Content warning: this chapter mentions baby loss and premature birth.

"Mama, look! See? There's land!"

"I see it dear, you really do not need to shout at me." Margaret smiled, running a hand through her son's dark hair. "We will be docking soon, go and find your father."

Margaret watched as Arthur ran out of sight. Oh, he had brought such joy into their lives. She was not sure where his bright, unendingly positive personality had come from - but his dark looks gave no doubt as to who his father was. Truly, he was John's double. His hair grew rapidly, a thick dark mane that Margaret loved to run her fingers through. He was almost five and a half - and growing increasingly impatient with his mother's affection.

"Calm down, lad. You'll wake your sister."

Margaret could not fail to hear her husband's loud, commanding voice from across the deck, though somehow their children had always managed to sleep even when he spoke so closely to them. He carried a sleeping Penelope, almost three and known as Penny to her family, in his arms as he walked towards his wife.

"He's just excited!" Margaret said, pulling Arthur in close and bending down to press a kiss to his cheek. "Aren't you darling?"

That was possibly the most pointless question Margaret had ever asked - Arthur Thornton was so excited at that moment he was hopping from one leg to the other.

"I can't wait to meet my cousins! Do you think they know how to play football?" Arthur asked.

Margaret still found it amusing that her son had a thick northern accent. It was natural, of course - it would have been far more unusual if he spoke like she did. Still, it amused her to hear such a tiny boy sound so much like his father.

"You certainly don't." John muttered. "That window in the house cost a pretty penny to replace."

Margaret bit her lip; John did not have much patience for Arthur's antics. In fairness to her husband, their son seemed to draw trouble to him in a way they had never seen before. He was the most beautiful boy, but he was rather a handful.

"Go and see if you can get a better view from over there, darling. Remember, don't lean over the edge."

Arthur ran off towards the bow of the ship , earning a glare from one of the few other passengers. This crossing had been very quiet, and Arthur had thoroughly charmed most of the crew and several of the passengers - but there were those who did not approve of children being, well, children. He was a sweet child, full of curiosity but lacked discipline. Margaret had tried to be stricter, but it was as much use telling Arthur to calm down as it was asking water to be less wet.

"That lad is the strangest creature I've ever known. He's not stopped talking all day, has he?" John said, staring after their son and rubbing soothing circles on Penny's back as she began to stir. He whispered in their daughter's ear when she started to cry, little "shush" noises as he jiggled her up and down a little until she quietened.

Margaret was so transfixed by her husband and child, she forgot to reply for a moment, until John looked at her, waiting for her to speak.

"He is just excited, that's all. He is not strange. He is wonderful. It brings me great peace to see what happy children we have. I can only hope this next one is of a similar temperament."

John muttered an agreement, his fingers stroking the light brown silk of their daughter's hair. Then, realising just what his wife had said, he looked up.

"What?"

Ignoring the near audible thrumming of her heart as she told her husband the news she had been keeping from him, Margaret smiled.

"My course has not come, for the third month. I have my usual symptoms." Margaret said softly, running a finger down her daughter's cheek. "Don't tell Arthur yet. I just wanted to tell you, for I feel as though I might burst with it."

John looked at her, his jaw slack with shock. Margaret did not miss the frown that creased his brow and wrinkled the corners of his eyes. His lips quirked down, and her heart thumped a little harder in her chest.

"I thought perhaps we - we would not be blessed again." John said, looking down at the sleeping child against his shoulder.

Margaret faltered, her smile slipping as her throat tightened. The previous year had been a dark one. They had been expecting another baby, but Margaret had gone into labour unexpectedly when only seven months into her time. A little girl so tiny she lived only for an hour. Margaret thought she might die with the grief of it. The baby girl had been named May for the month of her birth and was buried alongside Margaret's mother. It gave May's bereft parents some comfort to know that the precious babe was not alone.

Margaret herself had taken a fever after the difficult birth. John had never left her side, not for a moment - he had stayed by her side for the birth, as he had promised on the night Arthur was born all those years before . She could scarcely move with the sickness, but she could hear everything. It had been a form of torture, really, to hear the despair of all those around her while unable to console them in any way. She remembered John lying on the bed and sobbing beside her in the quiet of the night. She remembered the horror of being able to do nothing to soothe him as she felt his tears falling on her shoulder, his face buried against her fevered skin. He had prayed constantly, whispered words of faith and of hope in her ear.

It had taken some months for Margaret to recover fully; even now, exhaustion came to her quickly. The loss of a child was not an easy thing to overcome, and some days the pain of wondering just what that little angel would be like if she had lived threatened to swallow Margaret whole.

"God has been kind." Margaret said softly, her hand resting on the slight swell of her stomach. "We must pray for good fortune."

Penny stirred against her father's shoulder, opening her eyes and blinking sleepily against the bright light. At the sight of her mother, Penny's round face lit up with joy. Margaret held out her arms, and Penny did the same - babbling "mama, mama, mama" in a sleep laced voice. John reluctantly handed her over, frowning slightly at being considered second best - really, he was so fond of that girl that it made Margaret's heart leap.

He was a surprisingly gentle father, even with Arthur. Though John despaired at his wild antics, love burned in his eyes whenever he looked at his eldest child. Margaret would often find the pair curled up together on Arthur's bed reading, John showing unending patience as Arthur stumbled over the words. John had already made it plain that his son would not be sent away to attend school, away from the love of his family. That had surprised Margaret, and Hannah, but both had readily agreed. Margaret knew her son would not do well at boarding school; he was too unusual.

"Hello baby. Did you sleep well?" Margaret asked as Penny clung to her neck. "Was Papa comfortable?"

"No Papa, Mama!" Penny protested, her sharp little nails digging into Margaret's neck.

"Charming." John grumbled. "I thought you said girls would like their father best. As far as I can tell, both of them are devoted to you."

"Oh hush, she has just spent the last hour asleep on you. It's Mama's turn for a cuddle, isn't it darling?"

"Mama." Penny repeated, her legs locking tighter around Margaret's waist.

Hannah had often raised a disapproving eyebrow at Margaret's physical affection with her children. Margaret did not believe in treating children as tiny adults. She endeavoured to understand their minds, why they behaved in the ways they did. She believed children longed for attention, for love - and though Arthur could run amok at times, he also tried hard at his schoolwork, was polite to all he met and had a great interest in nature. That pleased Margaret more than any stiff collared, quiet child ever would.

"They'll keep us busy in Spain. I only hope it is not too hot, I can't run around after our boy in that weather." John said, dabbing at his brow.

"It is August, darling. It will be sweltering. Dolores said it was the hottest June anybody could remember."

"Wonderful." John muttered. "Remind me why we have come in the height of summer?"

"Because you need to discuss business with Senor Barbor and I do not wish for our children to wait any longer to meet their cousins. The seas will turn rough soon and I don't want to deal with two grumpy, seasick children. Come, John, you know there is much you can do in Cadiz to pass the time."

"Aye, I know. Fred says there is another cotton field that looks promising. I'll not leave you though, not while you're expecting."

Margaret frowned.

"You only found out about it two minutes ago, darling. Do not change all your plans on my account. I'll be fine staying with Dolores and the children."

"No." John said fiercely. "I stay with you."

"John." Margaret said softly, shifting Penny's weight to her other hip. "I'll be alright."

"Let's not discuss it in front of the children." John said, his jaw tight. "Do you want to rest? I can take care of them for now, until Dixon is up."

Dixon had accompanied them on this journey in order to assist with the children - so far, she had mostly been barricaded in her cabin suffering with sea sickness.

John and Margaret had not returned to Spain since their first trip six years before. John's business had been conducted with letters, though Senor Barbor had made the trip to Milton with his eldest son more than once. It had been a good partnership, and John had several Spanish clients. Cotton clothes were rather more popular in the warm climate and demand for cloth was high.

"No, darling. I'm fine, honestly. I wish to watch land get closer. This journey has felt never ending."

"Why did you wait so long to tell me?" He asked, brushing a stray curl from Penny's forehead. "I do not like to think you have kept secrets from me."

"Perhaps I was scared." Margaret said softly. "Please, let us look forward to seeing my family. Do you think we should have told Arthur the truth about who we are seeing? I do not like the Idea of lying to him but perhaps telling him he is meeting his cousins was a mistake."

"Dolores will likely never visit Milton again, not with so many children. Arthur babbles so much I think most people have learnt to ignore half of what he says. We will not tell him Fred is your brother as such, merely that they are family. Relax, Maggie."

"I like to think the danger is not so great now that so much time has passed and we are careful but - I cannot help but worry."

"Not much we can do now we're here. Come, let us go to our room, we'll be there soon and I want you to rest. Perhaps we can pin Arthur down for long enough to smarten him up a bit."

Fred was waiting for them at the port, his hand held by a little girl who was tall and dark haired. Margaret clasped her hand to her chest; that girl looked far too grown up to be Maria. She was eight now, and the spitting image of Dolores.

"Margaret!" Fred called.

He had aged, of course, since Margaret had last seen him. He looked rather handsome, the puppy fat that had been on his face in his early twenties gone. He was thirty one now, a father of five. After the twins, Dolores had given birth twice more. A boy and a girl, Ricardo and Isabella.

"Fred!" Margaret said once they had reached him, for she was still cautious of being seen to be too familiar. Looking around on the busy dockside, she hugged him quickly and kissed his cheek. "You've grown a beard!"

"It is quite ridiculous, isn't it? Dolores loathes it. John! Good to see you. And this young fellow must be Arthur."

"Hello." Arthur mumbled from behind his father.

John prised the child off his leg, gently pushing him forward.

"Say hello properly, lad."

Fred kneeled down, matching Arthur's height, and stuck a hand out. Arthur shook it hesitantly, still unsure about this strange man.

"I have heard so many things about you. My other children cannot wait to meet you. This is Maria, my eldest daughter."

"Hello." Maria said with a bright smile. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Arthur."

Dixon emerged from the ship, grumbling as she always did, holding a squirming Penny against one hip.

"Dixon!" Fred called, smiling broadly. "Oh, how good it is to see you! You have not changed a bit."

"Now, now Master Frederick." Dixon said with a small tut. "Don't be telling fibs. Let me look at you. Aren't you quite the gentleman? Even with that terrible scruff on your face."

Margaret laughed; Dixon had become even less discreet in her advancing age, and had a rather unfortunate habit of saying whatever came into her mind. Hannah loathed it, but Margaret found it all rather amusing.

"Meet my daughter, Maria. Maria, I have told you about Dixon. You would have met her as a baby when you went to England, but she was my mother's greatest support. I know your grandmother would be glad indeed Dixon has come all this way just to see us."

Dixon's eyes watered instantly at the mention of Maria Hale.

"This is Penny, Fred." Margaret said, before Dixon had a chance to weep. "Say hello, sweetheart."

Penny merely reached out for her mother, hiding her face in her shoulder once safely in her arms. Fred chuckled.

"She is shy. She looks just like you, Migs. And Arthur the mirror of his father. All of my brood are their mother's children for certain." Fred chucked. "Hair as dark as coal and a temper just as fiery. Come, let us go home. Send your things on to the hotel, Dolores has instructed me not to keep you away from the house a moment longer than necessary."

It was agreed that Dixon would travel to the hotel with the luggage - she was exhausted after several days at sea, and wanted to rest in a bed that did not rock side to side. Margaret knew it would have been more helpful to bring one of the younger girls, but in truth she wanted Dixon to see Fred. Margaret was all too aware of the rapidly passing years, and Dixon's health was in decline with severe arthritis. The warm climate would do her the world of good, Margaret was sure.

When they arrived at Fred and Dolores' new house - for their rapidly expanding brood meant they had rather outgrown their old one - Dolores bowled out of the door and straight at Margaret. The force of the embrace nearly knocked Margaret straight over, though John caught her and steadied her.

"Careful." He said through gritted teeth.

"I'm fine! Dolores, oh I have missed you!"

"It is so good to see you! Let me look at you!" She stepped back, holding Margaret's arms as she ran her eyes over her face. Dolores spoke in a soft voice so only Margaret could hear her. "You are glowing, sister. Something to tell me?"

"I suspect it is because I am rather hot!" Margaret said, though she felt her cheeks turn red. "You look very well. You haven't changed a bit in six years, I don't believe that is fair at all!"

"Oh nonsense. Come in, come in. I must meet the children but you are right, it is very hot. John!" Dolores flung her arms around him and kissed him on each cheek. He patted her back awkwardly, and Margaret had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

Dolores retreated into the house as quickly as she had come out, a whirlwind of dark hair and smiling chatter. Margaret felt a little dazed by the whole thing.

"You'd forgotten just how affectionate she is, hadn't you?!" Fred chuckled. "She is certainly no reserved Englishwoman."

As they entered the house, Margaret was hit by the sheer noise four children created. They walked through to the garden, a walled courtyard with a few plants. Two identical boys, the same age as Arthur, wrestled over a large stick, while a little girl of Penny's age shouted at them in rapid Spanish and another boy whooped his approval.

"Children!" Dolores clapped her hands and they all stopped instantly, the stick clattering to the floor. "That will not do. You are to say hello to your aunt and uncle and stop behaving like beasts!"

"Sorry Mama." They mumbled.

They each stepped forwards and introduced themselves.

"I am Alejandro."

"I am Miguel."

Dolores cleared her throat.

"That is Alejandro." Dolores pointed to the boy who had called himself Miguel. "And that is Miguel. Behave."

"I am Ricardo." The smallest boy said. "I am four!"

He held up four fingers to demonstrate. Margaret clapped his marvellous counting skills. The little girl beside him judged him out of the way, walking over to margaret. She pointed at herself with a chubby finger.

"Isabella." She said. "Three."

"Isabella's English is not so good." Dolores explained. "She is learning, but she will not understand much we say. The rest, they have very good English. Maria is better than me!"

"Hello children." Margaret smiled. "It is good to finally meet you all at last."

"Hello Aunt Margaret." They said in unison. "Hello Uncle John."

"Hello." John nodded. "This is Arthur. Go on, son. Say hello."

"Hello. Do you know how to play football?" Arthur asked, crossing his arms and eyeing his cousins with suspicion.

"I do!" One of the twins surged forward and grabbed Arthur's arm. "We just got a new ball! Come!"

Around an hour later, the children played together in the garden in a joyously noisy whirl of activity. The girls sat on a blanket, Maria in charge of a tea party that the little ones obediently attended - their perfect manners and strange conversation attempting to mirror their mothers, who sat at a table in the shade drinking tea, rather than air.

Fred had taken John to the office, wishing discuss the latest cotton field that had come up for sale. Fred had rather taken to the industry, and the Barbor company (with the investment of Marlborough Mills) now

owned several, not only in Spain but also Egypt.

"Oh it is so lovely to be here at last." Margaret sighed. "That journey is most tiresome with the children. Arthur felt rather cooped up."

"And it cannot be easy travelling in your condition." Dolores said innocently, taking a sip of tea.

"And what condition might that be?" Margaret raised an eyebrow.

"Come sister, I have not seen you for many years but I have had enough children to know the signs. When will the baby come?"

"In the spring." Margaret relented.

"Ah, I shall beat you to it again." Dolores smiled, running a hand over her own stomach.

"No!" Margaret laughed. "You're expecting too?"

"A Christmas baby, I believe. Can you not tell? I feel like a big whale."

Dolores had truly not aged much in the passing years, despite having had so many children her figure was still as it had been when Margaret had first met her. Perhaps there was a tiny bump, when Margaret really looked.

"It is really most unfair you have kept your figure." Margaret teased. "You look wonderful."

"So do you! Now, tell me everything about Milton. Your letters are not nearly detailed enough!"

"Oh, there isn't much to tell. The mill continues to do well. Thing are improving in regards to the workers - John treats them fairly and I think they have realised that. I still run the schoolroom. What else is there?"

"Fanny and Hannah, they are well?"

"Very. Hannah thought about joining us, but decided to stay and watch over the mill instead. I am not sure she would do well in this heat."

"Hey!" A sudden shout and barked Spanish made Margaret jump, and she looked over to see that the boys had kicked their football right into the girls' tea party.

"Mama!" Penelope wailed. "Arthur!"

Margaret walked over to the chaotic argument unfurling as Maria scolded her brothers in her native tongue. Lifting Penny onto her hip, she beckoned Arthur over to her. He made his way slowly over, his cheeks flushed red and his eyes cast down.

"Apologise."

"Sorry." Arthur mumbled, hands in his pockets as he kicked at the dirt. "It weren't my fault though!"

"You still need to say sorry. I think that is enough football, it always ends in trouble."

"Si," Maria said. "These two stupid boys-"

"Maria!" Dolores said, continuing to scold her eldest daughter in Spanish, before changing back to English. "What must your aunt think of us? Control your words."

Maria scowled, before speaking again - slower this time.

"I mean my brothers are terrible at it anyway. Want to race?" She asked Arthur, grabbing his hand and pulling him to face the back wall of the garden.

"Maria!" Dolores called out as her daughter hitched up her skirt and ran the length of the garden. "Oh, she is such a wild one. She's faster than all the boys and she knows it."

She skidded to a halt against the back wall, cheering in triumph as Arthur ran to her. He did not slow down in time, slamming into his cousin at full speed. Margaret gasped, bracing herself for tears. Maria merely shoved him off her, and he pushed her back. Before long they were joined by the twins, and a brawl ensued.

"Hey!" John's voice made Margaret jump. "Enough. Arthur, off."

Arthur crawled out of the pile of children, eyes cast down. John crooked his finger, beckoning his son forward, and took him into the house without a word. Margaret knew Arthur hated being told off, and gentle as he was John still managed to be the only one commanding enough to get through to his rather stubborn son. The problem was, the discipline never seemed to stick.

"I think perhaps it is time for us to go. It has been a long day and my son has clearly forgotten his manners." Margaret said. "I am sorry, Dolores."

Dolores shrugged, her eyes glittering mischievously as she observed the rather sheepish looking children dusting themselves off.

"You know, sometimes I feel more like a zookeeper than a mother."

"Maria is more fun than Louise." Arthur yawned as he climbed into bed. "She doesn't worry about getting dirty."

"Still, you should not have pushed her like that." Margaret scolded. "It is not how a gentleman behaves, Arthur."

"I saw Papa push someone once. And call him an idiot."

"Arthur! Hold your tongue." Margaret gave him a little tap on the nose. "That is not true."

"It was in the mill!" Arthur sat up in his bed, eyes blazing at being accused of lying. "Someone was being careless with one of the spinning jennies. Papa called him a stupid ba-"

She held up a hand, wincing that her pure little boy had apparently picked up some less than savoury language from his father. Margaret did not need to hear the rest of the story. Arthur had a habit of seeing things he was not meant to, and it was no secret to her that John - transformed as he had been in private by marriage and fatherhood - still had a fearsome reputation amongst his workers.

"Enough. Your father has a temper, but he would certainly never push a woman. You must mind your manners, my darling. What would Grandmother make of that?"

"She would scold me." Arthur said, pouting as he settled back against the pillow. "Don't tell her, please."

"If we return to Milton with a list of all the things you have done that Grandmother Thornton would not approve of, we would never talk about anything else!"

"Why do they all talk funny, Mama?"Arthur asked, expertly shifting the subject away from his own behaviour.

"They are speaking Spanish, darling. Remember, I tried to teach you some words before we came?"

"Oh-lar." Arthur duly parroted, the elongated vowels and brusque northern twang sending his mother into a fit of giggles. "My armooo is Arthur."

The terrible mix of Spanish and English tickled Margaret. She had learned a little of the language herself, and wrote letters to her sister-in-law in both Spanish and English. Usually, Spanish was utilised if John had annoyed her in some way and she wished to be rude about him without risking him seeing.

"Perfect, dear. Oh you do make me laugh."

"Shouldn't he be asleep?" John's deep voice filled the room, and Arthur immediately snapped his eyes shut and pulled the blanket up over his face.

Margaret pulled the cover back down, smoothing it out as she whispered gently scolding words that feigning sleep would fool nobody. She brushed the hair from her son's face, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Arthur opened one eye, reaching up to stroke Margaret's hair in return. Margaret caught his wrist and brought his arm back to his side, but not before kissing his tiny little hand. He would grow up so quickly, he would be expected to act like a man before long - these snatched moments with her first born were precious to her.

"Goodnight Mama. Goodnight Papa."

"Night son." John ruffled the boy's dark mop as Arthur closed his eyes properly, exhausted by all the excitement of the day.

John offered his arm to Margaret, helping her up off the bed. She smoothed out her skirts, hand on her back. She could already feel the familiar dull ache in her spine that came with each of her pregnancies.

"Did Penny settle?" Margaret asked as she closed the door to the children's room. "You should have brought her in with you, you know she cannot be trusted to be on her own."

Penelope had a curiosity for everything; left alone for more than a moment, she would pull down books, climb on furniture - anything that was within her reach.

"Don't worry, Maggie. She's fast asleep on your pillow."

"I shall move her into the crib. Oh, if your mother were here she would be berating us terribly for being so indulgent with the pair of them. Dixon is terribly tired in this heat, I forget she is getting older. The children adore her but I do not like to ask too much of her. And I do so love tucking them into bed. Perhaps we should have brought Martha as well."

John shook his head; though they had help with the children, neither liked to hand over too many of the duties of parenthood to servants. Margaret balanced her time between helping in the schoolroom and looking after the children. Emma, formerly Miss Williams but now Mrs Marks, was married and a mother herself. She had trained Mary Higgins to assist with some lessons, as well as a more experienced teacher who had been hired using an advertisement in a newspaper.

The schoolroom had expanded beyond that tiny, cramped shed in the yard. Margaret had converted the house where she had once lived alone before marriage into a proper schoolhouse. It was a little further from the mill, but the children could be divided into age groups more effectively in the larger rooms. There was space, too, for the teachers to live if they so wished. Still, Margaret felt as though she did not have time for everything she wished to achieve.

"I feel like I scarcely see them from one week to another. Let me have some time with you all, just us."

"You do your best, darling. Oh - you need to watch your tongue. That little rascal of ours has overheard some rather ripe language in the mill. He saw you push someone."

"I've told him time and again to stay out of the mill, it isn't safe." John said, ignoring the other intricacies of the story.

"I know, and I shall speak with him about it. It is the pushing and the swearing I had the issue with."

"When people stop acting like damned fools, I will stop treating them as such." John countered.

Margaret knew she would not win this particular argument; in the years they had been married, John's temper had never flared towards her. However, to show the same gentleness he gave towards his family to his workers and his business associates would be an impossibility.

"Oh, look at her." Margaret sighed, sitting down beside the sleeping child curled into a ball against her mother's pillow. "Sometimes I cannot believe we created such beautiful children."

"It's you, not me." John shrugged. "That girl is all her mother."

"How can you say such a thing when Arthur is your absolute double?! Your mother said it is just as though she is looking at you as a boy again."

John chuckled.

"It's the hair. He certainly does not share my temperament."

Margaret ran her fingers through the hair in question . It was greying slightly now; he was almost forty, yet she felt age had only made him more handsome. When she was younger, she did not think it was possible to love him any more than she did already. Yet all their years together, the good and the bad times they had shared had only served to strengthen the undying love she had for her husband. She adored him, relied on him - treasured him.

"Perhaps not. But that is good for us, good for you - it keeps us all on our toes. I know how much you love him."

"Of course. I just worry he'll never buckle down."

"He is not even six yet!" Margaret laughed. "What would you have him do, read Plato and drink brandy?"

"Hmm."

"Are you pleased about the new baby?" Margaret asked softly. She brushed her hand against Penny's and smiled as she gripped her hand tightly even in sleep.

"Aye. Worried too, I'll not lie. You were so ill, Maggie. I thought you were going to die - I feel like you have only just recovered."

"We cannot change it now." Margaret whispered. "We have hardly been chaste, it was bound to happen sooner or later."

"I know."

"Do not tell her I told you, but Dolores is expecting again."

"Must you do everything together?" John asked, reaching over and rubbing Margaret's stomach. "What are you thinking, boy or girl? You've been right each time so far."

"I think it too early to guess." Margaret said, though she could not suppress the smile that crept onto her face.

John narrowed his eyes as he looked at her carefully.

"I think you're telling fibs, Mrs Thornton."

"Fine, I think it will be a boy."

Margaret, as she would find out some months later, was only half right. In fact, she carried not one baby but two - a boy and a girl. They would be named Joseph and Susannah - the last children John and Margaret would ever have, the final pieces of their family.

Many years after she had married John, Margaret would look back on her twenties with great fondness. So much had changed in those formative years; living in Milton, understanding lives that differed so greatly to her own. She had come to understand so much about the growing importance of industry and trade - the indelible impact they would have on the world only becoming clearer to her as she aged. And of course, the love that had grown - slowly, mind - between her and John. A love that had changed the entire course of her life.

Their children grew strong and healthy - and so quickly that Margaret found herself wondering just where the years had gone. They were grown with families of their own in what felt like a blink of an eye.

Margaret had not expected her life to turn out as it had, but every day she thanked God for each of her blessings. There had been times that had tested them all, yet there was so very much to be thankful for.

Thank goodness, she thought most nights as John got into bed beside her, that she had caught that particular train back to London all those years ago.

The End

A/N: A heartfelt thank you to everyone who has read this story. Your reviews and messages have meant so much to me and I have loved every moment of following these two after the TV went dark..

If you'd like to keep up to date with what I'm writing, please follow me on twitter under my pen name claudialomond.

Thank you so much - hopefully I'll see you soon with more North and South fanfiction.