown and my brush." Margaret hurried down the hall and into the lavender and mint bedroom. It stood empty. Puzzled, she returned to the master bedroom only to find John coming out in search of her.
"It appears Edward took the liberty of assuming your accommodations had changed," he offered, pointing out her trunk at the foot of the bed and her belongings across the vanity. Margaret laughed, although it was slightly forced. She tried to push aside the fears that assaulted her.
"Margaret," John crooned, reading her emotions, "There is no need to rush into this. I will not be angry if you wish to keep to a separate bedroom for a time."
She shook her head. "I wish to be with you; it is just – I am afraid."
"I will never hurry you or hurt you," he assured her. "I will leave if you would rather change alone."
Margaret smiled, thinking how similar and yet wonderfully different this night was compared to their wedding night. Yes, she felt fear at the thought of the unknown, but John loved her and she loved him. Together they would muddle through this and the accompanying nights.
"Would you rather I left while you changed?" John asked, uncertain what her silence meant.
"No," she responded, strengthened by her thoughts. "Would you unfasten my buttons?" For the second time in their short marriage, John strode closer. One, two, three. No large distance. He reached out with eager hands and unfastened the pearl buttons that closed the back of her wedding dress. This time, he did not stop his fingers from caressing the milky white skin that his labor revealed. Margaret shivered and John immediately withdrew his hands.
"Finished," he breathed and turned away.
Margaret slipped out of her undergarments and into a nightdress. She touched John's arm to signal that she had finished, then seated herself at the vanity and began brushing out her hair as John changed. She felt a strange twist of her stomach when his bare arm came into view in the mirror, lifting the nightshirt above his head.
Dressed, John sat on the edge of the bed transfixed by the beautiful woman before him whose dark tresses spilled down over her white gown. Margaret caught his eyes in the mirror and smiled again, her happiness filling his heart to overflowing.
"Come to bed, Margaret," he urged and Margaret rose and walked to the bed to join her husband. One, two, three, four, five. She climbed in between the covers and raised her lips as John lowered his for a good night kiss. They lay side by side. John caught her hand in his own above the covers. "Are you tired?" he asked.
Margaret's eyelids fought to close but her mind still raced with the events of the day. "No," she replied and yawned, causing both of them to laugh and turn towards one another. She watched as his Roman features relaxed in joy. Even after their laughter quieted, Margaret could see despite the dim room that the lines at the corners of his eyes and lips remained, softening his appearance. She reached out tentatively and traced her hand down the slightly whisker-roughened contour of his cheek.
"Why did you stay?" John asked, bolstered by her action.
"I could not go," Margaret replied. John remained silent, hoping for more of an explanation. "My heart felt as though it would be torn in two whether I would go or stay," Margaret continued as John raised his hand to trap hers against his face. "I thought that since you did not want me here-"
"I have always wanted you!" John interrupted.
Margaret smiled. "You forget our disagreements."
"Misunderstandings," he qualified. "But go on."
"I thought I should go," Margaret continued, "But when I stepped up into the carriage I could not breathe with the pain of leaving and had to know if you would let me stay."
"Let you stay?" John burst, "I cannot believe I almost let you go. Margaret, you might as well have torn my still-beating heart from my chest for the agony I underwent as you prepared to go with your brother."
Margaret freed her hand and pressed it against his chest. "And for that I am sorry."
"Your presence now heals any wound that your impending departure created," John assured her. He lifted the warm little hand from its place over his heart and kissed each finger tenderly.
"And you?" Margaret demanded, "Why did you not come for me yourself if indeed you experienced such pain at the thought of me leaving for the continent?"
"Ah, here's the rub," John returned, "Had I any indication of your feelings towards me, I would have in an instant. Your anger towards me seemed quite complete and I despaired of you even wishing to remain in England never mind wishing to stay with me." He paused and Margaret had just opened her mouth to respond when he continued almost in a whisper, "I have belonged to you for such a long time, my Margaret."
Unable to find words, Margaret pressed her lips against his cheek. They lay together silently until both drifted off to sleep.
John woke in the night to find that Margaret in her sleep had snuggled against his warmth. He breathed in the sweet smell of her and brushed a hand over her hair. She sighed but did not stir, so John kissed her forehead and pulled his wife still closer, wrapping her in his arms. Her warmth lulled him back into a contented sleep.