"Get out," she commanded with fury.
Thornton placed his hand on the handle. A part of her felt a little disappointed that he had been so quick to obey… then she heard the turn of the lock. He approached her with that smug smile that she hated to love.
She immediately walked towards the other end of the room, so that the bed remained between them. What in the world did he intend?
"I will scream," she warned.
"Or you could sit down and listen to what I have to say," he said, extending his hand towards the couch in the corner of the room.
She eyed him suspiciously.
"I'm an honorable businessman, Miss Hale," he said, showing his palms, as if he were a criminal before the police. "I have questions, as I'm sure you do, too. This is nothing more than a transaction," he explained. "You want me to leave, the price for that is some of your time. You want an answer to one of your questions, the price for that is your answer to one of mine."
It sounded truthful enough, and she did have a lot of questions. Maybe she could give him an opportunity to explain himself. She nodded.
"Please, sit," he said, extending his hand towards the couch again.
She walked towards the couch, but hesitated before sitting.
"If everything shall be an exchange, then I want for you to be seated as well," she said pointing towards the vanity's armless chair. She disliked the idea of him prowling about the room—this way he would be less intimidating.
"You would make a fine businesswoman," he observed with a smile.
He grabbed the chair and placed it right across from the couch, so they would be sitting face to face.
"You don't have to move it so close," she said, fearing proximity could have other consequences.
"Do you want everyone in the house to hear us talk?" he asked.
He always had a sound motive for everything. She complained no more. Thornton placed himself before the chair and they both sat down at the same time, staring at each other.
"I dare say, so far we're very trustworthy business partners, wouldn't you agree?" he asked with a grin that was left unrequited.
Margaret wasn't comfortable with how close they were, their knees practically brushing.
Thornton took a moment to eye her up and down; she was wearing a different nightgown than the one he had seen her in before. This one's fabric was loose and slightly see-through, but it covered her up to her neck and wrists. He had been hoping to catch a glimpse of her bare skin.
"Begin," she urged, not knowing why he was taking so long.
"Of course," he said, bringing his attention back to the most important matter. "My first question—did Mr. Bell hand you a letter?"
"No," she answered with confusion in her eyes.
Thornton's jaw clenched and he cursed Mr. Bell inwardly. How could he have done something like this? Had he forgotten?
"A letter written by you?" she inquired.
"Yes," he said.
"What did it say?" she asked curiously.
"It's my turn," he reminded her. "Did you go to the theater with Henry Lennox?"
"Y-yes," she said with hesitation. "But Edith and Maxwell were also there."
The confirmation hurt him—he was hoping Mr. Bell had lied—but knowing that they hadn't attended alone was an improvement.
"What did the letter say?" she repeated her previous question.
"That I wouldn't be making it to London on the date we had agreed," he explained.
Margaret smiled—he had written to let her know! Some of the weight she had been carrying lifted off her shoulders.
"What is it?" he asked. Even though he didn't know the reason, he couldn't help but smile back at her.
"Nothing," she said, lowering her eyes and wringing her hands. "Only… it's good to know that you didn't forget about me."
Thornton was moved by her words, how could she ever think he would forget about her? That was impossible. He leaned in and caressed her cheek.
The sensation made her meet his eyes. Those blue hypnotizing eyes were there, getting closer. She could feel his breath against her face. How she had dreamed of being with him like this again… As if she had been put under a spell, she leaned in with heavy-lidded eyes.
"I have another request," she said breathily, interrupting his advance when his lips were just a millimeter away from hers.
He pulled back slightly, waiting for her to explain.
"You can't touch me," she stated with pain in her voice. "Please," she begged in a whisper. They needed to have this conversation.
Thornton gave one final glance to her luscious lips before reluctantly leaning on the chair's backrest and crossing his arms. Margaret was still tilting forward; it took her another second to straighten her back.
"That's an expensive request," he observed.
"Continue…" she said, waiting for him to name his price.
She felt his penetrating gaze trace her from head to toe.
"Five buttons," he stated.
"Excuse me?" she asked, not knowing what he was referring to.
He openly stared at her chest in response. She looked down to find the buttons on her nightgown, and blushed when she understood what he meant. When she looked back at him, she shivered—his face was slightly lowered; his eyes fixed on her like a hawk's.
It was an outrageous request, and yet she found it exhilarating. As long as he was with her, she could trick her conscience into thinking he was to blame for her own lust. The wave of heat that pulsed through her intensified and incited her to do as he bid. Her fingers traveled to the first button just below her neck.
"But you won't touch me," she reminded him, sounding teasing unintendedly.
He nodded and she unfastened one button after the other without breaking eye contact. She paused by the fourth button, which rested right between her breasts. She was deafened by the drumming of her heart—could he hear it? She bit her lip with nervousness.
Thornton grunted and placed his elbows on his thighs; he wanted to be the one biting that lip. How stupid had his request been? He had practically ordered the finest dish in the world while not able to savor it.
Margaret found more encouragement in his frustration—having the power to unsettle him was an aphrodisiac to her. She undid the fourth and fifth buttons; the fabric now opened to reveal the valley of her breasts and part of her midriff, barely covering her hardened nipples.
Thornton's body responded to the sight. He took his time admiring her, even though he knew he had to stand by their agreement—touching her was off the table.
Slowly, she pulled her hair behind her back so that it didn't obstruct his view. That unexpected move made Thornton tighten his fists—she wanted him to see her.
"There's a wicked side to you, Miss Hale," he whispered, narrowing his eyes.
"I believe it's my turn to ask a question," she said, ignoring his comment. "Why didn't you come to London when you promised?" she asked.
It was hard for Thornton to get his thoughts back in order…
"There were some… issues at Marlborough Mills," he answered, not wanting to go into specifics. "I came to see Lord Davenport to resolve them; things are looking up at present. I didn't want to come see you until those issues were taken care of."
His answer provided some comfort, not only because it explained why he hadn't come to see her earlier, but also because it made her happy to hear the mill was doing better. She also enjoyed his evident struggle to keep his eyes on her face.
"On to another subject… why did you wear that red dress to the ball?" he asked.
"It was burgundy," she corrected. "And I wore it because it is a beautiful dress."
"It did gain you plenty of attention from the gentlemen there," he pointed out.
"Are you implying I wore it to seduce a rich man?" she asked in amused bewilderment. "If that were of any concern to me, I would have married you the first time you asked," she said.
His jaw clenched—his pride was still sore from that day. Margaret noted she had hit a nerve and decided to use a mellower tone.
"If you were to see things differently, you would realize how wrong you are..." she said with more gentleness. "The men allowed to see me in a pretty dress are harmless," she explained. "Your only concern should be the one who's allowed to see me without it."
These words were bittersweet for Thornton; although they soothed his ego, they also inflamed his desire. His palms ached to trace the soft skin that was on display for him.
"I apologize for the accusation…" he said, "I should have paid no heed to Mr. Bell—he suggested your feelings had changed when he visited the mill," he explained.
"That's impossible," she said in disbelief.
"Why?" he asked.
"Well, I asked him to tell you that I was thinking of you," she explained. "Didn't he?"
"No…" he answered, not needing any further evidence to know this hadn't been an oversight.
"What? He even suggested you had said nothing in return!" she exclaimed, feeling relieved that Thornton hadn't actually broken her heart.
"No… It is clear Mr. Bell can't be trusted; I shall have a word with him… As for now, you owe me two questions," he said.
"Oh, the last one wasn't a question!" she clarified.
"A deal is a deal," he said with a mischievous smile that took her breath away.
"Very well," she conceded, wanting to kiss that smile off his lips. Clearing those details up had lightened the general mood of their interaction.
"When I came into the room you were speaking to yourself… what did you mean when you said 'it shall not happen again'?"
Her heart skipped a beat and her eyes widened.
"Nothing," she said, swallowing nervously.
"I see your lying skills haven't improved," he mocked.
"Well… I… I meant," she stammered. "Those… thoughts wouldn't go away…" she said avoiding his eyes. "I resisted it for so long; and then yesterday you made it worse—it was your fault!" she accused.
"You're not making sense," he said with a mocking grin.
"I-I…" she couldn't bring herself to confess, it was too embarrassing.
"I could exchange this question for a request, if you please," he offered.
"Yes!" she exclaimed eagerly.
Looking into her eyes, he leaned in and encircled his arms around her hips. With one strong pull, she lifted her from the couch. She gasped and held on to his arms, fearing she would lose her balance. He placed her so that she was sitting on top of him, straddling his hips, her nightgown riding up past her thighs.
"You can't touch me," she complained, despite her body's immediate acceptance of her newfound position.
"I haven't touched you," he clarified.
"You know very well that my clothes were also implied in our deal…" she panted.
"Nothing is ever implied in business. Such a specification was never disclosed," he said, appreciating her cleavage from this angle. "But you can choose to remain here, or answer my previous question," he proposed.
He stared at her, waiting for a response, but she said nothing.
"Very well, on to my second question," he said, moving his hands up and down her back.
Margaret couldn't hold back a contented sigh. He was so close… she thought he would forget about their agreement and kiss her. She closed her eyes, ready to surrender. She sensed his lips move near her ear, and she trembled.
"Did you think of me when you touched yourself?" he whispered, before pulling back to see her reaction.
She opened her eyes in mortification—he knew what she had done! Her eyes fidgeted across the room to avoid his.
He hid his amusement, and admired her flushed skin and the nervous flutter of her lashes. He wanted to kiss her badly.
"How-"
"You must answer first," he interrupted, kneading her rear.
"Y-yes," she confessed, taking in a breath.
"Had I been there to see it…" he said; his voice coming out as low as a growl.
The shameless remark made her eyes come back to meet his. It dawned on her that he didn't look disappointed, but—if it was even possible—hungrier for her. This shredded away some of her uneasiness.
"Did you?" she asked curiously.
"Of course," he said looking at her lips hungrily. "Sometimes, the only thing I can think about is being inside of you. How else would I remain sane?"
"I don't know…" she said flattered, smiling timidly. "But you did grant me another question," she added, feeling more comfortable in knowing she wasn't a particularly depraved person.
"It was rhetorical," he clarified.
"A deal is a deal," she said, mimicking his previous words.
"You're killing me," he muttered, making her giggle softly. "But that is what you want, I see—you shall dance on my grave like the witch you are," he said playfully, moving his hands to her waist.
"How awful of me!" she joked, tracing her hands down his chest—feeling more confident.
"I know exactly what you want," he said; her measured exploration stirring him. "Your body gives you away."
His hands traveled to her upper back, and his fists tightened around the fabric of her nightgown.
"You want be seen," he whispered as he pulled the fabric down past her shoulders; the back of his hands brushing her hair.
She straightened her back and relaxed her arms, silently telling him he had permission to continue.
"You want to be touched," he added, pulling until the nightgown fell to her elbows, revealing her breasts.
She gasped when she felt the air kiss her sensitive skin. His mouth watered at the vision before him.
"But I'm afraid we've reached an impasse," he said, devouring her with his eyes.
For Margaret, the eroticism of the moment was just as encouraging as the wine had been the last time. She couldn't remember any social or moral constraints—she only wanted to feel.
"Can't you tell?" she asked seriously, as she leaned in to brush his lips and her hands sneaked under his shirt. "I'm not playing your game anymore."
He didn't need to hear it twice; he went after her lips ardently. As they kissed, he helped her tug away his shirt—the speed was such that a couple of buttons broke loose. Once free of the garment, he crumpled it and threw it on the floor. His hands clasped her bare thighs voraciously.
Margaret disentangled herself from the nightgown's sleeves and proceeded to hold him tightly against her, molding her breasts to his chest. He groaned into her mouth as their skin came into direct contact—the fuse had been lit.
He grasped her hair and pulled, making her arch her back. He licked and bit his way down her neck and chest, stopping by her breasts to take one of her nipples into his mouth. She suppressed a moan.
When she felt one of his hands go up her inner thigh, she pushed him hard against the backrest, and made him meet her eyes.
"No," she panted, framing his face with her hands. "Let me…"
Her hands made their way down slowly, tracing every muscle. When she got to the top of his trousers, she waited for some sign of disapproval, but there were none. His breath quickened as she unbuttoned them; she could see no objection in his lustful gaze.
He hissed when her hand reached under his breeches.
"Teach me," she whispered.
"You don't have to," he muttered, making an effort not to thrust against her hand.
"I want to," she said, kissing his lips reassuringly. "Please."
His need for her urged him to concede. He covered her hand with his own to guide her through the motions. It didn't take her long to understand the rhythm, and she became enthralled by his response to every stroke. It thrilled her to know she could make him forget himself like this.
Although timid at first, each of her moves became surer and faster than the last, following his instruction. As the pleasure increased, he senselessly bit and kissed every part of her that came near his mouth: her ears, her jaw, her neck, her shoulders... He cursed under his breath, knowing that he wouldn't last long under her ministrations.
Driven entirely by instinct, he removed her hand and repositioned it on his shoulder. Before she could ask him why, he stood up—her legs immediately locked around him to keep her from falling. He walked towards the bed and threw her onto the mattress unceremoniously. He proceeded to tug at her nightgown until she was completely naked before him.
After getting rid of his trousers, he climbed upon the bed, and approached her on all fours—the muscles of his back moving like a predator's. He held her legs open and his face caressed her as he made his way up; she could feel his stubble scratching her calves and her knees. He stopped to place a bite on the inside of her thigh and her body twisted in response. He placed another bite above that one, and another… She didn't know where his destination was until she felt the flick of his tongue against her most sensitive area. She squirmed, but his arms kept her firmly secured in place.
He subjected her to relentless waves of pleasure and she fought to remain silent. When it became too much, a loud moan escaped her lips. The sound made him cut his attentions short—he was proud of having extracted such a reaction, but also mindful that they weren't alone in the house. He came up to meet her face.
"Quiet," he whispered, as his hand took over the work his mouth had been doing.
"Take me," she gasped completely out of her senses, disregarding his command.
He could feel she was ready for him and the temptation to do as she said was great.
"Not yet," he said, fighting the impulse. He needed to remind himself that consummating the act while unmarried could have consequences.
"Please," she begged; her desperation blatant. Although she was feeling good, her pleasure felt inexplicably hollow—something told her there could be more.
"Stop," he insisted. With his free hand, he held his thumb against her lips so she could no longer provoke him with her words.
He continued pleasuring her as she writhed frantically, and he couldn't help but grind against her in response. The closer they got to the edge, the wilder they became; she bit his thumb to keep herself from making a sound. With a ferocious look in his eyes, he adjusted his palm to hold her jaw and capture her lips roughly. As their climax neared, their kisses lost synchronization, until they were erratically breathing into one another.
He immediately knew when she finished. She pressed her lips together to silence the moan that betrayed her, and her body shuddered with uncontrollable spasms. Seeing her like that was enough to send him over the edge as well. He groaned as he finished, and collapsed beside her soon after.
She remained there, catching her breath; she needed to recover from the out of body experience… She was brought back to her senses by the feel of a wet cloth brushing her belly. She opened her eyes, and found him wiping away the evidence of his pleasure from her body. She smiled at how gentle he was being.
When he finished his task, he stood by the bed to look at her, admiring her vulnerability.
"Lay with me for a while," she said, extending her hand towards him.
"If a year ago someone had told me you would one day invite me to your bed, I would have deemed them insane," he observed as he complied and joined her.
"Rightfully so," she agreed, pulling the covers over them both. "I would have thought the same."
He inhaled deeply as she rested her head on his chest and entangled her legs with his.
"We've come a long way from the time you refused to shake my hand," he teased as he found her hand and held it.
She smiled and interlocked their fingers.
"Mr. Thornton… John—I should get used to calling you John," she corrected herself, "I must thank you for disregarding my passionate words," she said, referring to how she had offered herself to him. "When I'm in that state, I'm afraid I can't see reason."
"It was difficult resisting, believe me. But we've taken enough risks as it is, and if you were to get pregnant… the last thing I want is for your reputation to suffer for my sake," he explained.
"Well, if my reputation is of so much concern, you should have considered the impropriety of coming into my bedroom," she argued.
"I merely intended to have a conversation, but I can't be left alone with you…" he justified. "I was like Ulysses trying to resist the sirens' call, my love, it was impossible as there was no one to tie me down," he said, placing a kiss on her hand.
"Well, you covered Homer with father, I see," she said with some pride. "First, you call me a witch and now a siren… I'm not sure I'm flattered by these comparisons of yours…"
"Indeed—quite an interesting read," he remarked. "You won't be happy to know that I think you're far worse than those creatures."
She chuckled and placed her chin on his chest so that she could look at him as he explained his argument.
"You have my attention," she said.
"It is not only your voice that beckons me, but your body, your mind and your very soul—none of those can be fought by covering one's ears. Even if I were deprived of every sense, I would still be drawn to you…" he explained, gently caressing her back.
"Stop talking…" she whispered; her smile had faded and the gleam of passion was back in her eyes.
"Sirens kill their victims, providing an end to their suffering," he added, ignoring her request. "…whereas you, my love, inflict an incurable wound—inspiring a hunger that can't be sated," he said before biting her lower lip.
She whimpered in frustration at her own arousal… It had just been taken care of, how could the desire be back so soon?
"You speak as if you had played no part in my corruption," she complained hoarsely.
He rolled over so he was on top of her and kissed her deeply. Soon they were caressing each other again, and Thornton forced himself to stop—he knew that their desire would only escalate.
"If I don't leave now, I'm afraid I won't leave at all…" he muttered with pain in his voice, putting some distance between them. "We must make arrangements…" he said as he got off the bed and went to pick up his clothes. "I shall come back in a week or two to formally ask for your hand—it would be suspicious if I took you with me now," he explained as he put on his breeches and shirt. "This would also give me time to address the mill's final issues," he added. "You shall be the sole object of my attention by the time you come home."
He stopped talking when he noticed she was sitting up, hugging her knees and gazing upon him lovingly.
"What?" he asked.
"I like that word… home," she said, happy to feel she belonged somewhere. "I can't wait to be with you," she confessed excitedly.
He smiled and leaned in to kiss her again.
"I hope you feel the same way years from now, when we're quarreling about nonsense," he warned.
"I can't wait to quarrel about nonsense," she said with a wide smile. "In fact, we shall be the best at it… we have, after all, plenty of experience."
"Fair observation," he admitted before holding her face in his hands and kissing her again. "We shall speak more in the morning. Now, get some sleep," he ordered before bidding her good night and leaving the room.
She turned off her light and rolled on the bed, enjoying the scent that he had left around her; she could still feel him wrapped around her body. She tried to close her eyes and relax, but her smile wouldn't go away… This was the first time that it was difficult for her to fall asleep from feeling too happy.
The following morning, she was woken up by Dixon's knock on the door.
"Good morning, I'm coming in to prepare your bath," she said as she entered and headed towards the bathroom.
Margaret answered with a sleepy groan and turned to the other side. She took advantage of the time it took Dixon to finish this task to sleep a while longer.
Once the bathtub was full, Dixon opened the curtains to let the sunshine in.
"It's ready," she said, but Margaret didn't respond. "Remember Mr. Thornton is visiting and it would be very rude to show up late for breakfast," she warned.
Margaret sat up immediately.
"Miss Margaret! Where's your nightgown?" she asked in shock.
Margaret looked down and realized she had fallen asleep naked. She blushed and pulled up the covers to conceal her breasts.
Dixon saw the garment crumpled on the floor.
"Oh… well…you see," she stuttered as she formulated a convincing lie. "I couldn't sleep… I was feeling too hot, so I removed it."
"Well, you certainly look well rested," she commented, noticing a glow in her that she hadn't seen in months. "But look at all these buttons," she said, turning her attention back to the floor. "You didn't even remove it properly," she said with disapproval as she bent to pick them up. "Now I have to spend the day sewing these back on…" she complained as she grabbed the nightgown and searched the area where the buttons had fallen from. "This is quite strange…" she commented as she noticed all of the nightgown's buttons were in place—and that they were different to boot.
"Dixon, don't trouble yourself, I shall take care of it," she said blushing. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I don't want to be late for breakfast," she added, implying that she wanted for her to leave the room so she could bathe.
"Very well," she said, placing the nightgown and the buttons on the night table. "I'll be downstairs," she added before heading out.
Margaret sighed and covered her face with her hands—she had been too careless!
As she bathed she caught herself smiling like a fool a couple of times. There was an excitement to keeping her relationship with Thornton secret, but another part of her also wanted that phase to be over; she wanted the world to know that they belonged to each other.
While she washed her body, she noticed some new bruises and marks that screamed what had happened the night before. She chose to dress herself and do her own hair to avoid any more questions from Dixon.
When she was ready to head downstairs, she collected the buttons that Dixon had put on the night table and placed them in the pocket of her skirt.
She stepped into the dining room and found that everyone was already sitting down; even Henry was at the table.
"Good morning," she greeted. "Forgive me—I kept you waiting."
"It's no trouble, Margaret," said Edith. "Henry arrived just a moment ago."
"I had some free time, so I decided to join you for breakfast," he explained, although it was clear he wanted to watch over her while Thornton was in the house. "You look beautiful this morning, Margaret," he added.
"I must say, if you overslept you must do so more often," said Aunt Shaw. "You look radiant."
Margaret exchanged looks with Thornton, who was smiling discreetly.
"Thank you," she said sheepishly. "Did you sleep well, Mr. Thornton?" she asked as she seated beside him.
"Yes, Miss Hale, thank you for asking," he said.
"I'm happy to hear it," said Aunt Shaw as the maid came around to serve the table. "You're welcome to stay with us anytime!"
"I appreciate your offer. If you ever find yourselves in Milton, know that you shall also receive the same attentions," he said.
"That would be lovely," said Aunt Shaw, not actually meaning to ever visit the place.
"Oh, I love these rolls, are these from the bakery across the street?" asked Maxwell, changing the subject.
As the conversation drifted towards the bakery's products, Margaret got the loose buttons out of her pocket carefully. She placed them on the table and slid them towards him.
"I hope you brought more than one shirt," she whispered, and then moved that hand to the bread basket to grab a roll so that it wouldn't look suspicious.
He collected the buttons and put them in his waistcoat's pocket.
"Fortunately, I did," he whispered with a wicked smile.
"I'm afraid you must learn how to sew in order to avoid an awkward conversation with your mother," she jested.
He bumped his leg against hers under the table in response. Although their eyes were focused on their plates, they were both smiling. Henry wasn't oblivious to this strange exchange.
"At what time is your train departing, Mr. Thornton?" asked Henry, interrupting their secretive conversation and feeling eager for his rival to leave. "We wouldn't want you to miss it by any chance."
"In a couple of hours," he said politely.
Under different circumstances, he would have replied with a scowl, a witty remark and a hidden insult… but right now he was in too good of a mood for that.
When they finished breakfast, they moved to the sitting room so they could say their final goodbyes.
"I must thank you again for having me," said Thornton. "It was a pleasure."
"It was nothing!" insisted Aunt Shaw.
"Oh! Mr. Thornton, before you leave I must lend you that book you requested, I almost forgot. Come with me," said Margaret walking towards the library.
"Indeed. It had escaped my mind," he said, following her.
The rest of the group saw them leave the room, but only Henry suspected something was up. He had been very attentive to their every interaction since the night before, and book borrowing had never come up.
The library was quiet and empty. As soon as Margaret entered the room, she walked towards a dark corner and rested her back on a bookshelf.
"Should I compliment the flawless manner in which you delivered that lie?" Thornton asked as he approached her and caged her with his arms. "I'm not sure I want to encourage such behavior in the future."
"I wanted a proper goodbye," she justified; the quick glance to his lips betraying what she meant.
He kissed her gently, not wanting his passion to get out of control. It would be suspicious if they took too long.
They didn't realize that Henry had followed them. He was standing by the library's door, staring at them with hatred as they kissed. Although Henry wanted to direct his hate towards Thornton alone, he couldn't even blame it all on him, since she was eagerly kissing him back. His fists tightened with jealousy when Thornton's hands traced the outline of her body with familiarity—was it possible they had become lovers?
He made a sound with his shoe on purpose so that they thought he had just walked in. They separated immediately, and he pretended to have seen nothing.
"Did you find the book you were looking for?" he asked.
"Y-yes," she said nervously, grabbing the volume that was nearest. "We were just heading back."
Margaret walked swiftly past him to exit the library, looking down. Thornton followed her closely; when he crossed paths with Henry, he gave him a challenging look… Something in his eyes suggested he had seen them—Thornton's possessive side certainly hoped he had.
When they came back into the sitting room, Margaret handed the book to Mr. Thornton.
"You can return it when you come back to visit," she said.
"Thank you, Miss Hale. This shall spare me from the boredom of the long train ride," he said. "I have another trip to London scheduled soon, so you can be sure you'll be getting it back then."
"Is that so?" asked Aunt Shaw. "Then it's the perfect excuse for you to call on us while you're here."
"Of course," he said with a courteous smile.
When they all said their goodbyes and he finally retired, Henry approached Margaret from behind.
"You should be more careful when offering your heart," he muttered, procuring the others in the room wouldn't hear.
Margaret's blood ran cold when she realized they had been seen. She held her head high regardless, determined not to cower before his words.
"I believe that is none of your concern," she said severely. "Excuse me," she added a little louder before exiting the room.
"What happened?" asked Edith, a little taken aback by the abruptness of her leave.
Henry shrugged, pretending not to know. Despite what he had seen he wasn't ready to give up. He had spent too much time dwelling on her for it to amount to nothing.
While on the train ride to Milton, Thornton appreciated the fact that he had the cabin to himself, since he couldn't stop smiling. He was sure he had never experienced such a level of happiness in his life. Thanks to Lord Davenport the issue of the mill was practically solved, and this certainty was the base upon which his future with Margaret was now within grasp—his first son would have to be named James.
Once he got home he would search for partners willing to cover for the final 25%... Then, he would share his marriage plans with his mother and sister—hopefully they would react favorably. Before returning to London, he would need to search for a suitable ring to ask for her hand. And then he would have to be patient throughout the duration of their engagement… Waiting would be torture… Surely, they would find opportunities to be alone and revel in each other's company.
At around four in the afternoon he found himself at the entrance of Marlborough Mills. The surroundings were eerily empty and silent given the hour… he immediately knew something was amiss.
He entered the house and left the suitcase by the door. He continued walking until he reached the sitting room. His mother was there, hunched over and her head low.
"Mother," he called softly, noticing she hadn't sensed his presence.
She looked up and he was surprised to see that there were tears in her eyes.
"Oh, John," she lamented.
Thornton was scared by the emotional outburst—he couldn't remember the last time he had seen her cry.
"What happened? Another strike?" he asked, expecting the worst.
"No, it was the bank. Mr. Dawson came yesterday explaining that the loan extension hadn't been granted," she explained.
"What? Which Dawson? I talked to Ralph about this and he assured me he would give me that time," he argued in disbelief.
"Not Ralph… it was his brother, Charles… he said Ralph had no authority granting that favor. That it was known we wouldn't be able to cover the new interest rates," she explained.
Thornton clenched his teeth; he needed to punch something… Those scheming Dawson brothers had waited until he was gone to make their move.
"What happened?" he asked.
"They came with a warrant," she explained. "They took every pack of cotton that was ready for delivery and they said that it was part of the payment. I tried to stop them but-"
"Stop, mother," he said, interrupting the apology that was coming. "It wasn't your fault. There is nothing you could have done. I need to meet with them right now," he said before heading out again.
An hour later he was engaged in a heated argument at the office of Dawson & Dawson's bank.
"We had an agreement!" he exclaimed facing the two brothers.
"I apologize, Mr. Thornton. But I clearly remember saying that I would have to consult with Charlie before granting an extension," said Ralph.
The truth was Ralph had made the agreement, but since he had no authority to do that—and he wanted to avoid being chastised by his elder brother—he chose to tweak the story.
"You must know that nothing here gets done without my approval," interjected Charles.
"Charles, I must ask you to reconsider," said Thornton, knowing that challenging Ralph's version would be futile. "I have procured 75% of the money needed to pay off the loan. Securing the remaining 25% won't be hard, since I have Lord Davenport's endorsement," he reasoned. "But for this to work, I need to complete all of my deliveries, and therefore, all of the cotton you seized. I can't afford to lose my clients' trust."
There was a brief silence in the room.
"If you can give me that 75% right now, you have a deal," said Charles.
Thornton sighed in frustration. Lord Davenport and his friend would only hand the 75% until he had secured the remaining 25%... Under those circumstances this deal was impossible.
"I don't have the money at the moment," he confessed.
"Then I'm afraid there can be no deal," said Charles. As a banker, he was used to denying this kind of requests. "Thornton, believe me, I understand where you're coming from… But, what you're asking is impossible," he said, showing some empathy. "I respect you, which is why we secured your list of clients—we won't sell the seized cotton to anyone else—this way your reputation won't be affected. Their payments shall be made to us in order to cover part of your debt… We will be returning to take the looms, I'm sure auctioning them can cover for the rest."
Thornton couldn't believe the ease with which this man was pulling apart everything he had ever worked for.
"I understand," he said vacantly.
He chose to walk home instead of taking a carriage… He couldn't believe how his world had shifted so dramatically in the course of one day. He had fought so hard to save Marlborough Mills, and now it seemed all of his blood and sweat had been for naught. The stress and the fatigue of the past months—how he had wished them away—now, he would gladly choose them over the despair that invaded him.
When he approached the mill's entrance, he saw Higgins heading out.
"Master," he greeted.
"Higgins, you're still here?" he asked.
"The shift wasn't over," he observed.
Thornton smiled, convinced that he had made one of the best decisions when he hired him.
"After the Dawson brothers came yesterday announcing the mill's closure, the others decided not to show," he explained.
"I thought so," said Thornton.
"I did manage to collect some signatures," he said, handing him a roll of paper. "This is also why I came today. These people are willing to work for you if you ever decide to open another mill."
Thornton took it and smiled slightly, touched by the gesture.
"I also wanted to ask after Margaret, since you were in London," he added. "We received a letter last week, but it was written almost two months ago—the post can be slow," he complained.
The mention of her name broke his heart… How could all of his plans still be feasible after this blow? Losing the mill surely meant losing her as well—she wouldn't want to be with him now.
"Yes, I did see her," he said, attempting to hide his pain. "She's well… living with her aunt and cousin."
"I thought maybe she would come back to Milton, she hinted she would be visiting soon in her letter," he observed.
"I wouldn't know," he lied. "We probably won't be seeing her again," he said, voicing his own fear. "Excuse me, Higgins. I have a lot in my mind at the moment."
"Sure. Let me know if you need anything," he said before excusing himself.
Thornton continued walking until he reached the house… Things couldn't get any worse.
When he went into the sitting room, he realized he had been wrong—things could get worse... Fanny was on the couch beside their mother.
"How did it go?" asked Mrs. Thornton with concern.
His downcast eyes said everything; Fanny and Mrs. Thornton immediately knew that the news weren't good. He sat down in one of the armchairs and sighed.
"I came to tell you about Watson's success and this is what I find," said Fanny resentfully.
"Fanny…" Mrs. Thornton tried to intervene.
"I told you, John!" exclaimed Fanny, standing up. "Look at mother… If only you had listened to Watson you would have made thousands! You could have kept the mill and the house!"
Thornton closed his eyes and gripped his temples, knowing her tirade wasn't over.
"Fanny, stop," insisted Mrs. Thornton.
"No, mother, for once you must admit that I was right!" she continued. "What will people say when they hear of your eviction?" she asked turning back to his brother. "It's an embarrassment for us all! You can be sure that Ann Latimer won't have you now—or any other lady in her right mind!"
She took a deep breath when she saw no reaction from her brother.
"I shall ask Watson to lend you some money," she said with more calmness. "Although I can't guarantee he'll listen. I shall come by tomorrow, mama," she said before exiting the house.
When she left, Mrs. Thornton immediately walked to her son's side and placed a hand on his shoulder in support.
"Mr. Bell will show in a couple of weeks to take the house," he observed. "I have some time to find a more affordable place… I hope you don't mind if it's smaller…"
"I don't care about the house!" she exclaimed. "I care about you."
He placed his hand over hers.
"At least Fanny is taken care of," he said. "Maybe you can stay with her for a while… I want to spare you the stress of moving out."
"Stop talking nonsense, John… I'll be here every step of the way," she insisted. "What happened in London?" she asked after a brief pause.
"It doesn't matter now," he said, staring blankly ahead. He was not only referring to his talks with Lord Davenport, but also to his plans with Margaret. "It will just be you and I again."
AN. Thank you for all your encouraging comments! Hope you enjoy this chapter!