A/N: I always like to keep a couple of chapters ahead of what I post, but this time I'm making an exception. This is the last pre-written chapter I'm posting, because I want you guys to have it on time; so from now on I really have to get writing. Since I still have holidays, hopefully there won't be a huge delay, but I can't promise anything. My inspiration for this story seems to be dwindling a little; I've got it all planned out and know almost exactly where it's going, but it's just hard to sit down and write it. Anyway – I will try, I promise you that; I feel I owe it to all of you who have been loyally following and reviewing this story for ages.
So... thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far, and the anonymous reviewers: Rosdal, spiked, Lara-chan, sangita, samroura, loriBear, Lana and Anonyreader!
Please tell me what you think of this one!
Chapter Fourteen – One Wedding and a Funeral
Fanny Thornton's wedding, in her own humble opinion, was the grandest in the history of Milton, if not the whole of England. Everybody who was anybody in Milton had attended, and the months of organisation and planning had not gone wasted. The decorations, flowers and wedding breakfast menu had all been perfect, and she noted with satisfaction that her sister-in-law had noticed it all and seemed downcast at the difference between Fanny's and her own wedding.
Fanny was not in general one to be critical, but really, what a shabby little affair that had been! Why, she had been quite ashamed of John that day – she would have thought that as a Thornton, he would have made more of an effort. To tell the truth she was a little ashamed of him today as well – turning up with that sling around his arm like a survivor of battle, turning attention away from her wedding and toward his trifling injury. It had been more than three weeks since he had sustained it, and despite her pleas that he forgo wearing it, he had persisted, Miss Hale's pig-headed insistence winning out over the humble request of his only sister on her wedding day.
Well, this incident had made her certain of what she had always suspected: that her brother's priorities were sadly mixed up. But then perhaps this persistent determination to ignore the most important things in life was simply a particularly male tendency; Watson had not shown much interest in the wedding preparations either. But she would have thought that as a woman, Miss Hale might have been more anxious about the organisation of her own wedding.
Well, in comparison it really made Fanny's look that much better, so she was not about to complain. She was sure that all the guests were comparing the two Thornton weddings in their minds, and she had no doubt, she thought with a cat-got-the-cream smile of pure satisfaction, that hers would come off the undisputed winner.
In reality, most of the wedding guests had more important things to think about than which Thornton wedding had had grander decorations. Despite the fact that Margaret and Mr. Thornton stayed side by side during the ceremony as a couple should, in truth the distance between them had not been so great for a while.
Margaret had been hurt and puzzled by his declining her offer: why would he not let her help him? Was it because she was a woman? Did he believe her incapable of the task? But no – he had trusted her to keep the accounts for the dining hall and had once or twice – she glowed at the remembrance – praised her for her work. Then what was it?
She knew he must have some rational reason for acting as he had done. She only wished that he would confide in her, but it would have been hypocritical of her to expect as much, considering how much she had concealed from him in the past few months. She stole a glance at him as he stared straight ahead, seemingly absorbed in listening to the ceremony.
Perhaps it was the very fact that she had never been honest with him that had caused his response. He still did not trust her, and not without reason, she thought miserably. She had never wanted to tell him more. She wanted those eyes to look at her, not with suspicion or disdain, but with the perfect trust and affection which had been there in the early days of their marriage. Too late, only too late did she yearn for the love which had once been hers when she had little recognised its worth.
She sighed, trying to return her attention to the ceremony. And when it ended, and Mr. Thornton offered her his uninjured arm as they exited the church, she could not feel glad, because she knew it was simply a formality, to keep up appearances.
It seemed she and Mr. Thornton had always been about appearances; their relationship was defined by them. Even to each other, they had only ever presented what they wished to be seen. Margaret was beginning to wonder if the difficulty was all of her own making, and if she was being stupid in persisting in this concealment. But then it would always come back to her, that part of the difficulty was Mr. Thornton as well. He evidently believed, as the tittle-tattle of Milton had, that poor Frederick was some lover she had been clandestinely meeting. At times her pride would rear its head and she would feel a stab of anger towards him, that he could think so badly of her – she would think that she was little required to justify herself to a person who trusted so little in her virtue. But then she would reproach herself for these feelings – given what he had witnessed, it was probably only a natural conclusion to come to, and she had hardly done anything to deserve his trust.
Margaret saw only one distant hope in the future, with the arrival of Frederick's letter (which she prayed would come soon). She would then be able to tell Mr. Thornton the whole truth, and hopefully by then some surviving remnant of the tenderness he had once held for her could be nursed back into what it had been. However, the way things were between them now, Margaret felt that this might be a vain hope.
Perhaps it would be her punishment to live with the knowledge that his love was lost to her forever, when she had never felt more certain that she could reciprocate it.
Normally Mr. Thornton would have had no objections to spending time alone with Margaret, as they were sure to find much to talk about, whether they were discussing the dining hall, the Boucher children or the classics which Mr. Thornton unfortunately did not have the time to discuss with Mr. Hale these days. However, today he could not help feeling a pang of foreboding as they bid Fanny and her new husband farewell, Mrs. Thornton accompanying her daughter to help her pack for her wedding journey.
The next few hours would not be comfortable. He was feeling guilty for refusing her offer, but at the same time he knew that he couldn't risk her finding out the true state of his business affairs. They had just entered the house and divested themselves of their overcoats when Jane burst into the room, instantly dispelling Mr. Thornton's concerns as a deeper worry took their place.
'There's an express for you from Oxford, Mrs. Thornton,' she said breathlessly, handing Margaret a letter whose direction was so hurriedly written that it was hardly legible. Jane hovered by the doorway, hoping they would not send her away, for her curiosity to know what was in the letter was great. It might even be something more juicy than the events which had caused the riot of a few months ago to disperse.
Luckily for Jane, the Thorntons were far too preoccupied to give her a second thought.
With a sudden dreadful premonition, Margaret had taken the letter with trembling fingers, carefully seating herself before opening it. Mr. Thornton's concern deepened into worry and he watched her anxiously as her eyes devoured the words on the page. With every line she read more blood drained out of her face until her skin was chalk-white. Her lips began to tremble and he could see the tears which were beginning to well up in her eyes. Immediately he was at her side. 'Margaret, whatever is the matter?'
Her head turned at his voice, desperately concerned, and when she saw the sympathy and worry in his eyes, she could no longer restrain herself. Pressing her face into his chest, she burst into tears. 'R – read it for yourself,' she managed to choke out between her sobs.
Taking the letter which she extended to him an unsteady hand, he scanned over it quickly. ...your father dead …peaceful, in his sleep... so sorry... funeral in Oxford.
It was enough. His arms wound around her, clasping her close to him, and instinctively he smoothed her hair off her tear-stained face, and began rubbing soothing circles into her back. 'Oh Margaret,' he said hoarsely, 'oh my poor, darling Margaret. I'm here. Oh, my darling girl, I'm here.'
A tremor passed through Margaret's body at these words and even in the midst of her grief a glorious hope began to take root in her heart. Could it be, that even after everything, he still...? The fingers which were clutching the lapels of his jacket unconsciously tightened their grip and she gave a shuddering sigh. How happy her father would be, she thought and then she remembered. Papa...
She felt horrible for forgetting, even for a moment. What kind of a human being was she, to be able to feel any happiness at all at this moment, when she knew that she would never look upon that beloved face again, would never hear his voice, would never have him to guide her, would never be able to tell him again just how much she loved him...
As fresh sobs wracked Margaret's form, Mr. Thornton simply held her close and let her cry. He understood that Margaret had lost the last part of her family, and that she now had nobody closer than him to rely on. A treacherous part of his mind whispered, but what about that other man at the station? but he firmly banished all such thoughts. He was here, that man was not, and that was the end of it. Margaret needed someone, and if that man was not going to show himself and provide the comfort she needed, then Mr. Thornton would just have to do it for him.
His whole being was concentrated on Margaret and how she might be feeling, and that was perhaps why he did not notice Jane who was still mutely standing by the door, tears now coursing down her face. Silently, she turned away, moving out of the room with a soft tread. Seeing her master and the new mistress together brought back painful memories of what she had once shared with the man she loved, the fiance she had lost only a few short months ago after a tumble at a train station.
Suddenly she found she no longer had the desire to tell Cook or Sarah the kitchen maid what she had seen and heard.