Helloooo! I hope everyone is keeping well. Okay, so good news, I hope. The engagement scene is now here, but being long, it is split over three chapters, but this time, I plan to release them all in the one weekend. So, we will have this one today, (Friday), part two tomorrow, (Saturday), and part three on Sunday. That way you don't have to wait forever between them, and you can have something to enjoy that is spread out over the weekend.
I ask for leniency for these three chapters, as combined, they are over 35,000 words, and even although I have worked very hard in trying to write and edit them over two weeks, I have no doubt left a few mistakes dotted about the pages, so please forgive me them.
Also, I know that this story is majorly cheesy as it is, but these next chapters are the very definition of corny, so if that sort of thing sickens you, I strongly suggest reading this with a bucket beside you.
Lastly, these chapters contain a few shout-outs/tributes to romantic scenes from books/films/tv shows that I love, so if you look closely, you might manage to pick a few of them out.
CHAPTER 32:
SHHH!…NO MORE WORDS
John was staggered.
With his chest heaving in haggard breathing, his lungs hurting under the strain of their erratic rising and falling, his brain sprinted from one incoherent thought to the next, making him feel a bit like one of those cats who restlessly chase pools of light across a carpet. Standing stock still like a statue, his typically focused mind now felt like it was stuffed with balls of cotton fluff, the congested cogs struggling to turn. Gulping, he sought inspiration, his eyes trained upwards towards the heavens as he prayed for divine wisdom to get him through what was most likely going to be the most important speech of his life.
At last, John licked his dry lips and as he dropped his head wearily, he shook it from side to side with slow and sombre gravity. 'I have so much I want to say, so much that I feel I ought to say, so much that I have longed to say, but now that I am here…I find that I have no words,' he admitted huskily, a small chortle of irony escaping him. Then, as John twisted his head upwards so that he gazed at Margaret side-on, she felt her heart spasm at the sight of his passionate eyes which regarded her in pining pain. Margaret swallowed and looked away at once, afraid that if she stared into those soulful pools of blue, she would never have the strength to see this through.
But she was soon roused by John, who quietly added, 'Then again, now that I have reached, or indeed, we have reached, this point in our story which I believed would never come, I find that words do not really matter, because what I have to say is terribly simple.'
Margaret could feel herself shaking in impatient yet nervous anticipation as she readied herself for what was to follow. She felt as if the world had stopped spinning, the ears of the Earth also straining to hear what he had to say, the very essence of existence unable to continue until he had.
There was an awkward interval of silence as the two of them patiently waited for John to begin. Then, at last, John turned to face her, and he stood tall and true. 'Margaret…,' John began hoarsely. 'I'm in love with you,' he declared at last, shrugging his shoulders at the straightforward uncomplicatedness of his sincere confession.
Margaret's ears rang with a delectable tingle, and she reached out behind her to grip the mahogany table. It had been the same table which had separated them during John's first ill-fated proposal, but now, she used it not as a shield against his unwanted advance, but as a crutch of support to hold her up while she listened to his most welcome testimony. But as much as she wanted to respond, Margaret bit down hard on her lip, going as far as to draw out droplets of tart blood, since she was determined not to break her promise to let him talk freely and uninhibited. Margaret may have been accustomed to speaking when she liked, but not tonight, no, because John had merited a degree of self-sacrifice from her, he had earned it, especially after what had happened last time, what she had put him through with her decree of censorship.
On discerning that she did not protest to the opening statement of his proposal, John's head swiftly jutted up and down, and he grunted, the combination bearing an uncanny resemblance to a horse. Well, at least he had gotten further than before, which was a promising start, or so he gallantly hoped. However, this time, he did not pause to ponder, but rather, John let his passion take the lead while prudence sat back and waited in the wings, his natural instincts of judiciousness anxiously begging him not to ruin everything with his rash or reckless affirmations of honesty. Then, after devouring one more deep breath of air, John let the words flow freely like a river of truth from his heart.
'Margaret, I have loved you from the first moment I met you, even if I did not know so myself,' he proclaimed, his eyes shining with wonderment, his hand stretched out to Margaret and moving up and down as if to show that he loved every part of her with equal dedication. 'I admire you. I respect you. I appreciate you. Darn it, I worship you! ─ you divine creature who cannot be from this mortal world, for you are too good, too pure for the likes of us scoundrels of blood and bone with our corporeal faults and corrupt failings. While we are feeble, my love, you are fierce, and yet, you are so gentle…tell me, how can that even be?' he uttered in awestruck incredulity, more to himself than to her, his pitch high as if it strained right into the atmosphere of the skies for answers.
Margaret strengthened her grip on the table, her nails clawing uncontrollably into the wood, lest she cry out in both love and longing for this most cherished man standing in such sweet vulnerability before her, her own dearly treasured Mr Thornton. She almost let out a strident scream as she felt a legion of sharp splinters stab into her flesh with their tiny timber spears, but she did not make a sound, no, she would not interrupt him, not now that he was finally saying what her heart yearned to hear.
'You are always on my mind, Margaret,' John went on, his attitude practically accusatory as he rubbed at his temple, almost as if to demonstrate how often his head had ached from thinking of her with such unyielding obsession. His mind had been like a maddening merry-go-round, replaying their interactions a thousand times over, much like a gardener turning over muddied dirt again and again to unearth the fertile soil he needed beneath. With distracted distress, his subconscious had sought to understand how this woman had managed to bluster into his life like a whirlwind and turn it upside down, yet somehow, at the same time, be like a breath of fresh air, effortlessly calming the violent storm that had always raged within him.
'You are my first thought when I wake and my last thought before I sleep. Your face is all I see,' John near enough moaned, his eyes scaling from the floor and up the length of Margaret, dragging with deliberate unhurriedness, all so that he might look upon her fully and unblinkingly. In doing so, he stared at her with such stark ardour and intensity of concentration that Margaret felt sure his penetrating gaze could burn a cavity right through her clothes, her skin, her bones, allowing him to see into her very soul. 'I think I am blind to everything and everyone else now that I have been enchanted by the sunlight that is your character.'
John let out a strident laugh as he saw Margaret look back at him in undisguised surprise, her comely lips parted in astonishment, that sweet creature unaware of the immeasurable influence she had on him. 'How can you not know of the bewitching effect you have upon me?' he breathed, for surely, it was obvious, even to one as innocent as her.
'Your conscience governs me, your spirit sustains me, your sweetness disarms me and leaves me a pitiful lovesick fool praying for even a moment in your presence, craving just one measly ounce of your approval and affection, like some drug dependent wretch, because I have discovered that I cannot function without you. You have ruined me, Margaret, you have stripped me of my rationality and restraint, and now I find that I need you if I hope to survive this malady that plagues me, this dissatisfaction that turns out to be my heart sickening for its aching want of you,' he rambled fervently, resuming his preoccupied pacing back and forth, and Margaret felt sure he would wear a hole in the rug before the night was out with his winter boots, ones which she could hear treading under the weight of his cares.
Again, John stopped his wandering to and fro, so brusquely in fact, that Margaret wondered that he did not topple over. With the tendons of his solid jaw contracting, first tightening and then loosening, the man strangled by his infernal cravat which constricted the tide of his address of adoration, he deliberated about how to continue. 'Margaret, you are my constant thought morning, noon, and night. You are in my every contemplation, my every word, my every deed. You make me want to be a better man, for you are my angel and my accuser all at once, your integrity anchors me, your intelligence navigates me home when I find myself stranded at sea. You have stolen my heart and my sanity alike, and Lord knows I do not want them back, no, I do not want to return to my old self, my old ways, I just want ─ no, I need you! I am but a man, but you, Margaret, you are my master,' he stressed hotly.
John abruptly halted in his tracks as he noted the way her eyebrows soared to the sky in amazement at this unexpected statement, her mouth falling open in a perfect oval of an "O!"
'You are surprised to hear me say such a shocking thing?' he asked, his mind momentarily imagining what the other masters would think to hear him own such an extraordinary remark. John knew that he was talking radically, that he was brazenly going so far as to elevate a woman above a man, something which defied the prejudiced norms of a history in which the scales of justice were tipped most unfairly in favour of his own sex, a male-dominated record of philosophy, law, and society, which disadvantaged and degraded those who lacked a rigid shaft of bigotry between their legs. However, he soon dispelled those boorish pigs from his thoughts, since their obnoxious opinions were irrelevant to him, because John would never be bent or intimidated by chauvinistic minds into denouncing his deference for this beloved woman who was cleverer and more capable than the lot of those inane and incompetent brutes tossed together.
'Well, it is true, and I am not sorry for it!' John asserted vehemently, the rumble of his thick northern twang vibrating in his throat. 'Most men would be, I know that. They would feel emasculated to think that they were at the mercy of a woman, that she had such absolute authority over his body and soul, but not I, no!' he enforced, his head shaking furiously at the conviction of his comment. 'I do not feel weakened by your sway over me, in contrast, I feel empowered by it. I feel as if knowing you and being with you allows me to be my true and full self. It was as if I were dead, but now, I am alive. Everything was and remains insipid and pointless without you, but when you draw near, you breathe meaning and warmth into me like you are my life's breath.'
Stalking towards her, John regarded Margaret with unfaltering affection, the force of which nearly caused her legs to buckle beneath her, leaving her thankful for her excessive layers of petticoats that served to hide her precarious wobbling like a plate of jelly. As he got closer, Margaret's body instinctively arched towards him in greeting, her back curving in the direction of the table. As she did this, as she felt this spontaneous reflex that was new and strange to her, Margaret's fingers scored the surface of the table for a second time, leaving behind a vicious labyrinth of scratches on the polished top. Nonetheless, she did not whimper as the fractured wood continued to dig into the bed of her nails, no, she did not cry out in pain, she cried out in pleasure.
Nonetheless, her hands were soon rescued, as stepping indecently near, John boldly pried them from behind her back, and holding them in his own, Margaret could feel her skin tingling in delight at the heat which enveloped her.
'Margaret,' John said in a gruff whisper, his nervousness affecting his inflection in a way which he thought most harsh and unfavourable, but little did he know that far from disliking it, the rough strum of his chords made Margaret weak at the knees. With his fingers stroking her own, John looked down at their joined hands in dubious awe, unable to believe that Margaret was truly letting him stand so close and touch her so familiarly. 'With you, I am…whole, I am content…I am happy,' he said plainly, each word coming out in a rasp of reverence.
Margaret's body trembled. 'Oh John!' she exclaimed, this being all she would say, since she was mindful of her pledge not to interrupt, and besides, she found that she was frantic with a longing to hear more, his speech more agreeable to her than anything penned by all the poets or philosophers that had ever lived. Gently squeezing his hand, Margaret silently encouraged him to go on…and on and on, for as long as he needed, because she never wanted him to stop.
Settling one calloused hand upon her cheek, his thumbs tenderly caressing the soft skin he found there, John sucked in a guttural breath as he watched Margaret's eyes flutter closed, her lashes quivering like the wings of a hummingbird. 'Margaret, you are my eternal treasure and my torment in equivalent measure,' he disclosed feverishly, his eyes ablaze with the flames of the ardour he felt for her, a furnace within his soul which he felt sure burnt hotter than the fires of Hell itself. 'Thinking of you, missing you, selfishly wanting you for my own, this humble and yet unattainable desire has fermented in my mind for many months and caused an insurrection in my heart and a rebellion in my self-control, driving me to the edge of madness. For the first time in my miserable life, I find that I am not merely existing, but I am longing to truly live, and it is all thanks to you.'
Grabbing at his shirt and balling a fist to beat at his masculine breast, John added with compelling ferocity, 'But I fear that if I do not find peace soon, I shall burn up from this all-consuming inferno which rages deep within me. It is a wildfire that nothing and no one has the capacity to pacify, but you. It is unbearable, and yet, I welcome the pain, I exalt it, for within the agony of my zeal, I have the pleasure of knowing you, even if you will never consent to be mine,' he went on, his eyes closing as if in meditation, his lips rotating slightly to the side as they skimmed her hand in a featherlight kiss, the sensation of which extracted a strident pant from Margaret.
Then suddenly, his eyes flew open with a speed which nearly caused her to jump out of her skin. Once again seizing Margaret's hands, John clutched them to his heart, his lips dropping to brush across her knuckles in a delightfully leisurely sweep, the teasing sensation pulsating throughout Margaret and making her feel faint. 'Margaret…everything I have, everything I am, it is yours and always will be, no matter what,' he vowed most earnestly, his tenor rich with entreaty, one of his lengthy digits dreamily gliding across her wedding finger.
With his fingers massaging hers, John continued with his homily, his pace and pitch steadily increasing. 'I know that I have made mistakes. I know that I have been a poor and pathetic excuse for a man, and an even more contemptible excuse for a prospective husband, but I promise you, Margaret, that if you will consent to let me love you and decide to join me in this life as my companion, my friend, my equal, if you agree to be my wife, then I will spend the rest of my days labouring in devoted love, so that you may forever feel cherished and safe,' he swore, his voice now clotted with a desperate need for her to understand.
'Your mother was right! I have been a fool – such a damned fool!' he cursed bitterly, forgetting himself, neglecting to remember that Margaret was too delicately bred for such profanities, the woman blinking rapidly as her genteel ears were assailed by his cusses. 'All these weeks, I should have been here for you when you needed me the most. Your mother is ill, your friend has passed away, you aided a destitute family in crisis, all momentous trials that you have borne with such courage and dignity, my gentle, generous girl,' he muttered in a hushed whisper of worship as he pressed gentle kisses to her hand and stroked it as if she were some deity.
'I know you do not need me; you are so strong, you are more resilient than anyone I know, Margaret,' John laughed, wondering how one so small and sweet could also be so spirited. 'But all the same, I should have been there, I should have been here, by your side, where I belong, showing you that there is nowhere else in this whole world that I would rather be,' he sustained, his hands sliding along her arms and then down her sides, coming to rest at her middle, his flexed fingers gripping her waist and inciting those sleeping butterflies in her belly to fly about once more in elated liveliness.
However, John soon cast his eyes to the ground as they wilted under the heavy weight of lament. 'But I was….I…I was a coward,' he confessed lamely. 'I was scared of being rejected all over again. I admit that my pride and desire for self-preservation got in the way.' Then his eyes snapped back up and stared at her with uncompromising tenacity. 'But I see now that none of that mattered, for I should have been here, offering you my steadfast support, regardless of whether you accepted it or pushed me away,' he said, berating himself in remorse.
'If only it had not been for that accursed letter!' John scourged, casting a hostile glance back in the direction of the table which now sat inoffensively beside the door, acting as if it had never been a collaborator in the acute anguish which had beset him but two nights before.
Turning back to Margaret, John dropped his forehead so that it rested against hers, and Margaret could feel the sweat on his brow as he bravely poured his laden heart out to her. Closing his eyes, John respired noisily, and she could feel his warm breath blowing like a pleasant summer breeze across her face, and she breathed him in voraciously. As the scent of him wafted up her nostrils, Margaret smiled to herself. Yes, there it was…soot, and smoke, and soap…the smell of John, her John, and it gave her such comfort to know that she would be able to sniff this spicy aroma every day, a fragrance which bore witness to the life of a man who was honest, hard-working, humble, and honourable, a man who she hoped with all her heart that she would soon call husband.
'I should never have read it, your letter!' he panted, bringing Margaret back to the present, his breath smelling of kippers, one of his favourite things to eat for breakfast. Margaret had to grapple with her self-control so that her mind did not wander too far away as she thought about how she longed to sit next to him at the breakfast table as he read the newspaper while she would butter his toast and pour his coffee, and together, they would greet the new day full of fresh possibilities, side-by-side. No, she would listen, she would give him her undivided attention, because life was about living in and relishing the moment, not constantly yearning for things yet to come.
Opening her eyes, Margaret could see that John's were still scrunched closed, and she could tell that he had been dragged back to the nightmare of what had transpired between them two nights before. Then his lips began to move again, firmly clamped in a thin line of self-loathing. 'It was not mine to read, but I did. I should have asked you there and then what it meant, but I did not. Still, Margaret, sweetheart, I need you to know that I trust you, completely, I do!' John emphasised, letting out a sigh of relief, his spirit suddenly free to soar, unburdened by all animosity of their past quarrels and his underlying covetousness which had previously weighed him down like rocks. 'Whoever it was to, whatever it meant, I trust that your intent was beyond reproach, not that it matters anyway, because you owed me nothing.'
Margaret smiled warmly, although he could not see it, but she lowered her lips to press a timid kiss on his exposed wrist, and the simple act of affection caused John's own eyes to spring open once more, his heart sprinting. With their temples still reposing together, they stared into each other's eyes, her looking up, him looking down, an unmatched stance that they both knew their necks would need to get used to, no doubt earning a few creaks and cracks of complaint, but they did not mind, no, not one bit.
'I should never have doubted you,' he murmured, ashamed that he ever had. 'You see, my love, I was consumed by jealousy. I wanted you to say such sweet and sentimental things to me ─ just me. And I should never have shouted at you in such a cruel way.' John felt Margaret shudder slightly and his heart screamed out in disgrace to realise what a villain he had been, of how much his hasty and hot-headed words had affected her. 'I frightened you, I know I did, and that is inexcusable in the extreme. I lied to you, which is also reprehensible of any man, let alone one who claims to be trustworthy. I was a beast, and for that, I will never forgive myself,' he said with an asphyxiated scourge, and Margaret's heart broke to see that tears welled in the corner of his eyes, and it made her love John all the more to know that beneath his tough outer shell of stern hardness, this strong man could also be so sensitive, exposing a tender soul inside for her alone to be grateful for and love.
Margaret could hardly contain her admiration for him, so in response to John's declarations of devotion, she nuzzled closer and laid her head upon his chest, her own arms weaving around him and marvelling at the feel of his strapping frame and solid biceps below his starched clothes. In turn, these same muscles twitched as Margaret pressed herself against him, and John could feel the outline of her body moulding with his own, the two trying to map each other. Reaching out his unsteady hands, John splayed his fingers and sunk them greedily into her hair, the master groaning deep in his throat as his digits twisted around those silky ringlets which were thicker and slicker than he had ever imagined.
With a huff of determination, John knew he could not stop now, not now that he was so close to what he wanted, what he had always known he had come here tonight to do, to ask. 'Margaret, I promise you, here and now, as solemnly as if I were taking my wedding vows, that with God as my witness, I will never let you down like that ever again,' he whispered into her ear, his heart singing as he felt her stir in his hold and let out a sigh of contentment, her chest quivering against his. 'I want to be with you, and I hope, with all my heart, that you feel the same way, and want to be with me too.'
After a period of silence where they both gathered their thoughts and regained their equanimity, John placed a crooked finger under Margaret's chin and coaxed it upwards so that she was once again looking at him, her lovely eyes sparkling like the rarest of diamonds. Nodding his head towards her, John signalled that his speech was at an end, and that he was giving the floor over to her so that she might respond. However, several seconds passed without her uttering a word, and much to his mounting horror, all John could now see in Margaret's eyes was the glistening of tears, and the master felt a spar of terror pierce his heart to think that he had read her wrong and she was in fact ready to accept his olive branch, but not his proposal.
As he felt the earth shake beneath him and the walls close in around him, John was petrified that Margaret was again readying herself to say no, the only difference being that this time, she would smother his hopes with more sympathy. But had she not just invited him to ask her? Yes, she had. She definitely had! But then again, she may have changed her mind, as was her prerogative. Oh boy! What if everything John had just said had reminded Margaret of how badly he had hurt her? Oh help! Could it be that he had accidentally managed to talk her out of accepting him by being so bluntly outspoken? John almost swore out loud. Dang! He had forgotten that men in the south were not so forthright, that frankness was a virtue and a vice of the north, so perhaps his overt honesty had been too much, too gritty for her to stomach. Good grief, there was a reason why John was typically quiet and reserved, it was because he was no good at all this talking malarkey. Why-oh-why then, after years of introversion, had he become verbally incontinent now of all times? Damn it!
John waited with bated breath for her to say something, anything! After a moment, Margaret opened her mouth and her lips hung in divided uncertainty for some time, before she quietly murmured a tentative: 'John ─'
No!
John could not stand it! Before he knew what he was about, John fell to his knees before her and gripped onto the folds of Margaret's skirts, clinging to her for dear life, his grasp so vociferous that if she fled, he would surely tear away the material of her dress, spoiling it unintentionally in his desperate desire to keep its wearer close. Margaret gasped, but she did not try to wriggle or wrestle free from his indecorous hold of her. With his hands indecently running up and down the outside of her legs in a frantic bid to take advantage of this situation, perhaps the only chance he would ever get to learn her body, John tried to memorise every inch of her and locked it away in his memory for safekeeping.
With his fears choking him as he began to weep, and tripping over his tongue as his words tumbled out of him, John sputtered, 'I cannot offer you much, I know that. I am not rich, or educated, or important. In a hundred years' time, nobody but my descendants will care to remember my name. I am just a dull, irritable, simple tradesman who works with cotton,' he besmirched bitterly.
'Joh ─,' Margaret tried again, struggling to breathe, her heart beating irrationally fast, but she was cut short as John laughed scornfully, the man thinking of how he was on bended knee like an illustration he had enjoyed as a child of a knight kneeling before his sweetheart. However, this scenario could not be more different, since that hero had been noble, and John, well, he was no knight, but a knave.
'I am no knight in shining armour and do not pretend to be. I am what I am, I am what you see,' he acknowledged, holding his arms out wide so that he might reveal himself to her in all his unpretentious glory. 'I am but a modest man, but by God! ─ I will be a good husband to you!' he avowed gallantly, his eyes lustrous with the gravity of his oath. John turned his cheek to her and laid it against her abdomen, his arms wrapping around Margaret's hips and hugging her tight, the woman unsure of how to respond to his scandalous movements. 'I swear it, Margaret, and I shall spend the rest of my life loving you like no man has ever loved a woman before or ever will again.'
Then, shuffling so that he was on one knee, John once again took her hand in his and clasped it tight, his own hand trembling. Looking up at her with glassy eyes, he vowed, 'Margaret, if you agree to be mine, my Margaret, then know that I am yours and yours alone. I humbly offer you my hand, my home, my homage, and my heart, to do with as you please, for I devote them to you most willingly and most faithfully until my dying breath! I ─'
John stopped in his tracks as Margaret began to choke amidst a series of loud sobs and a fresh torrent of tears poured down her sweet face. John did not know what to do. 'No ─ no! Do not cry so, my darling, please!' he implored, horrified that he had made her cry – again! Good grief, this was not a good start to things, the idea that John possessed a talent for making the woman he loved weep at the drop of a hat.
'John, you don't under ─ under ─ understand,' Margaret stuttered amid a symphony of incoherent hiccups as she sniffed and snivelled most inelegantly. Oh! Why did she have to keep crying? She never cried, never, yet somehow, in the past two days, Margaret had wailed more than a whole nursery of babies did in a year. She wanted to say something to relieve his suffering, but Margaret found that as hard as she tried to shape the words with her lips, she could not, all ability to formulate and articulate speech having abandoned her, replaced by an ache that consumed her, her body and soul crying out to be released and receive the respite it sorely desired in the form of telling John just how much she loved him. What was more, Margaret was not even sure what she wanted to say, her mind still reeling from all he had imparted, and even if she knew, she was struggling to spit the words out, all the air in her lungs having deserted her most disobligingly at the worst possible time.
Kissing her hand over and over again, John continued feverishly, 'I know that I have wronged you. I know that I have wounded you. I know that I am not worthy of wedding you,' he rushed on, urgently wishing to convince her that even although their past association had been marred by mistakes, and doubtless their future would not be free from discord, he would do his very best to secure her happiness, no matter what it took. 'But if you need time, if you need me to wait until you are ready, until you are sure, then I shall. I will wait as long as it takes. If you need me to prove the sincerity of my affections, to prove the steadfastness of my dedication, to prove the loyalty of my lov ─'
However, this time, John was the one who was unable to finish his sentence, because at that precise moment, Margaret dropped to her knees before him, in front of him, and placed a silencing finger firmly against his moving lips.
With a smile so bright and broad that it would outshine the sun, she giggled between a succession of giddy gasps. 'Shhh!' she instructed, her palm moving to caress his unshaven jaw. 'Shhh, no more words, my love, and no more saying sorry, no more.'
John was rendered speechless and could do nothing but stare at her agape with wide eyes full of wonder.
Sensing his confusion and taking advantage of his reticence so that she might get a word in edgeways, Margaret decided that it was time for her to put his mind at rest and say her piece. 'You are so wrong, so very, very wrong,' she divulged in a croak, her throat terribly parched. As her slender shoulders shook, Margaret half cried, half chuckled, her mind and body unable to settle or soothe itself.
'I do not weep because I am sad,' she explained, wiping at her eyes. 'No, for these are tears of joy!' she clarified, letting out a puff of gladness. 'I never knew such happiness were possible, for when I awoke this morning, I could never have dreamt that today I would discover that not only do I love you, John, but that you love me too,' she went on, her flattened palm massaging at her chest in large circles to try and quell the irregular beating of her heart.
Shaking her head, Margaret snivelled, suddenly wishing she had a clean handkerchief on her person, but alas, her pocket was currently stuffed with none other than John's glove, and she could hardly rub her snotty nose on it, especially not during such a special moment as this. However, John sensed her dilemma, or at least part of it, since he did not know about the glove, and swiftly produced his own handkerchief and mutely held it out to her. Margaret thanked him and made use of it immediately, the man oddly thrilled to see her use such a small and insignificant possession of his, and it filled him with an even stranger manly pride to know that she had accepted it freely and used it so naturally, as if Margaret instinctively knew that what was his was hers, even an arbitrary patch of cloth.
'I…oh, John! I have been so miserable. I thought…I thought….,' she faltered as she tried to find the words. 'I do not know what hurt more, the idea that you scorned me, or the idea that you were indifferent to me, that I mattered nothing to you either way, good or bad,' she said sadly, the memory of those devastating feelings torturing her, the wound recent and raw enough that the waspish sting of such harsh recollections still felt like a cold, sharp knife to her heart. 'But to learn that you genuinely love me, after my heart has suffered through such excruciating sorrow at the thought that my arrogance and my prejudice had caused me to lose your affection and forfeit your good opinion. Oh! ─ John, it is like music to my ears.'
Raising a hand so that he could stroke her face, John was overcome with grief to know that his darling girl had been so heartbroken because of him. He was a brute, and in contrast, his beloved Margaret, she was so unbelievably benevolent. How could he possibly hope to ever be worthy of her? 'Margaret,' he whispered, his rich tone so tender that she trembled, her cheek quaking under his hand. 'I'm so, so sorry, my darling, darling girl.'
But again, she speedily placed a stifling finger against his lips. 'Hush!I forbid you to say sorry again!' she maintained, a flicker of her natural haughtiness flashing in her eyes, reminding John of one of the thousands of reasons why he loved her so insatiably. 'That is, I am glad that you are sorry, truly,' she refined, 'but you have no need to keep apologising. I know the authenticity of your remorse and how earnestly you wish to offer recompense for your regrets. But it is all right, John, it is all all right,' she promised cheerfully.
John's head sagged and he swallowed thickly, the man dumbfounded. Could it truly be that she had exonerated him so completely? Already? He had never dared dream of such charity, for such an unconditional pardon, not from one as irreproachable as his Margaret, a woman who held those around her to an impossibly high standard of righteousness. Again, it was a reminder of how much more honourable she was than him, for while John would quite willingly hold a grudge against those who had wronged him, Margaret was ready to forgive and forget without so much as a hint of resentment to haunt her.
However, John's brooding thoughts were soon disturbed when he heard her quietly add, 'And I too am sorry.'
John's head shot up and his eyes narrowed. 'Margaret, you have nothing to be sorry for!' he asserted decisively and somewhat strictly, his heavy-handed magisterial tone brooking no argument.
Nevertheless,as always, Margaret, his charmingly disobedient darling, did just that. 'Oh, but I do!' she contended most adamantly, not flinching under his stern gaze of overbearing officiousness, her own imperious in return.'I most assuredly do,' she said, raising her chin to him, indicating that she would not back down on this issue.
John was about to interrupt with further contentions and claims, but the magistrate's licit case was soon impeded when Margaret shook her head to curtail his protest. 'My mother was right. When I came to Milton, I tried to be brave, but I was filled with wretchedness at the thought of being brought here against my will. I felt like I had been swallowed whole by the chaos which engulfed me,' she explained, her voice shaking slightly as she tried to remain valiant, but deep down, she felt terribly uncovered and unprotected as she sought to be candid, something which was difficult for her, since even although Margaret was well practiced in sharing her observations with others, she was not so accustomed in sharing her feelings, preferring instead to keep them to herself. But then again, Margaret knew that as far as John was concerned, she wished to always be honest and open with him in everything, and as hard as it was for the private and proud Miss Hale, this was a good a time as any to start.
'I had spent so much of my life in London, and as much as I love my aunt and cousin dearly and they were very good to me, London society has never suited me, nor I it. It is too ostentatious, too insincere, too petty even,' she criticised curtly, and John found himself both stunned and comforted, since he had always assumed that Margaret had been fond of sophisticated southern ways and would consider Milton a poor substitute with all its destitution, squalor, and materialism, a modern city of greed, not generosity, a monument to merciless self-interest which she would both laugh at and loathe in chorus.
'I had longed to go home to Helstone. It is such a wonderful place, John, I do wish you could see it. It is my little corner of Heaven,' she mused nostalgically, a wistful smile on Margaret's lips, and John thought on how perhaps later tonight, he would tell her that he already had, but not now, no, this was her time to speak, and he must not blunder or barge in as she shared the cloistered secrets of her heart with him. She had been considerate enough to stay quiet while he had addressed her, something which amazed him really, since as much as he loved her, there was no denying that Margaret was more than prepared to be garrulous when either her interest or ire was provoked, a response that John seemed to goad in her every time he opened his mouth, no matter what came out.
'I was so eager to go home and to start living my life and finally feel like I belonged, but then…,' a shadow crossed over Margaret's face and she sunk lower on her heels under the yoke of her distress. 'But then my father brought us here,' she said miserably, and John could feel a twinge of dread rattle around inside him, and he soon worried that Mrs Hale had been wrong, since far from finally finding herself settling in Milton, Margaret detested it as much as ever, and could never be persuaded to consider it her home, even if John was there too.
'I strove to be a submissive daughter, to care for my parents, I truly did,' she stressed, never keen to shirk her dutiful responsibilities to her family, something which John had never doubted, as Margaret did not have a selfish bone in her body, the girl too prepared to sacrifice her own interests in the cause of endorsing other people's. Well, now she had him, and John's single ambition in life from this night on would be to promote Margaret's welfare and secure her happiness, come what may.
'But nonetheless, I found it all so strange and it was difficult for me to adjust. Everything is so different here, John. People talk differently, they behave differently. I honestly did not understand your handshake that first night you came here for tea. I may have been trying to be a little rude, I confess, but I also genuinely did not realise what you were doing and what you wanted. Men in the south just do not do that. No matter what I try and do, everyone seems displeased with me all the time. I am apparently either too pretentious or too plain for their liking, and I cannot seem to find a middle ground to meet them half way, even if I try my best. That is why I cared for Bessy so much, she liked me just as I was, and did not mind that I did not quite fit in, never making me feel small or silly. She helped keep me right and corrected my Milton-related mistakes with kindness. I have never been very good at making people like me, I keep myself to myself, I like my own company too much,' she explained.
John thought on this. Hell! - what a cad he had been! He should have been more patient with her. Good grief, he could hardly think how he would feel if he were suddenly uprooted and sent to live in London with all their foreign customs that clashed so unsettlingly with his own rhythm of life, so John could not even begin to imagine what the transition here must have been like for Margaret, who, in his mind, had borne it with such remarkable strength and dignity, despite her self-defamations. Again, he felt such crippling shame for the way he had spoken about Bessy Higgins to her. John had almost believed that Margaret's friendship with his mill hand had been a way of her trying to irritate him. God! How self-centred he was! No, Margaret had truly found a friend in Bessy, a companion, a confidant, and she had been taken away from her, and John, well, he had been indefensibly unsympathetic. He determined there and then that he would make more of an effort in this, and soon, he would commission a lovely wreath of flowers, the buds full of soothing and uplifting colours, and together, he and Margaret would walk to Bessy's grave. There, John would comfort his darling while she grieved for her friend, almost a preparation he supposed, for when another woman in her life, one much closer to home, passed away soon, unjustly soon.
But Margaret was not quite finished, so John turned to look at her again, his focus fixed. 'And I know what your friends think of me, I heard them after dinner at your party, the men calling me too opinionated in my language, while the women called me too ordinary in my dress, none of them trying very hard to ensure that I did not overhear their comments,' she sniffed sadly, and John could feel a trace of hurt in her tone, and he felt more livid than he could say to think that his townsfolk, let alone his own circle of acquaintances, had made Margaret feel so unwelcome. Well, the master would soon be putting an end to all their rude remarks when he swaggered into the next dinner party with her on his arm as Mrs Thornton, as the wife of the most productive manufacturer and respected magistrate in the county. A mischievous smirk curled John's lips. Ha! That'll show 'em!
'It was all too much, so you see, John, I needed something or someone to hold to account for my feelings of injustice. I needed someone to be at fault, you understand, to be liable for the sadness I grappled with constantly behind my misleading veil of tolerance and my charade of poise. But alas, I could not find it in my heart to blame my father. So, for some unknown reason, I came to resent the one person who seemed to personify everything that I reviled about Milton, and that was…you,' she finished flatly, forlornly.
As Margaret had said all of this, her eyes had been trained on the rug, but as they absently drifted upwards, she spotted the horror-struck expression on John's dear face, his skin turning paler and paler, and she suddenly panicked, aware that she had been speaking with deplorable carelessness in her inexperienced attempt to be plain-spoken.
'Oh!' she gasped. 'Please, do not be distressed!' she pleaded, one of her hands flying to her mouth in dismay, the other to his arm to try and calm his concern. Oh, Margaret! How stupid she had been!
'I am sorry, John! How inconsiderate of me!' she apologised fretfully, biting her lip. 'See, I said that I am no use at things like this, I always say the wrong thing and put my foot in it with my impetuous tongue that cannot seem to be bridled. I do not say such things to hurt you, my love, I promise. I just need you to understand,' Margaret defended.
John had heard her, he honestly had, but the man was a little too distracted from the gravity of her words by the giddy knowledge that she had just called him: "my love," for the second time tonight, a fond form of address that he had never dreamt in his dizziest daydreams that she would use when referring to him.
Margaret felt terrible, heartily contrite for her tactlessness, because the last thing she wanted to do in all the world was to hurt or humiliate his sensitive soul any further than she already had. Huffing in exasperation at her own green foolishness, she tried again. 'Yes, I admit that I found you confounding at first, John, even a little hard-hearted at times, and because of that, I laid the sins of Milton and all the accounts for my sorrow at your feet. But that was wrong, so very wrong, I see that now, and I am more sorry than you will ever know for my childish meanness. I just hope that one day you will find it in you to forgive me for my naive irrationality and idiocy,' she clarified. With a snivel, Margaret's fingers nervously strummed at the sleeves of his jacket, distractedly picking away at a few stray strands of fluff with an endearing intimacy that made John quite forget her earlier howler of an insult.
Margaret wittered on hurriedly, fearing that she was making a frightful hodgepodge of it all with her awkward prattling. Margaret could feel herself growing fractious inside, because it was so unfair that John was marvellously first-class at managing a colloquy based on the virtue of openness, but in comparison, she was absurdly ineffective. The realisation of her most inequitable flaw made Margaret's face flush a shade not dissimilar to rhubarb, the colour extending across her cheeks and chest, the embarrassment of her ineptitude more mortifying than she could say.
But far from being angry, John felt his heart melt to see her so radiant as her tear-stained cheeks glowed with the lustre of repentance. It was so adorable that John could hardly rein in his adulation for her as he watched Margaret try her very best, as clumsy and charming as it was, to describe how much she cared for him and how sorry she was for misjudging him so harshly. In that instant, John wanted nothing more than to hold her close and tell Margaret just how much he loved her and how he never wanted her to change, not even a smidgen. 'Mar ─,' he started, but again, he was cut short, since Margaret was anxious that he was about to say something that would show how cross or upset he was with her, and she could not bear it.
'But my mother was right again,' Margaret stipulated in a hasty splutter. 'I was so intolerant towards you, so spiteful, but it was not because I truly felt any contempt for you as a man or a master, no, it was because despite my best efforts, I…,' she stopped as she felt the prickle of a fresh blush stain her skin. Then, being brave, she looked up at him with eyes which twinkled splendidly in the twilight. '…I was falling in love with you,' she confessed coyly, her dulcet southern voice so quiet that he could hardly hear it.
John's head fell to the side as he eyed her in wonder. 'Oh, Margaret!' he mouthed, his hand gliding down her cheek. 'My love!'
'Oh, John!' Margaret sniffed, leaning closer so that she could rest her forehead against his shoulder as a means of both physical and emotional reinforcement, the unburdening and untangling of her complicated sentiments tiring her out. Smiling to himself to discover that she instinctively came to him when she felt worn out by the joys and woes of life, John's arms intuitively encircled Margaret in soothing response, offering her some much-needed sustenance as both a friend and a lover.
'I was so confused. I was so lost. I had never felt that way before,' she murmured against his shoulder. 'I am sorry to say that my bewilderment got the better of me and I did not handle it at all well. I wanted to see you, John. I wanted to talk to you. I wanted to be near you. And I desperately wanted you to want these things too,' she described, her slender arms spontaneously lacing around him.
Margaret thought back on how despite her pretence of indifference, she had impatiently awaited his lessons every week, fidgeting tetchily and biting her nails as she watched and waited while the clock ticked away infuriatingly sluggishly until the designated hour of his arrival. Then, finally, once she was quite beside herself with edginess, Margaret had felt a thrill delight her from tip to toe as she heard his firm knock at the door, a curious stirring in her that she had not fully understood as she scurried to answer it. However, much to her regret, Margaret had always been sure to paint on a mask of aloofness before she opened the door to her father's favourite pupil, all so that she might disguise the pandemonium of emotions that bubbled away inside her.
Feeling foolish for the way she had concealed and bottled-up her feelings, Margaret pulled a face and pouted against his shoulder, the sight and sensation of which nearly made John smirk, but he succeeded in holding back and behaving himself, since he thought that sniggering light-heartedly at her during such a serious revelation was probably not a sensible course of action.
'Yes, I admit that it scared me, this craving I had for you. But I am ashamed of having been such a coward, of being so unwise to my feelings, for suppressing and denying them, for not letting them flourish and take flight as I ought. But it is true, I did care for you, John, and that is why I was so hurt that you proposed when you did,' she rationalised, gripping onto his jacket, her nails scathing his flesh underneath, sending a shrill jolt of hedonism hurtling throughout him.
'Darling,' John exhaled, since that was all he could manage, given that he could hardly believe it! He could never have fancied that while he was aching for Margaret, she too was pining for him, her gentle heart struggling to understand him and to make out these strange new feelings which had overtaken her. If only he had known!
'I honestly thought that you only asked me because you had to,' she whimpered, pushing her head harder into his shoulder, the blade of bone now a little sore as a result, but John did not object, not if she experienced an emancipation from her emotions in doing so. 'I prayed that you would not come, that you would defer, but no, you came, just like I already knew you would. I thought that it was a sign that you disapproved of me, that you felt my headstrong advice and actions that day were distasteful to you, when that person, that obstinate and opinionated woman, is who and what I am,' she blubbered. 'I thought that you were denying and disowning me, John, and I was so offended, so angry.'
John felt his body tense and a righteous indignation course through his veins, for he could not stand to hear her say such a thing, disparaging herself like that, his divine darling. 'Never!' he protested, almost shouting it. 'Don't you dare think that, Margaret, never!'
John could feel her sinking against him, and he stiffened his elbows like scaffolding in order to prevent her from falling over entirely, the pair of them still kneeling in front of each other in the centre of the room. 'I will confess that I did not feel for you then as I do now,' Margaret said dejectedly, wishing to be truthful, for she could not abide lying to him, not ever. 'So, I think there was little chance that I would ever have said yes that day even if circumstances had been different. I would not like to make you think things that were not true, you see. But you must know that I said no solely because I was hurt and humiliated, and not ─ not, because I hated you, John!' she contended, resolved that he should be aware of that crucial point. 'I just...I just wanted you to ask because you wanted to…because you wanted me.'
John lifted Margaret's head from its place on his shoulder, although it pained him to do so, and held onto her own slight ones, his hands keeping her steady. 'I did!' heaverred, looking at her straight in the eye with unswervingresolve that quite took her breath away. 'I do! Oh, Margaret! You have no idea how much I wanted you to say yes that day, of how I sorely wished, and still wish, to be your husband and for you to be my wife!'
'Then why didn't you say something before?'she brooded accusingly, her face contorting into a glare.
John was nonplussed. Well, she certainly had him banged to rights there. Raking his fingers through his hair, he sighed. 'You are right, as always,' he acknowledged bluntly and without any animosity, the man shrugging his shoulders to signify that he was at fault and was not afraid to admit it. Again, as far as John was concerned, Margaret could question him whenever she saw fit, in fact, she should, especially when she was spot-on in her appraisal of his lapses in judgement. He was, after all, just a man, and contrary to what their sex often believes, men do make mistakes, even ones from Milton, believe it or not. 'I just…I should have spoken up, I should have confessed my feelings long ago, but darling, I was scared,' he concluded lamely, embarrassed by his own bashfulness.
Margaret wrinkled her nose. 'Why?' she questioned, her no-nonsense mind unable to fathom why he should have been afraid to be up-front with her about his feelings. There was nothing wrong, surely, about a man liking a woman, so long as he and she were free from other obligations of that nature, and providing he conducted himself with appropriate propriety and politeness in his courtship. To be sure, if John had attempted to offer her his suit during their fitful acquaintance, then Margaret may well have shied away from his attentions, indeed, she probably would have, but all the same, she could not deny that her curiosity would have been aroused, and it meant that when he had asked her to marry him, she would not have been so discomposed.
John laughed. 'Why?!' he snorted. 'Because how could I ever hope to be worthy of you, my love?' he tested, cupping her face with his hands and rubbing his nose against hers, the sensation of which made her emit a small sneeze, and in turn, John felt the strings of his heart strum like a harp and his whole spirit sang out in joy. 'You, who are so perfect, so pure, and I, so inadequate by comparison. It was preposterous, the very idea that a man like me stood a chance with a woman like you.'
Margaret scoffed, shaking her head and tutting at his silliness. 'Do not talk such nonsense.'
'It is true,' he retorted. 'How could a lowly lad like me ever hope to catch the attention or the affection of such an angel as you, Margaret? I assumed that you would never want me, that you could never possibly favour my suit, especially after the disastrous start to our association,' he chortled, thinking back on the numerous missteps they had both made as they had tried with thorny unease to understand each other's characters and make allowances for their unfamiliar ways. As John's lips brushed the tip of Margaret's nose, he murmured, 'So, as my feelings for you grew, I became more certain with every passing day that I could never expect you to care for me as fervently as I adored you, and that I had no hope of ever calling you my own, for I believed beyond a shadow of a doubt that Miss Hale would never have me for her husband.'
Margaret chewed her bottom lip. Poor man! Throughout her life, Margaret had always undertaken to be compassionate and charitable to all of God's creatures, whether it be a man or a mouse, but alas, in her guileless blindness, she had overlooked the fact that she had failed to offer kindness to the very person who needed it more than anyone. It occurred to Margaret that perhaps she had been apathetic to John's longing for her approval and altruism because she had never truly stopped to consider that he needed it. As a master, he was always so detached and abrupt, that it never struck her that such a man perhaps craved the tender touch of friendliness in his life. Thinking on her miscalculation, Margaret realised that it was not always the poor and needy who hungered the most for the warmth of human affection, for it seemed that masters were just as susceptible to the pitiless cruelties of loneliness and false impressions as any of their humble workers. Therefore, Margaret determined there and then that while she would never put up with his irritabilities, especially if it meant he snapped at her, she would certainly endeavour to be more patient with John, as well as much more sympathetic towards his need for her sensitivity and reassurance.
'Well, I will say it again, Mr Thornton, do not talk such nonsense,' she chided good-naturedly, striving to ensure that her tone was appeasing. 'For I do care for you, and what is more, I consider myself the most blessed woman in all the world to be the beneficiary of your most generous love,' she celebrated, her soft cheek chafing against his bristly one, the novel feeling making her quite light-headed with pleasure.
Margaret noted that she would have to try and persuade John not to shave too frequently in the future, just so that she could always enjoy that rough feeling and the untamed look which took over his face when his jaw was shaded by the shadow of stubble. Yes, she would encourage him to be sparing with his razor and find that perfect balance between looking respectable and roguish. On feeling her touch, John let out a raucous sigh of satisfaction, and as it drifted through his nostrils, it composed an unusual whistling sound that Margaret found most amusing, but her face did not show it, since this was a moment for grown-up matters, and not a time for fun and games.
Resuming a more serious mien, Margaret affixed, 'But all of that farce of the past matters not now, for what is done is done, and we cannot take any of it back,' she advised sagely. 'What fools we have been, John! My dear, silly boy, what fools you and I have been,' she rebuked affably, and John nearly gagged as her lips came tantalising close to his own when she swayed forwards. 'We have made mistakes, and almost certainly, we shall make many more. We are tenacious and silly children, are we not? We both have tempers and do not like to be told what to do, for we each like to have our own way and make a terrible fuss if we do not get it,' she predicted chirpily, her heart too full of optimism to worry about such trivial matters as the odd trifling tiff between the two of them, not when there would be far more delight than there would be disharmony to look forward to.
'Aye, that we do,' John agreed with a hearty rumble, for knowing the two of them, they would no doubt disagree often, but it did not matter a jot, so long as in the end, they still loved one another. And by God, John would be making sure of that!
As he scoured his cheek against her neck like a frisky tomcat, John was well aware that he had not shaved in two days, what with being too harassed in both body and mind to think of such niggling affairs. Again, it did not help that his dominant hand, the one he used to wield the blade of his cut-throat razor, was currently wrapped up in a layer of cotton bandages, the very same one Margaret had applied two days ago when she sat at his feet like a saintly nurse. Thinking back on that night, John had made sure he was as clean as a whistle when he had come here for tea, even going so far as to scrub behind his ears and between his toes, but since then, well, he had had other things on his mind, and it was a miracle the depressed master had even made it out of bed at all. Frowning, John just hoped that his beautiful, (and hygienic), Margaret was not too affronted by his lapse in cleanliness, a slip-up which most likely made him appear shamefully lax in his immaculateness, the man no doubt resembling a vagrant who roamed the streets. It may be surprising to learn that this bothered John enormously, since he may not have cared about clothes, but the fastidious master always made sure that when he stepped out of his front door of a morn, he was spick-and-span, ship-shape, and as spotless as a polished silver spoon.
However, he was soon distracted from such worries when he heard Margaret speak, her melodic brogue lulling him back to the present like a siren's call. 'But as my mother said, we have the choice to put the past behind us, and to put to rest the bitterness of our misconceptions and misdemeanours, choosing instead to take up the mantels of love, constancy, and faith, deciding together to make these pillars the foundation of our relationship,' she sermonised shrewdly, for even in her youthful innocence, Margaret could still appreciate that love was not all about pretty promises and flatteries. No, she knew that marriage was a partnership, one which if the spouses wished to see it stand and endure the tests of time and tribulations, then it would need to be built upon the steady rock of reliability and the foundation of friendship, a bond that would require constant hard work and commitment from both parties if it hoped to survive.
'So, shhh, no more words, my love, no more, for such things are in the past now, and need never be thought of again,' she advocated. 'Let us put them to rest, John, and start over again,' Margaret invited, smiling at him so sweetly that John thought she had never looked so lovely, this incredible woman somehow managing to steal his heart all over again without even trying.
John was silent as he thoughtfully took in all she had to say. His lips slanted upwards at the sides ever so faintly, for the man was, as ever, overcome by her womanly wisdom. Staring at their joined hands, a stack of four which still rested between them, he quietly clarified, 'No more words, you say?'
Margaret grinned and shook her head in faux officiousness, her brunette curls flying from side to side, the russet colours glinting in the diminishing light.
However, John did not return her smile, for his face remained as solemn as can be, the severity of which almost made her shudder. 'May I…may I have just six more?' he petitioned with shy deference, a husky tint to his tone. 'Just six, that is all I ask, I promise.'
Margaret's eyebrows knitted. 'Six?' she repeated blithely, wondering at his odd precision. Then, gnawing at her lip and pretending to mull it over in theatrical deliberation, she finally agreed to his peculiar request. 'Hmm, I believe I can allow that, sir,' she giggled again.
Taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, John leaned his forehead against Margaret's and closed his eyes. Then, in a baritone burr that resonated from his belly, from a core secreted within his soul, a place from whence hope springs eternal, John softly asked the one question which had been on his mind and in his heart for as long as he could remember, since near enough the first moment he had met her:
'Margaret Hale…will you marry me?'
Okay, so I hope you liked the first part. Reading back, I appreciate that it is probably pretty boring, because a lot of it is them going over and repeating stuff we already knew. But I still felt like they needed to say it to each other, and the other two chapters should be a bit more romantic and interesting, as we have some newer content. Again, sorry for any mistakes. I did try and weed them out, but over 35,000 words for one chapter, (split over three), is a lot to sift through.