Hi, I hope everyone is keeping well. I hope you liked the last chapter, there wasn't a lot of feedback on it, but hopefully you enjoyed it all the same. I think if it were to be given a blurb, then it would be: "The one where John comes up with as many rude words beginning with the letter L as possible to insult Lennox."

Anyway, me being me, I've written too much, so decided to make this a 3-part chapter instead. Now, no grumping, because a lot of hard work has gone into writing this over the past few days. I'll post part 3 tomorrow. It's written, I just need to tweak a bit.

In connection to a social media campaign I'm doing with some other writers, as much as all positive comments are super appreciated, we are encouraging people not to write something along the lines of: "Great chapter, post the next one soon," or, "hurry up with the next update." Let's try and work together to give writers a bit more appreciation for their hard work and to encourage readers to pause and savour each chapter as it comes.

Lastly, a friend of mine says that she likes to play a drinking game when she is reading my stories. She says she takes a shot every time I use alliteration and that she is always hammered by the end of the first paragraph – ouch! But fair enough! So, if you're bored this Valentines' weekend and fancy a silly game, then by all means, read and drink up!


CHAPTER 27:

NO MORE MISUNDERSTANDINGS

PART 2 OF 3

Both man and woman present were knocked for six, rendered speechless by the directness of John's answer, neither of them having suspected for a moment that it would have been offered with such unbridled bluntness.

It was abrupt, it was discourteous, it was shameless.

But by God, it was heartfelt!

John himself was afforded little time to consider the cause of his hasty guilelessness, but on reflection, he knew exactly why he had been so utterly uncompromising in the integrity of his confession.

It was terribly simple really.

In normal circumstances, John was a staunchly private man, one who rarely gave way to his feelings, even to himself, let alone indulging in senseless displays of emotion. In all his thirty years, he had seldom discussed his frame of mind with others, and if he ever had, it had only ever fallen on his own mother's ears. He found such ruminations pointless and somewhat pathetic, believing that they held no purpose, no means of promoting his personal or professional concerns. Therefore, to find himself acknowledging the most sacred desires of his heart to Margaret's mother of all people, well, it was unexpected to say the least.

All the same, his passionate behaviour over recent days, weeks and months had taken him by surprise, leaving John wondering whether his once durable and reserved sense of self-restraint had been broken beyond repair the moment he had first laid eyes on Miss Margaret Hale. Nevertheless, tonight, he knew the cause of his earnestness. In truth, John was exhausted. He was beset by a scourge of physical and psychological stresses that attacked him from every side, and his heart harboured too heavy a burden for him to carry alone any longer.

So, this evening, he had no more strength left to fight, and on hearing Mrs Hale's uncompromising question, John had crumbled and confessed without so much as a shred of self-control. Perhaps if this had been three days ago, things would have been different. John would most likely have held firm to his semblance of formality, the stoic silence he was well known for, that dignity that was fostered by self-denial and self-discipline, two characteristics that had been his constant companions for many years. However, after all the chaos that had transpired over the past seventy-two hours, John found that he could no longer struggle through this wilderness of disillusionment and wretchedness, now refusing to participate in this sham in which he had to pretend that all was well.

But most importantly of all, John would not be made to feel guilty about his feelings for Margaret. No, he knew that he had wronged her, he knew that he had proved himself unworthy, yet despite the trail of mistakes that lay strewn behind him in his wake, John's intentions towards her remained pure. He would not deny his respect and regard, he would not be ashamed of his affection for that glorious angel. So, it was for that reason above all else that John had affirmed his love for Margaret so freely to her mother. In short, it was a fortuitous combination of fatigue and fidelity which unravelled the mill master's reticence this night.

As she listened to his declaration, Mrs Hale felt a great weight lift from her shoulders, offering the poorly woman some sorely needed peace. It was wonderful to finally be certain of the truth, and now, the path ahead of her appeared seamlessly straightforward, with no bumps to impede her journey, one that had felt endless until this pivotal point, this decisive fork in the road.

With renewed faith, she hummed: 'I thought as much.'

John, who had been staring at the fractured arm of the chair with a brooding mope, suddenly snapped back into life and gazed at her in bewilderment.

So, she knew?

But John still had many questions left unanswered, because he felt none the wiser in understanding the inexplicable situation that he now found himself in, seeing as Mrs Hale's conduct, enquiries and reactions were certainly not what he had been expecting when he had walked into this house tonight.

More to the point, where the blazes was Margaret anyway?!

Sensing his bafflement, Mrs Hale chuckled knowingly. 'Oh! I can assure you, young man, when you are confined to a sickbed day after day, with only four walls to look at…well, your mind becomes bored stiff and in its desperation for diversion, it wanders to the most surprising of places and persons. And three days ago, ─ goodness, was it only three days?' she mused with astonishment. 'If this little saga had been a novel, then it would have gone on forever,' she quipped.

John could not help but let out his own snort of amused agreement.

'At any rate, sitting here for the past three days, I have been reflecting. I have thought a great deal about my dear daughter, and, in turn, I have thought about you,' she said, her hand fluttering towards him as if to signify that John really was the living, breathing embodiment of the person who had been monopolising her thoughts of late. To be sure, after all the troublesome to-do that had unfolded, Mrs Hale was herself surprised to find Mr Thornton actually sitting before her in the flesh.

Swallowing thickly, John found that his throat was constricted, as if a viper had him in its grasp. 'I do not understand,' he rasped at last.

'Nor did I,' Mrs Hale conceded warmly.

However, as she regarded her guest, Mrs Hale spied the shadow of insecurity flit across his tense face, and she realised that far from being relieved by her revelation, he was, if anything, more muddled than ever. Watching him carefully, she sensed that the cogs of his well-oiled mind were turning frantically, wondering what she knew, who had told her, how long she had known for, and why she was now informing him of it.

Oh dear! The poor pet must have been scared silly!

It seemed that despite his undeniable intelligence, Mr Thornton's inherent lack of self-worth would require the mother to take him by the hand and guide him through this distorted and disorientating maze of misunderstandings, until, at last, he came out the other side, his course clear, everything once again uninhibited by the darkness of errors, the web of lies spun by sorrow and spite.

'I assure you, Mr Thornton, I too have been baffled by this whole situation,' she reassured him, keen that he should not feel isolated in his incomprehension. 'Nevertheless, with patience and persistence, I have slowly but surely come to understand, and, I hope after our little conversation, so shall you. I have been solving a puzzle, you see, and would very much like to share my findings with you,' Mrs Hale invited.

John nodded, but all the same, his brow still wrinkled in confusion.

'I still do not understand,' the master repeated. 'You think me worthy of your daughter?'

Mrs Hale felt her heart cry as she heard the small and self-deprecating lilt to his baritone tenor.

'I do,' she consented confidently. 'And so does Margaret.'

John scoffed, a great deal louder and more sneeringly than he had intended. 'No she does not!' he disputed, most adamantly indeed, his arms folding across his chest in that way they did when he felt defensive, a tactic designed to intimidate his enemies and keep them at bay.

Mrs Hale was taken aback by the force of his conviction. Not being accustomed to such commanding mannerisms, she flinched in response, her bottom rising a full three inches into the air. 'Why do you say that?' she queried.

John began to rake his fingers through his hair in agitation, unsure of where to start and even less certain of how much to give away. He did not want to conceal anything from Mrs Hale, he hated deceit, but at the same time, he also did not wish to abuse Margaret's trust and disclose matters that she would rather remain confidential.

'I do not know how much you are aware of, Mrs Hale, but I can verify most emphatically that your daughter thinks very little of me,' John stated pessimistically, a downcast glower darkening his features. 'But I will not relinquish my feelings for her, if that is what you want,' he asserted, his eyes suddenly sparkling with fervour. 'And I will not make her wed me to suit propriety. No, I want to marry Miss Hale, very much so, but I will not make her my unwilling bride,' John rebelled, defiance strumming the chords of his deep timbre.

Mrs Hale gazed at the man before her. He looked so defeated as he cast his eyes to the floor, his shoulders slumped, his emotions trampled, his spirits drained. Gentle soul that she was, Mrs Hale could not bear to see him so wounded. Leaning forward, the mother tenderly rested her small hand atop his much larger one and took a deep breath.

'She loves you.'

Years later, whenever John thought back on that moment, he could swear that for a second, just a second mind, his heart stopped.

All John could ask with a gravelly croak was a rather undignified: 'What?'

Mrs Hale smiled. 'Margaret loves you,' she reiterated plainly.

As fast as a flash of lightening, and with just as much vigour, John abruptly stood, his chair scraping across the floor, and he started marching around the room in the most alarming distress.

'It is not true!' John agonised; his jaw taut. 'I wish it were true! You have no idea how much I wish it.' God! – he was suffocating in here, he needed to get out, but he could not leave.

'I can assure you that she does!' Mrs Hale promised, her pitch shrill, anxious for him to heed the honesty of her words. 'I would have allowed Margaret to tell you of all this herself, I wish she could have, it is her right after all. But I did not trust that the two of you would not let your insufferable stubbornness and shyness get in the way!' she explained, her fretful eyes following him as he stalked around the room, his long strides taking him back and forth between the closed door and the mantel. If he went on like this for much longer, then he would wear a hole in her rug.

'I feared that you would both only have created more misunderstandings for yourselves. I worried that it would only have served to prolong your separation and your suffering. I thought it best to speak to you directly at first, Mr Thornton, to ascertain for certain the nature of your relationship with my daught ─'

'There is no relationship!' John cut in gruffly, his fist clenching by his side in aggravation, the glow of the fire throwing menacing shadows across his wandering form.

John was going mad. What was this nonsense that Mrs Hale was jabbering on about? These falsehoods that only sought to torment him. Was she stupid? Or misinformed? Or facetious? He did not know what was worse, but whatever she was, it was damned tortuous!

Mrs Hale clutched at her Bible with trembling hands, feeling as jittery as a plate of jelly, but she refused to give in to her timidity, not now that Mr Thornton was finally here and uncovering the truth. No, she could not give way to spinelessness, this was no time to be faint hearted, not when she owed it to Margaret to be brave.

Taking a deep breath, Mrs Hale forged ahead. 'All the same, I wanted to be sure. I appreciate that none of this is customary and is probably dreadfully difficult for you. I am most sorry for it, Mr Thornton!' she apologised, troubled by his evident anguish. 'Believe me, if my mother had told my beau on my behalf that I loved him, then I would have been livid. But the two of you left me with no choice. I did not want to send you to Margaret if I too had misunderstood your intentions as she herself had. I could not stand for her to be left without hope yet again. I would not see her broken-hearted, to have her cry over you anymore.'

John stopped abruptly in his tracks and turned as pale as milk. 'Cry?' he spluttered.

Had Margaret been crying? Over him?

'Did I make her cry?' he asked with a shudder, unable to stomach such a disturbing thought.

Perceiving his anxiety, Mrs Hale judged it best to dispense with the riddles and to clarify matters for the poor mill master, the dear lamb looking hopelessly lost, astray in a strange bedroom, with a strange woman, being told strange proclamations. 'Perhaps I had better explain everything from the beginning,' she suggested. 'I have disclosed all of this to Margaret, so it is only fair that you are equally informed,' Mrs Hale recommended, motioning for her visitor to return to his chair so that they might continue the conversation in a more civilised fashion.

At length, John nodded, and he took a pew, although, this time, he sat right on the edge, tilting forward so far that the sharp corner of the seat stabbed his backside.

'As I was saying,' Mrs Hale resumed, forcing herself to remain calm. 'I was contemplating what Margaret's future would be like and what sort of man would make her happy,' she restated. 'Then, out of nowhere, you came to mind. I was perplexed at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I gathered that I had been aware of something developing between you and my daughter for some time. I had noticed the way you were with each other. Small things, things that I can hardly describe, they seem so inconsequential when I say them out loud. Just…the way you looked at each other. The way you talked to each other. The way you argued. The way you both lit up when the other was around.' Mrs Hale knew that she was prattling, but at least she was getting it all out, which, for a woman who would not usually say boo to a goose, was quite an achievement.

John compressed his lips into a thin line of displeasure. 'That was just me,' he claimed, mortified to think that his fascination with Margaret, his fondness for her had been so obvious for all to see. He felt like some droll exhibit on display at the zoo. Next thing he knew, Mrs Hale would be selling tickets, and all of Milton would flock to see the Master of Marlborough Mills make a fool of himself in this side-splitting, rib-tickling spectacle of the laughable twit trying to woo the pretty princess.

'I was the one interested in getting to know her. I was the one who found satisfaction in her company. I was the one who wished to progress our association from being more than acquaintances. Believe me, the pleasure was all mine, the infatuation was, as I have since learned, completely one-sided,' he griped, his teeth gnawing in frustration at being made to look as foolish as a court jester.

'No, I can assure you, she felt the same way,' Mrs Hale guaranteed.

John grumbled. He was beginning to think this woman was as nutty as a fruitcake. No wonder that dragon Dixon had been so quick to show him upstairs, she knew what fate awaited her least favoured visitor in this den of lunacy.

Touché, Dixon!

Nonetheless, Mrs Hale was not going to let Mr Thornton waylay her with his blinkered self-doubt, so she decided to jostle things along a bit. 'At any rate, as I was thinking, I began to query a few pieces of my puzzle which did not quite fit. For one, I wondered why it had been so long since you had come here. I tried to guess why you had suspended your lessons with my husband,' she mused.

John shifted uncomfortably in the chair. 'I have been busy,' he mumbled guiltily.

'Humbug!' Mrs Hale rebuked, in no frame of mind to be fed fibs, her eyes flashing with irritation. 'As I was saying, I sought to decipher why you had stopped coming to the house without notice or explanation. I also tried to understand why my Margaret had suddenly become so miserable, so terribly sad.'

'She has been sad?!' John fretted, lurching forwards, his shaky pitch betraying his worry, and, if one listened carefully, just a pinch of hope thrown in there too.

'She has indeed,' Mrs Hale verified, gratified by his palpable alarm, for all women are inherently pleased when they find that a man is anxious for her welfare, or in this case, concerned on behalf of a loved one. 'And I now know why, but I shall come to that,' she promised, determined that this chat would not only prove illuminating, but would also be conducted logically.

'So, in light of these mystifying uncertainties and my own accumulating theories, I resolved that I had no option but to bring the two of you together. So, I decided to invite you to tea. Well, I concluded that Margaret should visit you and unwittingly tempt you to tea, that seemed like the most appealing nudge to get you here. I knew that you would not be able to resist such an attractive offer. I had to get you both in the same room, you must understand, so that I could observe you together,' she confessed, her eyes darting to take in his shocked expression.

Mrs Hale blushed and dropped her gaze diffidently to the Bible on her lap, so that she could distract herself by smoothing out the creased corners, her cheeks flushed as she felt his disapproval burning into her, branding her as a meddlesome mother.

'Oh! I know, it was wrong of me!' she blustered, not accustomed to being scolded. 'Have no fear, Mr Thornton, Margaret has already told me off! However, as I believe I have explained, young man, I did not have the luxury of time. I could hardly wait for the two of you to resolve your misunderstandings on your own now, could I? We may have been here until the rapture!' she puffed, trying to justify herself.

However, much to her surprise, Mr Thornton did not look offended, but rather, intrigued, even a smidgen impressed.

'That is not what I was thinking,' he replied, his tone lightsome. 'I was thinking that you are not as doddery as you seem, madam,' he added, giving her a discerning smile. Blimey! His mother would be gobsmacked to discover that Mrs Hale was no half-baked ninny after all.

Mrs Hale sighed in relief. 'Indeed, I am not, good sir,' she granted with a conspiratorial titter. Still, this was no time to dilly-dally, because as she glanced at her clock, Mrs Hale noted that she had no more than thirty-four minutes left until her daughter was due home. Oh dear! – she had better look sharp!

'Now then,' she continued swiftly. 'What I saw on that night was two people very much in love with each other.'

John's good humour soon wilted, and his grin sunk into a grimace. 'It is not true; she does not love me!' he snapped, flopping back in his chair like a flounder.

'Oh! Fiddlesticks! None of that now! I do not have time for such poppycock!' Mrs Hale nipped crossly; her chin raised in haughty defiance. As John sat back and allowed himself to be reprimanded, he suddenly had a sense of being rebuked by an older version of Margaret, and the vision both alarmed and amused him in equal measure.

Mrs Hale pulled her shawl further around her shoulders to shield them from the frosty breeze that blew in from beneath the door. Really! – she had no idea how people could survive in this arctic climate without losing their fingers and toes. 'I have already been through all this hogwash with Margaret,' she groused. 'I am not prepared to go through it again. Her refusal to believe that you care for her was exhaust ─'

'She thinks I do not care for her?!' John exclaimed, unable to contain his angst.

'Well of course she does!' Mrs Hale carped. 'After the way you've behaved, she thinks you despise her!' Mrs Hale answered spitefully, partially out of impatience for all his interrupting, and partially to chide him for his poor treatment of Margaret in making her believe he was indifferent to her.

'Where is she? Where is Mar ─ Miss Hale?' John asked abruptly, desperate to see her for a list of reasons that stretched from here to the moon and back. 'I need to apologise for my conduct without delay!' he insisted, his blood pumping with a rekindled oomph.

'You may see her only if and when I deem it appropriate,' Mrs Hale retorted brusquely.

However, spying his face, which was so flat that it reminded her of one of Dixon's deflated puff-pastries, she soon felt pity overcome her maternal indignation. 'Come now, Mr Thornton, do not look so glum, it is not as bad as all that. It is not too late to set things right, you will see,' she bolstered. 'Now, the sooner you let me finish my story, the sooner I can help you start the next unwritten chapter, and we can put this whole sorry mess to bed.' At this, Mrs Hale reddened at her unfortunate phrasing, for the connotations that arose from suggesting Mr Thornton and Margaret put anything to bed was most improper indeed.

Nevertheless, thankfully, the man was too distracted by his despondency to notice her faux pas. 'Now then, where was I? I do wish you would not interrupt…Oh, yes! ─ I saw two people very much in love. I mean, you with those flowers. Margaret baking those biscuits, she does not even like ginger!'

'I know! She prefers cake, I did think that odd,' John chimed in, although, he would certainly not be divulging when and where Margaret had told him she favoured cake.

'Yes,' Mrs Hale answered vaguely, baffled by the embarrassed tint that coloured Mr Thornton's ears. After all, what could be more innocent than cake? 'In any case, there was more. You should have seen her before you came, what a nervous nelly. I think she must have checked herself in the mirror a dozen times or more,' Mrs Hale giggled.

A slight smile curled the corner of John's lips. 'Did she really?' he asked hopefully, trying not to sound overly eager. 'She was nervous? To see me?'

'As nervous as a kitten!' Mrs Hale smirked. 'I think Margaret dearest was worried she would not look her best.'

At this titbit of gossip, John's mouth fell open. 'She looked bea ─,' he blurted out involuntarily, but he soon halted his tongue, clipping it between his teeth, wincing as he bit the same spot he had earlier. 'Miss Hale looked very well,' he amended, striving to sound more restrained in his reverence of the ravishing woman he found more alluring than he dared confess. 'She always does,' he mumbled into his palm as he scratched his sideburns.

'I am glad you approved, I thought you would,' Mrs Hale grinned like a Cheshire cat, delighted that her rouse had worked a treat. If there was one thing the mischievous mother enjoyed, it was lovingly and harmlessly poking fun at her friends and family. She did remind herself that Mr Thornton was technically neither of these things to her, but with any luck, he would be before the night was out. 'She really did look enchanting! Margaret is so naturally pretty, quite beguiling.'

You can say that again, thought John, just grateful that he had remembered not to say it out loud.

'Then there was you working yourself up into a right stew, all apprehensive about where she was, checking the door as often as you blinked. I must say, you are both most poor at disguising your fixation with each other. Margaret rushing to your side and tending to your hand with such care,' she went on, noticing the way her guest peered at his bandaged hand, his eyebrows raised, wondering if there had been more to Margaret's attentive nursing than he had previously realised. 'Then there was you staring at her most unashamedly. Yes, sir, you were staring,' she repeated categorically after noticing the way John screwed up his face. 'Of course, there was the two of you getting jealous.'

'Jealous?' John echoed. Oh boy! – what did Mrs Hale know? Was this woman sitting up here day after day staring into a bleedin' crystal ball? But wait, had she said that the both of them had been jealous? That could not be right.

Mrs Hale dabbed the corner of her eye with her handkerchief, wiping away the tears that had formed while she had been chuckling at the young couple's charming silliness. 'Yes, Margaret was jealous of Anne Latimer. Well, she still is, I suppose.'

John's jaw fell to the floor. 'Anne Latimer?' he scoffed. 'Whatever for?!'

Mrs Hale watched him carefully, vigilant to discern any hint of whether the man had in fact had a dalliance with the lady in question. 'My daughter is under the impression that you have formed an attachment to Miss Latimer. She thinks the two of you are courting and have an understanding.'

John was incredulous. 'What?!' his tenor as high as a kite. 'Why would she think such an absurd thing?'

'Because she saw you with her on the street yesterday. Miss Latimer was holding your arm,' Mrs Hale described matter-of-factly. 'And by all accounts, she gave Margaret a most self-satisfied look as she tightened her grip of you, quite possessive, it seems. Surely you must have noticed.' Mrs Hale was not sure whether or not Mr Thornton was a petticoat-pincher, a phrase her father had used to describe the type of man who spreads himself around town, flagrantly toying with various women's affections. She somehow doubted it, yet all the same, Mrs Hale found it hard to believe that Mr Thornton, a clever chap, had not discerned a pretty young petal latching onto him. But then again, some men were twits.

John's morale flagged as he plummeted back in his chair, utterly dumbfounded by this report. 'No-no-no! I was just escorting her home. That was all,' he contended most adamantly, his voice strangled. 'I was approached by her and her father on my way back to the mill, and he asked if I could walk her to an appointment with my sister. I hardly felt I could decline, I had no polite excuse not to,' he maintained, attempting to defend himself.

Oh, God! – was that why Margaret had run away from him on the street? Had she thought…oh heck! How could he have been so oblivious? What a damned fool!

Mrs Hale sniffed. 'I thought as much. Well, appearances can be deceptive, you should know that, Mr Thornton,' she derided, intentionally referencing his error over the letter he had seen in the study, but she would get to that soon enough. One issue at a time.

'The main detail is that it was an innocent misinterpretation that means nothing. However, you should know, Mr Thornton, that Margaret would…,' Mrs Hale hesitated and considered how to word this. 'She is not the sort of woman to turn a blind eye,' she coughed.

John cocked his head.

Mrs Hale sighed. Goodness! – men really were as thick as a plank of wood at times.

'She…some women are willing to make allowances, but she would not be that kind of wife. She would not get over something like that.'

Still, the face that stared back at her was as blank as an unblemished canvas.

Mrs Hale rearranged herself awkwardly and averted her eyes, choosing to focus on the slim wedding band that had sat on her finger for twenty-five years. 'Sometimes a wife is willing to ignore her husband's…indiscretions…his wandering eye…a husband who comes home late...who enjoys the company of other women,' she wittered on quietly, caressing the circle of metal that glinted in the candlelight.

John suddenly grasped her meaning and blustered in disgust.

'Mrs Hale!' he huffed. 'Are you speaking of infidelity? Well then, I can assure you that I am not that sort of man! I have never…that is…I would never treat my wife in such a callous manner, never!' John bit back indignantly. 'Disloyalty is not in my nature! I may have many faults, but I know one thing, I am obstinatein my constancy! I would be a faithful husband, always!'

John could hardly believe his ears. The very idea of him flouting his wedding vows ─ it was preposterous! John reckoned that if he were ever lucky enough to wed Margaret, the problem would not be how frequently he strayed from her, but how frequently he stayed with her, because John would wish to constantly…well, he would wish to do certain things repeatedly and regularly with her…and to her ─

But he could not think of that now! Focus man, focus!

Mrs Hale was comforted by Mr Thornton's impassioned speech, if not a little startled by the extent of his outrage. However, she was not prepared to shy away from such an imperative topic, not if the mother would no longer be around to offer her daughter comfort and counsel during her marriage. 'Well, I felt it needed to be mentioned. The ridiculous thing is that men, the very people who feel permitted to talk about such vulgar matters, never in fact discuss this particular problem. That is, fathers, brothers, and uncles, when they give their permission for a man to marry their female relative, they should mention such things, but they do not, and I think it most unfair! They are the ones who, after all, know of the power a man can wield, but little do they appreciate the suffering they can inflict!' she sermonised.

The truth was that Maria Hale had been fortunate in her marriage, in that her husband had enduringly been the very model of devotion, if not always dependable in other areas of life. Nevertheless, she knew all too well the pain that adultery could elicit in a union, after having both an unfortunate mother and a sister who had been subjected to such conjugal cruelty at the hands of their spouses.

'So, you see, despite the unsavoury nature of the matter, I felt I had to say it, because Margaret is far too sweet and unworldly a girl to realise that men can be so heartless, and it really would break her heart to know such a betrayal, such coldness. I tell you, Mr Thornton, when your sister marries, you ought to have the same conversation with her intended,' Mrs Hale stressed.

John considered this. 'I will,' he said after a pause, for it was true, he had never contemplated this issue. On the other hand, if he thought for a moment that Fanny's husband, (whatever poor sod was idiotic enough to take her on), was sniffing around skirts, then John would knock the scoundrel's block off.

Nevertheless, after a few snorts of her smelling salts, Mrs Hale's composure was soon restored, and she felt able to return to the matter at hand. 'So, there is nothing between you and Miss Latimer?' she checked.

'No! Of course not!' John protested. 'I am distressed that Miss Hale should think such a thing. I only care for her. She…Miss Hale is the only woman I have ever had feelings for,' he confessed coyly.

'That is reassuring to know. Now then, Henry Lennox,' Mrs Hale continued, keen to move things along, because as she stole a sneaky peek at the clock, she estimated that she only had twenty-four minutes left.

John's eyes narrowed suspiciously. 'Does she like him?' he interrogated.

'No,' came an uncomplicated answer.

'But…'

'The letter?' Mrs Hale asked, deciding that it was time to bring Mr Thornton out from the darkness of his no doubt excruciating obliviousness and into the light.

John was confounded. 'You know about the letter?' Good grief! Was there anything this woman did not know?

'I do,' she admitted. Leaning in towards her guest, Mrs Hale used the most soothing voice she could muster. 'Mr Thornton, I know what you believe, and I appreciate that the past few days must have been torture for you, imagining such a hopeless future in light of what you read. But I assure you from the bottom of my heart, you were, and are, utterly mistaken.'

For a fraction of a second, John felt a wave of hope swell in his soul, but then it crashed against the rocks of reality, and his confidence was dashed to smithereens once more.

John shook his head adamantly. 'I do not think that is possible,' he upheld, thinking back on the wording of the letter that still pierced him like a knife to the heart. 'Have you read it?'

'No, but I can also assume that you did not read the entire missive. Is that correct?' she questioned, since in truth, Mrs Hale's knowledge of the event was based on pure conjecture, given that neither Margaret nor Dixon knew that Mr Thornton had glimpsed the message.

John frowned at this.

How could she possibly know that?

'The pages, they were fanned out, were they not?' she sought to establish. 'So, you could not have read the whole thing, which means, sir, that you quite literally misread it.'

John's eyes widened into great blue pools. Could it possibly be that he had misconstrued its meaning? He felt a spark of optimism ignite in his breast.

'But it said ─'

'If you had not been so hasty, or nosy,' she noted harshly, 'then you would have been able to examine the letter in its entirety. In that case, you would soon have discovered that it was not intended for Mr Lennox.'

'Ah! But it did mention him,' John emphasised, stabbing his finger in her direction as if making a point.

'It did indeed,' she allowed. 'But it was not to him. A letter can mention a person without being addressed to said person,' Mrs Hale reminded John. 'Now, I cannot tell you to whom it was intended, or what it was about. That is, you will find out, I give you my word, but not now, this is not the moment, it can wait. We have more pressing matters to discuss,' she asserted, knowing that an admission about Fred, the mutiny, and his exile would be a lengthy conversation for another day, and one she was not prepared to have with Mr Thornton unless he had chosen to become part of their family.

'But please believe me when I say that the letter you saw was not to Mr Lennox, nor was it to an admirer. It was to someone who I can promise you, Margaret may love a great deal, but that she will never harbour romantic feelings for, nor he for her. I am sure of it, as sure as I am that you are sitting here before me now, Mr Thornton.'

John leaned his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands, at a loss of what to think or say.

Perceiving his misgivings, Mrs Hale ventured to affix: 'You have said yourself that your connection with Miss Latimer is innocent, so, can you not permit that Margaret may likewise have an innocent association with Mr Lennox? It surely must be allowed to go both ways. Love is founded on trust, Mr Thornton, and you have to ask yourself whether you trust my daughter,' she pontificated. 'If you do not, if you do not have faith in the integrity of her character, then I suggest we end this conversation here and now, because you would not deserve her.'

John felt justly stung.

'I trust her!' he declared, as solemnly as if he were taking an oath. It was true. John did have faith in Margaret. He had more confidence in her credibility than he did in himself. It was more that he had never trusted his chances of succeeding with her, hence why he had been so ready to believe that she had offered her heart to another.

'Good,' Mrs Hale assented, considering the matter closed.

However, while John was more than ready to forgive Margaret of anything, whether her wrongdoing be true or false, he was not so ready to forget, because as far as he was concerned, the lawyer was still a very real threat to his happiness. 'Can I therefore take it to mean that she cares nothing for Lennox?' John pressed, a foul taste soiling his mouth as that rake's name escaped his lips. 'But surely, he has an interest in pursuing her.' Of this John had no doubt, especially after the way the cad had circled Margaret possessively at the exhibition.

Mrs Hale could not fathom the logic behind the mill master's unease. 'And what if he does?'

John let out an irritated grunt. 'Well, is he not the preferable candidate to be your daughter's husband?' he asked bluntly.

Mrs Hale wrinkled her nose. 'How so?' she queried, confused as to why Henry's regard for Margaret should pose a problem for Mr Thornton, a man who had already secured the young lady's affections and her parent's approval.

John scoffed. 'He is clever, educated, in a refined profession, handsome, well-connected, a proper gentleman,' he stressed, feeling more than a little foolish and extremely reproachful at finding himself rattling off a list of his rival's qualities.

Mrs Hale looked John up and down in a way that was most disconcerting, as if she were taking full stock of him. 'And are you none of those things, Mr Thornton?' she challenged.

'Not in the same way and you know it!' John bit back, rather bitterly, more so than he had intended, but he could not help himself when his pride was rattled. 'I know what people like you think of the likes of me!' he snarled.

Mrs Hale gasped. 'People like me?'

'Yes!' John seethed, unable to control his frustration, a blistering firestorm that raged within his veins. 'People from the south. You see men like me as uncouth, rough around the edges, uneducated. We are not attuned to the genteel customs of your society and that offends you. I will remind you that I am a tradesman,' he said, spitting the word out as if it were a profane slur that tainted his tongue to pronounce. 'Where you come from, I am a nobody, so why should I think you could possibly wish to have me as your son-in-law? I would forever be an embarrassment.'

Mrs Hale sat in silence for a moment while she allowed his temper to cool. After growing up with a father who was prone to tantrums, Mrs Hale had learnt from an early age that when dealing with someone throwing a hissy-fit, it was best to give them the necessary interval to settle down. And, in due course, she found that she was right to do so. After several minutes, Mr Thornton's anger subsided, and she watched as his resentment dissipated into remorse.

'Goodness, Mr Thornton, you really should do something about that chip on your shoulder before it does you harm,' she warned sternly.

John bristled. She was right, he knew she was. John could not help but grin to himself. He had never been chastised so much in his life; he was not used to being confronted like this. He smiled because it reminded him of another woman who had a certain skill for telling him off, and by God! ─ how he loved her for it!

Like mother like daughter, he thought fondly.

'You said that you like plain talking, well, I shall talk plainly, Mr Thornton,' Mrs Hale cautioned, a plucky pucker to her lips. 'You are correct. You and I are as opposite as chalk and cheese. We are different genders. We are different ages. We are from different parts of the country, spheres that have opposing experiences, expectations, and energies. That is all undeniable. But I do not see our dissimilarities as a barrier, I see them as a blessing. You and I, dear boy, we are far removed from each other in every respect, but we are equal in the eyes of God, nonetheless. That adjudication means that I have no right to appraise the value of your character, particularly based on such petty trivialities as your occupation or origin. In fact, far from demeaning you, Mr Thornton, I envy you!' she confessed.

John felt his ego collapse into a pile of rubble. 'You envy me?' he echoed.

'Yes! You have all the advantages in life that I wish I could have been afforded. You have the freedom to aspire to be who and what you wish. Your prospects are not thwarted by your sex. Your ambitions are not shackled by your circumstances. Do you not know how privileged that makes you, Mr Thornton?!' she lectured, her voice gradually rising in both volume and vigour.

'While you can fly higher and higher, people like me, as you so delicately put it, our wings are clipped by the confines of our class. We do not have the same vitality, the same initiative, the same passion that you are born and bred to foster. So, no, far from disparaging you, Mr Thornton, I find myself admiring your integrity and applauding your triumphs in the face of tribulations,' she professed, tears glistening her eyes, resembling lakes of golden-brown caramel. 'I would just hate to see you remain a slave to your insecurities, because you have a great deal to recommend you, but bitterness will rot even the most worthy of men's hearts!'

John thought on this.

'I appreciate your words Mrs Hale, truly, I do. They mean more to me than you will ever know,' John said quietly, his eyes trained on a loose floorboard three inches away from his foot. He would need to fix that himself, he could not have Mrs Hale, Margaret, or even Dixon tripping on it. It made John recall two nights ago when Margaret had slipped and fell into his arms on the stairs. John groaned as he felt his limbs ache for her still, mourning the loss of her warm body pressed snugly against his own, a cavity only she could satisfy.

'But it does not change anything. Miss Hale does not care for me, I know she does not, she told me so herself. While you may think me a steady choice here in Milton, men like Lennox, they can offer Miss Hale a comfortable and contented life away from the poverty and anguish of this new, ruthless England. Your daughter will not want to be attached to a man who lives in a merciless town and who makes his fortune from something as tasteless as the cotton trade. Why would she choose me when she could choose a man like him?' John questioned, his anxieties pouring from his soulful eyes.

Mrs Hale sniffed. 'Because of what you have just said,' she explained, a tender inflection to her tone. Patting his hand yet again, she went on. 'You are honest, you are humble, you are honourable. These, Mr Thornton, these are the characteristics my daughter champions more than anything else. So, do not degrade yourself, sir, because you may not be a gentleman in the typical sense of the word, but I believe that you are a gentleman in the truest sense. You are worth ten of just about any other man I have ever met.'

'What is more, the world is changing. It is not the same place it was when I was a girl. Before long, the idle rich classes will become obsolete and men like you will rule the day. A gentleman is becoming an ambiguous term, and whether you consider it from a material or moral perspective, I do not think that any one person can accurately or definitively define what constitutes a gentleman. No, I think deciding whether a man is a gentleman or not cannot be decreed by others. I think it is a state of mind, something that is private to a man's own heart.'

'Besides, boo to Mr Lennox!' Mrs Hale vented, flapping her hand as if to swat the subject of their discussion away like an irksome fly. 'I hear he was terribly rude to you in London. Margaret told me all about it. She said that she was extremely disappointed in his behaviour and I understand that she staunchly defended you after you had departed.'

John was intrigued.

'I must say that I was surprised to learn that you quitted the event so promptly, Mr Thornton. I should have thought you would have stayed to try and spend more time with Margaret, to show her your qualities, to prove to her that your attentions were constant, that your affections were in earnest. I should have imagined you would wish to present yourself more favourably when amongst her friends and family, to form a good impression, especially if a challenger was prowling about. Nonetheless, I understand you stormed off in quite the huff. Hmm, jealousy, Mr Thornton, it really is such an unattractive vice.'

John was irritated.

'Men! You are all the same!' Mrs Hale criticised, a flush of colour animating her sallow cheeks. 'Margaret is not a prize to be won, not something to be bought or bartered over like a commodity that goes to the highest bidder! So, what if Mr Lennox is more suitable for Margaret theoretically? Perhaps he is, but does she not have the right to dictate what and whom she wants?'

'Why do men always have to decide for a woman what she should think, how she should feel, what she should choose? Women have so few opportunities, such limited freedom. Marriage robs a woman of all her self-determination, leaving it in the gift of her husband to regulate the perimeters of her independence. Therefore, a woman should at least be permitted the liberty to choose what man she will be bound to, given that he will be her keeper. Please, Mr Thornton, do not belittle Margaret by deciding for her that she should love a man who she does not. Mr Lennox may be an excellent suitor with many qualities, but he is not you, and it is you she wants!' Mrs Hale harangued.

John studied his hand, a single finger tracing along the lines that mapped his palm.

'How…how do you know she wants me?' he asked, afraid that this was yet another dream.

'She told me.'

John sighed deeply, burying his face in his hands. This was a dream. It had to be a dream. If it was, then he would never sleep again, because he could not endure another minute of this sweet torture. John was just about to nip his finger and thumb together so that he could pinch himself, to check whether he was asleep or awake, but just as he was about to do this, Mrs Hale interrupted his thoughts.

'Margaret has your gloves,' she stated.

John jolted.

'Gloves?' he parroted. 'My ─ my gloves!'

'Yes. You left them after you…proposed,' she mumbled coyly, reluctant to evoke memories of an event that must still be painful for the poor man.

John let out a loud and long puff of disbelief, the sound whistling through his nostrils.

'Are you sure they are mine?'

'Most definitely,' she confirmed. 'Black. Leather. Sheepskin lining. If that is not enough, they had your initials in gold thread: JT. If you can think of a reason why my daughter would be in possession of gloves belonging to yet another gentleman with that monogram, then pray tell me, since that would be most unsettling.'

John snorted.

'She has had my gloves all this time?' he mulled, more to himself than to his companion. John suddenly began to laugh, a deep rumble that resounded around the room. 'I have her gloves too,' he chortled, retrieving the solitary garment from his pocket.

Mrs Hale took it from him and studied it closely. Oh my! It was indeed Margaret's glove. It was the silken ivory-coloured pair that Edith had bought her cousin when she and Captain Lennox had stopped off in Paris on their honeymoon.

Sensing her confusion, John thought it best to explain. 'Miss Hale left them after the riot. In all the turmoil of the ensuing weeks, I was unable to find the right moment to return them.' Then, realising his lie, he amended it by saying: 'No, no, that is not true. I just could not bring myself to give them back to her.' But John did not care that he had been indecorous, he could not stop smiling, he could not believe it, she had kept his gloves too!

'Oh! For goodness' sake!' Mrs Hale blustered like a gust of wind. 'In my day, people weren't so forgetful. And they kept hold of their own gloves and did not go about stealing other people's! Honestly, what is wrong with young people these days?' she quailed, scandalised by the level and array of inappropriate behaviour that had been taking place under her nose.

John grinned like a schoolboy. Oh, Margaret! Did that mean…?

'Why has she got my gloves?' he queried shyly, picking at a broken fingernail.

'Same reason as you have hers, I would imagine,' Mrs Hale mused, stroking her daughter's glove, which she noticed her guest eyeing covetously. 'She wanted to be close to you, to hold onto a part of you, even something as small as a glove. I imagine it brings her comfort, just like her gloves do for you,' she presumed.

Perceiving his uncertainty, she added: 'Dixon found the gloves by chance and brought them to me, assuming they belonged to Margaret's father or br ─ a different male relation. I knew I needed to speak with Margaret directly, so, I did. We had an extensive discussion,' she said, rubbing her brow wearily, for the exertions of the past three days had left the mother quite worn out.

'Margaret told me everything, Mr Thornton. She told me about her strengthening feelings for you and her incomprehension at finding herself falling in love for the first time. She told me about your unfortunate quarrel at the dinner party. She told me about the riot and the stone, which, Mr Thornton, I am most cross with you about!' she chastised, her eyes flashing furiously.

John reddened and felt like a child being scolded by an unforgiving school matron.

'Mrs Hale, I can assure you that I am most sor ─' John faltered.

'We will forget about that for now,' she exonerated, cutting him off. 'Not that you deserve it, but I have decided to give you the benefit of the doubt on that score,' she reassured him. 'At any rate, Margaret told me much more, offering scraps of intelligence for me to piece together my puzzle, some factual, some fanciful. Margaret told me how you came the next day. She knew that you would come. She…she said that…you should know that Margaret is bitterly sorry for how she spoke to you, Mr Thornton.'

'She is sorry?' John reverberated in astonishment; his eyes wide. 'She has nothing to be sorry for!'

Mrs Hale was bowled over by this. She herself did not blame Margaret for refusing Mr Thornton, not if all her daughter had said was true. Nonetheless, she was still surprised that he, a snubbed suitor, was prepared to be so magnanimous. 'Why do you say that?'

John combed his fingers through his hair yet again, far from enthusiastic to revive the humiliation of his failed proposal. 'The fault was entirely mine. I should have been more sensitive to Miss Hale's needs. I should have waited until she was feeling more herself. I could tell that she was overwrought, but in my restless selfishness, I pressed on with my rash request for her hand. I should have conducted myself with more consideration and chivalry,' he confessed miserably, a hint of shame dampening his already depressed tone.

Mrs Hale smiled. 'I do not know; a rash proposal sounds rather romantic to me.'

John sneered. 'She did not see it that way!'

'Hmm. Did you mean it?' Mrs Hale probed.

John knitted his eyebrows. 'Mean what?'

'That you wanted to marry her?'

John spluttered. 'Yes! I meant every word!' He had not thought that this particular point was up for debate. They were disputing whether Margaret loved him, not the other way around, surely!

'Well, she thinks you did not mean it,' Mrs Hale tutted as she repositioned her bedclothes. 'She thinks you only asked because you had to, that you considered it your unwelcome duty to rescue her reputation after her unseemly behaviour in shielding you from the demonstrators. Margaret is adamant that you did not really wish to wed her and make her your wife.'

Once again, John was on his feet, moving so briskly that one would think the man was striding across a bed of hot coals.

'How? Why? No!' he cried, scraping his fingers through his thick mane of hair for what Mrs Hale counted to be the third time that evening.

'I have never meant anything more in my whole life!' John avowed; his shoulders stooped under the weight of his distress. 'I ─ I am not a man who has much experience with women,' he disclosed, unsure of whether that was embarrassing or endearing. 'I have never…well, I have never had a dalliance of any kind. I was not interested in taking a wife, really, I was not, not until I met her!'

John leaned against the mantelpiece, his hand gripping the stone ledge tightly. As he tilted forwards, his tall frame hunched over, Mrs Hale watched as the bright blaze of the fire danced across his face, illuminating his harassed features.

'From the moment I first saw Miss Hale, I felt…different,' he whispered, so quietly that Mrs Hale could hardly hear him. 'It was as if I had woken up for the first time. Since meeting her…I am not the same man. I cannot explain it,' he said huskily.

'I find that I cannot think, I cannot sleep, I cannot eat. I believe I am slowly losing my mind,' he laughed weakly. 'She is my treasure and my torment in equal measure. But this madness, this malady, she is not merely the cause of my affliction, no, she is also the cure. She is my only hope of sanity…of happiness.'

Mrs Hale picked up her handkerchief and wiped away a tear that had bubbled like a dewdrop in a crinkle below her eye. Goodness! – for such a restrained man, one who both disciplined and supressed his feelings, he certainly could express himself when he wanted to.

'I had thought of petitioning for Mr Hale's permission to ask Miss Hale if she would welcome my humble attentions. I thought perhaps she would allow me to pay court to her, and, over time, her good opinion of me would grow, the seeds of civility sprouting into friendship and respect. And then, possibly if I were patient, her thoughts of me might blossom into affection. But I kept putting it off. I could not work up the courage, and the time never seemed right, what with the strike. By the time the dinner party came, I felt unable to deny my feelings for Miss Hale any longer. I had determined to approach Mr Hale as soon as I was able and declare myself. But then…things changed…the riot happened,' he brooded darkly.

John fixed his eyes on the flames, as if staring into his own personal hell, the violent blaze of Hades' inferno smouldering in his irises. 'I told her that I did not care about her reputation ─ I told her that! It did not even occur to me that it would be a factor,' he divulged, his thumb skimming his jaw. 'But I knew I had to ask her. I could not keep silent any longer. Not after what happened. When I saw her unconscious on the ground after she had been struck by the stone, I was terrified!' John whispered, a withering glint troubling his eyes.

'I am not surprised!' Mrs Hale countered, somewhat inaudibly, a shiver creeping up her spine as she tried not to imagine the horrific scene of her darling daughter lying prostrate and wounded on a bed of cold stone.

John brusquely spun round to look at her, his face alight with a fever, one that was fierce and feral as it scorched his soul. 'No! You do not understand. I was not afraid for myself. I did not care what the rioters did to me, they could kill me for all I cared!' his voice trembling, the agony of the memory tearing him to shreds.

Mrs Hale could see why people found him ferocious, because Mr Thornton certainly was intimidating when roused. However, she had a feeling that his outbursts were more the result of his stifled sensitivity than his pretext of severity that lingered on the surface. John Thornton was a misunderstood man, she thought perceptively, the type of man who would do well with the steadfast patience and gentle reassurance of a good woman. Margaret would have her work cut out dealing with her husband's moods, that was for sure, but the mother had a feeling that in return, Mr Thornton would love his wife with a passion that was as rare as stardust. And, by and by, they would do each other the world of good.

'My only concern was for Miss Hale!' John averred, looking directly at Mrs Hale in a way that rather unnerved her, for his eyes were wild with a strange yearning. 'I thought…I thought she might not wake up. It was at that moment I knew that I could not pretend any more, I could not feign disinterest a second longer. I could not hide how I felt about her, I didn't want to hide it,' John explained, stalking hither and thither like a caged animal, silently cursing himself for his unruliness. 'All I knew was that I could not lose this woman who had affected me so completely! It was clear that I would be lost without Miss Hale at the helm of my soul. I understood then that I needed her, that I wished to devote my life to protecting her from harm. I wanted to make her feel safe, to feel happy. There was no longer a doubt in my mind, I had to ask Miss Hale to be my wife.'

Mrs Hale sat back and mulled this over.

Swiftly glancing at her silver-gilded clock, which had just struck the half hour, Mrs Hale predicted that she had fourteen minutes left until her daughter returned. 'Why did you not tell her any of this before? If your decision to propose had not been sudden, then why keep your feelings to yourself at all?' she questioned, keen to find out the answer to one of Margaret's very own questions. 'You said that the time was never right, but you had every opportunity to give her even the slightest sign of your developing regard for her.'

John slumped against the wall. With a terribly small voice, he stuttered: 'Because…because…'

In that instant, Mrs Hale understood.

She gasped and her eyes broadened in recognition.

'Ah, I see,' she breathed. 'Oh, Mr Thornton!...you poor thing!'