The future must be met, however stern and iron it be

by elanne

Margaret receives a letter from Mr Bell that throws her into despair. She is forced make a choice that wasn't meant to be hers, but the consequences are not hers alone to deal with.

14. Chapter 14

Dear readers,

It has been so long! For that I can only apologise. It is a long chapter to make up for it. I struggled with this one and once again literally re-wrote it about 15 times. There was so much I wanted to say to move the plot forward. It is so long! I know you guys are lovely and often reassure me that long is okay, but this one is stupidly long even for me! Still, I think I am finally as happy with it as I will ever be.

I hope you enjoy it. Thanks for reading 😊

Elle. X

…

Margaret supposed she should not have been surprised that John had kissed her. There had been a couple of moments when she had been convinced that he had wanted to do so over their four months of marriage, and she had run from the possibility, both mentally and physically. The idea that he might still feel something more than friendship for her was a little unsettling, not to mention ludicrous given all that had happened between them since he had originally proclaimed his feelings. She had wanted him to like her, for them to have a marriage based on partnership and even friendship, but anything more would be too much to handle. Yet, when he had so gently kissed her like that she had been shocked, her brain unable to contemplate the reality that his efforts to keep himself suitably distant from her had shattered so suddenly. He was so composed, so unwavering in resolve, until it had crumbled- though not quite without warning. She had also been shocked that she had not stopped him, the moment she realised what was about to happen.

Rather than being angry at him for breaking his promise to keep their relationship purely platonic, she had simply panicked. She was worried that all the work they had done to build friendship between them might be shattered when that line was blurred, and she was right to be worried. John, for his part, had apologised, over and over as though it had been his solely his fault, seemingly convinced that she would blame and hate him.

Margaret was not blind to the truth. Uncomfortable as it was to admit, it had been her fault too, for Margaret Hale had spent the majority of Christmas Eve flirting with John Thornton. Margaret was not in the habit of flirting with anyone, and in the moment had convinced herself that she was just trying to appear relaxed and enjoying herself to make him happy. At some point throughout the day, it had stopped being an effort to do so and she had naturally slipped into easy banter with his family and teasing him. In fact, she hadn't directly meant to flirt at all, but Fanny's thinly veiled, although ultimately harmless, attempts to prove her relationship with Watson was superior in every way, had riled a need in Margaret to prove otherwise. How could she blame John for his actions, when she had again inadvertently implied his attention was not unwelcome? As it was, she had instantly forgiven John, though forming the words had proved more difficult when it had mattered. She'd wanted to reassure him that she was not upset and ask if they could only carry on as they had been before, but she had not known how to bring it up and he certainly hadn't. Instead, Margaret had simply pretended as though it had never happened for the most part.

Both she and John had resumed work at the mill the day following Christmas Day and the pair of them had fallen easily back into their usual routines. John rose early to leave for the mill, shutting himself away in his office, unless walking the floor of the mill and Margaret attended to her jobs overseeing the girl's preparations in the kitchen. He returned home later and later into the evening and Margaret began to suspect he was (once again) avoiding her. No, it was not outright avoidance, but rather that he was cautious, careful to avoid being alone with her, that blunt and indifferent edge that had melted away since he had found her in the graveyard that night weeks ago, re-forming now. It was not like before- this time, the pair of them existed in the same surroundings but with little connection. She always waited for him to return from work before going upstairs to bed, and they engaged in friendly conversation, usually about their experiences at the mill that day before they slept. It was companionable but no longer personal. Instead of walking alone with her after church, he invited his mother and to Margaret's dismay, she accompanied them. Margaret did not know whether Hannah Thornton knew what her son was doing, but certainly she spent more time with the pair of them than she ever had before. He did not touch her anymore and, not wanting to make him feel any more uncomfortable than he already did, she did not ask him to. Instead, it was with a heavy heart that Margaret had requested that Martha light the fire in their chamber in the evenings.

Upon returning home from the mill, she often found herself spending her afternoons at the piano which stood in the sitting room, her fingers gliding increasingly more confidently across the keys as she practiced her favourite pieces and even her part of a couple of duets Fanny had requested she learn. She had quite forgotten how much she enjoyed music and was surprised to find that with regular practise, she was improving rapidly and could almost play a few of the places without too many obvious mistakes. It was on one such afternoon that the rustling of skirts caused her to look up and to her surprise she noted that Hannah Thornton had taken a seat in a chair beside the window, with her embroidery in hand. How long she had been sat there was unclear to Margaret, but she found herself suddenly feeling self-conscious. It was silly- music travelled, and Hannah would have doubtless heard her playing numerous times, but she had never been in the same room and that seemed to make all the difference. Embarrassed, she started to gather her music together to pack it away.

"Do not stop playing on my account, Margaret." Her mother in law, said, her eyes directed to her sewing. "I have put up with listening to hours' worth of Fanny's playing, yours will be a pleasure in comparison, I am sure. I will not judge your mistakes."

Margaret's lips raised into a slight smile as she thought of Fanny's loud, if a little clunky playing, and Margaret hesitated. It seemed unnatural to play with her mother in law present, yet it would seem as though she were avoiding her if she left. She was starting to get used to the woman's company; she was in it enough. They often sat together waiting for John to return in companionable silent, but Margaret doubted whether the pair of them would ever be firm friends. Resigned, she settled back to practice a piece by Chopin. A glance behind her told her, Hannah was not paying attention to her in the slightest and so she began to play, wincing at each mistake and practicing the line until she could not get it wrong. It was slow progress, but as the room became darker and Martha entered to light the lamps, she could nearly play the music through without mistakes, though it was still slower than the composer had intended. Yawning a little, she sat back satisfied and began to pack her music away.

"When Fanny and I visited your house that day, soon after your arrival in Milton, you told us you could not play the piano."

Margaret was unsure whether Hannah's tone was declarative or interrogative.

"Did I?" she asked. She did vaguely remember such a conversation, though her recollection was a little different.

"Yes." Came the answer. "Clearly you were not entirely truthful there!" Hannah's tone had become inquisitive, but there was an accusing edge. She did not look up from her embroidery.

Margaret sighed.

"I believe I said that I have no talent for it, which is true."

Hannah Thornton raised her eyebrows at her daughter in law as she rose to pack the music in a chest beside the piano and resumed her place on the stool, swivelling to face her.

"I do not have the dedication to become proficient. As you have seen today, I must play the same thing over and over until it is passable," she elaborated at the woman's disbelieving look.

"Still, to say that you have no talent for it is, extremely unfair to yourself!" She declared. "I truly do have no talent for it; I was not taught as a child and am too old now, but to me you sound talented." If Margaret was not mistaken, her mother in law had just payed her a compliment and Margaret was unsure how to respond to it.

Silence settled comfortably between them as Martha finished lighting the lamps and left.

"I did not think I would get the opportunity to play again." Margaret voiced truthfully, having packed her music away and resumed her position at the piano. They had not had an instrument at Crampton and Margaret had not envisaged marrying or another opportunity occurring for her to acquire one, and certainly she had not considered marrying John. Without practise she would easily forget all that she had learned.

"How lucky that you do and will continue to have that opportunity." Hannah commented. "I do believe that my son was quite shocked when he heard you playing with Fanny that day."

John had heard her playing? She had stopped as soon as she had noticed him come in and had not realised that he would have heard her from wherever he and his mother were. Had he been shocked in a good way? Margaret hoped so. She would have to continue practising so that she might one day play a piece for him.

"Unfortunately, he did not have the luxuries Fanny has had and never learned himself..."

"No, of course…" Margaret trailed off. She was unsure why Hannah was speaking to her about this and quite at a loss about how she should respond.

"Perhaps that is why I am so protective of my son… he has worked hard since he was small, has given everything for this family and I wish for him to be happy."

Margaret nodded, biting her lip. Even in the beginning when she had realised that John would ask her to marry him again, she had wanted him to be happy too. There were moments when she thought that he truly was happy. She had seen the happiness shining in his eyes as he had slipped the ring on her finger, and on Christmas Day as they had laughed and conversed with his sister and Watson. Yet others were underlined by sadness and she did not know how to stop them. She wished that he might spend time with her again so that she might get to know him more and he might understand her in exchange. Until that night had changed everything they had started to spend time alone, talking about the mill, his lessons with her father, his sister, and their likes and dislikes and it had been nice to have a friend. Perhaps it was time to speak plainly with him and tell him she did not blame him for what had happened and did not see why it should stop them from continuing the partnership they had started to form. She sighed.

"Then we want the same thing." She replied finally.

The two women's eyes locked for a moment and Margaret thought she saw understanding reflected there, before the older woman's left her face and focussed on something behind her.

"Don't just stand in the doorway, John." She said, and Margaret spun around on the stool to see John stride across the room to his mother and kiss her on the cheek. How much had he heard? She searched his face for any hint but found none there.

"Have you had a good day?" He asked turning to Margaret as he came to lean against the end of the piano.

"Yes, thank you." She answered. They held each other's gaze for a moment before looking away awkwardly, unsure what else to say.

"I did not see you at all today." She commented after a pause. She did not see him at the mill often, but it was unusual for her not to see him at all.

"I was kept busy." He answered, "it has been a hard day."

"I will ask Martha when dinner will be ready." Hannah Thornton commented, before leaving the pair of them alone, giving Margaret a significant look on her way past.

Margaret watched her husband as he brushed some flecks of dirt from the top of the piano. He looked tired. Winter had been harsh this year, still was harsh, and Margaret had no doubt that the severity of the weather had made things harder at the mill too. He might not be ignoring her as he once had, but he was still distant, and Margaret had the distinct impression he was maintaining physical distance between them on purpose.

"Did anything in particular happen?" she asked, hoping to understand what had made the day harder than any other.

"A machine broke, and I spent the majority of the afternoon fixing it." He sighed as he loosened his cravat.

She remembered the bruise and cut on his chest the last time he had fixed a broken machine and swept her eyes down across the length of his body to his shoes and back up to his face. He didn't appear to be injured, just tired. Hannah's words echoed in her mind- "I wish for him to be happy." He didn't look unhappy. Considering he had admitted it had been a hard day, perhaps that was the best one could wish for. Still, the void between them was uncomfortably settled and Margaret didn't like it. She wanted to be friends.

"John…" she began, unsure how to begin.

Swallowing heavily, she stood and wrapped her arms around her husband, feeling the coldness of his clothes and the smell of the outside air that clung to them as she hugged him tightly to her, pleased when he lightly, but undeniably, reciprocated the action. Softly, he pressed her to him and brought one hand to her hair, stroking it tenderly. She hadn't been aware that she had missed the feel of being surrounded by his arms, but now she felt only completeness and the reality of the emptiness of the absence of such contact hit her.

"Dinner is ready."

They separated a little sheepishly at the sound of Hannah Thornton's voice, shy at having been caught in such a stance. She turned to leave the room quickly, but not before giving Margaret a barely perceptibly nod, which she took as approval of her attempts to make amends with her son.

Encouraged by Hannah's endorsement, she linked her arm through his, her hand resting on his forearm. A sharp hiss passed between clenched teeth and he winced at the weight of her hand, quickly withdrawing his arm from her. Margaret's eyes followed his movements, widening as they noticed a patch of scarlet, barely visible against the black material of his jacket. She stared at it as though it would vanish, softly, taking hold of his arm with both hands and bringing it closer for her to inspect. Blood. Without asking for his permission, she began to remove the article gently from him, gasping as she saw the patch of crimson had soaked straight through his white shirt.

"John, you are hurt!" she exclaimed, her small fingers working to open the buttons on his shirt cuffs so that she might assess the damage, but he pulled his arm from her.

"It is nothing." He answered, attempting to pull his jacket back on, unable to stop himself wincing again as the cloth pressed against the area.

"No, it is not!" Margaret insisted, battling with him as he tried unsuccessfully to extract himself from her. She refused to allow him to pull away again! It must have been painful for him as before long, she knew she had won. The fight left him, and his other hand dropped, allowing her to roll his sleeve up and reveal a deep uneven cut, not unlike the wound she had seen on his chest not a month ago. It was angry, the majority of his lower arm already covered in purple bruising, and still very much open, and Margaret was instantly convinced that it probably needed to be stitched by a doctor. At the very least, it needed cleaning and for the scraps of cotton in the congealed blood to be removed.

"I will call the Doctor Donaldson!" She stated, turning to find Martha.

"No." He instructed forcefully as though he was commanding one of his men in a tone that left no room for disagreement. He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Doctor Donaldson is expensive, and he cannot do anything that I cannot do myself for an ailment such as this." He explained, in a softer voice and Margaret was reluctant to admit that he was probably right. Though, her better judgement told her it would be better to have the doctor check- it looked rather deep to her.

"Honestly, Margaret it is bearable." He tried to reassure her, but Margaret was not convinced.

"If you are worried, I can ask my mother to help me clean it…" He began, and Margaret recoiled as though she had been slapped. She did not want him to ask his mother to deal with it. Was he that desperate not to have her help him? Determinedly, she took hold of his other hand and led him towards the stairs. Regardless of what he said, she would not allow him to deal with it alone again or to ask his mother. She was his wife and would help him.

"Take your shirt off." She instructed as soon as they were in the privacy of their bed chamber and the door was closed. She left him sitting on the bed to tell his mother they would require just a moment and acquire some warm water and cloths and took a seat beside him. He did not refuse. Quickly, he unfastened the buttons and carefully slipped the injured arm out of his shirt and Margaret began to clean the wound as gently as she could. He did not speak as she worked, but he was gritting his teeth and silently watching her, shivering a little each time the warm water pressed against his broken and inflamed skin.

It did not take long for her to be satisfied that the pieces of cotton had been removed and nothing remained in the cut. It was not as deep as she had feared, though it was equally as bad as the wound across his chest had been and still bleeding. Tightly, she pressed some cotton against it to attempt to staunch the blood, biting her lip in concentration as she tied a piece around it and tried to both keep it tight and refrain from hurting him further.

"How did a machine hurt you like this?" she asked as she began to tie some bandages around his arm to keep the bleeding from continuing.

"I needed to climb underneath to fix it."

"Again?" she asked. How often did they brake? She was a little offended when he laughed at her surprise.

"Machines often break, and cotton becomes such in the mechanisms underneath. There is only one way to get the cotton out." He explained, wincing again as she tied the cotton into a knot over the wound to keep it pressing tightly. "When I freed the cotton, the part where it was trapped sprang back and I was not quick enough to avoid being hit.

"Is there no other way to fix them?" she asked, concerned. Blood was already lightly seeping through the cloth but much less than before and at least the wound was clean. Softly, she traced her fingertips over the spotted area, checking the bandage was unable to shift against his skin.

"There is no machinery yet able to fix this problem and not many people are willing to take on that role." He explained. "It is dangerous and cramped underneath the looms and most are unwilling to put themselves in such danger. Most of the other mill owners send children as they are so much smaller."

Margaret's mouth dropped open in horror.

"They would send children?" she asked scandalised. How inhumane! The images of the atrocities likely to affect the small bodies crouching underneath a machine and attempting to dart out quickly were too awful to think about.

"The alternative is what you see before you."

"Fixing it yourself is surely just recklessness?" She asked frustrated. There must be some other way than to climb beneath a broken machine.

"Would you have me send a child to do it?" He asked. It was a pointless question and he knew it.

Margaret did not reply. She was not happy about him putting himself in danger, but she could not advocate him using a child!

Without another word, he fully removed his shirt and crossed the room to the wardrobe where he found a new shirt and pulled it on carefully.

"You didn't have to help me, Margaret." He commented as he dressed himself, refusing to look at where she still sat on the bed.

"I know I didn't have to…" she stated, confused, waiting for him to continue.

"John?" Margaret asked as he was fastening the buttons on his shirt sleeves. He raised his eyes to hers then but did not reply.

"Were you really not going to tell me you were hurt?"

Something inside ached at the thought that he would keep such a thing from her again after everything that had happened since the first time he had done so. She had hoped he could at least trust her enough to tell her that.

"No." He replied, "I would have told you, but it was not part of our agreement for you to spend your time nursing me."

Margaret was baffled. Their agreement? What would prompt him to consider that? Such a thing had not been considered at all when they had forged their agreement in the sitting room at Crampton. What on earth could that have to do with anything?

"Our agreement?" she voiced her confusion. "We agreed to be partners. That means looking after each other, does it not? Besides, it has nothing to do with our agreement, John, and everything to do with me caring about you and not wanting you to contract sepsis!" She informed him. Sometimes he made absolutely no sense to her.

"I don't want you to think I am trying to change our agreement, Margaret." He replied seriously, his eyes boring into her own. "Our terms were clear, and I am trying to stand by them. I broke them once, but I assure you that I will not do so again."

It took her a moment to understand his meaning and when she did she felt a little relieved. So that was what he was doing! He was staying away from her- avoiding any interaction with her alone, so that he could prove to her that he was keeping their agreement, in some misguided attempt to make up for his indiscretion. Any opportunity for the slightest interaction that he felt did not fit into their contract was taken away if they did not spend time together.

"But surely our contract was about partnership and friendship?" She asked, baffled. "Doesn't friendship include this, unless you would rather it didn't..." She refrained from adding that she would help any man who was wounded, having learn front past experience that it would not be received well. She knew friends did not kiss each other as they had that night, but firmly pushed that thought aside. It would never happen again anyway- he would make sure of it.

"It was…is… about that." He seemed to be debating something further; she could see his brain pondering in circles. He opened his mouth, before stopping himself and closing it again. He shook his head slowly as if to clear his mind of a ridiculous notion.

"So, you have come to care about me, have you?" he asked, his tone slightly teasing as he repeated her words back to her. A small smile played at the corners of his mouth.

Margaret's cheeks flushed, a little embarrassed. She had come to care for him, but then she had cared about him for a long time. Certainly, her feelings for him had changed from what they were. She trusted him and needed him and was grateful he had started to become her friend, but completely baffled by his changeable nature!

"I always cared about you," she announced, noticing his smile drop, barely perceptibly. "Though I may not have shown it… or even have admitted it…" she added. "Of course," she teased, "if you were to become ill and contract a fever from that wound, I do not know how I would manage. I might have to start having more conversations with your mother." He laughed at her serious tone, his smile returning for a moment.

"I am sorry I avoided telling you." He said, his eyes showing his sincerity. "I knew you would want to help me but didn't want you to feel obliged out of your sense of duty."

"I forgive you" she replied, hoping he understood that she was not only referring to their current situation, "and I do not feel obliged."

He reached for her hand.

"If, well, when a machine breaks again, could you not at least send for someone to get me, so I can check you are alright? Would it not be useful for us as partners to know about it together?" She asked, gripping his hand back.

He nodded in affirmation.

"Perhaps we should speak frankly and establish the terms of our agreement more fully, now that we have an understanding of what marriage is actually like?" Margaret suggested. She was not entirely sure whether she wanted to establish the things which were necessary to living together or eradicate the things that were not, but she felt it might help to have some clear boundaries so that they might not continuously be walking on the edge of the unknown. They could establish a final, clear set of rules that their relationship could live within and the guilt and insecurity they both seemed to feel might be eliminated.

"Yes, perhaps we should." He admitted, his gaze firmly fixed on their joined hands.

"Come, you must converse with my mother for the next thirty minutes, while we eat and then my skills in engaging in scintillating conversation are all yours." He proclaimed, dropping her hand and approaching the door. He was right, of course, they could not discuss such a thing without having the time to consider it properly. It would have to wait until later.

As they ate dinner that night, Margaret felt a shift in the atmosphere between them. It was a shift for the better, that was indisputable and yet she could not shake the feeling that they should have addressed the matter of their inappropriate clinch, whilst they had had the chance, rather than brush over it as they had. Perhaps he could not feel it, but as Margaret tried to move on and ignore the vivid memory of his lips on hers, she found it to be there still, looming over her like a dark shadow. The evening came and went and neither of them brought up the subject again, nor did they the next night or the next, and so life continued as it had, the unknown terms of their agreement vague in the back of Margaret's mind. Thankfully, both of them were too cautious to allow anything that would cause doubt between them to happen.

…

In the days following, Margaret was unsure whether her awareness of John's presence had increased, or he was simply visiting the areas of the mill that she was often to be found in more frequently. Whichever it was, she seemed to see him far more around the mill than she had previously noticed, exchanging a shy smile with him as their paths crossed three or four times a day.

She had never noticed him come down to the kitchen to eat lunch with the workers before and sit among them as though he valued them as his equals as he had done every day since their truce and she could not help the feeling of smug satisfaction she experienced as she observed her husband and Nicholas nod to each other as they sat on opposite sides of the room- two men who had been adamant to hate each other now existing in the same sphere.

Each time he would sit down with the men and watch her as she helped the younger girls serve the food and each time she felt her cheeks flush as she felt the heat of his gaze.

Of course, Margaret had known that John sometimes walked the mill floor to check on the progress of his workers and to speak to his overseers, yet she had never encountered him performing such tasks until now. For some reason, he was overseeing the majority of the orders himself.

Perhaps she should not have been surprised to see him so frequently; after all, he was Master of the mill, yet she felt a sense of accomplishment, each time they stumbled into each other's path and he commented on how much work she had achieved. It was highly likely that the fact that she no longer left the mill to return to the house as soon as lunch had been served and the kitchen cleaned, had something to do with the increase. No doubt, her mother in law would question her choice of actions, but there was something so compelling about observing the running of the mill. The regularity of the machinery clattering was almost musical and the movements of the workers. It was hypnotic to watch from the small metal viewing platform leading to John's office. That was why she stayed later and later. That and her wish to ensure her husband stayed well away from the looms. Each time she saw him, she wanted to address the matter of the rules or terms of their marriage, but the time never seemed right. Sometimes she was sure he knew she was close to resurrecting the topic, but he would not help her out by voicing it first.

To her complete surprise and delight, Edith and Captain Lennox did come to visit Milton a few weeks into the new year, bringing Sholto with them. She had been utterly convinced that after the shock of her marrying a businessman the last time they had visited Milton and their general hatred of the weather and aesthetic of the place, that they would have no interest in visiting again. Edith's hasty reply expressed her sorrow that Margaret and John could not join them for the festive season and informed her that the Captain had made time for them to visit in mid-January. Hannah Thornton's lips had pursed into their thin line of distain at the news, but she had taken it well overall, and begun preparing for their guests quickly, with only a few days before their arrival. The family would also be bringing Sholto's nursemaid and Aunt Shaw, and would be staying at a hotel nearby, rather than at the mill as Edith was worried about the noise from the machines frightening baby Sholto. They would have other business to attend to whilst they were there (much of which seemed to involve Captain Lennox collecting something for his brother, Henry, and Edith acquiring quality ribbons from a small shop in a town close to Milton), but they would spare a full day to visit with the Thornton's. Margaret was somewhat relieved by this as she was not sure she had the energy to entertain everyone for the entirety of a three-day trip, nor the inclination to leave her duties at the mill for longer than a day. It was not that she was needed there as such, but that she craved being nearer to John as he worked, for reasons that made her uncomfortable to consider.

When the door knocker finally rapped on a cold, rainy afternoon, Margaret practically sprang from her seat to greet her relations at the door. Edith pulled her quickly in for a hug, exclaiming how well she looked before turning to remove a small blonde-haired child from the nursemaids' arms and place him in Margaret's before even making it through the door.

Sholto was as much of a darling as Edith had proclaimed and giggled and played happily with Margaret, who had fallen in love with him almost instantly. He, in turn, had adored his aunt from the moment he laid eyes on her. Repeatedly, he toddled unsteadily around the Thornton sitting room and showed everyone his toy trains, delighting when they clapped and cooed at his cleverness. Aunt Shaw was in her element boasting about accomplishments he had achieved at such a young age, as if he was the first child to utter a badly pronounced word before turning a year old or walk unaided. A credit to his charm was that he even seemed to have melted Hannah Thornton's heart of ice, demanding the attention of everyone, including Margaret's mother in law, who responded not quite kindly, but certainly not unkindly by accepting the offering of whichever toy he favourited at that moment.

Margaret watched her nephew take unsteady steps over to his nursemaid, who he seemed to favour over his own parents, and sit on her lap happily eating the apple Hannah Thornton had given him to chew on. Smiling, Edith came to sit beside Margaret and linked her arm through hers, cooing at her child as she did so.

John had been unable to leave the mill for an entire day but had agreed to leave it in the capable hands of the overseer and Nicolas Higgins for the afternoon and Margaret found she was almost as excited for him to return home as she was to have her family return to the Thornton sitting room. It felt odd to be amongst them and yet not quite a part of them and she was please she had not visited London without him after all. She suspected that without his company she would have been miserable. That thought was shocking to her, the concept that a family Christmas with carols and ghost stories and charades and laughter could make her miserable would once have seemed absurd, yet the happiness of the day they have shared with his family was somehow worth more.

"I am so glad you made it, Edith." Margaret declared to her cousin, truthfully, squeezing her arm with affection. "I really didn't think you would."

"Well, we were lucky that the Captain had some free time from his duties and mother has decided not to hold a New Year's party this year," Edith answered seriously. "Of course, the fact that the Frobishers decided to hold a far grander party than we could had nothing to do with it," she added giggling quietly into her hand and Margaret could not help but smile with her, her amusement increasing as she watched her aunt instructing Mrs Thornton and Fanny (who had not been invited but appeared at the door anyway at the first hint that gossip and fashion from London would be arriving) on how best to speak to Sholto in order to encourage a widened vocabulary. After over two years of marriage, Edith still referred to her husband as 'The Captain' which Margaret found rather odd. It was so formal, yet the urge she had felt to call John Mr Thornton for as long as possible had nearly made her do the same thing. If she had not felt the need to fool his mother, she may have continued until that very moment.

Watching Sholto and pondering her cousin's relationship with her husband had momentarily made Margaret pause. Aunt Shaw had proclaimed that Edith was to marry for money and she had not doubted that, but now as she gazed at her cousin, she wondered whether their relationship was truly one she would class as a love match. It seemed rather convenient that it was both a love match and socially profitable. As she pondered her own marriage, she saw it for the first time from her aunt and cousin's point of view. It was reckless for her to have chosen such a union, even if it had truly been the love match they thought it was.

"Edith?" she asked, making the most of the distraction provided by her nephew. She was unsure how to phrase what she was about to ask, troubled by how it may appear to her cousin. "How did you know you wanted to be married to Captain Lennox?"

Edith looked at her confused.

"The same way you knew you wanted to marry John, I am sure," she replied, her eyes returning to watch her son as Fanny pulled her silk skirts from his small hands as he tried to grab it, his face determined as he scooted closer to his target, regardless of Fanny's attempts to thwart him.

"Of course," said Margaret disappointed. There was no doubt in her mind that she and Edith did not know in the same way at all. Not even close. "But, I mean the moment you realised…" she tried again, hopefully, "and when did you know that you wanted the same things from marriage?"

"Well," said Edith leaning in closer to her so as not to be overheard. "I don't think there was a moment specifically. Though I must admit I always thought he looked nice in his uniform… that was what made me wish to pursue him. And of course, his position in society made us an excellent match. As for what we wanted, I wanted to fulfil my role as a devoted wife and he wanted to be an excellent Captain and for us to grow our family as soon as possible!"

"Oh." Margaret said disheartened. She had hoped to later ask Edith for advice about the unsettling thoughts that had begun to creep into her mind, so gradually she had hardly noticed them until they hung over her, like a vulture, watching and waiting to strike. Still, she was becoming convinced that Edith's idea of love and what a real marriage should be was not the same thing, yet she had heard it proclaimed over and over by Aunt Shaw that Edith had married for love! She had been a fool to think she could share her situation and subsequent dilemma with Edith. She had wanted to before and known then that it was no use. That fact had only been reaffirmed now.

The problem was that since her husband had kissed her, Margaret had been unable to stop thinking about him in general. At first, it was due to his avoidance of her, and then it was for other reasons. At first she had blocked it from her mind- refused to think about it at all, but now that they were beginning to spend more time around each other again, that dreadful, awful, wonderful kiss haunted her waking and sleeping moments and Margaret was quite at a loss about how to rid her mind of the feel of his lips on her own, and the warmth that had threatened to overwhelm her as his hands had roamed across her body. Part of her had wanted him to kiss her, just to know what it would feel like. Now she knew she almost wished she didn't. She had though that if they had agreed that such contact was inappropriate in a union such as theirs, then she might be able to forget it had ever happened, but she had still not had the courage to bring the topic up again and had realised, anyway that such a hope was pointless. No matter what rules they constructed, she knew she would think about that for a long as she lived.

"What are you two talking about?" Fanny asked, coming to sit next to Margaret, smoothing her skirts as she did so. Evidently Sholto had been distracted by something other that the expanse of her skirts.

"Margaret was just asking when I knew I wanted to marry the Captain." Edith explained.

"Oh, I knew I wanted to marry Watson as soon as he asked to court me. We are an excellent match, everybody said so…" Fanny added, her words eerily close to Edith's. Margaret's lips curled up just a little as she remembered how Fanny had proclaimed she had loved her husband the moment she saw him not a week ago. Clearly, she had forgotten that conversation.

"I am not sure anyone thought John and I were a good match…" Margaret said attempting to hide her despondency.

"Oh, I knew you were from the moment you told me." Edith declared, and Margaret was thankful for her cousin's tact. She lowered her voice. "Of course, I knew Captain Lennox wanted to marry me when he kissed me. I suppose perhaps that was when I knew. I wasn't disgusted like I was when Tommy Lomax- that awful boy mother tried to match me with- kissed me…" she practically whispered, to Fanny and Margaret. "I couldn't even bear to look at him afterwards."

Margaret considered that. Her cheeks surely coloured a little as she was forced to acknowledge that of all the conflicting emotions she had felt when John had kissed her, disgust had not been one of them. Guilt and unease and longing and fear as she had registered the longing she felt, but not disgust. As for looking at him, if anything Margaret had looked at him more…

"Did you have the opportunity to kiss many boys, Miss Lennox?" Fanny asked Edith interestedly, leaning in to the two girls conspiratorially.

"Of course, many would have liked to kiss me. I did not allow many, just Tommy Lomax as my mother so wanted me to give him a chance- his parents are extremely rich- and of course my Captain Lennox…"

"Ohh yes, I felt quite the same about Watson." Fanny joined in, never one to be out done, though Margaret got the distinct impression that she was saying whatever she thought she needed to impress Edith.

"You're absolutely right." Margaret said pretending to be pleased with their answers, realising that to pursue the line of conversation she was hoping for would be entirely pointless. She twisted the ring that still felt foreign on her finger round, finding the action comforting as she accepted that whilst John had told his mother of their unusual agreement and attempts to blunder through, she must live alone with the secret.

The slam of the front door alerted them to the arrival of another and without thinking Margaret rushed over to greet her husband before he could make it into the sitting room, helping him out of his coat and hat. From the moment she had received Edith's invitation to London she had longed for her family, craving their company but now she was once again with them, she was reminded that she did not belong with them any longer. Instead, she felt as thought Fanny was more of a match with her own family and she and Hannah Thornton were the outsiders. It was a relief to have John home as another person, who would did not belong in their group.

"John, you remembered!" she proclaimed, gratefully. For a moment he scrutinised her as she bobbed on her heels in front of him. Then he scooped her to him, making her breath catch in her throat, and kissed her cheek softly. His lips were cold and sent a shiver down her spine. She stepped back, dazed, her hand rising to the place his lips had touched. She had not expected his guard to be lowered so suddenly and in such a manner as to kiss her even as innocently as he had.

"The last time you greeted me thus, I unforgivably offended you. Have I done so again?" He asked, genuine concern crossing his features.

Now she recalled. She had vowed never to greet him in such a manner again. She had quite forgotten in her joy that he had remembered to return on time.

"Of course not," she smiled, her heart fluttering at the smile she received back.

His eyes looked her over from her neck to her shoes and back up to her throat and Margaret was pleased she was wearing a particularly pretty dress. Finally, her full mourning period was over, and she was wearing a lilac dress accented with the required black trimming in a similar style to her wedding gown. She had picked it because her family were coming to visit, and she knew Edith would like it, but now as he husband assessed her she wished she were able to wear something in more attractive colours.

"Do you approve?" she asked twirling in front of him.

"You look beautiful." He told her, his eyes lingering intently on her face and Margaret's heart fluttered at the intensity of his gaze.

"John." The booming voice of Captain Lennox interrupted them, and Margaret sprung back self-consciously, bringing her hand to her unsteady heart. Her brother in law firmly shook John's hand and the pair might have settled into deep conversation had Edith not handed Sholto to John the moment he entered the room, without asking whether he wanted to hold him, much as she had done to Margaret. She had not managed to speak to Edith alone after that as attention had returned to Sholto who instantly warmed to John, sitting happily on his lap and shrieking with laughter as he bounced the small boy up and down on his knees.

Margaret's eyes watched John closely as he moved to sit on the floor with her nephew, heedless to the effect it was likely to have on his clothing. She had never given much attention to the physical appearance of any of the gentlemen she interacted with- it had never crossed her mind to focus on something so unimportant, but now Margaret had to admit that she liked watching John Thornton. Or rather, did not necessarily like it, but did so nonetheless at every opportunity as though compelled. He was so full of contrasts that Margaret found him an especially interesting subject for studying. At the mill, his walk was a little intimidating, self-assured and purposeful and his tone showed that he did not care to suffer fools lightly. That same confidence extended to her in the increasingly frequent moments she saw him at the mill, regardless of whether they were alone or in a room full of workers. At home he was more relaxed, somehow softer and more human and (although they had not spent much time alone recently) he spoke to her in a way that implied he was trying to be careful. The man before her now was the latter, relaxed in the present company and softer- careful. There was still something intimidating about his stature but not threatening and Margaret fought to reconcile the two versions in her head.

Admitting her physical attraction to him, (in front of Fanny and Watson no less!) had not been her intention. She had barely admitted it to herself, but the happiness of the day and the ease she had felt in their company had lowered her guard. She often watched him- the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he talked, the darkness of his hair against the pale skin of his temples and neck, and how his brow creased when he concentrated. Now, she watched his interaction with her nephew a little wistfully, a small smile forming at the sight of the child's delighted face and John's heart-warming smile as he was presented with the favoured train. Captain Lennox clearly adored his son and had spent much of the afternoon boasting about how he was sure to follow in his footsteps and become a Captain but spoke to him as though he was a grown man, not adapting his language at all, which was rather amusing to observe. John, however spoke to him like a child, responding naturally to Sholto's limited language and engaging him in something akin to a conversation throughout their game.

He glanced up and caught her watching him, but Margaret did not look away ashamed. If anything, she had focussed her attention harder as she was gripped, quite suddenly, by a rather disturbing thought. For the first time, it occurred to her that John had given up so much more than just marrying for love when he had chosen to help her. That was why it had troubled her so when he had kissed her; it reminded her that he had given up a physical relationship with someone who could return it equally. Yet, he had given up still more than that- he had relinquished the chance of ever bouncing his own child, no doubt dark haired and blue-eyed, on his knee and having his son follow in his footsteps to become a mill master. Guiltily, Margaret watched the tender image of her husband as he interacted with her nephew and, now as their eyes locked across the room, she wondered whether he felt the loss keenly. If he did not already, he would one day. She knew it like she suddenly knew what the 'exciting news' Edith had written of in her letter was, though her cousin had not yet voiced it.

"Of course, you have all this to look forward to, John!" Captain Lennox declared, his chest puffed out with pride.

"I cannot wait." John was completely unfazed in his reply, flashing her a dazzling smile that made her stomach flutter. "Though I think we will enjoy each other's company alone for a while longer," he added, and Margaret could not help but be impressed with his strategic handling of the comment.

"I am not sure that I wish to share her yet."

Margaret saw Hannah Thornton's eyes turn to her at the comment and she met them determinedly, expecting to find judgement there. Instead she found pity, which was so much worse. What could Hannah have to pity her for? She must feel pity for John, but there was no reason for her to pity Margaret.

"You must persuade him, Margaret. Sholto needs a cousin to visit with!" Edith added, looking pointedly at Margaret.

Edith had made similar comments following their wedding and she had felt uncomfortable about them, but now her stomach squirmed violently as it hit her with full force that the joy that having a baby in the household could bring, would never grace their home.

"I am not sure I wish to be shared either…" she teased coyly, pushing down her discomfort.

Captain Lennox laughed heartily and gave John a couple of good-natured slaps on the shoulder. "Very wise, Thornton." He commented, and John winked at her. Margaret swallowed deeply.

"What is the news you spoke of in your letter, Edith?" She asked, wanting to hear her suspicions confirmed. "You must not keep me waiting any longer; now you can tell me in person."

"Well…" she began, making the most of her rapt audience, "the Captain and I are expecting another child in June!" she declared, directing a look of complete adoration at Captain Lennox and Margaret's chest felt oddly hollow at having what she already knew affirmed. "I am convinced that it will be a girl this time."

Margaret was not a jealous person- she did not covet the possessions or opportunities of others and yet she felt the cold stab of jealously nonetheless as she gazed at her cousin's happiness, while Fanny and Mrs Thornton congratulated her and gushed about the joys a daughter would bring. Aunt Shaw, babbled happily about how she was relieved not to keep it a secret any longer and Margaret hugged her cousin, uttering her own well wishes and hating herself for the slight prickle of ill feeling she felt that Edith's marriage might not have 'love' in the form Margaret imagined it, but it had children.

"Watson and I intend to start our family very soon. I expect we shall have an announcement before the end of the season," Fanny announced, never one to be outdone, but Margaret was not listening.

She had not missed the way John had been watching her reaction, but she would not acknowledge it, for fear that he would see through her façade. Thankfully, everyone else's attention had remained focussed on Sholto, and soon John's too had been captured by the child. Throughout dinner, Margaret was able to remain silent, her mind attempting to understand her jealousy, without being noticed.

By the time the Lennox's and Aunt Shaw were ready to return to their hotel and say their goodbyes to Margaret, she remained none the wiser about her own emotional response but when she congratulated her cousin and Captain Lennox once more and told Sholto she loved him, she meant it with all her heart. That night as she felt the steady rhythm of John's breath against her neck, Margaret's chest still felt a little empty and her mind troubled.

…

The grandfather clock chimed ten times, breaking the quiet of the study. John sat at his desk, for once reading for pleasure rather than hurriedly reading through papers relating to the mill, as he seemed to do endlessly.

It had been a tiring day at the mill and Margaret knew John's arm was hurting him from the grimace that crossed his face as he accidently pressed his arm against the table. She was still convinced it had required stitches but still he refused to allow for Doctor Donaldson to be called. As a result, he was still left with a deep gash in his arm and an array of purple and yellow bruises surrounding it.

In the hearth, the fire crackled and danced and Margaret watched from her place on the fabric covered couch, mesmerised by its flickering flames.

She had received a letter from Edith informing her that they had made the journey back to London safely and that Sholto was missing his auntie. The letter rested on the arm of the chair beside her and her book had been long discarded in her lap as her mind replayed the memories that dominated her thoughts; the feeling of Sholto in her arms as he squirmed to turn his small body around so that he might not miss out on any of the action, the sight of her husband playing with the child on the floor of the sitting room, with no regard for the creasing that his clothing would receive, as if he was holding his own son, and the joy she felt as the childish laugh reverberated throughout her whole body and the sound of Hannah Thornton's voice as she wished for her son to be happy.

Finally, it became clear to her what must be done. After weeks of pondering, everything suddenly seemed completely clear, as though she had been a fool blinded by stubbornness and was granted the ability to see.

"Do you want children?" she asked him off hand, as if she was asking whether he wanted a cup of tea.

John raised his eyebrows curiously, but he did not look up from the book he was holding. He did not answer immediately, but Margaret waited patiently. She knew he was constructing an answer rather than intending to disclose how he truly felt, and she wished he wouldn't.

"When I asked you to marry me, I was fully aware that I would not get that opportunity." He finally said.

His eyes were fixed unwavering on the page and it appeared to Margaret as though he was trying to pretend to be disinterested, but she knew better. He had stopped reading- his eyes were focussing on a single spot, rather than scanning across the page as they should have been, and glistened, glossy and unfocussed; she knew she had captured his attention. It was the first real conversation they had engaged in since Christmas that was not focussed on the mill and Margaret had been pondering how to start such a discussion for much of the evening, her mind going over and over what she needed to say.

"That does not answer my question!" She persisted, refusing to be annoyed by his pretend nonchalance.

He looked conflicted for a moment, searching her face as if to spot a falsehood, before giving the resigned sigh she was used to hearing when he was trying to humour her.

"I would have liked to have children, yes."

It was both the answer she expected and the one that hurt the most to hear.

"Why?" She asked, curiously.

His brow furrowed at her interrogation and his eyes narrowed in thought.

"Because I think they would have made me happy," came the answer after a long pause.

"And you have accepted that you will never have any?"

Without marking the page, he shut the book with a thud and placed it down on the desk in front of him.

"Yes. I have." She believed him. There was honesty reflected in his eyes and above all resignation. She searched the endless blue for any sign of sadness but could not find it.

"I meant what I said when I asked for your hand, despite recent evidence to the contrary…" He swallowed hard and she watched as his Adam's apple bobbed and his eyes swept over her figure from head to foot. They were assessing rather than longing but Margaret knew he was thinking about what had happened the last time they had spoken to each other in this very office.

"…which does rather stop any chances I might have had." He pointed out as his gaze followed hers to the fire and the shadows it cast into the room. "I am sorry, if I made you think I was revoking our agreement. I should not have behaved so."

So, he was still concerned about that. Margaret had hoped she had allayed his fears, but it appeared not. It was time that they straightened things out, no matter the consequence.

"What brings you to focus on this delightful topic now?" He asked, leaning back and resting his elbows on the arms of his chair.

For a moment Margaret did not answer, doubting her intuition on how to approach such a thing.

"I would have liked children also." She tossed the words into the room and waited. It was a simple statement, but her words were steeped in sadness, more so than she had expected.

His forehead creased unhappily, and he folded and unfolded his hands in front of him. "Then I am sorry to have taken the opportunity from you." He said. "You would have made a good mother."

Hearing his words hurt. Margaret debated whether his answer was exactly what she had expected or a colossal disappointment. Perhaps it was both.

John had returned to his book, but she knew he was not reading. Instead he was alternately glancing between her and the text, not leaving enough time between to truly take in any meaning.

"I think I still want to have children." She spoke to the fire, not knowing whether she was really addressing herself or him. It was embarrassing to admit she had been wrong on the train to Oxford when she had assured him that by marrying him, she would not be missing out on anything she wanted. At the time, she had believed she was speaking the truth. The problem was, she hadn't truly known what she wanted, then. Truly, she hadn't wanted children with him, and hadn't wanted them with any-one else. Then. The act needed to create them was not something she had been interested in, not something she had wanted to think about allowing someone to do to her. It still terrified her; Edith's words that you needed to do it a lot to make a baby had run through her mind as she considered what she was missing, but John wouldn't hurt her and that picture of him holding their baby refused to shift, no matter how earnestly she tried to erase it.

"I know I still want to have children." She clarified with more conviction.

She heard rather than saw him exhale slowly.

"With me?" He asked, genuine confusion and an edge of exasperation lacing his words.

"No John, with someone else." She retorted sarcastically, her despair evident in the dramatic tilt of her head.

"Margaret you had better tell me outright. What are you saying?" There was a warning edge to his tone that he often used with his workers and Margaret was unsure whether, deep down, he truly wanted to know what she really meant at all.

"I didn't know it would be like this..." She gestured uselessly around her as though that would clarify what she meant. "Well, I didn't think I wanted any of it."

How was she to explain?

"the way you were with Sholto…" She tried to lay bare her thoughts and found it was far harder than she anticipated. "I mean that you were so natural with him…" she tried again. "If I had children, I'd want them to have you as their father."

John stood up, his chair scraping harshly against the wooden floorboards. He walked around his desk to sit beside her on the leather couch and Margaret watched him. He was still commanding, even with his cravat loosened and the top button of his shirt unfastened. He sat as far from her as he could, but his body was angled towards her so that he could study her face carefully.

"You see I was wrong, John. I thought a traditional marriage- having children was about possession, about a man owning a woman, you owning me, but it wouldn't be about that at all. It would be about what you promised. It would be about a partnership…" Her cheeks had begun to heat and suddenly she felt as though she was about to cry. Her embarrassment at having to admit that she had been so prideful and wrong was overwhelming, but she would not allow herself to be so weak.

"Margaret, you do know what that would involve? What I'd have to… what we'd…have to do together?" He asked quietly, and Margaret shivered at the implication, her breath catching as she imagined herself replying "no" rather than "perhaps we should go to sleep" as he asked her if she wanted him to stop in the manner he had that night as they had clung to each other in their underwear.

"Yes, John, I am not a child!" Annoyance prickled her skin, like hundreds of little needles, but it was not at John. Rather that herself and that she had allowed herself to end up in such a situation. Yet, if her request was something he did not want, why did he not just tell her so?

"Margaret…" His voice was quiet and pained, as though speaking about such a thing was causing him great effort, "I promised you that you would not have to. We agreed…"

His stare was so penetrating it was almost painful to be its subject.

"I know what we agreed. If you do not want to change it I will not blame you, but if we both wanted to change the agreement? Surely it would not be wrong to do so… if we both agreed, together?" She implored passionately, almost pleading.

Her heart hammered, making her stutter as she shook her head to clear her thoughts. "I am not sure I can continue as we have been without set terms no matter what your feelings on this matter are. We must agree them; we could even write down the terms if you would like..."

John rose from his position beside her, and paced the length of the room and back, running a hand through his hair as he did so.

"And that is definitely what you want?"

She had known she had wanted it from the moment she had set eyes of Sholto and the desire had cemented when she had seen her husband interact with him. She didn't want to deny him that, if that was what he wanted. Nor did she want to deny herself anymore.

"I want you to be honest, John." She stressed as plainly as she could. "I would only want to if you did too. Do not agree just because you think it is what I want."

He was silent for a long time, the only sound the flicker of the fire and his shows on the hard flooring.

"I do, Margaret."

She sighed in relief.

"I always did! Do not forget that I wanted a traditional marriage and everything that involves but I knew you did not want that. I wanted…"

She did not find out what else he wanted as he did not finish his sentence. His forehead was creased in contemplation and Margaret knew his thoughts were as erratic as her own.

"Then I am asking you to change the terms of our arrangement to include trying to have children at some point in the future." She stated plainly, tired of never saying what they really meant.

He continued pacing, his agitation radiating from him. He stopped, looking directly at her, his eyes boring into her own with such intensity that she flinched.

"I want you to be honest with me too."

"I am!" she declared affronted. How could he doubt her? Surely, he could see that she had never been so frank with anyone. Could he not see how much it hurt to lay herself out completely bare before him?

"When we are together, and things happen between us, when I hold you at night or when we embrace or when I kissed you, you freeze or shrink away from me. Do you not feel anything for me when we do that?"

Her cheeks flushed with heat as the memory of the way her skin tingled, and her heart raced resurfaced. Of course, she felt something- it felt like falling towards the unknown and she was powerless to resist- something inevitable, which she was not ready for. She could not bring herself to admit to him that she was scared to surrender to those feelings, as she feared she would fall in love with him- the side of him he had shown as he spoke about his father and the mill and his fears and his reaction as she had admitted her attraction for him and again as he had played with Sholto made her heart ache and allowed longing to develop. That was why she had hoped to speak to Edith; everything was muddled, and she didn't understand how she felt anymore. Was she falling in love with him already? Or was it just gratitude? She had been so sure of how she felt and what she wanted and now it was all jumbled up.

In honesty, she had no idea how he even felt about her anymore. If he still loved her, or even felt as he did then surely, he would not have offered her a marriage without physical contact and children. How could he bear it? She had not fully fallen in love with him (if that was what her feelings were), yet and still she had been unable to bear the unknown as soon as she had allowed herself to acknowledge that her feelings had changed. She couldn't tell him how she felt- not yet. If any semblance of his prior feelings for her remained, she did not wish him to hope for nothing. She could not understand her feelings, how could he?

"You seem to want me to, yet you offered me a partnership without any of the feelings associated with that. I have asked you why before, but you said only that I knew already. I don't John, so if you answer my question I will answer yours."

His eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Why did you ask me to marry you and give up everything you could have had?"

He may have shied away from answering her before, but he did not now. Instead, replied without a moment's hesitation.

"Because I was, and still am, in love with you."

Her heart raced in response. She had half- hoped that would be the answer, half- dreaded it.

"Marrying you under any terms was better than losing you forever. I could not bear the thought of you marrying someone like Henry Lennox."

She had known that was why. Now she realised that deep down she had known it all along. His anger and jealousy of Henry had been plain for all to see, but like a child she had dismissed it as him wanting to take ownership of her and ignored it. Subconsciously, she may have encouraged it even. Now she felt foolish and the sharp sting of guilt.

The fire in the grate had been waning for a while and now it spluttered and died, plunging them into darkness.

Amongst the gloom, she could hear John rustling to find a match, a small candle bringing little light to the room.

"It is after midnight." He stated staring at the clock on his desk, in the absence of her reply.

Without speaking further, he motioned towards the door and Margaret quickly exited through it.

Despite everything, he loved her. Unlike the first time she had heard him say those words, she was not offended, but rather overcome by the magnitude of such a statement. Perhaps it was inevitable that she would love him back eventually. Maybe it was written in their very souls, but if he loved her still, why would he not let her have the chance to fall in love with him? It would be so easy, if only they spent time together away from his mother where they could truly be themselves and get to know each other, if only he would trust her with his doubts and worried, rather than shutting himself away with paperwork.

The softness of blankets beneath her alerted her to the fact that she was sitting on a bed. How she had made it into their chamber she was unsure, she supposed her body had simply gone through the motions to lead her upstairs.

Her heart implored her to tell him how she truly felt, that she was in danger of falling if would only let her, but she couldn't do it. It would take time and she couldn't stand the pressure of him waiting for her to tell him she loved him too. She couldn't say it- not yet.

He joined her by sitting beside her on the bed and watched her patiently as she debated, not rushing her thought process and Margaret made her decision.

"Will you answer me now? Do you not feel anything for me when we touch?" He asked again.

Her heart rate quickened still as she raised her down cast eyes to his. Shame prickling across her skin.

"Do you think I would have kissed you back if I didn't feel something?" She asked, quietly. It was not a declaration of love, but it admitted a little of her heart's longings.

Even as she said it she had known he would kiss her again. It was possible that that was the very reason she had said it.

Finally. Relief flooded through her as his head dipped to hers and he seized her lips in his own causing her eyes to flutter shut. But, this was not the soft, lingering promise of Christmas; this was urgent and intense, and Margaret froze in panic as her fear returned. She had been wrong in thinking that if he was to kiss her again, she would know what to do. His familiar smell was all around her, something about it, making her want to get still closer to him, but she did not know how.

He must have sensed her reluctance, for he pulled away from her, leaving her breathless and somehow colder. Some inner turmoil was evident on his face as his gaze roamed over her body, pausing to linger on her heaving chest.

"Margaret, I…"

Scared he would leave her alone with her confusion, Margaret quickly pulled him back to her and clung to him, even as he tried to turn away, her trembling hands gripping the lapels of his jacket. She released a soft moan of relief as the fight left him and he kissed her again, his own much deeper moan mingling with hers as their lips reconnected. This time it was softer, more like it had been the last time they had found themselves in this position-gentle and if Margaret had been in any doubt about whether he wanted to kiss her again, she could be in doubt no longer. The idea that at one point she had been willing to pretend their last encounter had never happened and happy to allow him to refrain from doing so again seemed ridiculous. She could not simply forget and move on from such a thing. There was that feeling of falling, but it was not unpleasant. She wanted to let it happen.

Carefully, his hand moved, caressing her through the material of her dress to possessively splay across her back and the other was in her hair, his large palm against her neck and his fingers entwined in her dark tresses making her knees weak. His scent surrounded her, intoxicating her, and she gasped as she realised how much she had craved this in the week since she had come to be aware of its existence. Tentatively, Margaret started to kiss him back, as she had tried before, encouraged by the shuddering breath he released against her lips in response as his hands gripped her tighter. John was kissing her! She was kissing John! If he possessed her, then she possessed him too- John Thornton- the man who she had married and whose touch and attention she craved far more than she had ever imagined she could.

Of their own accord her hands made their way to his neck, her fingers lacing their way into his dark hair, mirroring his own actions and the others stroking the skin exposed at the top of his jacket, causing him to release another moan against her lips and kiss her harder. Margaret was vaguely aware that she had begun trembling rather violently as John's attentions became more passionate, his lips caressing her neck and beneath her ear, stealing her breath completely. His hands moved, as if to still her shaking, to settle on her waist and somehow, he pulled her body down with him, shifting her so that he angled her back until she was lying down against the softness of the bedclothes, her head resting against a pillow and his body pressing down onto her as he lay on top of her, their legs entwined. Still he continued to kiss her, her lips, her neck over and over, pausing only so that they could catch their breath, which seemed deafening in the stillness of the room.

It was too much, and she couldn't do it- not yet, but to stop him might push him away from her again. She tried to make herself relax but it was no use.

"John, I can't!" she breathed, kissing him one last time. Her voice sounded quite unlike her own.

"I have not changed my mind, but I am just not ready for that… yet."

Resting his forehead against hers, he struggled to catch his breath.

He nodded, clearing his throat and lifting his weight from her. He stood, removing his cravat and jacket and draping them across the back of a chair beside the bed.

She wanted him to understand that she hadn't meant to encourage him to only stop him yet again. "I just couldn't go on any longer without speaking to you about it."

"It is better to wait until the mill has fully recovered anyway." He declared thoughtfully, "I am hopeful if we can just get through the winter…" He trailed off, unfastening his shirt buttons, still slightly breathless.

"Are things so bad still?" She asked tentatively, her mind still clouded as she attempted to reach behind and loosen her corset strings.

He nodded. "But we have several orders that should help," he explained.

It made sense- all the pouring over documents and scribbling number and locking himself away in his office. She wished she knew how to help the situation but knew that realistically there was nothing she could do. Her curiosity urged her to press him further but it was not the time. He would tell her when he was ready.

Without prompting, he crossed the room and began to help her with her clothing. His hands no longer shook as they used to, but his fingers worked clumsily over the buttons, stopping at just the right point for her to be able to slip the garments down over her hips and step out of them.

It was only once both had slipped under the covers and watched the shadows cast by the fire had begun to die out that Margaret realised they had not really established the terms of their relationship at all. She didn't suppose it mattered anymore.

Instead of turning from her husband and hoping he came to embrace her, she turned to her side facing him, and lay her head against the hard pains of his chest, watching as it rose and fell beneath her cheek with each intake and release of breath. Instinctively, their arms came to wrap around each other, and he pulled the blankets up higher to warm her, as he cradled her against the warmth of his body.

"You will tell me when you are ready?" He asked into the silence, as the final embers of the fire died out, plunging the room into darkness.

"I will tell you." She confirmed. "One day I will be."

"How do you know?" He asked teasingly.

"I know everything," she joked. She couldn't explain it without admitting that she felt more than she had revealed. Thankfully, he didn't question her further. That night, Margaret dreamed of telling her cousin and aunt that Sholto and the new baby were to have a cousin, the shrillness of their delighted shriek piercing even in her imagination.