It had been a long three months.
John had not expected to be away for so long, yet travelling all over Spain took a great deal of time. Senor Barbor had contacts everywhere, and the idea of foreign trade was something that John was greatly interested in. After Margaret had left, John had stayed in Cadiz for two weeks. It felt wasteful, to be so far away from his business and his wife. He wondered if he'd made the right decision to stay away for such a long time when he could have done without foreign investment or trade. However, the trip had gone so well that he was sure it would be worth it. He wanted to ensure their future, to make Marlborough Mills the best it could be.
Two months was a long time to travel, but he felt his mind had been broadened by it. He returned to Cadiz the investor of a cotton field and with twenty new contracts. A most successful trip indeed.
Though it would not be easy maintaining these deals so far away, John relished the expansion. Fred would serve as translator when needed, paid of course. John, never one for having friends, had grown rather fond of Margaret's brother. He talked too much, and told the filthiest jokes John had ever heard, left over from his navy days. They would surely make Margaret and Dolores blush.
The pair arrived back in Cadiz in mid October. John had booked passage back to England before they had even left, and he was glad to know that he would soon be back in England. He missed it more than he thought he ever would - it was hard not to be understood, as well as learning the different cultural norms. Still, it was all over now and soon he would be back in Milton with his wife in his arms. The ship sailed the following morning.
John paced the small room where he was staying in Fred and Dolores' house when someone knocked on the door.
"Dolores said these came for you, she forgot to give them to you earlier." Fred said, handing John a stack of letters. "Margaret's handwriting, I'd know it anywhere."
The address on the top envelope was, as Fred said, written in his wife's hand. John's heart swelled merely at the sight of his name in her handwriting. He took the letters from Fred, muttering thanks but desperate to be alone. He closed the door. Lying down on the bed, he tried to work out which to open first. When he turned the envelope over, he realised she had carefully written the date in the bottom left hand corner.
Oh, she was clever.
Finding the first letter, he tore it open.
26th August 1853
Dear John
How strange it is to be in Milton without you. We returned here this evening after a lovely week in London. I am sorry I did not write to you there. Dolores seems to like it here, though it is as different to Cadiz as day to night. The climate does not suit Maria so well, but I think she will grow used to it in time. Dolores and Fanny seem to be quite taken with one another, and your mother and Pablo spoke for hours over dinner. It is a great relief to me that they get on well.
I miss you. How empty our bed will feel without you.
I do not know of your plans or where you are at the moment, for I have not yet received a letter from you. I am sure it is merely the postal service, for you are a man of your word and would not fail to write to your besotted wife. I read your letter that you gave me tonight, for I was missing you most dearly. I do yearn for you, husband. You have my heart most completely and I ache for you.
Please be safe on your travels, knowing how much you are cared for by your family - and utterly adored by me.
Be well, husband
Ever yours,
Margaret
He tore open the next letter, and the next, reading each one with rapt attention. It was as though he could hear her voice in his head. He reached for the next one, the penultimate letter in the pile.
25th September 1853
John,
Dolores left almost three weeks ago now, yet I still miss her company greatly. It feels like a loss all over again, though I know I shall see her again. I have not had much time to write to you, nor have I had any letters from you (I am sure it is merely the postal service from your part of the world), so I shall tell you how her visit went. I am very pleased to say that your family welcomed mine most warmly.
Dolores taught the children in the school room a few Spanish words - I never thought I would see the day those children could speak even a tiny amount of another language. She is a natural teacher, I am sure Maria will be the cleverest child Cadiz has ever known with a mother such as her. The climate took some adjusting to, and the baby did not like being near the smoke and noise of the mill. Dolores even spent a night or two at Fanny's house - to my great surprise, they got on very well indeed. Fanny, I think, was rather jealous of Dolores' exotic appearance, but they spent time together with their children. We went to the theatre one night, it was very pleasant indeed.
I have been very busy teaching, though these last few days I-
That line was scribbled out, and John frowned. Margaret was always so careful in her correspondence, never making mistakes or changing her mind once she had decided upon what she was going to say. He squinted, trying to make out the words that lay beneath the thick black line blocking them out - but he could not.
I miss you. I feel alone.
Thinking of you always,
Margaret
He felt sick reading the last line of her letter - he never wanted her to feel like that. Thank god he was going home the following morning, thank god he was returning to her at last. He hesitantly opened the last one, dated two weeks previously.
10th October 1853
John,
I need you. Come home.
M
Margaret stretched out her arms into the right hand side of the bed, as she did each morning. That bitter disappointment stung her again; John was away. Of course. She knew full well her husband would not be back for some time, but it did not get any easier to wake up to a cold bed each morning. It was September now. She had bid him farewell in early August, yet she still ached for him as though it had only been days. Though, that side of the bed was not entirely unoccupied.
"Good morning, Ebeneezer." Margaret yawned, reaching out to tickle the ginger cat's head. "Busy night?"
The cat stretched in response, standing up with an arched back before padding over to Margaret and settling on her stomach. She laughed; the animal had been awfully fond of her ever since her return from Spain. It was lovely, but a little out of character for one usually so independent.
"Excuse me, Sir." She nudged the cat with her free hand. "I need to get up."
There was a knock at the door; Margaret did not even have to open it to know it was Dixon, for the servant had been knocking in precisely the same pattern for her entire life.
"Come in!" Margaret called, trapped beneath the purring feline that lay curled on her stomach. "Dixon, would you mind prising the cat off me?"
"I'm not coming near." She huffed. "The mangy thing scratched me yesterday. I don't know how you can stand having him lie all over your bed, Mistress. We'll be overrun with fleas by Christmas, mark my words!"
"He is not mangy!" Margaret said, sitting up and shuffling back so the cat was displaced slightly. "He is lovely. He's been the most marvellous bedfellow in John's absence. Ebeneezer does not snore."
She heard Dixon chuckle a little at that.
"Hmm, I'll take your word for that. Come on, Mistress, time to get up."
Dixon pulled the curtains back, and Margaret winced against the bright September light. She felt incredibly tired, as though a heavy stone sat on each of her shoulders. Even her fingertips felt tired. When she finally pushed the cat off onto the empty side of the bed and stood up, she felt as though someone was spinning her around most vigorously. She reached out to grasp the bedpost, steadying herself as she squeezed her eyes shut.
"Are you alright, Mistress?" Dixon asked, rushing forward and looping an arm around Margaret's waist.
"Yes, yes I am fine. I got up too quickly, that is all." She took a deep, steadying breath. It did nothing to help. She opened her eyes. "I - I do not feel well."
Dixon felt Margaret's forehead with the back of her hand. Margaret waited as Dixon poked and prodded at her, her hands at either side of Margaret's neck as she made a full assessment. When it was completed, Dixon clicked her tongue.
"You do feel hot. Get back into bed, Mistress Margaret. You look mighty pale, now I've got a proper look at you."
Margaret shook her head, stepping forward out of Dixon's grasp. There was far too much to be done in the school room. She had also promised John that she would speak to Nicholas every month, to get a truthful measure of what was going on in the mill. Whatever this feeling was, it would surely pass.
"I have school today." Margaret shook her head. "And I promised John that I would-"
Dixon clucked. Though she was a servant, she had no hesitation in bossing Margaret around. Sometimes, Margaret could not stand it. Today - she was glad of it.
"Miss Williams will get on fine without you. The master wouldn't want you sickening while he's gone."
"I -" Before she could protest, bile rose in her throat. She ran to the basin John used to shave and spat it out, her stomach heaving. She clung to the porcelain so tightly her knuckles turned white, desperately trying to swallow the feeling away.
It did not work.
When she had finished, shaking and sweating profusely, Dixon rubbed her back and helped her back into bed.
"You'll stay here and rest, Mistress." Dixon said firmly, pulling back the covers and helping Margaret in. "And if Mrs Thornton has anything to say about it, she can deal with me."
"Dixon." Margaret croaked, a small smile on her face despite how awful she felt. "What would I do without you?"
"No need to worry about that. I'll fetch you some water."
Margaret did not speak, merely lying down and closing her eyes. She willed this feeling to go away; she could not catch an illness when John was away, he would surely drive himself to madness with worry should he hear of it. When Dixon returned, Margaret mercifully felt a little better. She sat up and accepted the water, drinking it slowly.
"Thank you, Dixon. I feel much better." Margaret said, placing the glass down and closing her eyes as she rested against the pillows. Though she enjoyed sleep, she did not enjoy idleness. However, she did not wish to be ill while John was away; she would never hear the end of it when he returned.
"Your mother was just the same when she was expecting." Dixon said with a smile in her voice, fussing with Margaret's pillows.
Blood rushed in Margaret's ears.
"What?" Margaret asked, her mouth dry as she opened her eyes.
"I don't wish to talk out of turn-"
"I am not expecting!" Margaret said, though her heart hammered against her chest at the mere thought of it.
"Mistress, I thought you were hiding it from me. You did not have your course last month." Dixon said in a near whisper.
Though every woman bled, it was never discussed. Margaret felt her cheeks flame at the mention of it, her chest burning as she considered the fact that maybe, just maybe - she was expecting.
"Yes I did! It was-" Margaret ran through when she had last bled in her head. When that did not make sense, she counted on her fingers. "No, no, that was when we were in Spain. You're right. I - I didn't even notice. How did I not notice?"
It seemed absurd that she might have missed this sign. For months, she had tracked her monthlies closely yet she had given up doing it so meticulously. It was easy to lose track when she was busy, and monitoring it so steadfastly only served to make her disappointment greater. Perhaps that was it; she had stopped worrying so obsessively, and had lost track altogether.
"You've been busy, Mistress. Your sister-in-law would have proved a distraction, I am not surprised you lost track of time with so much happiness about. Do you want me to call for Doctor Donaldson?"
"No." Margaret said sharply. "No. I want to wait, just a little longer. To be sure. I could not bear it if I was mistaken, if I was not- No. Please, do not tell anyone."
"Of course, Mistress. I'll not tell a soul." Dixon smiled, reaching out and stroking Margaret's cheek as she had done when Margaret was a girl. "God bless you, Miss Margaret."
Margaret felt her eyes grow misty; of course, she had not been 'Miss' Margaret for some time now, but the tender sentiment behind her faithful servant's words struck her heart.
"Thank you, Dixon. Please, tell Mrs Thornton if she asks that I have a headache or some such complaint. Do not go into details. I do not wish for her to know, not before John is home."
"Yes, Mistress. I'll get rid of this for you. Use the chamberpot if you still feel unwell."
"Thank you, Dixon."
As the door clicked closed, Margaret closed her eyes. She could not get her hopes up too high; they would only be dashed should her course come. And yet - she felt different. She lifted her nightgown, pressing her fingers to her bare stomach. It felt no different. She pressed her hand flat against her belly.
"Please." She whispered to nobody. "Please."
The sickness and fatigue did not leave Margaret for several days. She sent word to Emma that she was unable to teach due to a cold, and received a message back that she was not to worry about a thing. Margaret felt more lonely in those few days than she had done in her whole life; without John to share her secret with, and no mother to advise her, it felt a very scary thing to face alone.
On the fourth day, Sunday, Margaret finally felt well enough to leave the house. She attended church as she always did, Dixon accompanying her and holding her arm rather more tightly than usual. On her return, Mrs Thornton caught her trying to sneak past the drawing room door.
"Margaret?" Hannah called out.
Margaret stopped as she placed one foot into the stairs; she should have known she could not avoid the elder Mrs Thornton forever. Indeed, on the rare occasions she had left her bedroom the past few days, she had run as quickly as possible from room to room to avoid her mother-in-law. It was childish, but she did not wish to discuss it whilst feeling so wretched.
"Yes, Hannah?" Margaret asked, resigning herself to the fact she could no longer avoid her mother-in-law.
"Would you come in for a moment?"
Hannah sat at the dining table, paperwork spread in front of her. She would be doing the household accounts, as she did every week. Margaret walked in and sat opposite her, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.
"Dixon tells me you have been unwell." Hannah did not look up from her work, crossing lines through something. "I have been hoping to catch you, for she will not allow me anywhere near you."
"Yes." Margaret said, shifting in her chair. Her back throbbed in protest against being pinned into place by the chair's rigid frame and she could not get comfortable. "I feel a little better now."
"Good." Mrs Thornton nodded. She looked up from her work, and Margaret knew that there was no use hiding her secret. "Margaret, if you ever - if you ever need to speak with me about anything. If you need advice-"
Margaret wondered if perhaps she looked different; from the way Hannah's eyes kept drifting to Margaret's midsection, there was no doubting that she knew. Hannah was trying to be kind, offering Margaret support when her husband was so far away. It would not do to reject it outright.
"No. I am fine now, I promise you." Margaret said quickly. "I - Hannah, if you suspect what I think you suspect, might we refrain from discussing it until I have had a chance to tell John?"
"Very well." Hannah nodded. "But should you need help with anything at all, tell me. I know John would not want you to feel you are alone in this."
"I agree. And while I thank you for your offer of help most sincerely it just - it just feels wrong to tell other people when he is not here."
"Have you not written to him?" Hannah raised an eyebrow. "He would want to know."
"I have tried." Margaret said, twisting her fingers in guilt. "A dozen letters, screwed up in the fireplace of our study. The words did not come. In the end I ran out of paper and sent him the most messy letter full of corrections and crossing out. He will think me most strange for sending such a scrappy piece of news to him."
Hannah's lips quirked upwards, just slightly. Margaret saw so much of John in her. She wondered if the child she prayed was inside her would resemble the Thorntons as strongly. She hoped so. John was a most handsome man but it was more than that - Margaret had come to admire their careful nature, their secret humour hidden beneath the surface. Fanny was surely a changeling, for she carried very little of her mother and brother in her.
"Very well. I'll make sure your secret stays safe until he returns. He'll be that happy, I'm certain he'll jump for joy."
"I am sure. We both wished for this very much." Magraret said, her voice soft thinking of just how much she had longed for a child.
"I am pleased for you." Hannah said with a small smile. "Whenever you decide to tell me properly, I shall be happy for you."
Perhaps she did not need to be so coy; Hannah Thornton could be trusted implicitly. If Fanny were here, things would be different. John would not be so cross if his beloved mother found out before him; after all, it could not be helped. Margaret was sure he would rather she were not completely alone in this.
"I think you will make a fine grandmother." Margaret said, daring to say the words aloud. "Again."
"I don't know what you're talking about." Mrs Thornton did not look up from her work, though she reached out across the paper strewn table and briefly patted Margaret's hand. "Anything you need, Margaret."
The early stage of the pregnancy was not an easy time for Margaret. She could barely eat for weeks, so overcome by nausea and fatigue that even getting out of bed felt like an impossible task. Hannah coaxed her to at least eat something, bread or broth, but there was little she could tolerate. She slept restlessly each night, the little sleep she managed disturbed by the most vivid dreams she had ever had. Dreams of John, angry that she had not told him. Dreams of dying, of leaving her husband and child alone. She woke up each night in a sweat, tears rolling down her face.0
After much coaxing from both Hannah and Dixon, Margaret agreed to call for Doctor Donaldson in early October. A quick examination confirmed that she was, indeed, expecting a child.
Having her greatest hopes confirmed lifted her spirits, though she still missed her husband bitterly. It had not been an easy thing to feel so unwell while also carrying an almost overwhelming guilt at keeping such an important secret from him. That night, she sat down at her desk and wrote the shortest letter of her life - surely it would be a waste of money to even post it, but she felt she could not rest until it was sent.
John,
I need you. Come home.
M
Margaret hoped that John would be home soon. A letter from him had arrived that morning, dated from the day before. Margaret was amazed it had arrived so quickly, but she was glad of it. He was back in England, staying overnight in London, and he would be home any time now. His mother was eager to see him, Margaret knew, but had excused herself to visit Fanny. There was something important Magraret had to tell John, and she needed to be alone with him. She was grateful to her mother-in-law for the space she had given them, without Margaret having to ask.
Her heart raced, and her feet would not stay still. Her hands could not remain idle, they had to be kept busy at all times. She had conducted the day's lessons as usual, and then she had cleaned the school room as much as she could in the dimming light, written four letters, rearranged John's books alphabetically, tidied her own side of the desk, refilled all the ink pots in the house, plumped all the cushions twice - and still she could not rest.
She was sitting in their study drumming her fingers against the wood of the desk when she heard the front door slam shut. She looked up, startled by the sudden noise. Nobody else would close a door so heavily. Her heart was in her mouth as she heard John call out for her.
"I am in the study." She called, pulling herself up and smoothing her dress. She wondered if she would look different to him; plumper, perhaps. Three months had passed since she had last seen him, and there was no denying that her body had changed.
"Margaret." He opened the door and practically ran to her with his arms outstretched, holding her close and peppering her hair with kisses.
He felt cold against her; his coat, which he had not had bothered to remove in his urgency to see her, was damp from the driving rain that had not abated all week. His chin was stubbled as he rubbed it against her forehead, as though he were a cat greeting his owner. He smelt like smoke and soap, and she breathed him in. She kissed his neck, circling her arms tightly around his waist and reaching up to kiss his chin. In his urgency to see her, he had not even removed his hat.
She reached up and took it off for him, setting it on the desk beside them. His hair had grown longer, and he looked rather unkempt as several days of stubble had settled on his chin. It was somewhat funny to see a man so regimented look even just a little scruffy.
"I am so pleased you are back." Margaret said into his neck, clinging onto him as she stood on tiptoes. "I have read stories in the newspaper of how rough the Channel has been this past week, I was terrified you would not come back to me."
"I'll always come back to you." John murmured, kissing her firmly. He pulled back, his hands stroking at her cheeks. "I'm sorry for worrying you. The seas were rough, but I'm home now."
"I am so glad you are back safely." Margaret smiled. "Oh, I have missed you. These past months have been near unbearable without you."
"I've missed you something fierce, Maggie." He told her, touching his cold nose to hers. "You look more beautiful than ever. Let me take you to bed."
Margaret almost laughed; he wasted no time in his seduction. However much she had dreamed of his touch these past few months, common sense overrode the desire for him that she could already feel building in every inch of her body. It was early, and his mother would be desperate to see him at dinner when she returned. It would not do to come down for dinner with wild hair and red faced complexions. Besides, there was something more pressing to discuss.
"John, I need to tell you something." Margaret said, the words almost swallowed as he peppered her face and neck with kisses.
She pushed him gently back, breaking contact with his mouth. Still, it did not deter his gentle pawing at her body.
"Can't it wait?" He asked, his fingers already playing with the buttons down the back of her dress. "It's been three months."
"John I-"
She sighed breathlessly as his hand came to settle on her breast, though he squeezed too hard and she yelped in pain. He stepped back immediately. His face
twisted with guilt, visibly surprised at such a reaction when that was how he had always touched her.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you. Perhaps I am a little over eager after so long away." He apologised, his fingers stroking the curls that hung on her forehead.
His touch was soft and tender now, and it melted her heart. Oh, she was so glad to have him back.
"John, I need to speak with you." She straightened herself. "But not here. Come, upstairs."
He followed her, and as she turned her head to look at him he looked almost white with panic. What did he think she was about to tell him?! That the mill had collapsed, and nobody thought to write to him? She almost laughed.
She held the door to their bedroom open for him, ushering him in and closing it behind them. She gestured for him to sit on the bed, which he did so with a look of utter confusion at his wife's somewhat erratic behaviour.
"Margaret, enough. What has happened?"
"I-" Margaret had thought about how she would tell him, but now the time had come, she could not find the words. "John I-"
The words died on her tongue, swallowed by the anxiety she felt in the pit of her stomach. The words would not come, and his face grew increasingly tight as she kept him waiting. Still, she could not speak.
"Damn it Margaret, what is going on?" He spat, his hands tense by his side. "What has happened, woman?"
"It is good news, it is good!" She said quickly, his sharp tone irritating her. "Hold your tongue, do not call me woman!"
John exhaled, rubbing at his temples as he muttered an apology. Margaret could not stand still, and she realised she had been pacing backwards and forwards. Little wonder he was so alarmed! She stilled herself, standing before him with her hands clasped tightly together. Still, she could not speak.
"You are scaring the life out of me, whatever's happened while I've been gone - just tell me!" John looked at her with a heavy expression, his eyes fixed on her face. Margaret smiled, readying herself for what she had to tell him.
"I-" She sat beside him and took his hand in hers. She took a deep breath, and guided it to her belly. "I'm expecting a baby."
"What?" He said, staring down at their entwined hands. "Are you sure?"
"Doctor Donaldson examined me two weeks ago, though I have had my suspicions for some time. I wanted to be absolutely sure before I contacted him. I could not bear to be told I was not. I have missed my courses these past three months, and I have never even missed one before. I feel quite terribly sick constantly, and I feel as though I have not slept in months. He is fairly certain." She said with a smile.
John did not say anything in response to her rapid explanation. He merely stared down at his wife's stomach in dumbstruck silence, his mouth hanging slightly open. Margaret felt a tear slip from her eye, and she brushed it away.
"Are you pleased?" She asked after several silent minutes had passed.
"Pleased? I'm overjoyed. Overwhelmed." His voice was soft as his fingers stroked at the boning of her corset, as if trying to bury through to her bare skin. "Do you think it happened that last night in Spain?"
Margaret flushed at the memory of it. She had thought of that night constantly; she counted it as one of the most perfect evenings they had ever shared.
"It could have been. Though, I do believe we could hardly keep our hands off one another for the entire time we were there, so who knows."
"That trip did us good then." John nuzzled her hair. "I had no idea I would come home to such news. Your last letter had me worried, I'll confess it."
"I'm sorry for worrying you. My spirits have been low, I must admit. It has not been easy without you. Now you are home and I can tell you our blessed news - oh John I am so happy." Margaret whispered. "I thought it would never happen. I did not know how to write it down. I needed to see you, I hope you are not cross."
"Have you told anyone?"
Margaret nodded; though she had not wished to tell anyone before her husband, it could not have been helped. She did not live alone, and there was only so much one could hide from a nosy servant and a mother-in-law with eyes like a hawk.
"Dixon knows, of course. In fact, she told me - I had been so busy I did not realise I missed my course and then I was terribly sick. In truth, my body has swollen so much in the last few weeks that even if I had known before her, Dixon would have to be blind not to realise. It has been a chore to fasten my dresses, she's had to tug hard just to meet it in the middle. She promised to keep it secret; she knew I wanted to tell you first. I have not been eating much, your mother has been watching me like a hawk. She knows, but agreed not to talk to me about it until I had told you."
"Are you well?" John interrupted her, visibly alarmed by the news of her loss of appetite and sickness. He clasped her hands in his. "You must eat something, Maggie. You'll sicken."
"I try, but there is hardly anything I can keep down. Strawberries. I dream of strawberries, but it is November!" Margaret laughed. "I also find myself practically existing on bread. It is the only thing that does not make me sick, in small quantities."
"I shall build you a bakery. I love you." John enthused, nudging her cheek with his nose. "I never could have guessed this is what I would come home to. Your brother sends his love; you shall have to write to him and tell him."
"Yes, I shall. How is Dolores?" Margaret said. "I have missed her company since they returned home."
Margaret had missed her sister-in-law greatly. Without her bubbling energy and seemingly endless joy and goodwill, Margaret had felt Milton and Marlborough Mills had somehow grown emptier. She wished that she had realised her condition while Dolores had still been there. It had been harder still to be without her husband once she had realised she was with child - but Margaret knew if Dolores had been here for longer, she could have shared her joy and excitement over the precious secret she carried.
"She cannot bend down, she has grown so large."
"That is no way to talk about an expectant mother!" Margaret said, trying not to laugh at the image of Dolores unable to see her toes just as she had feared. "That'll be me before too long. I think I am already growing bigger."
"Show me." John said. "Take off your dress."
"John!" Margaret said, swatting his hands away from the fastenings of her clothes. "It is not the time!"
"No, this isn't about that. I want to see you. I have missed three months of this already, let me see you."
"I shall never get this dress done up again!" Margaret protested.
In truth, though she had never been a vain person, she felt a little uncomfortable showing her new, changed body to her husband without the safety of his lust or darkness. The room was fully lit, and she would be exposed. Her body, despite the fact she had barely eaten, had grown plump and swollen with the child inside her already. It was a wonderful thing, and she thanked God in her prayers each day for it. Yet, selfishly, burningly selfishly, she could not help but worry that John would be displeased with her new, fuller figure.
"I'll help you. Please, Maggie."
His eyes, those pleading, almost ice blue eyes looked at her. Margaret nodded, turning for him to help her with the fastenings of her dress. He had not lost his touch; nimble fingers undid the tiny buttons quickly. She took off the dress and her petticoats below as he worked at the corset.
"This is too tight." He said irritably. "It can't be good for you, or the baby to be so tightly bound. Who laced you in this?"
Dixon had been feeling unwell that morning, and Martha had dressed Margaret. Perhaps it was a little tight.
"Doctor Donaldson said it is fine to wear this corset during the early stages. I have a new one, as well as several dresses, on order. Do not worry so, John."
Margaret stood in her chemise, feeling strangely anxious about what her husband would make of her figure. John had seen her bare body too many times to count, but this was different. She had changed already; her breasts swollen and tender, her once flat stomach beginning to protrude. She was sure her face had grown fatter, already rounded cheeks puffier. She was grateful for every change for each one was a sign of the child growing in her - yet she still feared he would not like what he saw.
John kneeled before her, his hands on the material of her shift just below her belly button.
"I can feel it, a little." He whispered, pressing his fingers down gently just bellow her belly button. "Just a tiny, tiny swell. Your stomach is hard, just here. Let me see."
Margaret lifted her shift and lowered her drawers a little so her stomach was bare. John gazed at it as though he were seeing straight through her. He was different, Margaret thought. Already softened by fatherhood. She could see his face relax, his shoulders slump. He traced his fingers over her belly, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to the small, almost undetectable bulge that showed the evidence of the new life within her.
"You are not angry that I did not tell you? I tried to write a dozen letters, but I could not find the words."
He looked up at her from his position on the floor. His face looked perhaps a little shocked at this sudden, unexpected news, but not angry. His hair curled around his neck, his jaw shadowed in the dim light of the room. Margaret could not stop staring at him, for he was surely the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
"You did the right thing. All I would have done was worry - and feel guilty for leaving you. I am home now, and I'll not be going away again. Not until you've had the baby. Maybe not even then."
"But you'll need to go back to Seville, to make sure-"
John shook his head.
"Fred will do it. I'm not leaving you, Margaret. I'd sooner see the mill collapse around me than be away from you for months again."
Margaret did not approve of joking of such things, but she felt a smile hopelessly tug at her lips. She did not deserve the love of this man; his eyes practically burned with it, the force of his adoration hitting her as though it were a physical force. She stepped backwards, sitting down on the bed. He rose from his knees to sit beside her, his arm wrapping around her shoulder, the other coming to rest against her stomach. He cradled her against him as they sat side by side.
"Don't say such things, my darling. I am not ill, merely expecting. You do not need to stay close to me all the time, life will continue as it always has done."
"Aye, but I'll not go to Spain again. It is too far." John said. "Have you been teaching?"
"Of course." Margaret said. "I thought perhaps I would continue until about April. As long as I can stand comfortably."
"Is it right?" John asked. "Women do not usually-"
"I used to think the same, but I have come to realise that is rather silly. What am I supposed to do, get into bed and not get out until the baby is born? I will go insane! I need to be active. When my mind is distracted, I do not feel so unwell. Besides, plenty of your own workers work well into their time. I am surprised you've not had a baby born on the factory floor."
John did not respond to that, merely looking at her with a rather stern expression. He did not usually look at her with such hardness, and though she felt he meant to be intimidating, she could not help the giggle that rose in her throat.
"Promise me you will stop as soon as you feel differently." John said. "The very moment you feel you are not up to it, you come away. I will not have you making yourself ill, do you understand me?"
"John-"
"Margaret. I do not command you often, but you will listen to me on this."
Margaret frowned.
"You are not my master, husband."
"Margaret. Please. Do not fight this. As soon as you are uncomfortable, you hand the school to Miss Williams. Yes?"
"Fine." Margaret relented. "But I shall continue my work once the child is old enough."
"Margaret-"
"John." She countered, her eyes fixed in his. "I will continue my work."
"We'll see." John said. "Is Mother here?"
Margaret could have kissed him for changing the subject. She did not wish to argue about this, not when it was so far away and she was just so happy to have him home.
"She has gone to see Fanny. She will be back soon, she knew I needed to speak with you." Margaret said, disliking the sudden coldness that seemed to have settled between them. She reached out to touch his face, but he pulled away.
She frowned, and he caught her expression. He took her hand in his, kissing the skin of her wrist all the way to her bare elbow. She smiled, giggling as his stubble tickled the delicate skin of her inner arm.
"I need to wash, I am filthy from travelling." He looked at her again, his face softening as his lips quirked up. "We're having a baby."
"Yes." Margaret agreed. "A baby of our own."
A/N: Happy Christmas Eve!
This will be my last update for 2019 (I'm currently recovering from surgery I had last week that was meant to be in the new year but got moved forward literally with a day's notice, so my writing hasn't been top priority. I'm not ready to update within the next week realistically, it'll be mid January I think.) and I just want to thank you all from the bottom of my heart for your endless support on this story. I feel like this year has really seen me develop as a writer in so many ways - but mainly I have been writing so much more consistently and that is in no small part thanks to your wonderful feedback spurring me on. It's honestly made my life better to have a creative outlet and it's brought me more confidence than I've had in a long time.
I hope you have a wonderful "holiday season" as the Americans would say, however you celebrate (or not at all) and a happy, healthy, successful 2020.