Margaret remained in stunned silence.
"It's most convenient," said Mr. Bell. "Mr. Lennox has a good position, you have known each other for years, and he cares for you. Everything a young woman your age could possibly want in a husband," he added, genuinely proud of having come up with this solution.
"I thank you for your concern," she said in a contained, but defying tone, "but I'm afraid it is impossible."
"And why is that? Pray tell," he asked.
It annoyed Margaret that he was still smiling at her, as if everything she was saying could be attributed to a child's tantrum.
"I have a previous arrangement," she paused, "with Mr. Thornton."
"Thornton?" Mr. Bell inquired, unable to mask his initial surprise. "The same Thornton?"
"Yes," she answered proudly.
"I don't mean to pry, but such a development seemed highly unlikely," he observed, "…on your part, of course, my dear."
Margaret looked down, knowing that she had been quite open in showing her initial dislike.
"I see, I see," Mr. Bell mumbled to himself as he placed a hand under his chin. "Well, then, I shall speak with him."
Margaret nodded and sighed in relief, thinking that would be the end of the discussion. She glanced towards Henry briefly—he was conversing with Mr. Latimer. She knew he was a good man, but she was revolted by the idea of being with him as she had been with Thornton.
"Have you said hello to the rest of the party?" Mr. Bell asked, interrupting her thoughts, and leading her towards Thornton and the others.
Fanny's attention turned towards Margaret as they approached.
"Miss Hale, I heard that you'll be leaving us soon?" she asked with an overtly dramatic, worried expression on her face.
"Well-" Margaret was quickly interrupted by Fanny's continuing speech.
"If you could find the time to come and see our house before you leave, we would be happy to receive you. Isn't that right, George?" she said, turning to her husband.
"Of course!" he exclaimed in good humor.
Mr. Bell took advantage of the fact that the group's attention was on the louder conversation, and he discreetly leaned in towards Thornton.
"Can I have a moment?" he asked.
Thornton nodded and quickly exchanged glances with Margaret. He wanted to read what was going on in her eyes, but to no avail. He walked with Mr. Bell back to the center of the room, where they wouldn't be heard. Margaret smiled politely, pretending she was paying attention to Fanny's conversation, and tried hard not to look their way.
"What is it, Mr. Bell?" asked Thornton seriously.
"Thornton, were it not for the fact that Mr. Hale trusted me with the well-being of her daughter, I wouldn't meddle," he began. "But, he has. And this means that he valued my judgement."
"Where are you going with this?" he asked, wanting for Mr. Bell to go straight to the point.
"Well, you see, Miss Hale has brought to my attention that an arrangement of sorts exists between the two of you…" he explained, hoping Thornton would elaborate further.
"Indeed. She has agreed to marry me," he said, crossing his arms.
"Well, then, as her guardian, I'm afraid I must express my earnest opposition," he said calmly.
"Fortunately, I only require her approval," he argued, lifting an eyebrow.
"And what kind of approval?" asked Mr. Bell with sincere concern. "I don't doubt that you care for her, but I regret to inform you—well, you must already know, as it was blatant—that she merely tolerated you until a few weeks ago."
Thornton's brow furrowed and Mr. Bell knew that his comment had hit were it was supposed to. Seeing his strategy was working, he continued…
"She's still too young and naive, Thornton," he added, "she just lost her parents. She's vulnerable and afraid of the future."
Thornton turned to look at her briefly and considered Mr. Bell's words. Margaret seemed convinced that she wanted to be with him, but maybe it was fear pushing her in his direction. Or maybe she felt compromised by what they had already experienced physically… But she had been so passionate, it wouldn't make any sense. Thornton turned his attention back to Mr. Bell.
"She's smart enough to make her own decisions," he insisted.
"No, she's not," suddenly, Mr. Bell's tone became very severe—a rare occurrence that took Thornton by surprise. "We both know the mill is on the brink of collapse. Did you ever stop to consider that? What if it fails? How could you possibly take care of her—give her the kind of life she deserves?"
That comment made Thornton feel as if he had been stabbed in the heart. How selfish of him… How hadn't he thought of it?
"So, what do you suggest?" he asked, barely containing his anger.
"I suggest you talk to her—make her see reason," said Mr. Bell. "The best option for her, at present, is to go back to London. She needs time to clear her head and to evaluate her options. If she feels the same way in a couple of months—and if you have managed to save the mill by then—I will be the first to applaud your union."
Thornton was annoyed by his words, and especially so because they made complete sense. When Thornton's eyes lowered in deep thought, Mr. Bell knew that he had won the battle.
"I will talk to her," said Thornton, looking back up.
"I wouldn't expect any less from you, Thornton," said Mr. Bell, offering a smile that was left unrequited.
"Dinner is ready!" interrupted the voice of Mr. Latimer. "Let us move to the dining room," he said, urging everyone into the next room.
They all took their seats. Mr. Latimer sat at the head of the table, while Mr. Bell took a place to his right and Thornton to his left.
Margaret tried to occupy the seat beside Thornton's, but Ann Latimer was quicker. She ended up sitting between Mr. Bell and Henry, facing Ann. She hated herself for disliking her, but now more than ever she wanted to ask Thornton about his conversation with Mr. Bell. It would have to wait, and waiting made her anxious.
She took the glass of wine that was in front of her, and quietly sipped on it to calm her nerves. Everyone seemed to be enthralled by Mr. Latimer's conversation. Margaret wasn't sure of what the topic was, and frankly, couldn't bring herself to care. She noticed Ann leaning in towards Mr. Thornton, mouthing some words with a silly smile on her face. Margaret's grasp tightened around her cup when she saw Thornton smile back at her. What was he doing? She fought the urge to throw the glass at him.
"The wine is delicious, is it not?" asked Henry, diverting Margaret's attention.
"Oh, yes, indeed it is," she said.
She blushed when she noticed there was almost nothing left in her glass, while everyone else's was still half full—she usually never drank.
"I find that a glass of wine also helps me sleep better at night," he commented, as he cut the steak he had been served.
"Interesting," said Margaret, smiling politely.
When she turned to look at Thornton, she saw the jealousy in his eyes and she raised an eyebrow defiantly; he had done the same to her. The connection was broken when one of the servants filled up her glass before she could refuse.
"So, about tomorrow…" said Henry, "what time would you deem best for our departure?"
Suddenly, Margaret was thankful that her glass was full. She took another sip before attempting to provide an answer.
"Oh, well, Henry-" Margaret was interrupted by Mr. Bell, who had overheard the question.
"Don't worry about it, Mr. Lennox," he said, leaning into the table so he could meet his eyes. "We'll talk about it on our way back," he added.
Henry nodded and didn't press any further. Margaret was sure that, once they left, Mr. Bell would explain to him that she intended to marry Mr. Thornton. Surely, everything would be alright.
Her cheeks felt warm and her head a little dizzy. She realized she had downed a second glass of wine while deep in thought. She put the glass on the table and placed her hands between her skirt and the seat to avoid reaching for it again. She remained silent and very still in order to not betray her wooziness. Only Mr. Thornton, who had been glancing towards her repeatedly, noticed her sudden apprehension and the blush on her cheeks.
When everybody finished their meal, they stood up. Margaret held on to the table and incorporated herself slowly. In the process, the room tilted before her eyes. She stumbled slightly, but Henry steadied her, grabbing her by the shoulders.
"Are you well, Margaret?" he asked, alarmed.
"Yes," she said smiling, trying to make it seem unimportant. "I'm just feeling a little tired, that's all."
"If that's the case, then it's best for Thornton to take you back to rest, my dear," advised Mr. Bell.
Thornton looked towards them with a mixture of concern and jealousy.
"Yes," Thornton agreed. "It's getting late and I have a lot to do tomorrow morning," he said, providing another excuse. "Thank you for everything Mr. Latimer."
"My pleasure, Thornton. Anytime." said Mr. Latimer, before shaking his hand. "Miss Hale, I hope you have a pleasant trip."
Margaret smiled politely; too dizzy to let him know she was actually going nowhere. She figured they would realize it soon enough.
"Please, Margaret, let me escort you outside," said Henry, as he offered his arm for support.
Thornton clenched his teeth as they walked with their arms interlocked. He knew it would have been rude of her to refuse Henry's request in public, nevertheless it made his blood boil.
After exchanging their goodbyes, they walked towards the main entrance, accompanied by Mr. Bell. Henry helped Margaret get into the carriage. Once she was inside and away from the view of others, she rested her head against the opposite window unabashedly. She could almost laugh at how everything seemed to be spinning. When Thornton was about to follow her in, Mr. Bell's words stopped him.
"Please, let Miss Hale know we'll come by early in the morning," he said in a low voice. "Just in time to catch the first train," he added with that characteristic smile.
The ferocity in the glare Thornton directed at him was enough to make that smile vanish. He didn't say anything; he just entered the carriage and closed the door forcefully, startling Margaret. He tapped twice on the ceiling and the carriage went on its way, leaving Mr. Bell and Mr. Lennox behind.
"What was that all about?" asked Henry.
"Oh, nothing," he said, disregarding the whole scene. "That's just Thornton being his normal self," he explained.
"Now I feel terrible for Margaret. She must have been miserable these past few days," mused Henry.
"Yes… surely," said Mr. Bell in an unconvinced tone.
"It worries me that she believes she wants to stay here," he added.
"She's confused, Mr. Lennox. I'm sure she just needs a couple of days back with her family to see things differently," he said reassuringly. "Once you're there, you'll have time to procure her affections. I'm sure you'll be married by the end of the year," he said, placing his hand on Henry's back. They both shared a hearty laugh.
The sway of the carriage made it even more difficult for Margaret to focus her eyes on Mr. Thornton, but she could tell he was fuming. Now that she was alone with him, she knew she didn't have to pretend anymore. Shamelessly and awkwardly, she abandoned her place to take the seat beside him. When she wobbled on her way, he was quick to grab her by the waist to help her.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
Her head fell on his chest and she started giggling. She felt lightheaded, but in a good way, she didn't have a care in the world.
"How much did you drink?" he asked, grabbing her by the shoulders to push her back and inspect her face.
"Just two glasses," she said, lifting her two fingers up.
"Well, that is not much, but you barely ate anything," he noted.
"You seem so irritated," she said, imitating his face and placing her hands on the sides of his face. A part of her was enjoying this new-found drunken confidence.
"Margaret, stop," he said, grabbing her by the wrists.
"It's Miss Hale for you!" she said, before giggling once more. "Mind you, this is why people compare you to bulldogs... I heard so myself once," she said referring to what she had heard Nicholas say.
"What?" he asked in confusion.
"But I told him: no! Mr. Thornton looks nothing like a bulldog, he's the most handsome gentleman there is," she said giddily, tangling her arms around his neck.
This comment did make Thornton smile slightly.
"You didn't say that," he accused.
"Well, not exactly that," she confessed, "but I certainly thought of it," she added, smiling widely and expecting her flattery to earn her a kiss.
Thornton saw the invitation in her eyes, but fought hard not to give in. Although he was thoroughly enjoying Margaret's advances, as well as her closeness, he knew he had to bring up that delicate subject before coming into the house.
"Margaret, I'm serious. I must explain my conversation with Mr. Bell," he said.
Margaret pulled back and looked at him in confusion.
"Why? I thought you had made our circumstances clear," she said.
"I did... but he pointed out some issues I had failed to consider."
His pained expression scared her. Her arms fell back to her sides.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
The carriage came to a stop; they had arrived to the house. Thornton stuck out his head through the window to address the coachman.
"Take another turn," he requested.
As the carriage got back into motion, he knew that the coachman would suspect, but it was the least of his worries at the moment. He turned his attention back to Margaret, whose eyes were filled with uncertainty.
"I fear that your feelings could be fleeting," he said, looking directly at her. "We found ourselves in a compromising position when you were in a vulnerable state, and in response, you may have convinced yourself that you wanted to be with me."
"No, that's not true," she whispered, but he continued…
"You suffered a terrible loss and you may be making rash decisions because you fear for your future. And I couldn't bear knowing that I allowed you to tie yourself to me under such circumstances," he explained.
"What?" she asked in a whisper, the anger slowly building up inside of her. "What?" she repeated, more indignantly. "How can you say that? When I have practically given myself to you…" The alcohol made the question come out a little too loudly.
"No, you never came to me," he said, "I came to you, and I shouldn't have…"
"You shouldn't have?" she echoed his words with resentment. "Do you regret it?" she asked offended.
"You were grieving—you are grieving."
"That has nothing to do with it!" she spoke over him.
"I shouldn't have and I shall not touch you like that again. Not until I know that you truly want this—that you won't come to regret your decision. Let Mr. Bell take you to London. Be with your family and give yourself time to think about what you want."
"But I know what I want! Why would you send me away?" she asked, her voice breaking.
"I would remain silent, were I more selfish," he said, taking her hand in his and pressing it against his chest. "But I care too much for you to let my wishes blind me from this matter."
Margaret believed he was being honest, but it offended her that he wouldn't grant her the same trust.
"I will come to see you in a month. If you say nothing to me then, I'll know that you have changed your mind, and we will speak no more of it," he said, convinced that he was doing the right thing by giving her a way out.
"What is it with men?" she asked in disappointment, pulling her hand away from his. "Always presuming to know what we want better than us."
The carriage stopped again and she descended clumsily. She intended to ignore him as she made her way up to her room, but the alcohol made her lose her balance. In the end, she had no other option but to allow Thornton to help her into the house and up the stairs. The house was silent. Anna and Mrs. Thornton had already retired for the night.
Once in the hallway, she walked into her room, not even bidding him good night. She closed the door, and let herself slide down to the floor as she cried in silence.
She was livid. How could he do this to her? A part of her understood where his doubts were coming from, but another was deeply hurt. She wanted to be with him and she was sure she wouldn't change her mind. Furthermore, she had hardly been able to stand a whole day without his touch, how was she supposed to go on without it for a whole month? She hated him… Every single day would be torture.
She dried her tears and she stood back up on shaky legs. She loosened her hair, and had a hard time getting out of her dress; her uncooperative fingers fighting against every button. When she was finally in her underwear, her chest was heaving in exertion. Next time she would need to remind herself to limit her wine consumption to just one glass.
As she fumbled to find the laces of her corset, she thought of whether she had really done enough to convince Thornton that she wanted him. Maybe she could prove to him that this whole idea of sending her to London was completely unnecessary…
"No, you never came to me… I came to you…"
He was right… She had never shown initiative in making her own desires known in that way. She just needed to prove him wrong. The wine made her think that this was the best idea she had ever had.
Mr. Thornton entered his room. He felt as if his feet were made of lead, every step he took was heavy. He discarded his coat, waistcoat and cravat unceremoniously, leaving them on the floor. He sat on the edge of his bed, and buried his face in his hands in frustration. The motives he had given her were sincere; he still doubted that such a woman could care for him. But he had intentionally avoided mentioning his financial struggles as one of the reasons—an admission of that nature would be humiliating.
She said she wanted him now—now that she thought he could provide for her… Those inclinations could change drastically if the mill went under. It was only fair to wait until that matter was clear before he asked her to make a decision.
Furthermore, his work at the mill had been increasingly neglected because of the distraction of having her so close. While he was supposed to be securing the livelihoods of his employees and his own family, he wasted precious time reminiscing about every part of her body. Even now, he was becoming aroused against his will. He shook his head. He needed to stop thinking about her.
He told himself that this would be for the best. Once she left, his passions would hopefully become more manageable, and he would be able to focus on saving the mill. Saving the mill meant he could provide for her, and thus could return to ask for her hand with no reservations.
Doubt started creeping in… what if she did change her mind? She was a very beautiful and intelligent woman, surely other men—undoubtedly including Henry Lennox—would try to court her… He growled, already feeling jealous of her potential suitors. His head snapped up when he heard the door of his room open.
He was surprised to see Margaret enter, she closed the door behind her and leaned back against it. She was in her underwear; although he had seen her wearing less, his heart-rate quickened. Her shoulders, arms, cleavage and legs were bare, only covered by a fine sleeveless chemise with ruffles at the bottom, which was encased by her corset.
Her boldness and blush betrayed the fact that the wine was still in her system. Thornton eyed her up and down, and he tightened his fists.
"Did you see another ghost, Miss Hale?" he asked, the tone of his voice giving away his tension.
Margaret smiled drunkenly and shook her head.
"I'm just a little dizzy," she said, proving her statement by unsteadily walking in his direction. "And I can't reach," she explained, turning around and showing her the tight laces of her corset.
His hand was already midair.
"Don't," he said, standing up and bringing his hand back down.
"I'm tired. I just want it to be off, so I can get to bed," she said.
This statement calmed him down. He just needed to get it done swiftly, so she could return to her room.
Thornton's hand reached for the end of the lace and pulled slower than he had intended. She closed her eyes, feeling the whisper of his touch through her chemise as he loosened every tie. When he got to the last tie at the top, his fingers slightly brushed her naked back, making her sigh. The sound didn't escape Thornton's ears, and his body responded of its own accord.
"It's done," he said, hoarsely. He cleared his throat, "you can go to bed now."
She turned around. She was so close that he could feel the heat of her body through his clothes.
"It's not done," she said, locking eyes with him.
"Margaret, I beg you-"
"You haven't unhooked it," she interrupted his plea, showing him the hooks on the front of the corset.
Thornton let out a ragged breath, not knowing if she was deliberately trying to seduce him. It did seem like a complicated contraption even for a pair of sober hands.
He completed his task, excruciatingly slow. The corset fell on the floor, but neither of them said anything. Her eyes held his in a hypnotic trance.
Her hands moved to the top button on his shirt. She maintained eye contact as she undid it, daring him to stop her. He swallowed hard, but remained silent. She continued with the rest of the buttons; her suddenly dexterous fingers grazing his chest and his abdomen as she made her way down. When she finished, her hands sneaked under his shirt and she pressed her palms down on his torso. He closed his eyes, relishing the skin to skin contact.
Her hands traveled all the way up to his shoulders, and she enjoyed how hard he felt underneath her fingertips. She continued her exploration, bringing her hands from his shoulders down his arms, taking his shirt off in the process, and finally leaving it to fall right next to her corset.
She placed one of her hands on his chest and she pushed him, making him step back until his knees touched the edge of the bed, and subsequently forcing him to sit down.
She brought her legs up to the mattress until she was on her knees, straddling him. Once she settled on top of him, she encircled her arms around his neck.
"Am I being sufficiently clear?" she asked, leaning in, bringing her lips perilously close to his. "Can you be sure of what I want now?"
"Margaret," he whispered, breaking eye contact, "I said I wouldn't touch you," he said, gripping the edge of the mattress so he could keep his hands away from her.
Her hands cupped his face, making him look back at her. The provocative smile she directed at him was irresistible; she was behaving like the Margaret that had tortured him in his dreams—the experienced seductress.
"I don't recall making such a claim," she said, moving her hands to his chest and pushing him to lay back.
She leaned in, pressing her body against his, and caressing his ear with her lips, "how about now?" she asked.
She licked his earlobe, making him groan. His hands fled to her thighs, grasping her skin aggressively. Paradoxically, he wanted for the motion to both, stop and encourage her.
"Don't," he said, unable to match his words with any decisive action.
She pulled back to look him in the eye and she straight-out laughed at his request. The gleam in her eyes made Thornton believe she had been possessed by the devil, and that she was adamant in dragging him down to hell with her.
She lowered her face to his neck, kissing her way down his torso. Before he knew it, his eyes were closed and his hands were lost in the soft tresses of her hair. She made her way back up following the same pattern. When she took a look at his face, she noticed he had started sweating.
"How about now?" she repeated the question before burning his lower lip with a flick of her tongue.
His hand seized her by the throat.
"You're not yourself," he accused.
She bit her lower lip enticingly, and he wanted nothing but to take it into his mouth. He felt her palms on his chest; they made their way down his abdomen, reaching the top of his trousers. He was so aroused at this point that she wouldn't fail to notice. She attempted to undo the first button, but his free hand grasped one of her wrists in a panic.
"What do you think you're doing?" he asked menacingly, shifting his hold from her throat to her jaw.
"Communicating," she said. Applying what she had learned from him, she brought her unbound hand lower to feel him through the fabric of his trousers.
He grunted and shut his eyes tightly in bittersweet misery. How could this woman have so much power? One stroke and he was already on the brink of coming undone.
"And what is it you wish to communicate, witch?" he asked lustfully; the pleasure clouding his judgement and tempting him to surrender.
His reaction told her she was doing something right, and although she could tell his inner battle was causing him pain, having this effect on him excited her tremendously. The proud Mr. Thornton was at her mercy, and it made her feel like the most powerful woman in the world. That feeling, mixed with her lust and her drunken recklessness proved to be explosive.
"That I want you," she whispered, stroking him again and drawing another groan from him. "That I have no business in London," she said, mirroring his words, and repeating the motion.
Those statements made him ache even more for her, but they also pulled him out of his haze. The mention of London reminded him of the discussion with Mr. Bell; his love had to be stronger than his passion. He pushed her to the side and stood up so she wouldn't make him lose what little was left of his sanity.
"You're drunk," he whispered in agony. "You don't know what you're saying nor doing. I must stand by what I said before; you will go to London tomorrow morning," he said in a rush, taking advantage of that moment of lucidity. "You should leave now," he added, not realizing how harsh it had sounded.
Margaret was furious, not only because of his stubbornness, but also because she felt rejected and humiliated. She stood up and slapped him hard across the face, the sound echoing throughout the house.
He straightened up and looked back at her with clenched teeth. One of her nails had slightly scratched his cheek, leaving a red mark. Her eyes were burning with rage, and so were his.
"You're a blind fool, John Thornton!" she declared. "Do not trouble yourself coming to London," she spat, "surely, by then I will have found a more willing man, like Henry," she lied, intending to hurt him as deeply as he had.
That finally made him lose his temper. How dare she suggest she would be giving herself to another man? How dare she presume anyone else—let alone Henry—could desire her more than he did?
"A more willing man?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and stepping closer. He turned her around and pushed her unto the bed again, facing forward. He trapped her in that position with his body. "Is this what you want?" he asked against her ear, angrily, "for me to put all my feelings aside and take you like an animal?" he lifted up her chemise and he kneaded her thigh, "just say the word… I'm more than capable of it."
She became silent, shocked by his words. She felt his breath blowing against the nape of her neck. The effects of the alcohol started gradually dissipating, as well as her anger.
She attempted to turn around to face him, so he lifted his body up to give her the necessary space. She tentatively brought her hand up to his face. He stared at her, waiting for an answer.
"I want to be with you," she said, her voice breaking. "I love you," she whispered, and placed a tender kiss on his lips.
Thornton's anger melted away before her sweet words. She said she loved him... Maybe there was no need for her to go, maybe they could face the hardships together. He kissed her, and savored the taste of her. She pulled him towards her with her arms and legs. The kiss turned fiery almost immediately, fueled by all the raw emotions they had been through.
A knock on the door froze them in place; Margaret's eyes widened in alarm and Thornton stepped away from her. They hadn't exactly moderated their voices during their argument.
"Is everything alright, John? I heard some noises," asked Mrs. Thornton from behind the door.
Thornton held his hand up towards Margaret, implicitly asking for her to remain quiet. He hoped she wouldn't open the door; Margaret could have time to hide, but there was too much evidence scattered on the floor.
"Go back to bed mother. It's Anna sleepwalking again," he said, trying to sound as if he had been woken up.
There was a brief silence that seemed infinite.
"Very well, good night," she said.
They both sighed in relief. The interruption brought him back to his senses. His resolve had crumbled when she had talked of love; and he believed her, he truly did. But he was still apprehensive concerning the mill's unresolved business.
Margaret sat on the edge of the bed, not sure of what to do. She was scared of walking out, in case Mrs. Thornton was still lingering about.
"Wait a few minutes," he whispered.
She nodded. She was tired; she pulled up her legs and lay on her side, resting her head on the pillow. Thornton walked around the bed and climbed up from the other side so he could encircle her waist from behind. With their passions momentarily subdued, they enjoyed the embrace; her back against his chest.
"Margaret, you must know I love you," he whispered, tightening his hold. "And if you love me—as you say you do—I ask you to consider my request with a cool head," he said, his voice all gentleness.
She turned around to face him. She nodded weakly and rested her cheek on his chest, ready to hear the words that she dreaded.
"It would give me great reassurance to know that you had time to heal before you chose to be with me," he said. Once again, he avoided mentioning the mill's financial crisis, which made him feel a little guilty.
"My feelings won't change," she whispered back.
"Then, why are you so reluctant?" he asked. "It's only to give me some peace of mind."
She buried her face in his chest. Sobriety made her embarrassment come back.
"I think we're past any pretense of propriety," he said, noticing her hesitation.
Seeing the truth in his words, she faced him.
"Well, can't you tell?" she asked with a blush, "I cannot even go one day without missing your touch; how am I supposed to go without it a whole month?"
He let out a throaty laugh, and cut it short when he remembered they had almost been caught.
"You take pleasure in my suffering?" she asked, failing to see the humor.
"Forgive me… although a moment ago you seemed to be thoroughly enjoying mine," he said.
He was right; she had forgotten how she had gotten in his room. With no alcohol in her veins, she looked back on her behavior with mortification. She had acted like a harlot. She covered her face with her hands.
"But your seduction was certainly more pleasant than the blow," he added, noting her discomfort with some amusement.
She gasped and her body squirmed at the memory. She had hit him! That was probably what had brought Mrs. Thornton out of bed… She sat up and she used her hand to turn his face to the side. She was horrified by the scratch on his cheekbone.
"How awful," she said, "I shall never have another glass of wine again," she vowed, tracing the mark with her index finger cautiously.
"Oh, no," he countered almost immediately, "I'm sure such a strict measure is completely unnecessary," he argued with a mischievous smile, not wanting for this to be his last encounter with that version of Margaret.
Realizing what he meant, she couldn't help but smile coyly in return. She was relieved that he didn't shame her for what she had done—especially because she had enjoyed it…
"One month. Not a day more," she ordered.
"Not a day more," he repeated, taking her hand and kissing it.
She looked at him intently. She wanted to take it all in, so she wouldn't forget the sight of him in this setting, so she could recall how easy it was being together, their bodies and souls bare. If she didn't leave now, she wouldn't be able to do so later
"I should go," she whispered. She was also afraid of accidentally falling asleep in his room.
He stood up, and walked towards the door. He opened it and made sure that it was safe to cross the hallway. He closed it again slowly.
"It's empty," he said.
Margaret stood up and Thornton handed her the corset that he had picked up from the floor. When she tried to take it from him, he tightened his grasp. She looked at him in confusion. He leaned in and kissed her, wanting to make the moment last as long as possible.
"I already miss you," he whispered against her lips, letting go of the garment.
She caressed his face but didn't say it back. She couldn't help but resent him a little; whatever reasons he had, he was the one inflicting the pain of separation upon them.
"Good night," she whispered before leaving the room.
The next morning, Margaret's suitcases were already packed and placed beside the entrance when she came into the dining room. Only Mrs. Thornton was there, drinking her coffee.
"Good morning," she greeted.
"Good morning," Mrs. Thornton replied. "I hear you'll be leaving us this morning."
"Yes. I must thank you once more for your kindness," said Margaret.
"I hope you know that I do wish you the best," she said earnestly.
Margaret smiled.
"Good morning," greeted Mr. Thornton, taking his usual place.
"John! What happened to your face?" asked Mrs. Thornton with concern.
Margaret blushed.
"Shaving mishap," he said casually, "nothing serious."
Anna came around serving each a breakfast plate. Margaret stared at hers, but she couldn't eat anything, her stomach was in knots.
"You seem unwell, Miss Hale," observed Mrs. Thornton. "Was last night's dinner party so dreadful?" she asked.
"Not at all, Mrs. Thornton," she answered, with a polite smile. "I'm afraid traveling always makes me lose my appetite."
"Any news from the Latimers?" she asked, turning towards John.
"None worth sharing," he said.
Mrs. Thornton found his biting tone very strange. She was sure that the reason for his behavior was Margaret's departure. It also caught her attention that they hadn't interacted with each other at all.
There was a knock on the door, and they interrupted their meal to escort Margaret to the entrance. Anna had already greeted them, and Mr. Lennox was loading Margaret's suitcases in the carriage. Dixon could be seen through the window, waiting inside.
"Good morning," greeted Mr. Bell. "Please, accept our apologies for interrupting your breakfast. But we must make haste if we want to catch the early train."
"Of course, Mr. Bell," said Mrs. Thornton.
Henry approached once more, to see if there were any more suitcases. "Good morning!" he greeted everyone with a smile.
He noticed a smaller suitcase by the door and he attempted to grab it.
"I'll take that one, Henry," said Margaret, stopping him. "I'll be right there," she added.
Henry nodded and walked towards the carriage to wait beside it.
She bent down and took out a book from the suitcase. The book she had meant to give to Mr. Thornton when she parted. She turned to face them.
"Thank you very much for everything you've done for me," she said looking at Mrs. Thornton.
She turned to John and extended her arms, offering the book.
"It's father's Plato," she explained with a melancholic smile. "I thought you should have it."
He smiled in return and took the book from her hands, their fingers brushing briefly.
"I shall treasure it," he said.
"Please, tell Nicholas and Mary that I will write," she begged.
"Of course," he responded dutifully.
There was a pause in which they just stared at each other.
"I hope we will see each other again," she said, trying to communicate everything she couldn't with her eyes.
"I'm sure we will," he said, intending to do the same.
Mr. Bell and Mrs. Thornton exchanged glances awkwardly. The first, knowing that there was something more to the whole scene; and the latter, suspecting it. They both said nothing.
Mr. Bell cleared his throat.
"We should go now, my dear," he said, taking Margaret's suitcase.
She nodded.
"Goodbye," she said before turning around.
"See you soon," said Mr. Bell, tipping his hat and following Margaret's footsteps.
Every step she took towards the coach broke her heart, but she fought the tears that were threatening to flow. She tried to convince herself that the month's end would come in the blink of an eye.
Thornton watched from the entrance as Henry helped her get into the carriage. Bile rising in his throat, he wondered if he was making a mistake.
Mrs. Thornton looked at her son as he stared at the carriage draw away. She was sure now that something had happened between them.
AN. I hope you liked it! Thank you again for all your comments, I really appreciate them.