Margaret would not see Mr. Thornton again until the evening of the dinner party. She was occupied with her mother and he with the mill, so involved with his business that he had been obliged to cancel his lessons with her father. But somehow the week passed, and she was soon standing before her mother, ready for inspection as Dixon helped with any finishing touches.
"Oh, Margaret," her mother said from her chair, from which she was feeling too tired to rise this evening, "how I should like to go with you, taking you to an assembly as my mother did for me."
Margaret shared this wish, but she was reluctant in her filial duty of replying, "I can stay at home if you wish, Mama." She was nervous about appearing out in public among so many strangers, but she also glowed inwardly in anticipation. Tonight she would see Mr. Thornton, and she was more eager to be in his company than she cared to admit out loud. Every day Margaret was learning the truth that absence makes the heart grow fonder. He had not entered her sleep again, but that had not stopped her daydreams. She would imagine to herself that he would overtake her in the market again, or that they would meet on some solitary walk, that he would offer her his arm and they would lose their way in conversation. The sound of knocking at the front door always sparked some hope in her that he would suddenly appear. She told herself that such imaginings were silly, but she would not deny him entrance to her thoughts. Each thought and fancy softened his memory, accentuated his smile, and increased Margaret's admiration of him.
"Nonsense, darling! I would not have you miss such an occasion simply to spend it on a humdrum evening at home. You will enjoy yourself, I'm sure."
Margaret was inclined to agree with her, but she would not say so. She preferred to keep her secret close. She suspected her mother would not approve of her interest in Mr. Thornton, but that suspicion was not what stopped her from confessing her increasing attachment. Rather, she wanted to have something entirely her own, a private treasure she could return to in times of solitude or sorrow, times which increased daily as her mother grew weaker and her fate was so uncertain. And the memory of his kindness and earnest eyes brought her such reassurance and comfort, she found herself better able to bear the sight of her mother's pain when she thought of him.
"Will your factory friend be here to see you dressed?"
"She was so ill the last time I saw her I never thought to ask." Bessy and her mother. Who else dear to her was she fated to lose? The thought sobered her.
"Well, my dear, you do look lovely. Aunt Shaw's coral gives you just the right touch of color."
Margaret was grateful for her mother's approving words when they reached the Thornton home. She and her father were punctual to the time dictated, but they were the first and only guests for some time, with only Mrs. and Miss Thornton for company. In Margaret's mind, Dixon had much to learn from Mrs. Thornton on being formidable. Every subject begun was brought to a quick end by her terseness, and Margaret felt it hard to withstand her stern glare. She was more than a little awkward as they attempted conversation, continually rebuffed, awaiting the arrival of other guests.
Her discomfort eased and all but evaporated when Mr. Thornton entered the room. She straightened and watched him closely as he approached, a cordial and cheerful look in his eye. Her chest felt constricted as he greeted her father, waiting for the moment she could speak and greet him herself. Her slight shift of posture did not escape the notice of his mother, nor did the deepening of his smile when he turned to her to shake her hand.
Their words were commonplace as he welcomed her, but neither would have been able to recall the words spoken, even if the other had spouted a sonnet, not while their hands met. Both were very conscious that it was the first time they had done so, and both were slow to release their hands from the clasp. Even after he let go, she could feel the touch of his warm skin burnt into her memory. Though she turned to speak with Fanny, she did not neglect to spare a look or two his way, noting to herself how well he looked, an easy manner becoming his handsome face.
More guests were arriving and Mr. Thornton had to now divide his attention among them, but he rarely lost sight of her. Even when he did, he was so aware of her presence, he would have been able to name exactly where she was and what she was doing, if necessary. It was plain to see that his prediction to Mrs. Hale that Margaret would be "most lovely" was far below the mark. She was nothing short of glorious. He had never seen her so attired before and could not but think such finery was intended for her always. Across the room their eyes met, and she gifted him with a smile that illuminated her entire being. He was well and truly caught.
He did not find an opportunity to speak with her again before dinner, and as another gentleman escorted her to table and much of the talk during dinner required his opinion, he was prevented from even the barest civilities. Though she also wished it were otherwise, she enjoyed the chance to observe him. As a dispute was referred to him to resolve, she had never seen him to so much advantage; he spoke firmly and wisely, effectively settling the question without opposition. Often he had had an air of defense about him when he visited her home, which she could not blame him for now, knowing her propensity to embroil him in argument. Here, there was no struggle on his part for respect. He had it, and his knowledge of it was reflected by the clear quietness of his voice and his simple, modest manner. She quite liked this side of him.
She was most bored with the other ladies after dinner. She had never enjoyed this custom to separate the sexes, as the ladies' interests were rather dull. It seemed to be as much the case in Milton as in London, and she felt threatened with fatigue until the gentlemen came. She smiled fondly to see her father engrossed in conversation with Mr. Horsfall, glad to know he was enjoying himself. Her attention on him had momentarily caused her to lose sight of Mr. Thornton, so she was moderately startled when he came up behind her and spoke.
"How are you finding your time here, Miss Hale?" he asked, amused by her small jump. He had hoped he would be able to discompose her. She faced him with an exasperated smirk.
"I was finding myself rather well, until you made me lose my breath." He smiled at his success and she was suddenly mindful of how close he stood to her. He was taller than most men, so as he bent toward her to avoid being jarred by a passing guest, he seemed to tower over her. She felt enveloped by him and considerably liked the feeling.
"To be perfectly honest, I was more than ready for you men to make an appearance. The style and substance of the ladies' talk is wearying to me, and I am in great need of refreshment."
"And what sort of refreshment do you require?"
"Any subject not having to do with lace, pins, or petticoats. I beg you, no petticoats."
He laughed as he replied, "I believe you are safe from such subjects with me. I am most ignorant of them."
"Tell me, are you acquainted at all with the man Mr. Horsfall spoke about – Mr. Morison?"
"I know of him, from Mr. Horsfall's account. Why?"
"It seemed from Mr. Horsfall's words that Mr. Morison would be against you in the discussion you were having. He seemed to also imply that Mr. Morison was not a gentleman."
"Having no personal knowledge of him, I do not know if I can judge correctly, but I do believe from all Mr. Horsfall has told me of him that he is no true man."
The phrase sounded familiar to Margaret. "I believe you have used the term 'true man' before. Is that the same to you as a gentleman?"
"I would say it is a great deal more. A man is to me a higher and completer being than a gentleman. The term 'gentleman' seems to describe a person merely in relation to others. But a man is considered in relation to himself – to life – to time – to eternity. It is his honorable actions without regard to the approval or disapproval of others that make him a man, even if he is as lonely as a castaway or a saint. I am weary of the word 'gentleman' and how it has usurped the inherent dignity of 'man.' Its meaning has become distorted and exaggerated, while the term 'man' or 'manly,' being unacknowledged, will always have its power and nobility in simplicity."
She had never thought about the juxtaposition and subsequent difference between the two terms, but his argument and defense was compelling. She was still immersed in thought when he was called away by another manufacturer.
She kept a discreet and proper distance from them, but her curiosity was aroused by the intense gravity on Mr. Thornton's face as the other man remonstrated with him. Inconspicuously, she drew close enough to hear their words.
"You've left word at the barracks?" his companion demanded.
"That has been done."
"You have taken other precautions? Hiding their arrival, keeping them from sight?"
"All those arrangements have been made." He was rather short with the man and she thought he now looked anxious and weighted with care. Suspicion as to their discussion arose within her that was confirmed by the other man's words.
"If they find out you're bringing in Irish workers, there is nothing they will not stop at to –"
"I take the risk. You need not join in it." He spoke firmly. "I can protect myself from violence, and I will certainly protect all others who come to me for work."
"Well, on your own head be it."
He began to walk away, frustration evident on his contracted brow, but he did not go far before seeing Margaret. He schooled his features and stepped closer, fully in the knowledge that she had heard.
"Irish workers?" she asked, her disapproval manifest.
"Yes," he said quietly. "They will come over in a few days."
She was so disappointed in him. He had expressed confidence in her ability to find a reasonable solution, and yet had not bothered to wait before making it impossible for the strikers to return to work. How would they feel toward him now? She was afraid to know, and dismayed that he would take such action that would only agitate the strikers.
"I don't understand," she spoke reprovingly, casting her eyes to the floor.
"Miss Hale, I told you before, I have my duty to the mill," he kept his voice low. "The strike has gone on too long and you know I am unable to give in to their demands. If the machines do not start running again, what do you think will become of the mill?"
She finally looked him in the eye.
"It will go under. I cannot stop that from happening."
"I thought you would wait, that I could do something to ease the conflict." She was vulnerable in her confession, knowing how she sounded, putting herself forth as some kind of savior.
"Miss Hale, I still have every confidence in you," he said with sincerity, "but time marches on and is a cruel master to those who do nothing. I simply could not wait."
How he longed to touch her, assure her that her opinion was of great value to him. He was on the brink of holding his hand out to her arm before he remembered they were in company and would soon attract unwanted attention if he showed too much. He would not do something thoughtless and involve her in gossip and slander. But he hated the sorrowful frown on her lips and yearned to wipe it away.
"I am sorry," he offered dully, distressed that he was once again the cause of her unhappiness.
She looked at him head on. "I know you are, Mr. Thornton. I am disappointed, but I know you must do your duty. I know if there had been time, you would have listened to me."
"I still will, Miss Hale. Please do not think that I wilfully ignore you. I do desire your opinion and thoughts. Truly."
She nodded, granting his assurances, but soon moved away. How could she face him? She, who had arrogantly set herself up as the one who could save him, save them all? Of course he had to keep the mill going, and of course he was going to do whatever it took to make that happen. She had not been able to miraculously bridge understanding within a matter of a few short weeks, and she was frustrated and disappointed that she had thought she could. Any idea she had to offer would take far more time to have any effect, and that was time Mr. Thornton did not have. Not to mention her attention to her mother distracted her from giving the strike any deep thought. She was ashamed of herself.
Mr. Thornton, meanwhile, blamed himself. She had expressed a wish to help him, and what had he done to acknowledge it? He had repaid her interest with his usual business principles of logic and reason. At least she did him the justice of understanding those reasons, but he hated her disappointment, and was sorry to think they might part on unhappy terms this evening. He must do something to awaken a smile in her, but he did not know what.
Soon enough he saw Mr. Hale and Margaret make their goodbyes, first to his mother, then his sister. He walked over to them, hoping to come up with something kind that would leave him on better terms with her. Nothing came, and their farewell was civil and brief. He cursed inwardly as they left the room until Mr. Horsfall called Mr. Hale back in, wanting to make one last point on their previous topic of conversation. Mr. Hale reentered, but Margaret did not. Mr. Thornton's hesitation lasted a bare moment; he seized his chance and slipped out of the room and down the stairs after her.
She was taking her shawl from the table when she heard his voice. "May I help you, Miss Hale?" His voice was pleading and soft, and when she turned and saw the fervent look in his eye, she was immediately helpless before him. It was only now that she realized how much she wanted to be alone with him, away from prying eyes and distracting company, and how she had missed the piercing expression of his look. She silently handed him the shawl and he stepped around her slowly to place it across her shoulders.
His fingers grazed her skin, awakening sparks within her at each touch. Her breath came quick and strong as he stood before her, taking her hand again but more tenderly, more intimately. She was certain he could hear her heart beat; there was no other sound, no other person, nowhere in the wide world. He held her in his captivating gaze, and for the first time, no stray thought entered her mind to force her to turn away. She could not turn away from him, not while his eyes were so intense and tender all at once. That aching and pleasurable pressure on her chest threatened to encase her, and she did not know how to relieve it. If only he would say something; she was afraid to speak. He moved closer, his hand reached to her face, she allowed herself a breath . . .
"I'm sorry, Margaret, for keeping you waiting."
Her father was descending the stairs. They broke apart, warmth and desire quickly replaced by cold and propriety. Mr. Hale once more expressed his thanks and said goodbye to Mr. Thornton, but Margaret could not bring herself to repeat his compliments, unnerved as she was at the interrupted spell Mr. Thornton had cast over her. As she walked on with her father, though, she looked back over her shoulder to see him still at the door, still looking at her.
He had meant to say something, anything really, to make her smile, but all language left his head as he helped her with her shawl and touched her soft skin. For once he blessed his lack of eloquence, as her look and manner were all the words he needed.
Margaret did manage to carry on conversation with her father, but once again the night hid her expression, as smile after unbidden smile graced her lips. She would not forget Mr. Thornton's tenderness and touch, not now that she had truly and really experienced it. It was easy for her to cast aside her earlier feelings regarding the Irish workers in the memory of the darkened stairwell. Yes, this would be a night to remember.
They entered the house to Dixon's white and trembling face. "Oh, master! Oh, Miss Margaret! Thank God you are come! Dr. Donaldson is here. She's better now, but I thought she'd have died an hour ago."
In an instant, Margaret forgot everything.
A/N: I know, I know. Another author note. I've already stated that I'm borrowing dialogue from the book, and this is one of the times that it's culled pretty heavily. John's speech about gentlemen and "true men" is one of my favorite passages, and there was no way I was going to keep it out. It's a great conversation between them, anyway, because it's one of the few times they speak in the book without arguing, but I also love the idea about a "true man". I added some of my own little thoughts to his speech, but even in its original form, it's great and thought-provoking. Go. Read it (the real thing, not what i wrote). Ponder. It's wonderful.