*A/N: Thank you again for the amazing reviews. I apologise insincerely for the cliffhanger!

.

.

.

Chapter 19

"Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sights; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes"

Mr. Thornton's declaration rang in her ears. Margaret had not been thinking of marriage. She had finally, finally found a place that had come to mean so much to her. She was completely content. With her work, with her family. She was thrilled by what she had accomplished.

She had not a single romantic thought in her head. She had put such things aside. Left it in London along with all the other society things she had desperately wanted to leave behind. Mr. Thornton's blunt confession of love floored her.

He had never given any indication the he loved her. He had never shown her any feelings other than irritation that morphed into kindness and respect as the daughter of his friend. He was friendly, but not overtly. Certainly not enough to warrant any suspicion on her part that he might harbor an affection for her.

She had thought he'd come here today solely to make sure she was alright after her injury yesterday. She had thought he'd asked for privacy because he did not want to speak about the incident in front of parents, in case she had not told them. A tactfulness she had appreciated until now.

Suddenly, Margaret realized why he was doing this. It was not love at all. "You care nothing for me at all, you only want to restore my honor! I find it offensive that you imagine that I acted in a way deliberately to make you grateful to me! It offends me that you should speak to me as if it were your duty to rescue my reputation! Well, no thank you, Mr. Thornton! I have never sought your help in this matter and I do not do so now. You do not need to feel any obligation towards me!"

Mr. Thornton's expression cycled through several emotions; fury, shock, disbelief; but pain was most prevalent. His eyes hurt to look at. They were filled with such an expression of anguish that he looked as though he was being burnt alive. Margaret was quailed by that look. Perhaps she was wrong.

"I spoke to you about my feelings because I love you! I had no thought for your reputation! I know that you were not trying to entrap me; I thought your actions were brave, not shocking."

Mr. Thornton dragged his hands through his hair in frustration. He exhaled heavily. "My timing was unfortunate. I wanted to ask you immediately, so that you would not think that I was dishonorable. So that I might rescue you from any gossip about your behaviour towards me. But I did not think how it would appear to you, that I was only asking for your hand out of duty."

His voice softened and he reached for her imploringly. "Miss – Margaret, please believe me. I do love you. Most ardently. You have become so important to me in just the few months I have known you. I feel as though I have spent my entire life searching for you – exactly you. Everything about you has captivated me completely."

Margaret sat down heavily on the sofa. She could hardly take this in. She had never realized Mr. Thornton's attentions to her might be the romantic sort. She thought back to their many interactions. She remembered his intense stares, his occasional stuttered comments, his ceaseless questions. The way he had smiled after she shook his hand for the first time. It was so unlike anything Margaret had ever experienced before that she didn't even recognize it for what it was.

Mr. Thornton cautiously sat next to her, confused by her silence. She looked into his grave face and was utterly torn. She thought him a kind man, and an honorable one. She admired his accomplishments. But nor had she been thinking of romance.

"Mr. Thornton, I do not love you." She gripped his hand tightly when he gave a quiet keen of pain. "But I think I could," she breathed. "It would be so easy. It would be just like falling. Not loving you would be harder, I think. But I must ask that you give me time. I confess that I've not thought of courtship or anything like it since I came to Milton. It was simply another part of all the things I hated about London and I was glad to leave it there. All I ask is your patience, while I try to untangle all these feelings that you've welled up inside me."

"I can. I will," he gasped. "I will give you all the time you need, now that I have hope that you might one day return my feelings." He laced his fingers through her own. His gaze was skittering over her face, memorizing. He was smiling his beautiful smile again.

"It won't be 'one day'," she smiled shakily. "It will be soon. I'll not keep you waiting, whatever my answer. It would be unfair to you otherwise, Mr. Thornton."

"John," he told her. She repeated his name, and closed her eyes briefly in reverence at the intimacy. He shivered in response to that. He leant his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her, relishing to contact.

"Margaret." He said her name like a benediction, as though it contained all the things good and kind in the world. "Will you let me court you? I – I thought I already was, but I clearly was not communicative enough about it."

Margaret opened her eyes and drew back from him slightly to look into his joyful face. Had his expression always been so intense when he looked at her? She'd never noticed. "Yes… John. You may."

He smiled for a moment, before uneasiness clouded his features once more. "You… are not averse to someone like me… a tradesman–" he faltered over the word, "–wanting to marry you?"

Margaret shook her head adamantly. "No! No, that is not – that has never been an issue of mine. I said that because I was angry at your presumption, I thought you only wanted to marry because you thought it your duty to rescue me from myself. I am thankful to find that is not the case."

His face broke into a smile, his expression one of quiet triumph. He leaned towards her hesitantly and pressed a chaste kiss on her lips. The barest hint of contact, and then he pulled away.

Margaret was shocked by the feeling that his touch invoked within her. It was a warmth, a comfort, a sense of rightness. They stared at each other, the action not uncomfortable.

"Can we… keep this between us for now?" she whispered. "Not that I am ashamed or any such thing. I only wish…"

"To not disappoint your parents if you decide against marriage," he finished. "I understand."

"Yes. Thank you. It would only be for a little while. I – I do not want to give a false answer. I want to be sure in my heart about my choice of husband."

"I am sure of you. That is all I have to say to weigh against all the rest. I love you deeply; of that you can be absolutely sure."

Margaret's heart stuttered to hear him say so again. She closed her eyes and held his hand tightly. "Thank you, John."

.

.

.

John walked home as though floating on air. He had not secured Margaret's hand, but he'd gotten the next best thing – her consent to an understanding. Now all he had to do was convince her of his worth, that he would devote his life to her happiness.

He could see now why there had been miscommunication. He had been thinking of a wife and marriage, so his thoughts naturally went in the direction once he met Margaret. Because it was in his mind, he'd assumed that it was in hers as well, but Margaret hadn't been thinking that way. His heart had stopped when she told him she didn't love him, only to thump rapidly when she told him that loving him would be as easy as falling. That was his greatest wish – to have a relationship that was as easy and natural and comforting as letting one's self fall.

"John."

His mother's voice cut into his blissful thoughts. He had been standing in the foyer of the manor grinning like an idiot.

"She has agreed I take it?" asked Mother shortly.

"No. We are not engaged yet. But we've agreed to an understanding. Miss Hale was taken by surprise by my feelings. She said she had no thought of marriage and so did not recognise my attentions for what they were. But she has agreed to give me a chance, Mother. I might be able to open her heart to me yet."

Mother looked puzzled by his explanation. "Didn't recognise it?" she echoed. "How could she not see it? You've spent almost every minute of your time in her company."

"As her father's pupil, not a suitor. And you and I know that I've been more unguarded, but she would not have known that. How could she?"

His mother sighed and nodded, recognising the point. "I suppose we must invite her family over for dinner, if not to formally acknowledge an engagement, to get to know them at least."

"Aye. But you must promise me that you will be obliging. Miss Hale is who I've chosen to marry. I'll not give her up, not even for you."

Mother made a slight face at his forceful words, but did not disagree with his command.

.

.

.

Butterflies were fluttering in Margaret's stomach. She couldn't believe how nervous she was, given how Mr. Thornton – John – had stayed for tea quite often in the past.

He came into the drawing room with Papa, bestowing a wide smile on her. Had he always looked at her with such affection? How had she not noticed that? What else had she missed?

"How are you, Miss Hale?"

"Well. Thank you," she swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. It was her turn stutter her words. Papa looked a little mystified at their carefully polite exchange. Margret and John were uncharacteristically silent during tea. Margaret, normally so talkative, could think of nothing to say.

For the first time, Margaret's eyes had been opened to the possibility of John Thornton as a suitor, a lover; someone to spend her life with. To her surprise, she found the idea was not an abhorrent one. To think of him that way seemed to become as natural as breathing.

He did not look like the men she had known in London ballrooms. He was too dark and severe for such frivolity. But there was an attractiveness to him that she was able to see – now that she was thinking of him in such a way. His gaze was always focused and intent on whatever it was he was doing; the bright blue of his eyes at odds with his dark hair. He was tall and well-built, not a shadow of the poverty of his youth remained in his physique. He was careful and methodical, which showed in his appearance as well. He was always well dressed, each item of clothing painstakingly arranged, buttoned or folded. On him, the attention to his dress was not foppish; merely an extension of his seriousness and his sense of duty.

"Margaret, are you alright?" Papa asked her, unnerved by her scrutiny of John.

Margaret flushed. "Yes, I'm fine. I only wanted to ask J – Mr. Thornton about how the Irish workers were fairing," she said wildly, pulling the question from thin air to cover her odd behaviour.

"Ah, yes, indeed," said Papa, also turning to John. "We heard there the strikers came to the mill and that several arrests were made. I hope the damage was not extensive."

"No. Only the gates were broken and they are easily repaired," said John, looking towards Margaret with a faint air of inquiry.

Margaret shook her head at his silent question; confirming that she had not told her parents about what had happened in the riot and did not want him to either. He smiled reassuringly at her.

"The Irish have settled; I sent for Father Patrick to calm them down," continued John. "The workers are being housed at the mill until accommodation can be prepared. I have spoken with Mr. Peterson who owns many properties in Winslow about securing homes for the workers."

"Does that mean you will continue to employ them?" asked Margaret.

"Aye. I want to expand my operation. Once everything is in place, I'll be able to increase my workforce. I also met with the other masters and we decided not to hire back those who were heavily involved with the union. Some of the others have suffered severe losses as a result of the rule. Only a hundred hands of mine were turned away; most of the others lost double that."

Margaret was concerned. That was a lot of unemployed people, even for a city as large as Milton. "What will happen to those that were turned away?"

"They'll get work elsewhere. There are plenty of other places they can work with their skill set."

"Will the union help them?" asked Papa.

John looked grave. "I don't think so. The union has been all but dissolved by this setback. They broke their word; they incited a riot and used violence. But they did achieve their aim, somewhat. During the meeting, I told the other masters that changes must be made if we are to avoid another strike."

"Did you really just talk to them? Or did you threaten them?" teased Margaret.

"I may have been a bit forceful in my delivery," replied John in an amused voice.

"So you are expanding your operation! That must be an exciting time, and a busy one, no doubt," said Papa, also smiling at Margaret's mischievousness.

"Not frightfully busy," said John quickly, with a glance at Margaret. She smiled; he did not want her to think that his increased workload would cut into their time together. "I have already drawn up most of the plans. I also hope, Miss Hale, that you will help me in this endeavor. You have already proven that you think compassionately about the workers. I would like your input."

"Of course, Mr. Thornton. I'd be more than willing to help," said Margaret enthusiastically, her mind already filling with ideas and questions.

John grinned in satisfaction at her excitement.

.

Later, Margaret followed John to the front door as he prepared to leave, wanting to have a few moments alone with him.

"I am so happy to hear you will be employing the Irish workers. You have given them a chance to rebuild their lives again," said Margaret softly.

"And I, in turn, am glad to have pleased you," John replied warmly. "Continuing that line of thought, I also wish to tell you that I won't be pressing charges against any of the rioters." His expression hardened suddenly. "Only against the man who threw the rock."

"No, please, don't do that," she said quickly. "I am fine, John. I suffered no ill effects."

"Aye, and I am so glad of it. But the man must still be punished. It is not because you are the one he struck; I'd still prosecute no matter who it was. It was a violent and illegal act; I cannot let it pass," he said solemnly, lifting his hand tentatively to the half-healed cut on her temple.

Margaret sighed. She did not completely believe his explanation; if he had been the one hurt, she thought it unlikely that he would prosecute. But what the man had done had been illegal, and John was a magistrate; he had to follow the letter of the law.

She realized that John still held his hand to her face. She reached up to cover it with her own, eliciting a smile from him.

"Will you stay again tomorrow evening?" she asked hesitantly, wanting to explore their new relationship some more.

"Of course," he replied warmly. "I will visit you whenever you wish."