LIKE FATHER, LIKE SONS

PART 5 OF 5

As John climbed the stairs to the passageway that accommodated the bairn's bedrooms, he tutted to himself and rubbed his brow for the umpteenth time that day. God! How could Margaret, his darling wife, how could this sweet creature not know just how much she and their children meant to him?

John Thornton had come to accept that despite his earthly wealth and achievements, at the core, he was not a true gentleman, not in the refined sense of the word. No, he was and would always be a gruff fellow, one who was not prone to showing his feelings or giving way to public displays of sentiment. It was now, after years of marriage, that he could fully grasp why Margaret had assumed him to be no more than a cold and calculating tyrant during their early acquaintance. He had been stiff, he had been severe, and he had seldom smiled. Instead, John had shielded his heart by scowling at Margaret and treating her with scorn, desperately hoping that she could not fathom the immeasurable effect she had on him. Good grief! – what a grim figure he must have cut, what a cad!

He remembered the day he was first introduced to her as if it were yesterday. He had been standing in Mr Hale's study, discussing the terms of his tutorials with his new teacher in the same way he conducted all his business affairs, with impersonal efficiency.

Then, it had happened, he had met her, and his life had transformed forever.

Mr Hale had cheerfully announced the entrance of his daughter and John had turned, ready to greet the new arrival with his customary brand of moderate civility. He had assumed that Miss Hale was a child, but lo-and-behold, she was a fully grown woman, one who looked upon him with thinly disguised disgust. Her disdain had thrown him, nonetheless, at the same time, much to his bafflement, it had equally intrigued him, attracted him even.

He recognised at once that she was the lass that had interfered at the mill when he had dismissed Stevens for smoking. Every degree of logic in his shrewd mind told him to pay her no heed and to dismiss her as no more than a frustrating foreigner, a lady who would never understand him, his town, or his trade. It should not have bothered him as much as it did, for she was of no consequence, indeed, John Thornton did not require her permission, nor did he desire her approval to conduct his personal and professional concerns in any way he saw fit. Well, that is what he told himself at any rate. He recollected that during that interview, where she had insulted his character in a way nobody had ever dared before, that it was just unfortunate that this recent adversary had the prettiest face he had ever seen.

But it had been too late.

John now deemed that day as one of the most significant events in his entire life. Throughout their heated conversation, he had felt unsettled, flustered even, as if he were on an unstable footing, being knocked-for-six by her attack, powerless to defend himself. But it was not because she was defying his authority as a Master, or sullying his reputation as a gentleman, or even that she was humiliating him in front of Mr Hale, no, no. It was that during that brief passage of time, something inexplicable was happening. It was that John Thornton, unknown to himself, was falling in love for the first and only time.

He had not appreciated it then, but a part of him that had lain dormant for years, was finally awakening. During that bizarre and utterly brutal first encounter, John's soul had been roused, it had jolted, and it had soared like an eagle. In that instant, John's soul had seen something, felt something, known something that he had not, that it had found its one true mate. It was the strangest and most surreal phenomenon, and he would never forget it – never!

Yet, despite his mounting passion for her, John had been unable to confess or convey his feelings for Margaret until the riot had forced his hand. It was not that he was apathetic to her brains and beauty, but rather, that he had always been poorly qualified at disclosing his emotions and what's more, he could not bear the idea of someone, especially someone as magnificent and mesmerising as her, deciphering his heart and using its secrets to mock him, abuse him, and worst of all, pity him.

But for all his attempts at self-preservation, John had been helpless against her charms, which had expertly breached the lonely fortress of his remoteness, smashing its walls, and softening his stony heart. It was through those cracks, that slowly but surely, the sunlight, the tenderness of her soul had seeped in and stirred him, thawing his bitterness. Then, from the night that he had learned that Margaret loved him and welcomed his affections, he had vowed to change. No more would he appear indifferent or act aloof, but promised that for every day of the rest of their lives together, he would dedicate his undeserving body and spirit to showing Margaret just how much she meant to him. From then on, John had showered her with love. He gave her presents, he gave her his time, he took an interest in her concerns and opinions, he praised her, he respected her, he embraced her, he made love to her, and most of all, he smiled at her. John knew that his smiles were rare, but by God! – if anyone in this whole wretched world could make him smile, it was that divine woman!

Reaching the top of the landing, his steps were interrupted by the sight of a faithful old friend. Lounging in his basket, a black-coated Labrador rested outside the children's chambers, like a trusty guard dog keeping watch over a treasure trove.

'Good evening, Ruff,' John murmured, 'Or should I say good morning?' he groaned wearily.

Spying John approaching, Ruff lifted his muzzle, and the master noticed the mutt's tail gently begin to wag, making quiet thudding noises as it flapped. John shook his head affectionately, for the daft animal may have been a featherbrained scamp, but John could not fault him for his steadfast loyalty to the Thornton family, especially the little ones.

'Hey-ho, boy,' John crooned, as he knelt beside the dog. He cringed as he felt his knees click and creak under his weight. 'Ah, Ruff! Your Master is getting old and grey. Can you believe I'm thirty-eight?' he snorted; his eyebrows raised at the horror of such an idea.

Ruff let out a shallow howl in response, letting his tongue dangle.

'Oye! Haud yer wheest!' John scoffed, 'No need to put it quite like that, you cheeky rascal! I know I'm no young buck anymore, but I've still got it,' he retorted with a roguish wink, thinking on all the things he intended to do to his wife later tonight. Well, that is if he was ever given the damned chance.

Scratching the hound's ears, he slowly stood. 'Right boy, I'm here to see the puppies, thank you for minding them for me.'

While John ambled away, Ruff gave him one last glance, before settling his chin back on his paws and closing his drooping eyes, eager to dream of chewing bones, digging holes, and dashing across the Milton Green to relieve himself on his favourite statue of Queen Victoria.

As John tip-toed along the narrow corridor, he cautiously pushed open one of the doors, wincing as he heard the hinges whine. Ducking his head around the frame, he peered into the dimness of the sleeping room.

He grinned broadly.

Above the hush of the slumbering scene, he could hear the rhythmical breathing of Nicholas and Elizabeth, as they both dozed in their cots. Leaning further in, he could just make out their shapes. Nikko was lying on his back and sucking his thumb, with his woollen blanket knitted by Mary Higgins tucked possessively under the crook of his arm. The other hand was lazily looping around his auburn curls and his tiny toes were tapping the side of his bed, in that quaint way they did when he was content. Peeking over at Lizzie, John could tell that she was reposing on her tummy, and he could detect the muffled hum of her snores as her body rose and fell with each breath and snort.

God Almighty!

John loved them with a profound passion that threatened to overwhelm him at times. If anybody had told John Thornton before he met Margaret Hale that he was capable of feeling such fierce devotion, or that he would be the recipient of such blissful affection from children, then he would have laughed in their face and dubbed them a lunatic.

Shutting the door, he continued on his way, taking care not to disrupt his napping brood. He would like to have looked in on Maria, but he knew she would not thank him for it. Even though she was her papa's princess and the two of them were as thick as thieves, she was a light sleeper and his lumbering presence would be sure to wake her, resulting in a strop and sulk that could rival her Aunt Fanny. Yes, Marra-Moo was like her mother; she was not to be disturbed when asleep, not if the offender wished to live to see another day. No, he would see his cherub tomorrow when she sat beside him at breakfast, and they partook in their customary ritual of sharing the morning paper and halving a plate of kippers, scrambled eggs, and toast with marmalade. John smiled as he thought of the way she perused the financial columns and chirped between her teeth, muttering about fiscal downturns and abatement tax rates. Bless her! – she was only seven, but she was her father's daughter and make no mistake.

Yet, as much as he was delighted by the idea of seeing Maria, Nicholas and Elizabeth after three weeks abroad, it was not them he was here to visit, no, he had come to speak to Richard and Daniel. As he paced along the hallway, John considered what needed to be done. He pondered over exactly what he should say and how he should say it.

Bleedin' heck!

This was a mission better matched to Margaret and her natural maternal qualities, for while she was expressive and diplomatic, he was a blundering twit who was better suited to keeping his trap shut.

John had never been good with words and now more than ever, he wished he could borrow even an ounce of his wife's eloquence. The problem was that because John was a man who was economical in his turn of phrase, people often assumed that he was shallow, that he felt and thought very little. Perhaps that was not surprising when they compared him to his sister, but in fact, it was the opposite. John both felt and thought most intensely indeed, but he lacked the confidence to converse easily with others and his silence could be misinterpreted as detachment.

It was one of the reasons why he had never been able to tell Margaret how he felt before his first disastrous proposal. Well, that and the fact that he was acutely shy and convinced that she would never even consider him as a contender for her heart. It was his lack of fluency and poetry that had led to his hot-headed offer for her hand, then his chagrined discourtesy at the Great Exhibition, followed by his profane verbal incontinence when she had visited him in his office, and lastly and most lowly, his disgraceful outburst when he had mistook her letter to her brother as that of one to a lover, and had subsequently broken her heart with his vicious tongue.

No, John felt and thought deeply, but words had never been his forte. That is why tonight, he could be found wringing his hands as he trod up and down the hallway, twisting his wedding band round and round his finger, wondering how to make amends to his boys. John took a sharp breath as he stopped outside the twin's bedroom.

He was so lost.

John had always been able to distinguish right from wrong, even from an early age. He had resolutely stood tall and firm in his convictions, upholding his distinctive integrity, the compass of his conscience. But now, well he feared that he had been reprehensibly misguided. Had he really been so utterly blind to the needs of his lads? Had his innate desire to protect them blinkered him from appreciating their curiosity and capabilities? Had his qualms prevented him from identifying their longing, their need for his company, and his invitation to learn more about their father and his life?

Perhaps.

With a stalwart sigh, he braced himself and knocked faintly on the door. As he crept in, John found two little tykes huddled under their bedclothes, shivering amongst a whimpering symphony of bleats and blubs.

'Hey, hey, hey,' he fretted softly. 'What's all this?' he asked in the gentlest voice he could muster.

As their father drew near and perched himself on the edge of the bed, the twins shot each other a hesitant glance and scrambled to sit up, scrubbing at their puffy eyes.

John reached out a hand and caught a stray teardrop as it rolled down Richard's cheek. 'What's all this sobbing about then? Hmm?' he questioned.

'You shouted at us!' Richard accused, but instead of sounding indignant, his tone was sad, as he sniffed theatrically and hauled a sleeve along his snotty nose.

John exhaled.

'I did shout at ya, didn't I?' he admitted regretfully.

'Aye,' Richard snapped. 'You were like a big angry bear, Pa!' he added with a pout, but John could detect the tell-tale signs of a sly smirk.

'Oh-aye? I'm a bear, am I?' he asked jokingly and grinned as they both nodded vigorously. 'That reminds me,' he went on, shuffling back on the mattress, so that he was between them. 'This bear hasn't had any dinner and he's starvin'!' he revealed with a playful growl, before scooping the boys up in his arms and pretending to eat their feet, making loud munching noises.

They both screamed and shrieked as he tickled them, but John noticed that they made no effort to escape his grip, clearly enjoying the rough-and-tumble of their father's horseplay.

After the bear had nibbled enough toes, Danny piped up, his pitch suspicious. 'Have you come to yell at us again?'

John sighed and stretched his burly arms wide, as he enveloped his sons and tugged them tight to him, with one gathered under each of his shoulders. Despite their show of sorrow, they both wriggled closer and rested their heads on his chest.

'No,' he reassured them fondly, 'I've no' come to shout at the pair of you.'

Danny was still dubious, and his jaw jutted in the same way his mother's did when she was at her most defiant. 'What' ya come for then?'

'Well,' John commenced, his manner thoughtful. 'I have come to make you boys a proposal.'

His heart skipped a beat as their heads shot up and they blinked expectantly.

It was Richard's turn to talk. 'Oh aye?'

'Aye,' John countered. 'I have a plan, but there is just one problem, see.'

Danny narrowed his eyes. 'What's that then?'

'Well lads, in order for it to work, we are all going to have to trust each other.'

'How?' Richard requested, his curiosity getting the better of him. 'What's the plan, Pa?'

'Ah, well now, your Ma has this funny idea that all this sneaking into the mill is not about you monkeys being naughty. Na, she thinks that this nonsense is your way of trying to tell me that you want to spend a bit more time with your grumpy old man.' John spotted that they both twitched and their eyes widened with anticipation and animation ─ maybe he was on the right track after all. 'Your Mother thinks that you would both like to come to the factory to see me more often, to help me even.'

Both boys nodded enthusiastically.

John beamed. Lord! Was Margaret ever wrong?

'Alright then, my proposition is this…I will start taking you both to the mill with me three times a week as my assistants.'

The boys rallied and their faces were flushed with excitement.

'But!' John stated, halting them with a stern gaze. 'But there are conditions, do you hear? One, I will choose when those three occasions are, not you. Agreed?'

They bobbed their heads up and down.

'Two, I must be with you at all times when you attend the mill – at all times!' His burr had become heavy with gravity. 'And three, if you ever try and sneak in without my permission again, this deal will be off, and it will not be renewed. Again, do you understand?'

Their expressions confirmed that they did.

'Good. Now, if you follow those provisos, I will let you assist me with my tasks. You can help oversee the factory, learn how the business works, see the machines in operation, and even lend a hand with a few of the jobs. Well then, what do you say? Do we have a deal?'

The boys tilted back on their heels and trundled across to the other side of the bed. There they huddled together and whispered with each other for a minute, occasionally glancing back at John.

'Aye, Sir!' Danny settled at last, thrusting out his hand. 'We accept your terms.'

John's pride pricked at his son's formal tone and it reminded him of his own starched inflection. The master held out his large hand to them one at a time. 'Good,' he said, shaking their hands to bind the agreement. 'But mind what I said, any trouble, any breaking of the rules, that's it! - you'll not be setting foot in the mill again, and both your mother and I will be seriously disappointed. However, you are fine boys and I trust that you will both keep to your oath and live up to your responsibilities, as will I.'

'We will Pa, we promise,' they chorused, as they crossed their hearts.

'Good, good.' At this point, John sucked in his breath, for he knew there was something else that needed to be said, but for the life of him, it was darned difficult to find the words. 'Now, sons, before I go, I have something I want to say…no, something I need to say.'

They cocked their heads and waited.

'Ricky, Danny, I'm mighty sorry I got so cross with you. I don't take back any of what I said, mind. The mill is dangerous, and it was irresponsible and inconsiderate of you both to venture there without my permission or protection. But…but, your mother has helped me to see that maybe I was not as considerate as I should have been, and I'm sorry for not listening to you. But I want you to know something, I was not angry because you put the mill in jeopardy.' John swallowed thickly. 'No, I was scared.'

'Scared?!' they repeated with a gasp. 'But Pa, you're so big and strong, you never get scared!'

John guffawed.

'Aye boys, I most certainly do. I've been scared witless many times in my life. I was scared when I started school. I was scared when I lost my own father. I was scared when I had to go and live in a horrible place and look after my family when I was just a child myself. I was scared when I set out at the mill and thought I would never make a success of things. Then, I was scared when I met your mother.'

The boys gawked.

'It's true! I loved her and I wanted her to be my friend, but she didn't like me much, and it terrified me to think she never would. I was worried that she could never love me, and we would never get wed. But I've come to learn that being scared is not a weakness but is a sign that we have a soul. It's alright to be frightened, we must learn to be brave, but boys, I have never been so afraid in all my days than I am now,' he admitted with a trembling sigh.

They both startled, giving each other a confused and alarmed glimpse. 'But why?'

John gazed down at their innocent little faces and his heart swelled with love, for not only could he see his beloved boys, but in that moment, their faces proved something magical, which was an uncanny resemblance to both John and Margaret alike. It was a reminder that their babes were a creation of their union, a testimony to their bond, and it made their children all the more precious.

He recaptured his composure and fought back the tears that stung behind his glassy orbs.

'I was scared that something might happen to you both,' he professed, his chords cracking. 'I know I shout a lot and can be an irritable old goat, but I love you boys very, very, very much. I love you ─'

'To the moon and back!' they giggled.

'Aye,' John sniggered too, 'And further still.'

John tousled Danny's hair and patted Richard on the shoulder. 'Now, I think it's bedtime, for all of us. But you mind what I say,' he added with a weak warning. 'I'm giving you both an inch, but don't go taking a mile. I swear I shall hold up my end of the bargain if you see you do the same.'

They both concurred.

John slapped his knees and stood. 'Right, that's that then. Night lads, get some sleep, you've got school in the morn.'

Just as John was about to shut the door, Danny called out: 'Da?'

John let a private smile coil his lips. The boys hardly ever called him Dada anymore, but sometimes, just sometimes, when they were drowsy, the infantile expression slipped out.

'What?'

'If you're such a grouchy old bear, then why did Ma marry you?' There was a hint of amusement in the boy's attitude and John knew he did not mean it as a callous comment.

John slanted against the doorframe and chuckled wistfully. 'Do you know what, son? I ask myself the same question every single day.'

'And what's the answer? Richard pestered. 'Why did Ma marry ya?'

John thought for a minute, but when his answer came, it was chockfull of confidence. 'Because we are made for each other.'

Lying in bed, Margaret wiggled her legs as she awaited John's return. She had discovered that stretching her limbs was most advisable before they…frolicked, for, after all, being limber was in everybody's best interests.

Not long after, the door creaked ajar and John emerged. Eyeing him reflectively, she was thankful to see the tranquil air that had settled upon him.

'How did it go?' she enquired.

'Better than I expected,' he grinned, as he began to undress. 'You should have seen them, Meg, with their red, puffy eyes and their runny noses, they'd obviously been bawlin', little lambs,' he murmured. Then noticing her shamble disconcertingly, he tallied, 'It's alright, my love, they're just fine, you don't need to tend to them.'

It was true, the lads were fine, but also, John had no intention of letting either of them leave this room again for the rest of the night. It did not matter if the world imploded outside their window, they were staying put.

Margaret was relieved and let herself relax. 'What did you say to them?'

'Just the same as we discussed, really. I told them that I understood that they wanted to get to know the mill. Then I said that I was sorry for being so harsh. I tried to make them grasp that the factory is a very hazardous place and my concern does not come from a fear of what will become of the machines, but a fear that something will happen to them. I told them that I cannot bear to lose them, for they are more dear to me than they know.'

'Good,' Margaret praised, 'I am glad to hear it.' Although, she could not help but be a smidgen distracted by John's ever-diminishing attire.

'And I have to say that Le Havre was not my only accomplishment this week, by no means, since it seems I managed to strike a deal with our rebels. I mean, after all, I am a tradesman, it's what we do,' he joked.

'Of course, and who better to negotiate than John Thornton?' Margaret quipped, her nerves tingling at the sight of his robust jaw and neck.

'Precisely. I made a pact that if they promise to stop creeping off to the mill, then I promised that I would start taking them there on a regular basis and they can help me when and where I deem it suitable.'

'Oh John!' Margaret exclaimed. 'They will love that!'

'They did seem pleased,' John acknowledged. 'So, with the terms of our contract settled, I gave them a cuddle goodnight and they both settled down to sleep, so all in all, I think it was a good end to this story,' he concluded, stripping off the last of his clothes and standing nude.

'Oh! But before I left, they asked why if I'm such a bear, did you agree to marry me.'

'Oh?' Margaret tittered, a bit preoccupied by his peni – his pelvis! - yes, his pelvis. 'And what did you say?' Her thighs shuddered as the brawny muscles on his broad back shifted.

John turned to face her and shrugged nonchalantly. 'I told them the truth; I said your mother made us.'

Margaret gasped. 'Oye!' she blustered, picking up a pillow and hurling it at his head.

John snickered as he caught the cushion before it clouted him on the nose. He adored it when Margaret used one of his coarse idioms, it reminded him that his fine southern lass was susceptible to his brusque northern ways and that she was truly at home here in Milton, with him.

'That is not true!' she objected, folding her arms. 'My mother merely forced us to admit our feelings for each other. I will remind you, Mr Thornton, that you asked me to marry you that night without any duress, and I, for some mysterious reason, said yes!' she derided.

'True, sweetheart, true,' John joshed. 'And I am incredibly grateful that your momentary lapse of good judgment means that we are here together tonight, as man and wife.'

However, John soon remembered that he had other matters to attend to. 'Now…,' he stated, a frisky look on his face, 'Where were we?'

Forgiving her husband in an instant, Margaret smirked. With slow and deliberate flirtation, she dragged back the bedsheets, revealing that she was completely naked from top to toe. Then, as she teasingly spread her legs, she extended her hand and tapped a bowl of whipped cream that sat waiting on a nearby bureau. Swiping her finger across it, she returned the sugared digit to her mouth and popped it inside, seductively swirling her tongue around it.

'Bloody Hell!' John blurted out, ignoring Margaret's tutting. He had to look away for a trice and regain his self-control, for he feared that the erotic presentation of his wife might just make his pleasure come a tad too prematurely.

How did she do it? How did she manage to look as youthful and beautiful as the day he had met her? His eyes ravenously raked over her body, taking in the voluptuous curves of her hips, the swell of her enormous tits, the bead of her plump nipples, the silky smoothness of her slim legs, and of course, the velvety patch of Heaven that belonged to that special spot between her thighs. Heck! His wife was the blinking Venus de Milo! How did a woman who had given birth to five babies – five of his hefty nurslings, mind ─ still manage to look like a goddess?

God! Margaret, this Aphrodite of Milton, she was the most alluring temptress to ever walk this earth, and…she was in his bed.

It did not take her eager husband long to dash across the room, jump into the bed, clamber on top of a giggling Margaret, and cocoon them under the covers, ready for business.

A few minutes later, as they kissed, John pulled back and gazed at his wife in worship.

Feeling shy, she cleared her throat and asked, 'Well then, Mr Thornton, will you have your wicked way with me?'

Margaret felt her cheeks blush as John looked at her in that smouldering way that only he could. He did not smile, and he did not frown. 'No,' he answered plainly.

Margaret blinked. 'No?'

John smiled, the smallest and slightest of smiles that made her soul swoon. 'No, my darling girl,' he whispered, winding a ringlet of her hair between his fingers. 'I want to make love to you. I want to show you just how much you mean to me.'

'Oh John!' she sighed softly, lifting her head and pressing her lips against his. He smelt of smoke, and soot and soap, and she glowed, for he smelt like her John, he smelt like home. Goodness! How she adored everything about this man.

'John.'

'Hmm?'

'I love you.'

'I love you too,' he echoed, as his lips ghosted her forehead. 'I love you to the moon and back…'

'And further still,' they said together, both chuckling.

As they kissed, their gentle caresses became more impatient and impassioned, as their hands began to wander, hungrily roaming every inch of their bodies.

As John licked Margaret's breast with deliciously gradual intent, he mentioned: 'But you know, making love does not mean we cannot have some fun. So, Mrs Thornton, do tell me, who will be playing the overbearing master tonight?'

Margaret gave him a sassy simper and with a purposeful shove, she forced him off her. At first, he was bewildered, worrying that he had upset her, but the twinkle in her eyes soon appeased him. As she got to her knees, she pushed him back against the mattress, so that his strapping frame was lying beneath her. Then, nimbly, she moved so that she was straddling him, and John raised his arms, his biceps tightening, as he placed his hands behind his head and relaxed under her ministrations.

Picking up the dessert dish, Margaret began to lace her fingers with it, before glancing down at a certain part of her husband's person that was standing to attention, braced for action. Then slowly, excruciatingly slowly, she let the tips of her fingers tease and torment his sensitive skin, as she lathered him in layers of cream. John's head fell back, and his toes curled, as his eyes closed, and he moaned.

'To answer your question, I do not know, Mr Thornton, but it matters not.'

'And wh─wh─why is that?' he asked with a guttural grunt, as his muscles tensed in response to her tantalising touch.

'Well,' she replied, taking his whole manhood in her scrunched fist, before giving him a determined tug.

'FU ─flip me!' he panted.

Margaret humorously slapped his leg for his vulgarity. 'It is because, whoever is supposed to be the subordinate will not be submissive, for we are both far too ─'

'Stubborn!' they both said at the same time, before descending into a fit of laughter.

'Oh!' John wheezed. 'Five, Meg! We have five stubborn babes,' he declared in disbelief.

'Yes,' she agreed dreamily, still stroking him. 'And I would not change them for the world.'

'Nor I,' John asserted. 'Who'd have thought it, aye? That day we were introduced in your father's study and you scoffed at me with haughty distain. Who'd have thought that the two of us would get married? That we would have five bairns? That we would be ridiculously happy? And we would be in bed together like this?' he asked with incredulity, as his hands massaged her arms.

Margaret stopped what she was doing and lowered herself, so that she was almost lying on top of him.

'Hmm…but you know, I do not think five will do, Mr Thornton, for I believe we will be having another litter of puppies,' she predicted, brushing her nose against his.

John quickly sat up and regarded her carefully. He let his eyes dart to her stomach, almost as if he could see right through her. 'Meg?' he breathed. 'Margaret, darling, are you?' he questioned, as he placed a protective palm on her belly.

'No,' she said apologetically, sorry to have gotten his hopes up. 'No, John, but I would just like lots and lots of little ones that are made of you and me. I want more tiny Thorntons, don't you?'

'Yes,' he consented without hesitation. 'That is a fine plan. Let us be like Abraham and have descendants as numerous as the stars.'

'Oh yes, let's! How many then? Another one, two, three?'

Margaret's eyelids fluttered as her husband's thumb began to strum between her legs, and a blissful feeling washed over her.

'Dozens,' he murmured in a deep voice, kissing her neck. 'A hundred,' he suggested, running a hand over her breast, and hooking her leg over his shoulder. 'A thousand,' he growled, as he caught her bottom lip between his teeth and groaned as she moaned.

'Well then, we had better get on with it,' she whimpered, her gratification intensifying as he slipped his fingers inside, fondling her wetness.

But there would be no more talking, for John drew his wife close and crushed his lips against hers, and the next hour was lost to a passionate and private haze of pleasure.

Still, unknown to both John and Margaret, on that cold January night, as they made love, they did in fact conceive again, an addition to the Thornton family that would prove to be just as stubborn as all the rest. But best of all, dear reader…

…they were twins.