Chapter Ten- Making amends

Thornton sat in his room, fuming, berating himself. He had let Lennox provoke him into picking a fight with Margaret. He had been an inconsiderate brute to the orphaned child of his dear tutor. If he continued at this rate, she may regard that popinjay as a preferred suitor. He had to make amends. He needed to speak to her, to clear this misapprehension, but unfortunately, he had little hope to be alone with her in this house, particularly when he would have to deal with the disapproving glare of the aunt, the cousin and perhaps, his own mother.

He should have taken his chance in Milton, where he had neither Lennox nor Dickenson to contend with. Instead, like a grand fool, he had let his jealousy override, and then he muddied the waters even more, by stupidly stating to her, in no uncertain terms, the end of his passion.

He placed the letter that he had penned to her, along with the dried rose from Helstone in an envelope, and made his way out of the room. He prayed that he would find her in the Drawing Room, and hoping she would not have gone up to her bedchamber. He found the Captain seated in the far end of the Drawing Room, nursing a brandy.

"Ah, Thornton," Maxwell said, surprised to see him. "You find me all alone. My dear wife is with Cousin Margaret, and my brother has decided to have an early night."

"….and my mother?" Thornton asked.

"Mother Shaw and Mrs. Thornton are having a tête-à-tête in the study. Come in and join me. I wanted to have a word with you anyway." Maxwell said and rose to pour a glass for Thornton. "Brandy…or perhaps gin or cider?"

Thornton gave him a long stare. "Brandy," he said at length.

"What can you tell me about the cotton industry?" Maxwell asked as he handed the brandy over to Thornton. He was too much of a gentleman to inquire about the episode with Margaret, particularly from someone he was unfamiliar with.

"What do you wish to know?"

"I had been mulling over this, since the Exhibition," Maxwell said. "Most of my acquaintances favour the railroad for investment, so I am conflicted…..."

" I see." Thornton settled in a seat across from Maxwell, and the two men began to discuss in earnest.

.

.

Mrs. Thornton stepped out of Mrs. Shaw's study and made her way back to the Drawing Room. She found Thornton and the Captain in middle of a serious but even-tempered discussion.

Both men rose as Mrs. Thornton came in. She saw that Edith had not yet returned from Margaret's room, and as Mrs. Shaw had stayed back in the study, she thought it best to leave the men to their talk. Thornton indicated to her to join them instead.

"I can assure you that my mother knows everything there is to know about the running the mill, just as well as any man," Thornton explained to Maxwell.

"Yes, please join us," Maxwell said, "I have been warned to never underestimate you, ma'am."

"Excuse me?" both Thorntons said in unison.

"Well, it is not every day that Henry finds someone who sees through his wiles, and outsmarts him," Maxwell chuckled. "So, if I am considering investing in Marlborough Mills, I would like to hear all there is to know about it, that is, from a sage like you, Mrs. Thornton."

"Is this a family trait then, to employ flattery to disarm me?" Hannah asked.

Maxwell shrugged and laughed.

Hannah joined them and thoroughly enjoyed the conversation, grateful that they were not indulging in some inane chatter about the Season, fashion, gossip and connections. Thornton's chest swelled up with pride as his mother impressed Maxwell with her insight and contributions.

After some time, she decided to go to her room. Thornton excused himself from the Captain and followed after his mother.

"He seemed impressed with your improvements at the mill. All your problems could be over if he does invest," Mrs. Thornton started in a very low tone as the high ceilings in the hallway had a tendency to echo.

"Perhaps," he replied, "but it all means nothing without Margaret."

"I know. She may well change her mind, but you cannot afford to be disagreeable with her," Hannah said.

"I had come to apologise for my earlier behaviour. Lennox just gets my ire. He always seemed to be amiable with everyone, with Margaret, and even you."

"Don't be absurd. You heard his brother. Admittedly, I was caught unawares, but I soon rallied. How could you even believe that he would mistake me for your wife? He is younger than you, for crying out loud."

"You do know that he will not wait for six months….." Thornton said.

"Her family clearly favour him," she replied. "The way I see it, you have less than two days to press your suit."

"Only one day actually. Lennox and I will both be in Oxford all day tomorrow," he said. "And as long as you keep her away from him?…"

"You obviously do not know her, if you think that anyone could keep Margaret away from whatever it is that she sets her mind to," Mrs. Thornton laughed.

"Very well then... Wait, do you suppose she may... Never mind, I will see you both in the morning. Good night Mother," and he kissed her on the forehead and watched her go down the corridor towards her room.

…

.

Thornton tarried at breakfast, hoping to see Margaret the next morning before they left for Oxford. "Perhaps it was too early for these southern ladies to be up and ready for seven," he reasoned to himself as Aunt Shaw and Edith were also absent. In any case, Fanny rarely ventured out of her room before half-past nine. On the other hand, his mother was present, but then, it was a habit of a lifetime for them. Hannah Thornton always had her breakfast with her son before he set out for the mill.

"Mother, how could she could she not come to see off the gentlemen who are going to bid her precious Papa goodbye?" he asked, irritably.

"Is that what is really bothering you?" Mrs. Thornton asked.

"I wanted to speak with her before I left," he admitted.

He reached into his breast pocket and brought out the envelope that he had meant to give to Margaret last night. "Can you kindly give her this message for me," he said.

The butler came to summon him, that both Maxwell and Henry were also ready to leave. He then rose from the table, kissed his mother, left the room to put on his coat, gloves and hat, and then followed Maxwell and Henry out to the waiting carriage.

As he went down the front steps, Margaret came flying out through the front door. Fresh snow had fallen, and the landscape was white and fresh. She was in one of her favourite gowns that had been dyed black. If she could have gone to the funeral, it is what she would have worn. She did not have a coat on, but she had a thick woollen shawl across her slim shoulders, and her long hair was twisted into a loose bun.

"Mr. Thornton…Mr. Thornton…"she called urgently and almost out of breath.

Thornton bit out. "You are late." She was standing two steps behind him, which brought their faces level as he turned around to face her.

"I am truly sorry, but..could you….could.."she struggled to get the words out.

"You have been crying…."he said as he noticed her puffy face. "I….beg your pardon….Margaret, please forgive me…."

A discreet cough from one of the Lennox brothers made him realise that he was standing too close for propriety. His head told him to move back. His torso decided to lean forward.

Margaret looked first at the Lennoxes, and then back to Thornton and said, "my parents are to be buried so far apart, in Milton and in Oxford. So I thought, if I could find something of my mother's, to put in with Papa, it will give me some comfort. It took me so long to decide on an appropriate item, and then I found this shawl. Mama used to drape it over my father whenever he fell asleep in his study, to keep his warm….so could…you?…." Margaret pleaded.

"I will. It will be an honour to do this service for you," Thornton said, feeling full of remorse for being so selfish and not thinking about the sense of despair that Margaret must feel on such a day. He took the shawl from her and draped it over his left forearm. He then encased her hand in his hands. "I think we should take comfort in the notion that whilst their bodies may rest in different towns on earth, they will be together in heaven. Remember that you have both Mr. Bell and myself still living in both towns, so they are not alone either."

Margaret nodded. "Do you realise that you and Mr. Bell will be the only people in this world to attend both of my parents' funerals? In all the last eighteen months since we have come to know you, you have been a very good friend to him, sir."

"He was like a father to me," he said.

"Well, you have bestowed upon him the honour of a son. I could not ask for more," Margaret said and raised their joined hands to her lips and kissed it. Thornton brought up one hand to the side of her face and ran his thumb across the expanse of her cheek.

"And I would wish for nothing more in this life than to be his son…" his voice deepened, and he added, "….if you let me."

"Me? How is that even possible?" Margaret's face scrunched up inquiringly.

Thornton looked into her eyes, and realization dawned on her. "Oh, I see," she said, and he nodded. His heart drummed painfully against the wall of his chest, and as if drawn by an invisible magnet, he lowered his face towards hers.

On cue, they both heard a more urgent cough, and they both stopped in their tracks and looked up in the direction of the sound. A short distance away, Maxwell was smirking at them, but Henry looked away. It was too painful to watch.

Margaret moved out of Thornton's hold, stepped back, squeezed her eyes shut and buried her red-hot face in her hands. "Safe journey, Mr. Thornton," she said quietly and turned on her heel and went into the house.

Thornton watched her leave, and a boyish grin spread across his face. He pinched himself into reality, and struggled to bring his face into a sombre expression. "Get hold of yourself man," he told himself, "you are going to her father's funeral for goodness sake."

….

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