The first days in London weren't as bad as Margaret thought they would be. Although she found her aunt overbearing, she enjoyed spending time with Edith. The afternoons flew by as they talked about memories from their childhood and played with little Sholto. These activities, though simple, succeeded in distracting her and keeping her in a good mood.

The nights, on the other hand, she dreaded. Once she was alone in her bed, there was no distraction from Thornton's absence; it was the only thing she could think about. The torturous memory of his touch made her skin ache with desire. And, even after finally managing to fall asleep, he was there, tormenting her with kisses and caresses that amounted to nothing once morning came.

"Are you alright, Miss Margaret?" asked Dixon, as she opened the curtains in her room to let the morning light in, as she always did. "We've been here two weeks, and every morning you look wearier than before. It's as if the nights were absorbing your vitality," she observed.

"Good morning to you, too, Dixon. I'm sure many ladies would love hearing such flattering remarks when waking," she said sarcastically, but knowing there was a truth to her words.

"I meant no disrespect, I'm just worried about you," she said, turning to her seriously.

"I know. There's nothing to worry about," she reassured her.

"Very well," she said, trying to believe her. "Your bath is ready. I will come back later to help you get dressed."

"Thank you," said Margaret before Dixon exited the room.

Margaret walked towards the bathroom and she closed the door behind her. She smiled when she saw the steam coming out from the bathtub. She took off her nightgown and immersed herself in the water's warm embrace. She closed her eyes and sighed in contentment. She thought of how relaxing this was… and then she wondered what Thornton would do to her if he saw her like this.

Before she could stop herself, her brain had already worked out the whole daydream. There was no doubt that he would approach her with those hungry eyes she had gotten to know so well, he would sit by the bathtub and roll up his sleeves. She would close her eyes in pleasure when his hand started caressing her neck, and she would gasp—but say nothing—when it started traveling lower, brushing her breasts, her abdomen, until it finally reached that spot in which she craved it most.

When she realized she had been touching herself, following that same path, she opened her eyes and cursed at her own lack of restraint. Her core pulsed with need and her breath had quickened; the heat of the water and the lack of oxygen were making her feel lightheaded. Couldn't she just stop thinking about him? She took the lathered washcloth and started scrubbing her skin roughly, partially intending to get rid of both, the memory and the illusion, of his touch. When she thought of the two weeks that were still ahead, she suppressed a frustrated cry.

An hour later she was sitting in the dining room with Aunt Shaw, Edith and her husband. Just like her bed, the bath had also robbed her of her energy, rather than replenish it. Although everyone could tell, they attributed it to her mourning, and didn't ask about it.

"Margaret, Henry is planning to call on us today," said Edith with a bright smile, as she buttered a slice of bread.

"I see," said Margaret smiling politely, adding a spoonful of sugar to her coffee.

"Well, three days in a row!" exclaimed Aunt Shaw.

"Indeed!" confirmed Edith, "I wonder why he has been so keen in visiting as of late…" she commented, raising her eyebrows and eyeing Margaret.

Margaret ignored the comment, and sipped her coffee. She had grown accustomed to all of her cousin's suggestive remarks; it was no secret that Edith wanted her to get engaged to Henry. She found the comments very annoying, but she had learnt that silence was more effective than any retort she could come up with.

Henry had been coming nearly every day and almost always stayed for dinner, since Edith never failed to extend the invitation. Margaret didn't mind, she didn't dislike him, and they could have agreeable conversations. But she became apprehensive when there was any insinuation of them ending up together.

That afternoon he called on them, as he had promised, and they all sat together in the drawing room.

"Margaret, I'm happy to see you're looking much better," said Henry.

Margaret knew he was lying, she had hardly had a restful night's sleep, but she smiled all the same.

"Thank you, Henry. It's all because they have taken great care of me here," she said looking kindly towards her cousin and aunt.

"Oh, please! We're family, that is what we're here for," said Aunt Shaw. "And, of course, London is a very uplifting city… I still can't believe how your father was capable of taking you to such an awful town."

Margaret was about to retort when Henry spoke.

"Indeed. I had the chance to see it when I escorted Margaret to London, and I must say it's one of the saddest places I've seen," said Henry.

"It's easy to miss its charm at first sight," argued Margaret.

"Well, I've never seen it, but I remember your letters, Margaret," said Edith with Sholto propped on her knees. "You painted a dreadful picture—and boring! Not a thing to do but taking walks."

"We're lucky to live in a place such as London," said Maxwell. "There's always something to do."

"I agree, brother," said Henry. "In fact, there is a new play premiering at St. James' Theatre next Friday, and I was thinking we could all go see it," he suggested.

"What an excellent idea!" exclaimed Edith, smiling widely.

"Oh, how tedious," said Aunt Shaw, "I can't stand plays anymore. The four of you can go. I will take care of my dear Sholto," she said looking at her grandson with adoration.

"Aren't you excited, Margaret?" asked Edith, looking at her cousin expectantly.

"Yes," she responded smiling, but not with as much enthusiasm as Edith was hoping for.

Edith asked Henry about the play's plot, but Margaret wasn't paying attention anymore. She didn't doubt that the outing would be entertaining, but she couldn't help thinking that she would rather be doing something boring with Thornton, than something fun without him.

When it was time to move to the dining room for supper, Henry offered his arm to escort her. She accepted, and let him lead her to the table. On their way, he took advantage of the fact that the others were out of hearing range.

"I didn't lie when I said you look well tonight," he said, admiring her face.

Margaret felt very uncomfortable. Hadn't she made herself clear when she had rejected his proposal?

"You should save those compliments for the young ladies you want to impress," she jested. Thinking that she was making it clear they were just friends.

"I only speak the truth," he said with a flirtatious smile.

Margaret hoped he was just being friendly.

The dinner was slow and tedious. Margaret was thankful when they were free to retire for bed. Dixon helped her get out of her dress, and then she, too, retired for the night. As she rested her head on her pillow, she thought of him. She wondered how he was doing, and if he was thinking of her. She wanted to know if he missed her as much as she did—up to a point in which it was physically painful… She fell asleep knowing that the pain would also be there in the morning, and the next morning, and the one after that…

The week went by in the blink of an eye for everyone except for Margaret, who was counting down the days. Thornton was supposed to be back next week, and she could not wait for the next seven days to be over.

For now she was sitting in the drawing room with Edith, Henry and Maxwell, wearing one of her most elegant dresses. They were having some tea because they still had an hour to kill before it was time to leave for the theater.

The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door. Edith exchanged glances with her husband.

"Where you expecting anyone?" she asked with curiosity.

"No, my dear," he said.

Suddenly, the maid entered the room.

"It's a Mr. Bell," she announced.

"Oh, let him in!" said Edith, knowing he was Mr. Hale's old friend.

Mr. Bell entered the drawing room.

"Good evening, everyone. I'm sorry for calling on you unannounced," he began.

"Don't worry, Mr. Bell. Join us," said Henry, extending his hand towards an empty space in the couch.

"Oh no, don't worry, Mr. Lennox. I won't be long," he said, remaining in his place. "I didn't have a chance to give notice because this was an unexpected stop in my journey. I was actually on my way to Milton, but the train had a malfunction. I'm afraid I won't be able to get there until tomorrow morning," he lamented with a sigh. "But anyway," he said, tapping on his chest, and smiling again. "I couldn't find myself in London and not make the time to check upon Miss Hale," he explained. "But, I see I was worrying over nothing. You look radiant, my dear," he said, admiring her beauty.

Margaret looked down, embarrassed at being singled out in front of the group.

"May I ask where you're going?" he inquired, shifting his attention towards Henry.

"We're heading out to the theatre," he said.

"Just the four of you?" he asked, lowering his voice and raising his eyebrows suggestively.

"Yes," he said, giving him a complicit smile that Margaret disliked.

"I see," said Mr. Bell. "Well, I only came to see if you were better, and I'm happy to confirm that you are," he said.

"Thank you, Mr. Bell," said Margaret. "Will you stay long in Milton?" she asked.

"Just for the day… I will be heading to Brighton after; I'm interested in acquiring a property by the sea," he said.

"What a charming idea," said Edith, "I'm sure there's nothing more romantic than being able to look at the ocean whenever you want."

"Indeed, Mrs. Lennox," said Mr. Bell.

"Then, you'll be stopping again in London on your way back, won't you?" asked Henry.

"I suppose so," said Mr. Bell.

"Oh! Then you must join us for dinner the day after tomorrow, Mr. Bell," ordered Edith. "This visit has been too brief," she complained.

"I'll be delighted," he said. "But, I must be going now. I don't want to keep you," he added bowing slightly. "I wish you all a lovely night."

"Thank you. Don't forget, we'll be waiting for you on Sunday," said Edith.

"I would never. See you then," he said with a smile before exiting the room.

"What a lovely gentleman, I understand why he was uncle's closest friend," said Edith, turning towards Margaret.

"Excuse me," said Margaret, before bolting out after Mr. Bell.

The others remained in the drawing room, exchanging quizzical looks.

"Mr. Bell, wait," said Margaret, stopping him in the hallway that led to the main entrance.

"What is it, my dear?" he asked, with a concerned look on his face.

"Have you any news from Mr. Thornton?" she asked.

"I'm afraid I don't," he said, a little disappointed that Thornton was still in her mind. He thought that by now she would be smitten with Mr. Lennox. "I haven't seen him since we left together. Tomorrow is the first time I return to Milton since then."

"I see," she said, visibly saddened. "Will you meet with him tomorrow?" she asked; hope coming back to her eyes.

"Yes," he confessed.

"Could you please let him know... that I'm thinking of him?" she asked, not caring at all about how pathetic she sounded. "He's coming to London next week… but regardless, could you?"

"Yes," he nodded, "yes, of course."

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "Have a safe trip."

Mr. Bell smiled, bowed slightly once more and exited the house.

As he made his way to his hotel, he thought that maybe Margaret needed more time with Mr. Lennox before the scenario he had visualized could play out. After all, they were going to the theater in a double date and that was a great sign. Thornton's visit would ruin it all, though.

The next morning, Mr. Bell caught the early train to Milton. He needed to pay a visit to Mr. Thornton in order to evaluate how he was doing and determine if there was a need to start scouting for new tenants.

Mr. Bell thought Thornton was an admirable businessman, but he was convinced that rescuing the mill in such a short period of time was impossible—even for him. When he arrived to town, he made his way to Marlborough Mills and knocked on his office's door.

"Come in!" he heard him exclaim from inside.

Mr. Bell opened the door and found him focused on the papers on his desk. He looked very tired, disheveled and had circles under his eyes. It looked like it had been a couple of days since he had last shaved and his cravat was gone. His rolled up sleeves revealed that his forearms were covered in blotches of ink.

"Dear Lord, Thornton!" exclaimed Mr. Bell, with worry in his eyes. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Mr. Bell, don't trouble me with unnecessary questions. What do you want?" he asked bitterly.

"Very well," he said. "I wanted an update on your situation. As I said before, it would be best for me to start looking for tenants now if things are going awry. And by the look of you, it seems that they are…"

This time, Thornton couldn't bring himself to disagree with him. It seemed that everything he had done—even sending Margaret away—had been completely useless.

"I managed to get an extension for the loan," he said.

"How long?" asked Mr. Bell.

"Another month," he said, bringing his hand to the bridge of his nose. The lack of sleep was giving him a terrible headache.

"Well I'm sure that extension was granted in exchange for a higher interest rate…"

Thornton's silence confirmed this was true.

"Even if your buyers pay on time, you will need support from investors to cover that extra cost," added Mr. Bell.

"I'm aware of that, Mr. Bell. And I shall procure them," he said with annoyance.

"Thornton, you should give this up now… You must know that's hardly enough time to secure any investors," Mr. Bell observed, knowing very well that this would only lengthen the mill's impending doom. "Or…" he pondered out loud. "Mr. Watson has told me about his financial venture… maybe if you were to join him, things could turn back around."

He had heard this proposal before from his sister and mother, and he had refused both times. He would not risk his workers' salaries, even if in the end it meant losing the mill. Thornton detested the way Mr. Bell took the liberty of voicing his opinion, and it became manifest in his murderous glare.

"I would appreciate you leaving all matters concerning my business to me," he said severely.

"I understand," he said. "But, I don't see how you'll find time to head to London next week," he observed.

"What?" he asked.

"Miss Hale told me you had plans to go," he explained.

"Did you see her?" he asked, his facial expression suddenly becoming gentler. "How is she?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I just saw her yesterday," he explained. "She seems to be doing very well."

"Did she say anything?" he asked, wondering if she had conveyed a message for him.

"No," said Mr. Bell, choosing to ignore Margaret's request.

"Did she know you were coming to see me?" he asked, a little confused.

"Yes, but she didn't say anything else," Mr. Bell insisted, immediately noting the disappointment caused by his words.

"Will you be seeing her again soon?" he asked.

"I have plans to dine with her family tomorrow night," he explained.

Thornton took out a sealed envelope from his desk's drawer.

"With things the way they are, I can't make it to London next week," he said. "I meant to post this earlier explaining the circumstances to her, but I haven't found the time. If it isn't too much trouble—delivering it through you would be faster and safer," he explained handing the letter to him.

"It's no trouble at all, Thornton," he said, taking the letter from his hand and placing it in his coat's breast pocket. "Although, I must warn you, you may not get the response you expect," he warned.

Thornton's eyes narrowed as he waited for further explanation.

"I feel compelled to tell you… that her feelings may have changed," he said with a serious tone. "In fact, just last night, she was looking very handsome in company of Mr. Henry Lennox. They were heading out to the theater."

Those words were like a punch to his stomach; he tried to mask his reaction. Was it possible that she had changed her mind already?

"Anyway, I will leave you now. I see that you're very busy," said Mr. Bell, turning towards the door. "But, I will be coming back next month, Thornton. I hate this as much as you do… but, business is business," he added before walking out.

As soon as he closed the door, Thornton let his fists fall hard on his desk, making everything on it tremble. The vision of Margaret laughing by Henry's side was like baiting an enraged bull with a red mantle. But he had to keep it together, they had just gone to the theater… it meant nothing… He would come back to see her as soon as he was able, and then everything would be clear. He tried hard to bring his attention back to work.

Mr. Bell walked leisurely towards the hotel room he had reserved for his night in Milton. There was a finely ornate common room with a fire burning in the chimney. Mr. Bell approached the flames and took off his gloves, allowing his hands to absorb some of its warmth.

He remembered Thornton's request, and he took out the letter from his breast pocket. He stared at the envelope for a few seconds… Thornton's state had been deplorable, and this only was a confirmation that he was not a suitable match for Margaret. His eyes hardened with purpose and in one swift motion, he threw the piece of paper into the flames.

The following evening, Mr. Bell kept his promise and arrived just in time to have dinner with Margaret and the rest of her family. When they all sat at the table, Margaret chose the seat beside his; she wanted to be near him to ask him about Thornton discreetly.

"How was the play?" asked Mr. Bell, initiating the table's conversation.

Edith was happy to explain the whole plot. Margaret couldn't chime in, since she hadn't paid any attention to the show. Once the lights dimmed, she had been lost to the daydreams that had become so recurrent. When the play ended, they had all eagerly discussed their favorite characters and scenes, but Margaret could do nothing but stay silent.

"Did you enjoy it, Margaret? You seem very quiet" noted Mr. Bell, looking her way.

"I'm afraid Margaret doesn't care for the theater," Henry said.

"Oh, no… I do enjoy it very much," she argued.

"You were so taciturn after," he insisted.

"That play wasn't particularly interesting," she said, regretting her words as soon as she had spoken them. "I meant no offense, of course, Henry," she added immediately.

"Don't worry," he said with a reassuring smile. On the inside, though, he felt disappointed at having failed to entertain her.

Margaret was thankful when the conversation shifted towards another topic, and she took advantage of their distraction to lean in towards Mr. Bell.

"How was your trip to Milton?" she asked.

"Very well, my dear," he responded vaguely. "It was very tiring—coming and going on the train—but I've grown accustomed to it," he added, avoiding the subject of Thornton deliberately.

"I'm happy to hear it," she said. When she realized he would say nothing more, she continued, "did you deliver my message?" she asked, lowering her voice.

"What message?" he pretended to be oblivious to it at first, as he focused on pouring vinegar on his salad. "Oh, that message! Yes, yes, of course, I did."

"And?" she asked, after she was met with more silence.

"Well, I conveyed your message and that was that," he said straightforwardly.

"Oh…" she found it strange. "Did he not say anything?" she asked.

Mr. Bell looked into her eyes; the innocence he saw in them made him feel guilty about having burnt Thornton's letter. The short-lived remorse was gone in the split of a second.

"I'm afraid not, my dear. We mostly talked about business," he explained, taking a piece of lettuce into his mouth.

Margaret's appetite vanished. Could he have changed his mind about their situation? She started feeling nervous and impatient.

"Did he mention anything about his upcoming trip to London?" she asked, intending for that to be her last question on the subject—she was making herself look desperate.

"Not that I recall," he lied. "But if he promised you he would be here next week, surely he will be," he said with a condescending smile.

Margaret wasn't reassured by this, but what else could she do but wait?

"Will you be attending Lord Davenport's annual ball?" asked Mr. Bell, changing the subject and addressing the whole table.

"Of course!" answered Edith. "I bought a dress specifically for it a month ago!"

Margaret remembered having attended the ball once, when she was younger—Aunt Shaw had made a big deal out of it. In her defense, it was a big deal. Only the most renowned families in London were invited, they said that the orchestra and the caterers were the same who served at Buckingham Palace. All of the ladies wore their most expensive gowns, and used this opportunity to meet and dance with eligible bachelors.

"Oh, I had completely forgotten," said Henry. "When is it?"

"In nineteen days!" said Edith excitedly.

"Well, someone has been counting down the hours," commented Maxwell, making everyone laugh.

"Margaret! Since you'll be accompanying us, we must go to the tailor's tomorrow to get you a new dress," said Aunt Shaw. "I'm sure if we pay a little more, they can finish it on time."

"I don't think that's necessary," said Margaret. She was sure that, by then, Thornton would already have taken her back to Milton.

"Nonsense! If it's because of the expense, you know very well I shall take care of it," she insisted.

"Oh, no… I beg you. If I were to attend, I have that gown I used for Edith and Maxwell's wedding. I'm sure it will do just fine," she said.

"If you were to attend?" asked Aunt Shaw. "Do you have a previous engagement that we should be aware of?"

"Oh, no, not at all, I just meant-"

"As for the dress," Aunt Shaw interrupted, "many of the guests that will attend Davenport's ball went to Edith's wedding—they saw you in it. We don't want them thinking any less of our family. Tomorrow we'll be heading to the tailor's," she said, leaving no room for discussion.

Margaret was sure she wasn't that important to London society—nobody would notice if she wore the dress twice, but she was smart enough to know arguing with her aunt would lead nowhere.

They continued talking, wondering about how spectacular the ball would be, but Margaret couldn't care any less; there was no doubt that it would be an entertaining evening, however she would choose an ordinary night by Thornton's side—or rather an uninhibited night in his arms—over a grand ball any day. She wanted nothing more than for next week to arrive; the excitement and impatience made her feel like when she had waited for Christmas as a child.

"Look at Margaret's smile!" noted Edith.

Margaret stopped smiling immediately. She hadn't even realized she was doing it.

"Try as you might, you can't hide your excitement for the ball!" she accused.

Margaret smiled again, thinking that it was better to play along.

"You found me out, Edith," she lied.

"I knew it! We'll have the best time, you'll see," she said. "And you know, Henry is a remarkable dancer," she added cheekily.

"Edith, please!" said Henry, blushing.

"As your brother, I must confirm that this is true," said Maxwell, partially intending to flatter him before Margaret's eyes, and partially wanting to make him feel even more embarrassed.

The conversation continued merrily for another hour. When the clock struck 10, Mr. Bell politely stood up, thanked them and retired; promising to pay a visit when he came back to London.

Once in bed, Margaret closed her eyes. For the first time, her dreams of Thornton weren't all painful; they had a tinge of sweetness to them. She smiled, breathing deeply—they would soon meet again.

The following day, Aunt Shaw dragged Margaret to the tailor's. They took her measurements and showed them various pictures of dress cuts and pieces of fabric that could be used. Margaret's role consisted of absentmindedly agreeing with her aunt's opinion—naturally, as she was the one covering the expense.

"We have no time, so we will skip the flowers, ribbons and lace," Aunt Shaw said to the old man. "But, the fabric of the dress must be the very best in order to make up for it."

"Very well," said the tailor, heading to the back. "I just received this burgundy silk from Paris—it's not even in the sample book yet."

He rolled the fabric, extending a couple of meters on the table. Aunt Shaw gasped in wonderment. The soft, deep red waves even caught Margaret's eye, and she had been completely disengaged from the whole process. It was a very beautiful fabric indeed.

"Oh, this is perfect! Now I almost feel sorry that my daughter already has a dress," joked Aunt Shaw. "Henry will be rendered speechless!"

"Isn't the color a little… bold?" she asked swallowing nervously.

"Just bold enough," said the tailor with a smile. "This color is the most sought after by the French upper classes this season."

"We must have it!" exclaimed Aunt Shaw.

"Since you're one of my most faithful clients, Mrs. Shaw, you can be sure that the dress will be finished by next week!"

They came back home, and Aunt Shaw was still excited, imagining how the dress would turn out. Margaret didn't care much for fashion, but she could tell that people in London were more concerned with it than in Helstone or Milton. Nevertheless, she was sure the dress would turn out beautifully, so much so that she almost felt sorry that she wouldn't get to wear it.

The days seemed to drag on longer than usual. They all followed the same pattern: breakfast, playtime with Sholto, reading and gossiping with Edith and Aunt Shaw, lunchtime, a visit from Henry, dinner, getting to bed… tossing and turning sleeplessly over imaginary encounters with Thornton, and waking up only to go through it all over again.

When Friday finally came, Margaret was very agitated. She waited for a note announcing his visit all morning, but it never came. Maybe he was planning on calling unannounced? After lunch, she remained in the sitting room with Edith, her aunt and Sholto, as usual; they were having a conversation, but she was only listening half-heartedly.

"You should have seen it, Edith. The most beautiful color!" exclaimed Aunt Shaw.

"Oh, mother! You haven't stopped talking about it since you left the tailor's," she said with Sholto sleeping against her chest.

"Well, it is! But you shouldn't be jealous since you're already married. It's Margaret who needs to make an impression!" she said with a playful chuckle.

When Margaret remained serious, Edith knew that her cousin's attention was elsewhere.

"Margaret?" she called.

Margaret blinked, and turned to her.

"Are you well? You seem so far away," she observed.

"Please, forgive me," she apologized, knowing very well that she wasn't herself. "I was thinking of something else. What were you saying?"

"Well, I don't blame you. Mama was just talking about the dress… again," she explained, visibly tired of the subject.

"You won't understand until you actually see the color, Edith," she said, justifying her eagerness.

A knock on the door interrupted their conversation, and Margaret involuntarily stood up; her eyes attentive on the door. Edith and her mother exchanged puzzled looks. The maid entered the sitting room to announce the visitor.

"It's Mr. Henry Lennox," she said.

Margaret sat back down with a sigh. When had she stood up anyway? She needed to be more inconspicuous.

"Show him in," said Aunt Shaw.

The maid nodded and retired.

"Were you expecting someone?" asked Edith with curiosity.

Fortunately, Henry entered the room before she could answer the question.

"Good evening, ladies," he said, bowing.

"Henry, it's so good to see you," greeted Edith. "Please, join us. Maxwell will be here anytime now."

The rest of the day went on as it usually did. Maxwell arrived a few minutes later and they all talked. Afterwards, they dined together and Henry left once they finished. There was no sign of Thornton. When Margaret retired for bed, she convinced herself that he was planning to show up during the weekend.

By Sunday night, Margaret's certainty turned to doubt. Maybe he had changed his mind, or maybe he had never really intended to come back for her… Even considering that possibility broke her heart. She cried herself to sleep that night, and when there was no news on Monday, she did so again.

On Tuesday, she told Dixon she had a terrible headache, and that the pain wouldn't allow her to get out of bed. She stayed in her room the whole day and the curtains remained drawn. That night, Dixon came to bring dinner and check on her…

"Miss Margaret, are you feeling better?" she asked, approaching the bed.

"I'm not hungry, Dixon," she said, turning to the other side.

"You didn't have anything for breakfast or lunch—you need to eat!" she exclaimed with authority.

Dixon's demeanor softened when Margaret didn't respond. She left the tray on the nightstand and sat on the mattress beside her, facing her back.

"I know why you've been like this," she said gently.

Margaret turned to face her when she heard this. How could Dixon know anything about what had happened?

"It's been two months since the master passed," she said.

Margaret's eyes avoided hers; she had also thought about that… it only made her feel worse.

"Losing a parent can be very hard. I lost mine when I was very young," she said. "But you must always treasure the happy times," she added reassuringly.

Margaret smiled at her, trying to make her believe she had accomplished her goal.

"Don't worry too much, Dixon. I will feel much better in the morning."

"Very well," said Dixon, patting her lightly on her upper arm. "I'll leave the tray here, in case you get hungry."

"Thank you. See you in the morning," she said with a kind smile.

"Good night," she said before exiting her room.

The rest of the week, she tried hard to pretend there was nothing wrong with her. Those around her would ask if she was fine, and she would smile and say yes with as much confidence as she could muster. She must have been convincing, since after a while they stopped asking. When she was alone though, her emotions made themselves acutely known.

By Friday night, she had no more tears to shed, she had become angry instead. She hated that she was still hoping for a letter, or just to see him coming through the door… like he had done without warning at Marlborough Mills, pushing her up against the wall… she hated that her skin still tingled with anticipation at the memory. No. She had to keep those alluring thoughts at bay. He hadn't kept his word nor bothered to provide an explanation; this could only mean he wouldn't show up at all.

She cursed Fred's ghost stories, she cursed the sleepwalking maid, she cursed the noisy floorboards, and, above all, she cursed the night that she had mistakenly gotten into his bed! Not seeing him again would have been easier to bear if he had never laid a finger on her.

She was frustrated at her own body's inability to keep up with her brain; it still didn't understand that it was supposed to be repulsed by the very idea of him. A part of her feared that the damage could be permanent—how could she ever allow, let alone desire, another man's touch? Thornton had sentenced her to a dire future indeed.

What could she do about it? Writing to him asking for reasons would not only be improper, but also humiliating. She had already felt embarrassingly dependent when she had conveyed her message through Mr. Bell, and he hadn't even bothered to send a message back! No, she wouldn't debase herself like that again. The only thing she could do was go on with her life in the hopes that one day he would be nothing but a distant memory.

She tossed and turned in her bed, and when she found herself staring into his blue eyes, she knew she had fallen asleep. She gave into the vision, and enjoyed the fleeting bliss of his body pressing hers down and of his lips on her skin. The next morning, she woke up feeling empty; no dream could ever measure up to what being with him really felt like.

Later in the day, Margaret accompanied her aunt to the tailor's—a note had arrived that morning, saying that the dress had been finished. Once there, she tried it on so they could be sure all the measurements had been right. It fit her perfectly.

Margaret wasn't a particularly vain person, but she did find herself transfixed by her own reflection for a brief moment. Her shoulders, arms and cleavage were beautifully displayed. Although it was quite a simple cut, the color complimented her skin tone and brightened her natural blush and the pinkness of her lips. The crimson hues were on the edge of what was socially acceptable—Aunt Shaw could be prudish in many respects, but fashion had never been one of them.

As she admired her figure, she reckoned that at least staying in London meant she could wear such a beautiful garment.

Aunt Shaw praised the tailor's work, paid him and asked for help so they could load it into their carriage.

Margaret was indifferent to the calendar, but due to Edith's constant reminders, she was very aware of how close the day of the party was getting. On the morning of the ball, her cousin was in a very good mood, speaking excitedly with a chirped tone. After lunchtime, she forced Margaret into her room and sat her down before the mirror. Edith tried all sorts of hairstyles on her, following guidance from a fashion magazine.

"I'm sure Henry will love this one," she said admiring her latest tryout.

"Please, Edith. It makes me very uncomfortable when you speak like that," Margaret said, looking at her through the mirror.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Margaret," she apologized, realizing she was being serious. "I have been so overbearing concerning this topic… I mean, you know I would love for you two to get together, but I should consider your feelings," she said embarrassed. "I forget uncle's passing was just a couple of months ago…"

"Thank you for understanding," she said, smiling kindly. "I do think this style will do for tonight," she said, lightening up the conversation and bringing her eyes back to her own reflection. "Do you want me to try some on you?"

Edith nodded excitedly and they switched places. After a couple of tries, and once her cousin was happy with the result, she left to her own room so they could get dressed.

Dixon had to come and help Margaret put her gown on, taking care to not mess up the curls that had been intentionally let loose. Dixon gasped when she took a step back to admire her.

"Miss Margaret, you look breathtaking," she said; her smile couldn't possibly be any wider. "If only the masters were here to see you."

"You exaggerate," she accused bashfully.

When she turned around to look at herself, she was pleasantly surprised, but she said nothing to betray that moment of vain self-indulgence. When she came down to meet Edith and Aunt Shaw, their mouths fell open.

"Oh, mother, you were right!" said Edith, admiring her cousin.

"I told you so! And don't you worry," she said turning back to Margaret. "If Henry is not to your liking, there will be plenty of other gentlemen lining up for you to choose from."

"Mother, Henry is perfectly fine!" chastised Edith.

Aunt Shaw shrugged and Margaret couldn't help but chuckle at their quarrel.

"I'll be happy to just spend time with you. You both also look lovely," she complimented.

Edith had chosen a baby blue dress with white lace, while her mother was wearing a green one with huge bows adorning the bodice.

Their conversation was interrupted when Maxwell and Henry entered the room announcing the arrival of the carriage.

Henry eyed Margaret up and down slowly, making sure she became aware of his perusal. She could tell there was lust in his eyes, and that made her feel very uneasy.

"You look beautiful," he said. "You all do," he added.

His remark was echoed by Maxwell, and the ladies thanked them politely. When they got into the carriage, Margaret was glad to see there was no sufficient space, and that Henry had to sit beside the coachman.

Once their party arrived to Davenport's estate, they were welcomed by Lord and Lady Davenport themselves. As they made their way inside to take their places in some of the chairs surrounding the ballroom, Margaret admired the wide space. There were tall arched windows and double doors leading to a spacious terrace. It was her second time there, and yet she couldn't help but stare in wonder at the opulent ornamentation and the huge chandelier that hung from the ceiling.

"Margaret, everyone is looking at you," said Edith in a low voice as they made their way across the room.

Margaret looked to the people around her and realized Edith had spoken the truth. She swallowed nervously, not knowing what to do with that information. She felt a little anxious for wearing such an eye-catching color, everyone else had chosen pastels. Nothing could be done about it now; she just needed to distract herself from those thoughts.

As soon as she sat down, at least three gentlemen seemed to start heading her way. Noticing this, Henry immediately blocked their path by standing right in front of her.

"Margaret, would you please do me the honor of granting me the first dance?" he asked.

She was a little taken aback by his quickness and uncomfortable when she caught him stealing a glance down her cleavage, but refusing at these events was rude. "Y-yes," she answered reluctantly.

The other gentlemen reached them, and were introduced by her Aunt Shaw—she practically knew everyone there. Margaret dutifully promised her second, third and fourth sets to these gentlemen. She made polite small talk with all of them, and tried not to be distracted by Henry's jealous glare.

When the orchestra was about to play the first set, Margaret and Henry made their way through the crowd to find a spot in the ballroom. This one didn't require a lot of touching, and she was thankful for it. There was something about him tonight that was making her feel anxious.

The second set was a little boring; her partner was very quiet and didn't know the steps. The third got better, the gentleman, although shorter than her, was a decent dancer, and managed to carry on a conversation throughout the dance.

The fourth set was her favorite, her partner was handsome and amicable and they danced to an upbeat polka. She couldn't help but laugh out loud when he lifted her up and set her back down on the floor—Henry wouldn't like that reaction at all.

When the music stopped, she excused herself and approached a refreshments table that had been set against the wall. She was exhausted. She grabbed a glass of water and forced herself not to swallow it all in one gulp for the sake of propriety. As she took ladylike sips, she sensed someone approach from behind her. She brushed it off—just another thirsty guest.

"You do not waste your time, do you, Miss Hale?" a very familiar voice whispered near her ear—possessiveness darkening its tone.

Her hand tightened around her glass and she shivered; she didn't need to turn around to know the voice's owner.

AN. Thank you for your comments! Hope you enjoyed this chapter and wish you all happy holidays!