A/N: Here is Chapter 12. I hope that you enjoy, if so, please let me know! I have enjoyed writing this chapter, but I am enjoying the next much more! Thank you for reading – Mere.

Discoveries

Margaret had now lived at 96 Harley Street for two full weeks and had learned that there was definite rhythm of her days. Upon awakening, a maid would be waiting to dress her for the day. Once her corset was laced, she was clothed and her hair was in place, Margaret would show herself into the nursery where she would play with Sholto for a short period of time before being called to breakfast. After eating, calls would begin. On Tuesday, Thursday and Friday, the three ladies left the house to make calls. Margaret looked forward to these days much more so than Monday and Wednesday, when they would wait for others to call on them. On days that they would leave for calls, she at least had the opportunity to enjoy the fresh air before spending well into the afternoon indoors. The late afternoon, before dinner, was leisure time. If she wished to take a walk, she must be accompanied by a footman if there was no one in the house wished to take one as well.

Dinners were generally held in the formal dining room, and Henry had become quite the regular fixture. Everyone would speak idly about the day's events, which, to Margaret, seemed to mirror the previous day which in turn seemed much like the one before that. Edith and Aunt Shaw would take turns recounting the calls that they had made, or those that had been paid to the house, forcing Margaret to relive the tedium once over. Captain Lennox, a true man of leisure while in London, would briefly touch on the events at his gentleman's club. Margaret hated to admit it, but Henry was generally the only person that ever had anything of interest to add to the conversation.

The monotony of her life had become suffocating. It was difficult to remember what day of the week it was, as she seemed to replay the same one over and over, and then over once more for good measure. Every night, Margaret opened the little drawer next to her bed and removed Mr. Thornton's bible. She would curl on her side, almost encircling the book and run her fingers over his name as she had at least a thousand times before. She sighed at the thought of the conversations that they had shared, and the closeness that she felt to him in only a few days time.

Margaret thought over the events that had led to her coming here, to her spending her evenings with a book that she did not read. She remembered just after her father had passed, overcoming her pride as she walked into the office at Marlborough Mills and opened the gates of communication. She was unkind to him soon after, possibly out of habit, but for once having the nerve to apologize. When she woke on his shoulder in the carriage, she remembered the feeling of his warmth that she did not want to separate from, as that touch had been the only thing that had had the ability to break through her new hardened exterior and reconnect her to the outside world. Tears began to coast down Margaret's cheeks as she remembered their conversations, simple words that not only formed a bond to a man that she would never have imagined herself with, but that made her understand that she did not die with her parents. Mr. Thornton brought feeling back to her through his honest words and gentle touch.

Tears came hard and fast as she remembered the day that she had left. He had begged her not to leave, but she made her decision, one which she doubted a hundred times a day. She pulled her knees to her chest and reminded herself that she had no means of support, nothing to sustain her living in Milton. What choice did she have? These thoughts were quickly overtaken. Margaret could practically feel the heat of his hands on her cheeks insisting that she stay, his blue eyes searching hers, trying to find an answer within her own. Margaret's buried her head in her pillow to cover the sounds of the sobs. She did not know whether it had been strength or weakness on her part to leave him, but she knew for certain that it was the most difficult decision that she had ever made.

Margaret had reasoned with herself that he had asked her to stay, but he did not ask her to be his wife. She hated herself for that rationalization, because she was certain that if she had said the word, or given him the slightest encouragement, that he would have asked.

She had thought about it, she had tried to imagine what she would have said if he proposed that day, and she honestly did not know the answer. If she had said yes, if Margaret had married him, she would never know if it was truly because she loved him, or because she was desperate not to return to London. Mr. Thornton deserved better than that. He deserved to have a wife that loves him, one that knew what she wanted. He deserved so much more than what she could offer him right now.

The following morning, Margaret awoke after a fitful sleep. While her hair was being tamed, she noticed the swelling beneath her eyes and was upset that she had allowed herself to wallow in her pity and poor decisions as she had done the night before. No amount of tears could change her circumstances.

Margaret had prepared herself for another day of calls, but was pleasantly surprised to find a disruption in the day's routine. After sitting with Sholto and eating breakfast, a visitor was announced for her. Margaret was shown into the informal drawing room, one of her favorite public rooms in the house, second only to the library. Mr. Bell stood before her and she had never been quite so happy to see his familiar face.

He accepted Margaret into his embrace, and held her close while speaking. "It is so good to see you, my dear." Margaret pulled from him and the first true smile that she had worn in two weeks shone on her face. "I received your letter and came straight away. You know that I would do anything in my power to see you happy." He gave her a knowing smile. "I am detecting that you are not, certainly not at the moment."

Margaret could not help the unshed tears moistening her eyes, threatening to fall free. "I am so glad that you are here, and I am not truly unhappy, certainly not now." She led him over to the sofa and sat with him, not wishing to break the warmness that they were sharing. "I know that I will get through this, I think that it," She sighed. "it is only a matter of time." Margaret finished looking down, not quite certain that her words were true. She was slowly becoming aware that, though she was in London, her thoughts were nearly always in Milton.

Mr. Bell knew that there was nothing that he could offer her that would remove her from this desolation, but he thought that he could try once more to open her eyes. "Margaret," He placed his hand over hers. "Is it a matter of time, or a matter of circumstance?" She began to say something, but Mr. Bell continued. "If you had unlimited means and opportunities that would allow you to do anything in the world, what would you do, where would you go?" He leaned in, "without anything holding you back, where would your heart take you?"

Margaret looked up at him, her eyes wide at the question. She had thought many times that her situation was not fair, but it was unique to her, something that that no amount of means or opportunities would change. Her thoughts went to Helstone at a time when her little family was intact. She remembered sitting around the kitchen table, or running through the forest with her brother. She would not be happy there now. Without those that made it a home, it would simply be an empty dwelling. She briefly thought of Cadiz, but her mind took her elsewhere. Margaret could not suppress her blush as she thought of her last week in Milton. A place that she had once hated, felt friendless and alone. The very town in which she had lost both of her parents. She wondered how, after everything that she had suffered, she could consider that place home. She gasped slightly as remembered Mr. Thornton holding her, insisting that she stay.

Margaret stood quickly and began to pace the room. "I do not know." She quickly said, as if she waited too long Mr. Bell was liable to read her thoughts. She did know. With unlimited means, and nothing to hold her back, she would return to Crampton. She would allow things to return as they had been in the days before her departure.

"Well, I mean for you to find out." Mr. Bell said with a laugh and examining look.

Margaret looked at him quizzically, "How do you mean?" He motioned for her to return to the seat next to him, and she did so willingly.

Mr. Bell gave Margaret a pained smile. "As you know, your father was my dearest, oldest friend. He loved you dearly, Margaret, you were his comfort and his joy after your mother passed away. When we were in Oxford, we spoke more of you than of any other topic."

Margaret brought a trembling hand to her face, "Did you?" This statement from Mr. Bell meant more to her than any gift that he could possibly bestow upon her.

"We did. I hope that you understand that I love you as well, I think of you very much as I would any child of my own, perhaps better, for nothing so good could come from me." He laughed a bit at his own expense. "There is no one that I am more proud of, more honored to know." He watched as tears began to pour down her cheeks and produced a handkerchief for her to dry them. "You are so strong, and loyal, and very deserving. Your father and I had discussed this before his passing, and we agreed that you would be my sole heir. My wish is to sign the bulk of my money and properties over to you now, when it can do you the most good." He heard Margaret gasp, but continued before she could interrupt. "I only need speak with Henry, if he is acting as your lawyer, and everything will be available for you by the end of the week."

Margaret's mouth was agape, she could hardly believe what he was telling her. "Yes, I suppose that it is only right for Henry to be my lawyer, but, but no, I refuse this offer. I could not, I would not." Margaret could not imagine why Mr. Bell would wish to do such a thing, especially now.

With his coy smile, Mr. Bell placed a hand on her shoulder. "Ah, you can, and you will, for it has already been decided. It will do me good to live out my last days knowing that you are settled." He sighed.

"Mr. Bell?" Margaret said, hoping that she had heard him incorrectly.

Mr. Bell patted her hand. It was a humbling realization that sitting before him was the person dearest to him in all of the world. He knew that one day she would make someone very happy, as simply having the honor of being her godfather had been one of his greatest joys in life. "I am afraid that I do not have much longer, oh please do not fret, I have lived a long life, and have wanted for nothing." He allowed his eyes to meet hers, which was not his wont. "My dying wish is to see you happy before I go," he smiled at her. "Therefore, you had better start working at it."

Margaret squeezed his hand. "Oh, Mr. Bell, you are too good."

"No, Margaret, that is you." He stood and walked to a window, his back to her. "You know, I hate to hand all of my properties over to you, especially knowing the burden that you will have before you."

"How do you mean?" Margaret asked.

"One of my Milton tenants, in particular, is not faring well. I am afraid that their business may not survive much longer. I hate to leave you with the nasty business of finding a new occupant right after taking the property over." He spoke calm and clear, shaking his head to emphasize the encumbrance that this would be.

"Oh dear." Margaret began, but was interrupted by a knock at the door, and a maid entering with a tea tray. As Margaret began to prepare Mr. Bell's tea, she continued her query. "Is it anyone that I should know?" Margaret brought his tea to him, which he gratefully accepted.

"Thank you, you always make it exactly as I like it." Mr. Bell savored another sip of the refreshment before continuing. "Ah, yes, you know him quite well. The property in question is Marlborough Mills." Margaret was in the process of pouring her tea when his words stole her breath. She sat in the nearest chair, as she felt that her knees could no longer support her. "Is everything alright, Margaret?" Mr. Bell was at her side in a moment. She was still holding the tea pot, which he gently removed from her hands and placed back on the tray.

She turned her eyes up toward Mr. Bell, but seemed to look right through him. "How long?" Her words were a near whisper, "How long does he have?"

"Months, three maybe, four at most. Pity, the strike seemed to be his downfall." Mr. Bell sighed. "Unfortunately all of his money is tied up in new machinery, leaving him with no collateral to secure a new loan."

Margaret took one of his hands in both of hers as he stood above her. "Mr. Bell, please, there must be something that you can do to help Mr. Thornton." She pleaded. "That mill means the world to him." She felt a sickening in her stomach at the thought of a conversation that she had held with Mr. Thornton recently. He had said that he feared that Marlborough Mills was all that he was. The thought of his losing it caused Margaret physical pain.

"Unfortunately, I am no longer able to attend to this type of business, as of Friday, all of my business affairs will be in order, you see, all of my excess funds have been allocated to my heir." Mr. Bell looked down at his God daughter with a knowing smile.

"To me?" She said, finally beginning to understand the situation. "Of course! Is there anything that I can do then, I cannot bear see him fail?" Margaret stood and faced Mr. Bell, feeling vulnerable and completely blind to the situation. The full implications of the mill closing came to the forefront of her mind. Not only would it ruin Mr. Thornton, but hundreds of families in Milton would be without jobs. It shocked Margaret that the plight of the workers struck a chord in her heart only after that of the master had been fully realized.

"That is entirely up to you. I place no stipulations on your gift, as I know that it could be in no better hands." He placed both hands on her shoulders. "I only hope that you are able to acquire some pleasure from the money yourself, Margaret." She paid no heed to his last comment, what was pleasure to her when Mr. Thornton could be facing ruination?

"How do I do it, how can I help him?" She began to pace the floor once more. "Would it be best to speak to Henry and have him draw up papers or something of that sort?" Margaret did not even know where to begin in the realm of business, but she was determined to learn quickly.

Mr. Bell's heart lightened at Margaret's insistence. "That would be a fine and proper way to go about it," He tilted his head toward her and raised an eyebrow. "But it is not the way that I would suggest for you; or the best way for Thornton, if you wish for him to be receptive to it, in my opinion of course." Mr. Bell could easily say that this was the first time he had suggested not using a lawyer to handle any sort of business dealings, but he was certain that this was a very different situation than any that he had been party to.

"What would you suggest, then?" Margaret asked.

"You should go to Milton, as soon as you are able. Thornton has had a run of bad luck, but I still believe him to be a man of sound business sense. Tell him of your new situation, and I believe that he will help you come to the best arrangement." Mr. Bell kissed Margaret on the cheek. "Now, my dear, I will excuse myself to speak to Henry about the transfers. I have called on him, and he should be here by now. He will likely have several documents for you to sign by morning." Margaret simply nodded as she watched Mr. Bell leave the room.

As she ascended the staircase and entered her room, Margaret was assaulted with a rush of conflicting emotions. She would be an heiress by week's end, yet in a few months, Mr. Thornton would have nothing. She thought it strange how differently she saw things now. When her family had moved to Milton, she thought of all people in trade as greedy and undeserving. Now, she only thought of the injustice in the world that a man who had been brought so low once in his life, and with his own two hands overcome every obstacle might have to experience it all over again.

Margaret thought of her own life, she had certainly never done anything to deserve riches, and before learning of Mr. Thornton's hardships, would have never known what to do with excess if she were to ever be financially secure. Margaret leaned against one of the posts on her bed and allowed Mr. Bell's words to sweep over her. He felt it best that she go to Mr. Thornton and make the offer. She did not know the first thing about business or loans. For all she knew, Mr. Thornton would be insulted by her offer of funds. She felt that this would all be so much easier if Henry were to draft a formal agreement and send it to Marlborough Mills. The only problem with that plan was that it would not give Margaret the opportunity to see him, and how she longed to see him.

Margaret had kept to her quarters well into the afternoon, and was wrenched from her thoughts by a knock at the door. Before Margaret could say anything, the door flew open and Edith was within the confines of her little room. Margaret quickly began to thumb through the book that was lying on her bed, thinking that throwing it in the drawer would be too conspicuous, and not wishing for her cousin to see the name emblazoned on the front. As Edith joined Margaret on her bed, she looked down at the book that lay between them. The pages naturally turned to the beginning as some mysterious anchor seemed to part the waters and reveal a treasure within.

With a gasp, Margaret gently reached down and attempted to remove the pressed flower without harming the thin pages that encased it. She held it as though it was liable to crumble to dust at any moment. Edith looked at her curiously.

"What do you have, Margaret? Are you pressing flowers in a bible? You should know better than that, look, you have practically ruined these two pages." Edith said and was astounded to hear Margaret's laugh at her suggestion. Margaret looked down to see the slight brown staining encircle the verse that she had shared with two very important men in her life. As she studied the rose, she noticed the deep indentations around the leaves, and knew that this rose had come from Helstone, that John Thornton had been to Helstone. She did not know why, but her heart soared at this newfound knowledge.

"It is not ruined, Edith, it is quite perfect actually." Margaret did not wish to share this moment with anyone, so she stood, placed the rose back into the book, and the book securely in her drawer, and rejoined her cousin with the widest grin she had worn in quite some time. She wondered how he had gone, when, and why he had not told her about it. Her heart was swelling. For it to be pressed, it must have been before the funeral, but why would he have gone out of his way to visit Helstone, then? Margaret had so many questions, and could simply not wait to ask him.

"Margaret, I could hardly believe my ears when Henry told us of your fortune from Mr. Bell. I cannot believe that my sweet cousin is to be an heiress." Edith was very excited about the news, but was slightly disappointed in the lack of reaction from Margaret.

"It is wonderful news, Edith. I think that I am just letting it all sink in." Margaret could not think about money at a time like this. Her mind was swimming in roses and travel plans. Edith spoke on about all of the wonderful things that a fortune could bring a young lady, many of them revolving around a husband. Margaret laughed at her cousins first thoughts at the news of her newfound fortune.

After some time, the cousins parted with a kiss and several congratulatory wishes from Edith. Margaret was determined to find her Aunt and inform her of her travel plans.

True to his word, Mr. Thornton visited Maria Hale's graveside at least once a week. His first trip was laden with awkwardness. He had never visited a grave before that day, not even his father's, and did not know what was expected of him. On his first venture, he acted much more the role of grounds keeper than visitor. Once he ensured that the headstone was cleaned and flowers were situated nicely, he did not know what more he could do. After lingering for a few minutes, he returned to work, feeling that had certainly not done enough.

One week after his first uneasy visit, Mr. Thornton returned to Mrs. Hale's side. He followed the same ritual as before, but felt an urge to speak.

"Mrs. Hale, this is John Thornton." He stood with his hands behind his back, hat within them and head lowered. "I promised Margaret that I would come to visit you. She is in London now, doing wonderfully, I am sure. Margaret would thrive anywhere." He felt bitterness at his own words, but there was something freeing about speaking of her aloud. He stood, lost in thought at the foot of a Maria Hale's gravestone. Though he had never held a proper conversation with her in life, he had always felt fondness for her. After some time, Mr. Thornton bid his goodbyes, and assured her of his return.

One particularly grey afternoon, Mr. Thornton received a letter from one of his potential investors. Though he had little hope of different news, the contents were devastating. The man simply stated that he had enjoyed meeting Mr. Thornton, however, he could not put money into cotton at this time. The day had been rough, and the news had been a blow, leaving him in need of solitude. He left work, and made haste to the graveyard. After placing the flowers that he had acquired on the way, Mr. Thornton took a seat on the ground and held his folded hands to his mouth, silent for some time.

"Mrs. Hale, it is John again." He sighed for a moment. "I know that you have never cared much for business, so I shall spare you the details. I fear that I may be losing my mill. I hate to admit it, and I do not know that I have up to this point, certainly not aloud. Honestly, it has been looking very bad for some time, but I thought that I would pull through." He leaned his head back as though he were struggling for breath. "I feel as though I am losing everything that I hold dear. You see, without Marlborough Mills, I have nothing. Worse yet, I have no ability to gain what I so desperately need." He could say no more, but it was enough.

Such relief was found from having said the words of his heart aloud. The fulfillment of this promise was much less an obligation than he had once imagined it to be. Mr. Thornton sat a few minutes longer, bid Mrs. Hale goodbye once more and walked solemnly back to his mill.

Margaret entered the formal drawing room and was immediately confronted by a barking Tiny, who she tried desperately to hush her before her Aunt Shaw was stirred prematurely from her afternoon nap. A sigh of relief exited Margaret's lips as the steady snore coming from her aunt remained undisturbed. She picked up her needlepoint and worked for the next half hour. She wanted to settle her plans with her Aunt Shaw as soon as possible.

As Mrs. Shaw's lids fluttered open and smiled at her niece. "Good afternoon, Margaret. I spoke with Henry this morning, and I must say that I am most happy for you my dear. If there is anyone in this world who deserves a comfortable living, it is a girl like you."

"Thank you Aunt, I have come to ask if you know when the auction of my family's things will be held, as I wish to attend." Margaret asked.

"Well, it will be this Saturday, I am fairly certain. Though there is no need for you to be present. Surely Dixon will have all things arranged, she will have had three full weeks to prepare." Margaret had always been a headstrong young lady, but Mrs. Shaw's felt it her responsibility as her new guardian to keep her niece grounded.

"I know that I am not required, however, I wish to go. There are several items that I do not wish to part with. I could send word to Dixon, but it will be easier for me to find them on my own. I also need to speak to someone about one of the properties that Mr. Bell is leaving to me." Margaret paused, and then added, "at his request, of course."

Mrs. Shaw shook her head. "Certainly there is a lawyer or agent that can handle all of your new dealings. I would imagine that Henry could send word, that is a much more practical solution."

Margaret attempted to maintain a level head, and gentle tongue. She disliked having her decisions made for her. "Aunt Shaw, I am afraid that I will be traveling to Milton this weekend, with or without your blessing, but I would much prefer to go with it."

The dear aunt was taken by surprise at Margaret's words. "Well, Margaret, I suppose that if your mind is set on this, that I should respect your request. But, I am certain that Mr. Bell did not leave these properties to you for you to manage yourself." Aunt Shaw said with a stern demeanor.

"Perhaps not, but as I said, Mr. Bell suggested that I take care of this matter personally, and I intent on doing just that." Margaret was proud of her strength in this conversation.

"Very well, then. I must insist however, that you take along a companion. Proper ladies, especially those of means, do not travel alone." Mrs. Shaw insisted.

Margaret sat next to her aunt. "Perhaps I may just travel there alone, Dixon will accompany me on the way back." She knew that this was not likely to appease her aunt, however, she had to try.

"As long you under my guardianship, you will live in the confines of propriety. You may go, but only with a companion." At this, Aunt Shaw felt that she had won her little battle.

"Yes, Aunt." Margaret understood her point, and not wishing to upset her nearest relative, relented to her conditions.

As Margaret made her way to leave the room, her aunt added, "I will speak to Henry tonight to see if he will be able to travel with you." Despite Margaret's best attempts at dissuading her aunt at her choice of a companion, she found the endeavor to be a complete waste of time and energy. Margaret reasoned that this would not change anything. Though Henry's presence would be a hindrance, she would make her business proposal to Mr. Thornton, and oversee the auction as she had originally planned.

Mr. Thornton worked diligently through the noon hour on Friday, intent upon making it to the Hale auction that afternoon. The grounds were open at noon, bidding to begin at two. He did not know what he was going for, but it should not be hard to find something to remind him of its original owner. These past three weeks had been some of the loneliest of his life. When he bid her goodbye for the last time, he had held out hope that he would see or, at the very least hear from her soon. He wanted to know if she was happy, or possibly that she was in same state of despair that faced him every morning when his eyes opened. He did not know which he hoped for her, and cursed himself at his selfishness.

He walked to the house for a bit of nourishment before making his way to Crampton. Mrs. Thornton was shocked to see her son at the dining table, as she had eaten nearly every meal alone for weeks. He had spoken to her the night before about the state of the mill, and she had thought of little else since. As they sat in a companionable silence, Mr. Thornton thought about the rest of his life stretching before him in this manner, the near suffocating silence that surrounded him. This had never bothered him before Mr. Hale's funeral, however, now that he had experienced a taste of what life with Margaret could be like, he could never be satisfied with less. The idea of continuing on in this way, with nothing to look forward to was maddening.

After bidding his mother goodbye, John walked to Crampton. He looked through the many miscellaneous items, but realized that what he had wished to be there simply was not. He had tried to push the idea from his mind, as he felt it ludicrous, but he had truly hoped that Margaret would have come. He had dreamt that he would walk up, holding some non-memorable item, and she would walk down the stairs as she had so many times in the past. He had hoped that she would come and save him from himself, tell him that she would have him, take his hand in hers and promise to never let it go again.

Bitterness overwhelmed him. Not only was she not there, but the second response to the letters that he had sent out over two weeks ago came in this morning. Both men had informed Mr. Thornton that now was not a time that they were willing to take the risk of investing in cotton. He knew that his dreams of happiness and marriage could never be now. Even if Margaret could learn to love him in return, he was no longer in a position to ask her. He loved her far too much to wish a life of struggle upon her. No one could ever love her as he did, but she deserved more than he now had to offer.

The sad reality of the situation hit him as he walked into the bare Crampton home, the many things that made the home so comfortable were either boxed together to make them appear more valuable, or displayed upon tables, all tagged and numbered. Mr. Thornton's eyes caught several boxes at the end of the table, as he thumbed through the contents of the box, he knew that his decision had been made. Now, all that was left was to sit and wait for the bidding to begin.

Mr. Thornton watched as the Hale's furniture began to sell to the highest bidder, bringing in much less than desirable amounts. The only solace that he took in Margaret's absence was that she did not have to witness the shamefully low amounts that her family's possessions were accruing. He watched the items go quickly, when something caught his eye. As the Hale's tea service was held up for display, he was brought back to the many times that he had watched Margaret's delicate hands serve from that very set. His chest tightened as he thought of bracelets on arms and the grazing of fingers lingered in his mind. Before he could help himself, his paddle was in the air. He was bid up twice, but felt that he had paid a fair amount.

After some time, the first of the five boxes that Mr. Thornton was determined to take home was on the auction block. It was described as a portion of a collection of books belonging to a parson and teacher. There was no description of the contents and though they were grouped into separate lots, there seemed to be no reason for the separation outside of the sheer limitations of box size. Mr. Thornton bid on the first four groupings nearly uncontested, but he discovered a problem once the fifth and final lot was presented. Mr. Thornton did not understand the reason, but the last box brought much more interest. He was continually outbid, and found himself so accustomed to raising his paddle, that when the other bidder gave in, Mr. Thornton found himself raising his own bid. There was a bit of laughter from spectators, but he paid them not heed and did not give them a second thought. He felt only satisfaction that he had secured what he had come for.

Letting himself upstairs after the auction had ended, Mr. Thornton spotted Dixon cleaning the bare upstairs rooms. His heart stopped for a moment as he saw the study, a room in which he had spent countless hours, completely vacant. It was as if these walls were readying themselves to house another occupant, and would soon forget the treasures that they had once been fortunate enough to hold.

"Well, hello Mr. Thornton." Dixon said as she took note of her visitor. She seemed much more polite to him than she had been in their most recent meetings.

"Good afternoon, Dixon. I have purchased a few items, and was wondering if I could keep them here until I could arrange for them to be picked up. As it is, I need to get back to the mill, and am not here with carriage or cart." He wanted so badly to ask after Margaret, when she would be back, how she was faring.

"That would be fine, sir. Just put your number on the boxes and bring them up here so as there is no confusion. I would hate to see them make you pay for them for a third time." Dixon said as she laughed heartily. "I have arranged for several other people to pick things up tomorrow and Sunday afternoon."

Mr. Thornton brought the very heavy boxes up the narrow staircase and thought that he should have asked to place them in the kitchen instead. After the fifth box, he had worked up quite a sweat. He found some newsprint that Dixon had used for packing, and wrapped the tea service, placing it in one of the boxes that was not as full as the others. As he made way to leave, he could not help himself, he turned back to Dixon. "Have you heard from Miss Hale, is she faring well in London?"

Dixon leaned her broom against the corner and approached Mr. Thornton. "I have not received so much as a letter from her, but I have had word from Mrs. Shaw, wonderful lady, that she is. She has set me up in a hotel, you know, I am to travel back next week." Mr. Thornton's heart sank.

"That was good of her. Would you send Miss Hale my well wishes when you see her?" Mr. Thornton had no reason to think that Dixon would pass along the message.

Dixon smiled at him, this poor man who had so obviously given his heart to her mistress. "I certainly will tell her, Mr. Thornton." Dixon did like Mr. Thornton, she thought him a good man, and he was very well respected in the area. If the Hales were still living, she might even consider him a good match, but as it was, she felt that Margaret was where she belonged.

Dixon was properly thanked, and Mr. Thornton left the Hale home to return to the mill.

Tuesday through Friday had quite possibly been the longest days of Margaret's life. She knew that she would only have one more sleep before she would see Mr. Thornton, if indeed, sleep would come to her on this night. There was a feeling that had been building within Margaret, and despite trying she could not pinpoint its origin.

During these four days, Margaret had thought of little else besides John Thornton. She began to analyze him in a way that she had never allowed herself to do in the past. Despite her ill treatment to him in the beginning, he had never been anything but kind to her. He had risked himself and his position by protecting her from an inquest, even after he thought her indiscrete. He stood by her family and cared for her mother, furnishing her with any dainty that she could want. Ever since her father's passing, she had had a chance to see him as he is, he had shared his thoughts, his feelings, and he had allowed her to do the same with him. When he asked about what she was going to do after her father's passing, he placed her concerns at the forefront; he wanted her to be happy.

Margaret contrasted Mr. Thornton's treatment of her with her current situation. Those surrounding her certainly care for her, but they never took her wishes, concerns, or feelings into account when making decisions that would affect her. There was something different about Mr. Thornton. He cared for her in a way that she had never known. He was a good man, one who respected her as an equal, and one who had always seen, accepted and understood the part of her that needed to be treated as such.

As she sat on her bed in her nightdress, she surrounded herself by Mr. Thornton's handkerchief, his bible, and the Helstone rose. From the moment that it had been discovered, she had grown more and more attached to the flower, and Mr. Thornton in turn. He was a bit of an enigma. Margaret wondered when and why he had gone to Helstone. She remembered having spoken to him once in her father's study about the extreme differences between Milton and Helstone, she was actually quite discourteous in her comparison. She spoke of roses that practically painted the Parson's cottage; she told him that they were of a variety that she had never seen anywhere else, that they were a beauty that was beyond compare. She also remembered snidely adding that such loveliness would likely not be appreciated in an industrial setting. Oh, how she had treated him wrongly.

It was the thought that he had remembered that conversation that astounded her. The placement of the rose was certainly by design as well. Margaret thought that she may be more impressed that he had truly listened to her than she was by the gift itself. She had grossly misjudged Mr. Thornton, and she could not wait to return tomorrow and right her wrongs.