The corridor was empty when Margaret crossed it to get back into her room. She closed the door behind her and exhaled in relief at having achieved it without getting caught. She was still feeling uneasy, and genuinely surprised at the part of her that reveled in the thrill of it all.

She didn't understand what had happened. She wasn't sure if the trance they had both been in was normal, and it shocked her to admit she wanted to be with him like that again. It was clearly a dangerously addictive practice. Maybe she was never supposed to give that much free rein to her body. What if she ended up like one of those mindless opium den addicts willing to do anything in exchange for their next fix?

She knew that the act hadn't been completed—her mother had awkwardly explained the process one time using terms like 'defile' and 'dishonor.' If she remembered correctly, this was something that a lady was meant to endure. She was ashamed for not having been repelled by it. Did that mean she was one of those women? After all, she was sure that—if he hadn't made her come to her senses—she would've eagerly welcomed her 'defilement.'

She felt unsatisfied. There had been a promise for something more in all of his attentions, a build-up that had been interrupted. As she tried to make sense of things, she absentmindedly retraced the path that his mouth had seared with her fingers. It was an easy trail to remember, her skin still tingled everywhere he had touched her. When she noticed what she was doing, she forced herself to snap out of it. She was neither an addict, nor one of those women!

When she came down for breakfast, Mr. Thornton and his mother were already in their places.

"Good morning, Miss Hale," greeted Thornton, nonchalantly from behind a newspaper.

"Good morning," she responded, avoiding eye contact with both of them and taking her seat.

Margaret was afraid Mrs. Thornton would read last night's events in her eyes. Was there a visible symptom to wantonness? Had her greeting been appropriate? Would looking her in the eye be suspicious? Would avoiding her gaze also be suspicious?

"Did you sleep well?" Mrs. Thornton inquired, interrupting her thoughts.

Margaret's eyes snapped up to meet her narrowed ones. She knew, didn't she? She swallowed nervously.

"Yes, thank you," she said in almost a whisper.

"You look tired," she remarked. "Anna!"

Margaret's eyes widened. She must know! Her mind screamed in a panic.

Anna entered the room.

"Coffee for Miss Hale," she instructed, casually taking a sip of her own cup.

Mr. Thornton noticed Margaret relax after a few minutes. He couldn't believe how terrible she was at acting normal. If she had acted like this in front of the inspector during the train station affair, it couldn't have possibly been resolved without his interference.

As Anna poured her coffee, Margaret noticed how frail she was. She felt ridiculous remembering she had run away from her in terror. When she completed this task, she brought a large fruit bowl, and placed it in the middle of the table.

"I talked to Higgins and his daughter yesterday," said Thornton, folding the paper and putting it down. "If you're still so inclined, you could pay them a visit today," he suggested, trying to calm her nerves.

Margaret smiled and turned to look at him.

"I am," she said.

"During the break, of course, I wouldn't want them getting distracted. There's a lot to be done," he added before taking an apple from the bowl.

"Surely," she agreed with a smile.

Maybe this wouldn't be so hard. He maintained eye contact as he took a bite from the apple. She knew that had been deliberate; he wanted to remind her of the places those teeth had sunk into just a few hours ago. Her body heated up in response, making her cheeks burn.

"Miss Hale!" exclaimed Mrs. Thornton.

Margaret turned her head back at her immediately; all her worries coming back. Had she read her mind? Had she stared too long? Had that exchange been too brazen?

"Is that a bruise on your neck?" she asked with concern.

Mr. Thornton almost choked and Margaret's hand flew to cover the side of her tell-tale neck. She hadn't noticed it before coming down.

"No, it's nothing," she said, attempting to sound casual. "A rash… probably," she added trying desperately to make it seem unimportant.

"It may be the soap, mother. I heard Fanny voice a similar complaint once," Thornton said—unlike Margaret—succeeding at sounding casual.

"Of course," said Mrs. Thornton. "Miss Hale we're not southerners. You can speak freely if something is making you uncomfortable, our feelings don't get so easily bruised," she said sardonically. "I'll make sure Anna provides you with a milder soap."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Thornton. I'll be sure to remember that in the future. Thank you," she said a little too quickly.

Mrs. Thornton found her demeanor strange, but attributed it to her circumstances and brushed it off.

"If you'll be heading out this afternoon, I recommend you rearrange your hair accordingly," she suggested. "It is quite unbecoming."

Margaret offered her an uncomfortable smile.

Thornton thoroughly disagreed, but wasn't foolish enough to express it. He felt an animalistic pride in having branded Margaret's body somehow, just as she had his. While putting on his shirt he had been pleased to find the tiny scratches her nails had left on his shoulders. He enjoyed knowing that there was evidence of their encounter.

After breakfast, Thornton headed out to work and Margaret returned to her room. She sat before the mirror and inspected her neck. There was a tiny bruise on the spot where he had bitten her. That had been a close call. She rearranged her hair in a half updo and used her long tresses to cover that side of her neck.

Half an hour before the whistle announced the break, Margaret exited the house. Once she found herself in the middle of the square she realized she had failed to ask where the mill's kitchen had been set up. She looked around for someone to ask, but she didn't want to interrupt anyone's work—they all seemed so busy.

"I believe I said during the break, Miss Hale," said a familiar voice, approaching from behind.

She turned around to face its owner. Thornton's arrogant smile made her heart skip a beat.

"Mr. Thornton," she greeted sheepishly. She noted that he seemed on his way out. "I just needed some fresh air," she explained, avoiding his eyes and lowering her face.

"Of course. I see that you listened to my mother," he remarked, noticing her hair. "It suits you very well."

She kept her face down but allowed her eyes to meet his. She couldn't help but smile slightly at the compliment. He stepped a little closer.

"But what it covers suits you even better," he added in a lower voice.

His words wiped that smile off her face, and made her shudder. She wasn't comfortable with the power he had over her; she resented him for making her body react in a public place. She looked all around nervously, making sure that no one had heard his shameless remark. When she was sure everyone was oblivious to their exchange, she turned towards him. This time her chin was up in defiance.

"Mr. Thornton, people may hear," she warned.

Why was he still smiling?

"Miss Hale, I'm afraid at present your nerves pose the higher risk," he countered.

She felt embarrassed knowing he was referring to her behavior at the table. She knew she was a terrible liar.

"Let us change the subject," he said. "I received a note from Mr. Bell."

"Is he coming to visit?" she asked, slightly relieved.

"No. It's an invitation," he explained. "A small dinner will be held at Mr. Latimer's house tomorrow night. He insists that attending will be good for your spirits."

She smiled thinking about all that Mr. Bell had done to make her feel better.

"It could be a good opportunity to let him know I've decided to stay," she mused.

"Indeed. I'm sure he'll be happy to hear he has been sending all your furniture to the wrong address," he jested.

Margaret let out a laugh, she could definitely get used to this man's company. Thornton smiled in return. This exchange had not been so subtle; the people around them could tell they were flirting. Margaret became serious when she noticed the stares. How thoughtless of her.

"Would you be so kind as to show me the way to the kitchen?" she asked in a more formal tone.

Thornton hid his disappointment at her sudden change in attitude. Although he wanted Margaret to let go of all her apprehensions, he understood her reasoning. He was convinced that once there was an official engagement, she would feel more at ease.

"With pleasure," he said, providing her with directions.

"Thank you, Mr. Thornton. I will see you for dinner," she said, wanting to be on her way before the whistle blew to avoid getting lost in the crowd.

"I doubt it, Miss Hale, especially if I'm to accompany you tomorrow," he said. "The work is piling up and it doesn't look like I'll be making it back before midnight."

She noticed for the first time that he seemed exhausted. She remembered Mr. Bell's remarks at the table… Was the mill really in such grave danger? She didn't have a chance to ask.

"I must go now, Miss Hale, I've dallied too long. I have an urgent meeting in town," he said before bowing his head slightly and walking towards the exit.

Margaret finally made her way to the kitchen a few minutes after the whistle had blown. When she arrived, Nicholas and Mary were already there. They offered their condolences, and suggested to have lunch together. She gladly accepted. They sat down at one of the tables, each with a bowl of hot soup. Margaret noticed that those around them were staring, but in this context she didn't mind.

"I was so sorry to hear about Mr. Hale. He was a remarkable fellow," said Higgins.

"Thank you, Nicholas," she responded with a kind smile.

"If you don't mind me asking—where will you go?" he inquired with concern.

"Well, I don't know yet," she said before trying the soup. "This is very good, Mary," she noted, meaning to change the topic.

"Thank you, Miss," she responded timidly.

"How is work at Marlborough Mills?" asked Margaret.

"I won't lie to you, Miss Hale; I wish the wages were higher. But—if anything—Thornton is a fair master. He agreed to set up this kitchen despite the mill's troubles, which I found surprising," he admitted.

"Are the mill's troubles so great?" she asked, lowering her voice so the others wouldn't hear.

"Everyone suspects they are," he said. "I've worked over my time for the past two weeks—there's much to do. By the time I leave it's already late, and Thornton is still in his office."

Margaret knew this to be true. She was worried about him and about the future of the mill, but what could she do to help? She had inherited a very modest amount of money—definitely not enough to make a significant difference.

She proceeded to ask about Boucher's children, and this subject brought a smile to their faces. Both Mary and Nicholas seemed to have gotten very attached to the kids, and this made her happy. When the whistle blew, indicating that the break was over, they said their goodbyes. She reluctantly walked back towards the house, the last thing she wanted was an afternoon stuck with Mrs. Thornton.

That afternoon, Mr. Thornton's office trembled as he reentered and slammed the door shut behind him. He was furious. The strike had disrupted orders, which in turn delayed his buyers' payments and left him unable to pay back his own debt to the bank. His recent meeting with the bankers had been fruitless. At present the mill's future seemed dire, but he had until the end of the month to turn things back around.

He sat down at his desk and he stared at the papers in front of him. He placed a hand on the bridge of his nose, knowing the evening would be long. He started reading reports and penning letters, but the memories of the previous night were adamant in robbing him of all focus. The distraction increased his ire. His attention should be solely on the mill, especially now.

Remembering Margaret's abandon made this difficult. His heart raced at the memory of them together in bed. After all that had happened between them, the fact that she wanted him was shocking. He wouldn't have believed it had her body not been so responsive; he could only imagine how it would be once he actually took her.

He sighed in annoyance at the enticing images his mind was fabricating. Now that he knew the taste of her skin, these visions exasperated him more than ever. He was convinced that the interruption of their encounter had only added to his general state of frustration.

He chastised himself when he realized it was getting dark, and forced himself to turn back to the day's work. He finished sometime past midnight. Thornton couldn't help but feel angry at Margaret; he was sure those daydreams would continue haunting him into the night, preventing him from getting any rest.

He came out of his office into the empty square and instinctively looked up towards her window—she was there.

Margaret had spent a very silent afternoon with Mrs. Thornton, and she was thankful when the time came to retire for bed. In her presence, she felt guiltier remembering what had happened with Mr. Thornton.

She put on her nightgown and got into bed. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but her body refused to relax. She felt incomplete. She remembered the feel of Thornton's body against hers and she yearned for it. She was tempted to reach between her legs to evoke the previous night's feeling but she stopped herself, clenching her hands into fists. She opened her eyes in worry—the symptoms of an addict.

Breathing erratically and scared at herself, she stood up and set the oil lamp to illuminate the room faintly. She walked towards the window and stared at the light in Thornton's office. She was definitely safer from behaving immorally there than laying on the bed.

She didn't know for how long she stood there. She leaned against the frame and folded her arms. Her gaze lost as the images of what had taken place played in her head, over and over again. She came back to her senses when she saw the office go dark, and the door open. She knew that it was time to leave her post, but she didn't. She saw him walk into the square and stare up directly at her. She welcomed the heat that came from their eyes meeting. She knew he wouldn't fail to notice her exposed skin. He stared at her as if she was prey, and it was exhilarating.

Thornton couldn't believe what he was seeing, his eyes devoured her hungrily. Margaret clearly knew what she was doing; she stood straight and proud, showing off her uncovered neck and left shoulder. The flimsy fabric of her nightgown revealed every curve—his mouth watered. The temptress! Hadn't she scolded him that very morning? Now there she was, torturing him, flaunting her body while she knew he couldn't yet claim it. His anger at her grew. With a firm stride, he walked back into the house and made his way up the stairs.

Margaret saw him disappear from sight. She had perceived his anger. Nervous, she thought that maybe she had crossed a line. She heard the creak of the floorboards as he made his way up. To her surprise, he entered her room. He was clearly infuriated; his demeanor reminded her of their first meeting—when she had seen him beat one of his workers.

He closed the door behind him and charged at her. She gasped as he pulled up her nightgown to lift her up by her thighs and press her violently against the wall with his body, there was a loud thud. Her hands instinctively held on to his neck, fearing she would fall down.

"Mr. Thornton, your mother…" she warned, the loud sound having startled her.

"Oh, now you care about others hearing! You didn't seem so reserved a moment ago," he scolded, but kept a low voice.

There was raw passion in his eyes—which bored into hers—and his breaths blew hot against her face.

"What game are you playing at, Miss Hale?" he whispered through clenched teeth; his fingers digging into her thighs.

She couldn't formulate an answer. How could she justify her actions when her own contradictory behavior puzzled her?

"I don't know what you're referring to," she responded breathlessly, attempting to not give away how much she was enjoying the feel of his body tightly pressed against hers.

"Oh, you know," he contradicted huskily, noticing her eyes were heavy-lidded. "What did you expect me to do after that display?" he asked heatedly before grinding against her—letting her feel the effect she had on him.

Her eyes closed and her head fell back; she bit her lower lip in order to suppress a moan. She had been longing for that feeling the whole day.

"Nothing," she lied as she forced her head back down, silently praying he would repeat the motion.

His face was so close. When his lips started moving forward, she licked her own in anticipation, but he stopped before making contact.

"In that case I must bid you good night," he said, his hands boldly making their way to her waist as he set her back down on the floor.

Her hands tightened around his neck—a silent request for him to stay. His eyes traveled back to her parted lips.

"Tell me what you want from me," he demanded.

Her hands left his neck in order to cradle his face. With the tips of her fingers, she traced the outline of his furrowed eyebrows, his cheekbones, and the edges of his jaw. She was convinced he was the most attractive man she had ever seen. His anger receded before her touch and the wonder he saw in her eyes.

How could she tell him what she wanted? Her wonder was replaced with consternation. She could allow her upbringing to delude her into thinking she didn't know… but deep down she knew: she wanted to be kissed, to be touched, to experience the previous day's pleasure without interruption—an end to her frustration. She felt powerless and humiliated by having such thoughts... She was after all a clergyman's daughter!

"I hate you," she said weakly, sounding almost like a wounded animal.

"Do you now?" he asked, slightly amused.

Sensing the conflict within her, he let his lips capture hers, and she responded ardently. The desperate rhythm of their kiss betrayed they had both been craving it. His hands returned to her thighs to lift her back up. This time, she allowed her legs to wrap around his waist.

Thornton kissed her neck while he carried her towards the bed. He fell on top of her, and his hands found their way under her nightgown. His right hand reached between her legs and she let out a cry, arching her back in response; he was pleased to feel the evidence of her arousal. His other hand immediately flew to her mouth, in order to muffle any sound.

"Allow me to rectify that which has made you hate me," he whispered near her ear, as he started moving his right hand in circles. Her eyes rolled back and her breaths became heavy. Her body began writhing against his hand as if it had a mind of its own. He was mesmerized by the movement of her hips and the wild look in her eyes; he wanted nothing to block this sight.

He stopped, making her whimper in protest. He moved to undress her and she complied in a daze, only wanting for him to resume his attentions. She had never felt so exposed in her life. She was completely naked before him, and the way his eyes took in every part of her added to her excitement. His hands and lips explored her. He kissed, sucked, and bit his way up her body; paying particular attention to her breasts. She arched unto his touch, feeling completely safe with him. Although her mind was barely there, she could tell that there was nothing but worship in his gaze.

She sucked in a breath when his hand returned to that spot between her legs. He repeated the same torturous motions that were making her lose it; she could feel the pleasure building up once more. She wasn't sure of what was happening, she only knew that she was getting close to something, and that she madly needed to get there. Her head fell backwards, and he stopped. Her body became painfully aware of the absence, and she almost screamed in exasperation.

"Look at me," he commanded.

She obeyed almost angrily, but he enjoyed even that; it thrilled him to know he had this power over her. He continued moving against her, and he could tell the heightened sensations were making it hard for her to keep her eyes on him. But he selfishly wanted for her to remember that it was him making her feel this way. He was mesmerized by the wild look on her face.

The need in Thornton's eyes was almost palpable, and it increased Margaret's pleasure. She held on to him. One of her hands tangled through his hair and pulled him towards her, bringing their foreheads together. Her other hand crawled under his shirt, reaching for the feel of naked skin.

They were both breathing heavily, and she was having a hard time keeping silent. Reading her body, he increased his speed until the pleasure became overbearing. She finally lost all control of her body. The spasms of release made her tighten her hold on him, and Thornton was quick to drown her moan with a kiss.

For a few seconds they both remained motionless; their breaths the only evidence they were still alive.

"I'm one of those women," she whispered to herself in fear once she came back to her senses.

"What do you mean?" he asked, trying hard to bring his own arousal under control. The sight of her alone had almost brought him over the edge.

"Mother warned me about them," she explained, "immoral women who revel in the company of men."

Thornton looked at her in disbelief.

"You mean you would allow Henry Lennox to touch you like this?" he asked, uttering his name with distaste.

"What are you saying? Of course not!" she snapped back, offended.

"Then I must heartily disagree with you," he said, holding her close to him, and placing a kiss on her hair.

She realized what he meant, and she relaxed, resting her head on his chest. "But, is this normal? How can I ever think of anything else? How will I go about my day?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

"If you were to come up with a scheme, I would be happy to hear it. I'm afraid that we face a similar ailment," he said.

Margaret realized that while he had ensured her satisfaction, he had not procured his own. She sat up and looked at him feeling guilty—knowing now the pains of that kind of frustration. He was still laying down, his eyes were closed as he took deep breaths and his fingers drew circles on her lower back.

"Mr. Thornton, you didn't…" she trailed off, not knowing how to phrase the question.

"Will you insist on addressing me formally?" he asked.

"Well, yes… I wouldn't want to risk making a mistake in front of others," she reasoned. "But, you didn't answer my question…"

"You didn't ask one, my love," he pointed out, sitting up. "I mean, Miss Hale. Please forgive my forwardness, I should not be taking such liberties" he said sarcastically, as he leaned in and bit her shoulder.

He got off the bed, but was stopped by the grip of her hand on his sleeve. He turned around to find her kneeling by the edge of the bed, looking down nervously. He couldn't help but think that she would make the perfect model for a sculpture of Venus.

"I… I want you to feel…" she said with trepidation "what I felt."

He was touched by her words. He tenderly placed his hands on the sides of her face.

"You can be sure that I find pleasure in admiring yours," he said, making her blush. "What I've given, I've given freely," he added, looking deep into her eyes.

She nodded and her hands settled on his wrists.

"Don't misunderstand… I do intend to take," his voice dropped an octave, making her heartbeat quicken. "But first you must get used to this side of you. I don't want for you to have any regrets, or feelings of guilt or shame," he explained.

His words made her want to pull him back to bed with her. She didn't want him to leave her side. She sighed loudly, feeling completely in love with him for the first time.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm just thinking about how foolish I was," she confessed, looking back down. "If I had only said yes to you all those months ago..."

He kissed her passionately then. He couldn't believe how things had changed between them; how could the same barbed tongue that had broken his heart now bring such pleasure? He was tempted to push her back unto the mattress and take her up on her previous offer, but he broke the kiss.

"I must go now. Tomorrow will be a long day, we should both get some rest," he said before disentangling himself from her hold and placing a kiss on each of her palms. "I'll have a talk with Mr. Bell," he assured her. "And we'll have the shortest engagement possible."

"Yes," she agreed, and then felt embarrassed at sounding so eager.

He walked away from her naked form reluctantly; and the expression in her face betrayed a similar feeling. He came back to kiss her briefly one last time before bidding her goodnight and leaving the room.

The next morning, Margaret felt a little more at ease at the breakfast table. Before coming down, she had inspected her body, and been happy to find no new bruises—at least in visible places. The one in her neck was still there, so she continued to wear her hair in a half updo.

"Good morning, Mr. Thornton, Mrs. Thornton," she greeted confidently before sitting down.

"Good morning, Miss Hale," he responded, suppressing a smile.

"Good morning," Mrs. Thornton said before eyeing her up and down. "I'm happy to see you're feeling better."

"Your time here has certainly favored your health," remarked Thornton, knowing she would catch his hidden meaning.

"Indeed, it has. I'm obliged to you," she said, looking directly at him. She would not cower before his suggestive remarks today.

"It is our pleasure," he said, pleased at her self-assurance. "Mother, will you be joining us tonight?" he asked, shifting his attention towards her.

"Dinner at the Latimers'? I can't stand the man," she remarked disdainfully. "I'm sure you'll find yourselves with more than enough company. Especially you, John, considering his daughter will be there."

Margaret knew she was referring to Ann Latimer. The last time she had seen her, she had been holding on to Thornton's arm like a love-struck teenager. She raised an eyebrow unconsciously, revealing her contempt. Thornton noticed and smiled at her reaction. Mrs. Thornton found the whole exchange suspicious.

"Let us hope Mr. Bell will have good news for you, Miss Hale," she added. "As I'm sure you're looking forward to getting back to your family in London."

"Yes," said Margaret, smiling awkwardly.

After they finished breakfast, Thornton excused himself and stood up.

"John, a word," said his mother following him towards the main entrance, leaving Margaret sitting alone in the dining room.

"What is it, mother?" he asked, adjusting his coat, readying himself for another day of work.

"Be careful," she warned.

His brow furrowed and he stared at her in confusion. Was it possible that she actually knew what was happening?

"I'm not sure I catch your meaning."

"Oh, please, John! I saw the way you looked at her—there was hope in your eyes. I couldn't bear to see you get hurt again on her account. Don't get your hopes up. It will be even harder when she leaves," she advised.

Thornton smiled. A part of him was relieved that she knew nothing, and another part was touched by her concern.

"Don't trouble yourself with this matter," he advised gently, "I know exactly how things stand with her," he stated before exiting the house.

Mrs. Thornton was left thinking that maybe she had read too much into it.

Thornton spent the rest of the afternoon confined in his office, while Margaret spent it in the sitting room, reading a book by Mrs. Thornton's side. In the evening, he came back from work early so that they could attend the dinner. A carriage was readied to take them to Mr. Latimer's house. They both said goodbye to Mrs. Thornton before exiting the house and getting to the carriage.

"Miss Hale," he said, offering his hand to help her inside.

"What a gentleman you are, Mr. Thornton," she remarked with a smile, accepting his assistance and getting in.

"I'm happy to hear you have finally deemed me worthy of the term," he jested, climbing on to the seat in front of hers.

He tapped the ceiling twice, indicating to the coachman that they could be on their way. The sound of the hooves against gravel was accompanied by the soft sway of the carriage.

"Well, our first meeting didn't do you any favors," she accused.

"Oh, I remember it clearly. You scolding me, acting as if you owned the place," he said.

"Well, you deserved it," she said stubbornly. "You must admit that was very ungentlemanly behavior," she reproached.

She gasped at the sudden feel of his hand on her calf. When had his hand found its way under her dress?

"Perhaps I've been misled into thinking you find enjoyment in ungentlemanly behavior," he said with a devilish look in his eyes, as his hand made its way up to her knee.

Margaret's eyes widened and she looked frantically towards the windows, fearing they might be seen. The streets were dark and empty.

"Mr. Thornton…" she said in a cautionary tone. But her body welcomed the touch against her will. She had been thinking about what they had done throughout the day, which in turn made her want it—the most terrible of vicious cycles.

"The memory of you thrashing in abandon has not left me," he whispered, leaning in; allowing his hand to reach up to her thigh. "Have you come up with that scheme that would relieve us of our mutual ailment?" he asked, brushing his lips against hers.

"Not yet" she said in a whisper, ready to give in, and disappointed at how little it took to break her resolve.

His seduction was interrupted by the abrupt stop of the carriage. Latimer's house was closer than Thornton remembered. They descended and gave themselves a moment to sober up. When they came into the house, they found out that they were the last guests to arrive.

"Mr. Thornton, Miss Hale, welcome!" greeted Mr. Latimer with open arms. "Please, make yourselves comfortable. Everyone is in the sitting room," he added guiding them there.

Everyone was already engaged in conversation. There were two groups in the room. Fanny and her husband were talking to Ann Latimer on one side, while Mr. Bell was entertained with another gentleman on the other. Margaret couldn't recognize him because he had his back towards them.

"Good evening!" greeted Mr. Bell, leaving his conversation as soon as he spotted them.

The man he was talking to turned around and Margaret couldn't hide her shock.

"You'll be happy to see Mr. Lennox found the time to make it to Milton," he said as they approached.

Thornton's jaw clenched.

"Thornton have you met Mr. Lennox?" asked Mr. Bell, intending to introduce them.

"Yes, we had the pleasure," he said in a tone that betrayed the opposite.

"Back in London," Henry complemented.

"Oh, I see. Well, then no introductions are necessary," Mr. Bell pointed out with a smile.

"Please, allow me to thank you and your mother for taking care of Margaret," said Henry. "She looks very well."

"There's no need for thanks," he said severely, he resented the freedom with which he used her first name.

"Margaret, it's good to see you," he said turning towards her. "I trust Mr. Bell delivered my message."

"Yes, he did. Thank you for your condolences. But I'm afraid Mr. Bell failed to deliver mine," she said, trying to keep the exchange in good humor. "You didn't have to trouble yourself coming all the way here."

"Oh, of course I did," said an amused Mr. Bell. "But this gentleman wouldn't be deterred."

"It's no trouble," Henry assured her. "Everything has been arranged and you'll be happy to know we can be heading back to your aunt's house tomorrow morning," he said with a smile.

Thornton was about to interrupt when Fanny came to grab him by the arm.

"John! You're here! I hadn't seen you. Come say hello," she dragged him towards Mr. Watson and Miss Latimer. Decorum forced him to oblige his sister, but he couldn't help glancing back towards Margaret.

"Yes, my dear. Miss Dixon will also be leaving with you. The house has been cleared out," said Mr. Bell.

"I see… the thing is, Mr. Bell... I have decided I don't want to move to London," she said with a low voice, but maintaining eye contact. She knew she needed to appear determined.

"Oh! But my dear, the decision is made," he said, finding her statement amusing. "Excuse me, Mr. Lennox, can we have a moment?" he requested, asking for some privacy.

"Of course," he accepted, walking away so they could have some space.

"Now, tell me. What has brought about this change of heart?" Mr. Bell asked, lowering his voice.

"It's not a change of heart, I've never wanted to go back to London," she explained.

"I see… Well, I truly detest letting you down, but you must know you don't have the means to make a living here all by yourself," he explained. "In fact, these past few days I've considered different scenarios to safeguard your future... including making you my wife."

She paled, and he laughed at the sight of her discomfort.

"Calm down, my dear. I know I'm an old man, I wouldn't sentence you to such a boring life," he said, making her relax again. "You need a young man that cares for you, and that can guarantee your security. Which is why I've come to an agreement with Mr. Lennox."

Margaret's distress returned.

"An agreement?" she asked in confusion.

"Yes. You will marry Mr. Lennox," he said.

Margaret's blood ran cold. This had to be a nightmare.

AN. Thank you for your comments! Please note that chapter 1 has been edited a little.