Thornton stood in front of the mirror in his dressing room. He picked up his cravat and began tying it. The precise, measured movements of his hands were in complete contrast with the raging tumult of his mind.
His mind had become a cruel and chaotic place. Everything had stopped making sense three nights ago. Even after three days, he still could not fully reconcile the woman he had seen at the station with the woman who had come to his mill not one week ago. What he had seen at the station was so utterly at odds with everything he knew about Margaret, with everything he believed about her that that woman couldn't possibly have been her. Except it had been her. He had seen her with a man, late at night, embracing him, promising to meet him again. But it wasn't the staggering impropriety of her actions that twisted his heart but the realisation that she cared, she really cared for this other man, Fred.
How is it that he had never heard about Fred before? He had known Margaret and Mr Hale for more than a year, had visited their house almost every day and in all that time, never once had he heard that name mentioned. He had met her family in London, had met that old servant of hers but other than Henry Lennox there had never been any suggestion of another suitor. When he had first made her acquaintance, he had found it hard to believe that someone as beautiful as she was unattached but he had not dwelled upon it, deciding that he was pleased rather than puzzled by it. And now he finally had his answer. There had been someone all along and from what he understood, it was someone whom she had known in Helstone, someone who was now back in her life, and someone whose affection she returned.
It should have been easy to think of her as unworthy of his love but his instinct told him that her impropriety did not extend beyond what he had witnessed. It was one thing about which he was absolutely certain. She was impulsive and passionate, but she would never be lured into doing anything compromising. The only reason she would be out so late at night, the only reason she would risk so much would be if she blindly loved and trusted that man. And Thornton had wanted that trust, that love, that abandon from her for himself.
Where did this leave him? She was not the sort of girl to encourage and give false hope, which meant that he must have been mistaken in thinking that Margaret had come to care for him. And as painful and as nearly as impossible as it was to believe it, that had to be the only explanation. That was the only explanation that made any sense.
He had nearly laughed when he realised what he was doing. He was trying to save her from his own dark thoughts. He was trying to defend her from his overly cynical mind. But he hadn't been entirely successful. It was a mental trick that eluded him because the part of him that remembered their last few meetings, the part of him that remembered her every word, glance, gesture would not be easily persuaded. That part of him did not believe that he had mistaken her regard for him. And that part of him was furious.
No matter how hard he tried, he could not rid himself of the intense feeling of betrayal. He had told her he would wait for her. He had told her he would be her friend, that he would not press his suit until she was ready. He had given her all the time in the world. He had held back, he had respected her, he had contented himself with silently loving her but in all that time she had thought of him as… what? What did she think of him? Had she thought about him at all? It was a question that plagued him.
He knew he was not being fair to her. Perhaps he should simply ask her but he had no claim, no right to demand an explanation. They did not have any formal understanding. She did not owe him anything. Like everything else, it was something that he had assumed. But he knew that she was honest. If she had chosen someone else, she would tell him. She would do him that courtesy. What he was less sure about was if he could bear to hear it.
Thornton took out his pocket watch with the same deliberate movement. The guests would arrive shortly. She would arrive shortly. Never in his life had he felt so ill-prepared. The pain was still as raw and still as poisonous as when he had stepped out of the station. Three days had done nothing to numb it. He put back the watch and made his way downstairs, ignoring the dull pounding in his head.
He could not avoid her, nor could he ignore her. He would simply have to find a way to endure it, as he always had. Tonight was for Fanny and he was determined to not allow his bitter, broken heart to ruin her day of happiness.
Margaret and Mr Bell were the last of the guests to arrive. During the carriage ride, she had resisted the urge to fuss over Mr Bell. Just yesterday, he had grumbled loudly about pesky young women and annoying valets to which she had responded with a testy look but she had left him in peace since then.
Margaret was a bit apprehensive about visiting Mr Thornton's house after such a long time. It must have been evident on her face because as they climbed out of the carriage, Mr Bell gave her hand a reassuring little pat.
They were greeted by Fanny as soon as they entered the formal drawing room. Fanny had been standing with Andrew and Mr Colthurst, both of whom came forward to greet them as well.
Andrew introduced Margaret to Mr Colthurst as the "mysterious Miss Hale."
Colthurst blinked momentarily in confusion. After Thornton had spoken to him about the school, a London attorney, who represented a Miss Hale, had come to his office. Unmarried women who asked their attorney to set up trust funds were a rarity. He had already met Mrs Hampers and so he had assumed that Miss Hale must be a wealthy old woman. But the young lady in front of him had taken him by surprise.
"Miss Hale," he recovered with a smile. He took her hand but then instead of merely shaking it, he dropped a small kiss on her knuckles.
"Mr Colthurst," Margaret gave a nervous little smile, taken aback by his chivalry.
Andrew and Fanny exchanged an amused look. Fanny quickly looked over to where her brother was standing. Thornton was engaged in a conversation with Mr Latimer and if he had noticed that Margaret had arrived, he gave no indication of it. After Mr Bell went to greet his hostess, Fanny took Andrew's arm and they excused themselves, leaving Margaret with Colthurst.
Once she got over her initial surprise, Margaret found that Mr Colthurst was actually good company. He was courteous and seemed genuinely interested in the school. Margaret answered his questions and listened politely but all the time she was wondering why Mr Thornton hadn't yet greeted her.
"Margaret is here," Fanny said, coming to Thornton's side.
"I noticed."
Thornton had noticed Margaret the moment she had entered the room with Mr Bell. He was also aware that Colthurst had monopolised her almost immediately.
"I am happy Margaret is out of those black gowns," Fanny said.
Thornton had noticed that as well. It was too obvious to be missed. She was wearing a dove grey skirt—he knew it was a colour she had never worn before.
Fanny continued meaningfully, "It's been almost four months and—"
"Fanny," he said in a low voice, a wealth of warning in the utterance.
"Fine, but you should rescue Margaret from Mr Colthurst," she said before going off. She was clearly not very pleased with her brother's rather casual attitude.
Thornton stepped over to where Margaret and Colthurst were standing, forcing down every unpleasant emotion, striving for some sort of impassiveness.
"Ah, Thornton," Colthurst made room for Thornton to join their conversation.
"Miss Hale," Thornton nodded politely.
Margaret had been waiting for him. She didn't like being called Miss Hale by him—not any more, anyway—but he was hardly going to call her by her name when they were in company.
Margaret returned the greeting, trying not to look too obviously happy that he had finally come over, but not succeeding entirely. She was happy and there wasn't a thing she could do to stop the smile on her face.
"Miss Hale was telling me about the evening classes," Colthurst began explaining to Thornton.
"Mr Colthurst, you give me too much credit," she said, feeling somewhat awkward. "Mrs Hampers is equally responsible for the school. I should be quite lost without her to guide me."
Thornton stood listening to them for a while, supplying the occasional comment. Colthurst's interest in Margaret was unmistakable and while it was one thing to know that Colthurst was wasting his time with her, it was quite another to watch him do it.
It was like acid.
"If you will excuse me," Thornton said. "You have much to discuss, I shouldn't like to be in the way."
Before Margaret could say otherwise, he walked away from them. She wasn't sure what to think about it. She supposed he had a duty to perform as the host. It would not seem polite for him to talk only to her. She saw him mingle with other guests, not talking much as but gracious nonetheless.
Margaret was surprised to find Ann Latimer among the guests. Fanny had told her that the dinner party was meant for a small select group but she had not thought that the Latimers would be invited. She knew that the Thorntons and Latimers were old business associates but she had never understood the family connection. Despite her own close friendship with Fanny, it was something she did not feel comfortable asking.
When Ann found out that Mr Webster came from a fabulously wealthy family, she had been just as surprised as the rest of Milton society. It was also mortifying because her whole defence of Fanny had been built around the belief that Fanny Thornton would never be foolish enough to get involved with a lowly manager. But it seemed things had worked out amazingly well for Fanny and Ann was rather amused by the turn of events. She suspected the reason why she had been invited to this small circle was partly out of appreciation and partly out of cheek. So she shrugged off her folly and congratulated Fanny and Mr Webster with good grace and humour. Margaret Hale, however, was another matter altogether.
Ann knew that she herself did not stand a chance with Mr Thornton. She had gradually, grudgingly, come to accept the fact. His manner with her had been exactly as it was before Margaret had arrived in Milton and even Ann's open championing of Fanny had done nothing to change his behaviour towards her. Ann had enough pride to not chase a man who had shown absolutely no interest in her but the fact that Margaret had succeeded where she had failed made it hard for Ann to forgive her. And now that Margaret was wealthy, Ann had no doubt that Milton society would welcome her with open arms, happily forgive all her past indiscretions and even overlook the fact that she lived scandalously alone. And it rankled her to no end.
Ann found Margaret standing alone. Margaret had just politely extricated herself from Mr Colthurst by bringing him over to Mrs Hampers.
"Miss Hale," Ann greeted her with a cheery smile. "You are finally out in society."
Margaret nodded stiffly, ignoring the rather tasteless statement that accompanied the greeting.
"And are you enjoying yourself?" Ann continued blithely.
"Yes, very much."
"Then you must enjoy solitude," Ann remarked. It had not escaped her notice that Mr Thornton had not been particularly attentive to Margaret tonight and she took savage satisfaction in the fact.
The barb was unerringly aimed and for once, Margaret didn't have a reply. A reaction which suited Ann just fine. With an arch nod, she swept away from Margaret and joined her father and Mr Thornton.
When the doors to the dining room were opened, Margaret was surprised to find herself being escorted in by Mr Latimer. The two did not have anything in common, except that they were both investors in Mr Thornton's mill. Mr Latimer would of course never discuss business with a lady, so they spent the few minutes to the dining room in silence. Margaret caught Mr Bell give her a slight exasperated roll of his eyes as he realised that he was supposed to escort Ann.
Margaret was seated between Mr Colthurst and Mr Latimer. She noted that Ann was as usual seated to Mr Thornton's left. She didn't get the opportunity to dwell too much about it as she found herself diverted by Mr Webster's and Mr Colthurst's discussion about laws pertaining to the inspection of factories. Mr Thornton was asked for his opinion, which he provided. Margaret was amazed to see Fanny listen to the discussion with interest and even ask a few questions.
As the dinner progressed, the conversations became livelier and the topics less serious. Although both she and Mr Thornton were occasionally involved in the same discussion, neither spoke directly to each other. To all appearance, nothing seemed amiss to anyone, except to Margaret.
At the end of the dinner, Mrs Thornton nodded to the butler and soon all the glasses at the table were filled. Thornton stood up to make the toast. Everybody quieted down and listened.
"I would like to propose a toast to my sister, Fanny, and Andrew. And to congratulate Andrew on his win and his future political career." Everybody raised their glasses and amid the toasts and cheers of congratulations, Thornton directly addressed them before taking a sip from his glass, "Anything they put their minds to, they make it happen."
Andrew nodded his head towards Thornton in acknowledgement and then beaming at Fanny, took her hand and gave it a lingering kiss, right there in front of everyone.
Everyone at the table laughed and smiled indulgently, caught up in the romance of the moment. The two seemed to have a magical, charmed air around them. Margaret thought she had never seen Fanny look so breathtakingly lovely. Her happiness and radiance lit up the room. She looked at Mrs Thornton and saw her smiling at the pair. Even Ann was smiling. It was hard to resent anyone anything on a night like this.
Margaret ventured a look in Thornton's direction. He was regarding Fanny with quiet paternal affection. Feeling her gaze on him, he looked in her direction but when their eyes met, his countenance shifted momentarily. But before Margaret could be sure of what she saw, he assumed the impassive look that he had been treating her to the whole evening. Margaret glanced away uneasily.
After dinner, the men stayed back while the ladies retired to the large drawing room. Margaret sat with Fanny and Ann while Mrs Thornton and Mrs Hamper chatted in their corner.
The conversation between the young women naturally drifted to wedding dresses and wedding ceremonies.
"I wonder if a marriage must always be preceded by a whirlwind of planning and shopping," Margaret remarked absently as the men strolling into the drawing room. Mr Thornton and Mr Webster were not among them.
"Oh, yes, Cinderella's godmother ordering the trousseau, the wedding-breakfast, writing notes of invitation, for instance," Fanny teased her.
"But are all these troubles necessary?" Margaret asked, recalling the never-ending commotion about trifles that went on for weeks before Edith's wedding.
"What is your idea of a wedding then?" Fanny asked, already planning John and Margaret's wedding in her head.
"Oh, I have never thought much about it," Margaret confessed. "Only that I should like to wake up on a fine summer morning, put on my favourite dress and walk to church through the shade of trees."
"Shade of tress? You are certainly not thinking about Milton," Ann remarked pointedly.
"It is natural for me to think of Helstone church and the walk to it, rather than of driving up to church in the middle of a paved street," Margaret said a touch defensively, although now that she thought about it she really didn't care where it took place. In truth, she wished she hadn't said so much. She certainly did not want Ann to know something so personal about her.
While the conversation wandered back to lace and veils, Margaret quietly got up to put her cup on the table. As she looked around the room, she felt apart from it all. The happiness with which she had begun the evening had eroded completely. Something was not right. She had been reasoning with herself, trying to explain it away but now that the evening was about to draw to a close, she could feel the awful, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. Being ignored by him had brought back painful memories of the days following her refusal. But she wasn't sure if he was ignoring her. He was always reserved in company so it is possible that she was over-reacting and reading too much into it.
Perhaps she would not have thought too much about it, if it were not for Ann. It bothered her that the Latimers were invited tonight. Ann's presence made her uneasy and rekindled her old fears. But if she were to be fully honest, other than a nod or a word, Mr Thornton had not made any conversation with Ann. But then neither had he made any conversation with her. As far as consolation went, it was a rather poor one.
Margaret saw that Mr Webster had returned to the room. He and Fanny were now sitting together and they seemed oblivious to everything and everyone around them. Margaret took the opportunity and quietly slipped out. In the adjoining room, the doors to the balcony had been thrown wide open to let in some fresh air.
She had taken a few steps inside the room, when she noticed that Mr Thornton was on the balcony, looking out into the night. She paused, wondering if she should return to the drawing room. It might look as if she had sought him out alone.
He had been so distant and strange all evening. She wondered if others had noticed it or had he been that way with her only. In any case, he seemed upset about something and she wanted to find out what it was.
"Mr Thornton," she hesitantly called out when she was a few steps from the balcony.
She saw him straighten up. For a moment it didn't look like he was going to turn around, but he did.
"Did you want something?" he asked, his voice quite formal.
"A bit of fresh air, that's all," she said stepping closer to the threshold. It was then that Margaret noticed that this was the same balcony on which they had stood during the riot. She looked out beyond the railing. Below was the mill yard, silent and surprisingly tidy with all the carts neatly lined up against the mill building.
Thornton watched her as she approached the balcony. He heard her draw a soft breath as she recognised the place and suddenly somehow it was more than he was willing to take. All evening he had been trying to keep his distance from her. He should have been able to do that with the house full of guests. He needed time to step away and control the emotions raging through him.
He had been driven over the edge in these few hours, more than he could have ever imagined. First by Colthurst's obvious interest in her—he did not understand why it angered him so much. It seemed utterly pointless and yet, he couldn't help it. Then there was the awful realisation that Margaret was in half-mourning. She would be back in society. She could be courted now and the thought of it sliced through his heart. And still on top of it was hearing Margaret talk about getting married in Helstone. He had turned around and left the room.
And now she was standing with him as though nothing had happened and he was tired and frustrated and angry because he couldn't read her. He tried desperately with everything in his power to wipe off the picture of her at the station, to suppress his agitated imaginings but he couldn't. So he stood still, wishing with all his heart that she would leave him the hell alone—for her own sake.
As she looked at him, Margaret wondered why was it so difficult to talk to him. Whatever strange energy was swirling around him was affecting her as well. A part of her was urging her to leave him to his mood. She was still half-afraid of having followed him when any of the guests could walk into the room and find them. But she pushed forward, driven by love and the knowledge that she was safe with him. She tried to fill the silence that had fallen between them.
"I hope the meeting in London went well," she began. "It must have, you signed the papers. I signed them as well. You left them with Mr Bell. He said that you should be able to get the bank to release the …" Margaret trailed off unable to keep up the one-sided conversation. She regarded him apprehensively. Whatever he was upset about had nothing to do with the silly papers or the agreement. It was something else.
He stood there, unmoving, watching her silently—waiting for something.
"Is something wrong?" she finally asked.
"You tell me."
She looked at him momentarily confused.
"Why should anything be wrong?" she asked.
She received no reply from him, which made her unsure and nervous. And she hated it. She didn't know why she should be feeling so. She prayed that whatever was bothering him had nothing to do with her. But even as that thought crossed her mind, she instinctively knew that it had something to do with her. But that he was upset with her made little sense. Any number of things could have happened in the day to annoy him, she told herself.
"We are still friends?" she said, forcing a small casual laugh, trying to defuse the tension, seeking some reassurance.
But no sooner had the words left her lips than she saw him visibly flinch. She caught a flash of tightly controlled emotion that was frightening in its intensity. It was anger, Margaret realised with shock. It was pure, red-hot anger and it was directed at her.
"You are angry with me," she whispered, stunned by the idea.
Thornton seethed with rage but he forced himself to hold still. He had to because if he didn't he would grab her by the shoulder and shake the bloody truth out of her. And he could never be this ugly—never with her. He needed to walk away and walk away now because she didn't look like she was going to stop.
"Wait!" She caught his sleeve to stop him. Thornton froze in place. She looked at him with huge, stricken eyes, pleading for some explanation.
But Thornton wasn't looking at her, he was looking at her hand. With excruciating, deliberate calm, he covered her hand with his and removed it from his arm. He summoned every bit of detachment he could.
"You should go back inside. People will wonder what we are doing here." He said it with such utter indifference that he hardly recognised the voice as his own.
He released her hand, letting it drop. Still without looking at her, he turned away and walked out of the room.
Margaret stood dazed and numb with shock for a moment. She did not understand what had happened or why but one thing was becoming clear to her—he was trying to distance himself from her. He didn't want to be with her. But why? Why?
She looked at her hand, the hand that he had just flung aside. She felt her eyes burn with tears. She rubbed the back of the hand against her skirt, as if she could wipe away the memory and the moment clean.
"Margaret?" It was Mr Bell.
Margaret took a few deep breaths before turning around to face him.
"Are you alright?" he asked with obvious concern, as he drew near.
"I needed a bit of fresh air," Margaret repeated.
Mr Bell regarded her carefully. "You are shivering."
"I think the door has been left open. Shall we go inside?" she suggested, looping her hand through his and walking back into the drawing room.
Mr Bell thought about asking her something but decided not to. When they returned to the room, she sat down with Mr Bell and Mrs Hampers.
Margaret's mind raced frantically, trying to find an explanation. Had she said something wrong? Had she done something wrong? Or was it him? Had he decided that she was not worth his time any more? Was he through waiting for her? Margaret gasped at the thought. She recalled the warmth, the teasing, the sheer bounding joy she had felt at their last meeting—it seemed a lifetime ago. How could everything change so suddenly?
She remembered telling Fred that she could take care of herself. How could she have been so foolish, so arrogant and confident? Until this moment, she had not realised that so much of her courage and strength in these last few months had come from Mr Thornton—from knowing that he was there for her. And now that it was suddenly gone, she felt untethered and rootless. How could he not know? How could he not see what was in her heart? Margaret closed her eyes forcing back the tears.
Across the room, Hannah was watching Margaret with concern. Hannah had spent a fair bit of this evening quietly observing her. Over the past several weeks, she had been hearing a good deal about Miss Hale and her work at the school from Mrs Hampers and whatever she had heard had her secretly pleased. While she could not claim that she approved of the girl living alone, her conduct had been entirely beyond reproach. Now watching her sit so still, staring at nothing, Hannah wondered what had gone wrong. Hannah had never really had the opportunity to observe Miss Hale and John together. The last time Miss Hale had been a guest in her house, Hannah had been busy worrying about the Irish workers and then being upset with her for challenging John in front of all the guests. To her relief, this evening had left no doubt in her mind as to Miss Hale's feelings. But Hannah had also noticed the growing distance and unease between the two as the evening progressed. It puzzled her exceedingly that it was John who was the source of the tension.
Hannah found Thornton in his study, looking out of the window, a half-empty glass resting on the window sill.
"Miss Hale is taking her leave," Hannah informed him.
Thornton inclined his head to acknowledge. She waited for him for a few moments by the door but he didn't look like he intended to stir.
"John," Hannah said his name in a tone that she hadn't used since he was a young boy.
Surprised, Thornton turned to look at his mother with a raised eyebrow. He had never thought the day would come when his mother would force him into Margaret's company. It made him want to laugh. The irony was exquisite.
He had been trying to hide his emotions all evening but he had forgotten that nothing much got past his mother. He downed the rest of his drink and went into the hall.
Margaret and Mr Bell were standing along with Fanny and Andrew. He shook Mr Bell's hand and bid him goodnight, ignoring the enquiring look on the face of the older man. It seemed nothing much got past Mr Bell either.
Margaret was talking to Fanny and Andrew, or rather they were talking to Margaret. Margaret spoke very little.
Instead of waiting for Margaret, Mr Bell went downstairs and climbed into the carriage to give Thornton the opportunity to walk Margaret to the vehicle. Fanny and Andrew bid Margaret farewell and went back inside.
Once they were alone, Thornton saw her poise crumble a bit. She was shrinking away from him and it filled him with guilt.
He hadn't meant to be that horrible to her. But he did not know what else he could have done. He knew his temper and when she had half-laughing asked him if they were friends, she had answered the question he had dared not answer himself. She had destroyed whatever little hope he had. And the truly awful thing was he hadn't even been aware that he still had some hope left in his heart, a desperate belief that all this was some dreadful misunderstanding, that there might be a perfectly innocent explanation for everything.
But she had shut the door on that possibility. And so he had pushed her away—to save her from his fury and maybe to save himself from her.
Margaret began to quickly step downstairs without waiting for him. Thornton joined her and fell in step beside her. He did not know what overcame him but he took her hand and gently tucked it into the crook of his arm, holding it there.
"Helstone, then? I thought you had grown rather fond of Milton," he asked as they walked the short distance to the carriage.
Margaret was so startled by the gesture and the question that she did not know what to think. He had become someone she did not understand. She had no idea what he meant by the question, had no idea what this gesture even meant. It suddenly came to her what he was speaking about.
"How did you know?" she inquired.
"About what?" he asked, a sharp edge creeping into his voice.
"What I said about Helstone."
Thornton closed his eyes for a moment. What did it matter how he knew about it?
"I was standing behind you. You didn't look," he answered. A bitter smile crossed his face as he realised that that had indeed what had happened that night as well. He wondered how things would have turned out had she seen him on that platform.
"I didn't mean it," she said quietly. "Milton has my heart now," she added after a pause. Her whole world was crashing around her but she wanted to leave him in no doubt about at least this.
He halted abruptly and stared at her, trying to understand what in the world could she possibly mean by that statement. She did not glance away this time. Instead she was regarding him with… he did not know. He was looking at everything through the haze of jealousy and heartache and he was no longer sure what he was seeing any more.
He drew back. "It matters not," he said, helping her into the carriage.
He closed the door shut and knocked on the wall of the carriage to signal the driver to move.
"Good night, Miss Hale."
Thornton stood looking after the carriage a long time after it had disappeared from view. He had thought that this final heartbreak might finally cure him of her. That he might finally be done with her. That he might finally be able to walk into a room and not care that she was in it.
But that was never going to happen.
Even after the gulf that had opened up between them, he was perfectly aware of her every breath it seemed. He understood that he was never going to stop loving her. He was never going to be rid of her. And she would never be his.
Then why had he felt the overwhelming urge to hold her hand?
Why did it feel as if his heart, his instinct, his body even was trying to tell him something that his mind couldn't understand?
With each passing minute, the pounding in his head was becoming unbearable. He had never felt so worn out before. He hadn't slept in three days and he wanted nothing more than to shut everything out of his mind. Maybe he could try to think calmly about everything tomorrow. Maybe he would try to understand why had she had not avoided him as he had expected her to, why she had insisted that he tell her what was wrong, why she had looked at him with… reproach and hurt. If anybody had any right to claim hurt, it was he and yet why was he feeling so damned guilty about what had happened tonight?
He knew that his wish for some peace and solitude would not be granted. The house was still full of guests. As for tomorrow, he was quite certain that Mr Bell intended to pay him a visit—if that almost hostile look he gave him was any indication.
Bracing himself, he climbed up the stairs and went inside.