A week had passed since Thornton's departure and Margaret awaited his return. He was supposed to show soon. Although she didn't know the exact date, she was impatient.
The days had been hard on Margaret, spending everyday dreading a visit from Henry. She feared he would tell her family everything he had seen in the library—to her surprise and gratitude, he hadn't shown at all.
That evening, as she sat in the couch with her family waiting to be called into the dining room, she realized she wouldn't be so fortunate much longer.
"Oh, Maxwell, when is Henry coming back?" inquired Aunt Shaw, "I've missed his conversations at dinner."
"Well, he's been busy this week," he justified. "But this morning he told me he would join us—seemed quite eager, too."
Margaret masked her discomfort.
"We should also be expecting Mr. Thornton's visit soon," said Edith. "He did say he'd be coming to London sometime next week," she added while she entertained Sholto with a stuffed animal.
"You're right… I also look forward to it. He's a pleasant gentleman," observed Aunt Shaw. "I must admit that I had a terrible prejudice against northerners before I made his acquaintance."
"Mama!" protested Edith. "That is so unfair."
Margaret smiled. The smile faded when the maid came in to announce Henry's arrival.
"Good evening," he greeted with a wide smile as he came into the room.
Margaret found his upbeat demeanor suspicious.
"Henry! You've finally decided to show!" exclaimed Aunt Shaw.
"Forgive my absence…" he said. "It shall not happen again," he added giving a side-glance to Margaret.
Margaret immediately avoided his gaze, feeling very awkward.
"Excuse me, I'm not feeling hungry. I shall retire early," she said, standing up.
"Actually," interrupted Henry, "I was hoping we could have a moment alone," he said.
Her eyes widened and her whole family stared at them in shock. She knew that, while she was horrified, the others were pleasantly surprised—they were expecting a marriage proposal.
"Yes!" exclaimed Edith, rising quickly while holding Sholto tightly against her. "Come along! Maxwell, mama, let us give them some space," she said, instructing them to accompany her.
"I don't think that's necessary," said Margaret, although it seemed no one could hear the fear in her voice.
"We will be in the dining room," said Aunt Shaw, almost singing.
She watched helplessly as, one by one, they abandoned the sitting room. Maxwell was the last one to leave; he directed a final congratulatory smile to his brother before closing the door.
Henry walked leisurely towards her.
"What do you want?" she asked directly.
"That tone is completely inappropriate, Margaret," he said, stopping a couple of feet away from her. "If I tell you that I have news about your dear Thornton, would you be more civil?" he asked mockingly.
Margaret's curiosity became clear on her features.
"Ah! I've got your attention…" he observed.
He continued to approach her until he was standing right beside her, too close for comfort.
"He won't be coming back for you," he whispered near her ear.
Margaret turned around defiantly.
"Of course he will!" she exclaimed.
"No, he won't…" he insisted with a smile. "At the moment, a letter explaining it all is probably on its way."
"Speak clearly," she demanded.
"Very well… Marlborough Mills is no more," he stated, visibly pleased with himself. "I heard it just this morning—the Thorntons are broke," he explained. "Except for the sister; she seems to have abandoned the sinking ship on time."
Margaret's brow furrowed in bafflement. Everything was supposed to be alright… How had this happened? She sat back down, needing a moment to assimilate the information.
"He misled you into thinking he could provide for you—give you the life you deserve…" he said, kneeling to level his face with hers, "…when he can't even pay for a train ticket!" he exclaimed with a laugh.
Margaret chuckled softly and Henry smiled, thinking she had been amused by his cruel joke.
"Oh, Henry… Are you that clueless?" she asked, making his smile disappear. "You think I'm with him because of his money?"
Henry swallowed hard, remembering Thornton's hands on her body.
"Whatever else he has given you, I can give you, too," he said passionately, taking her hand.
She pulled back and stood up to put some distance between them. Henry incorporated and looked at her with fury.
"Was it only a kiss or is he your lover?" he asked with jealousy.
"That is my business," she retorted.
"I demand to know!" he exclaimed.
"You have no right to demand it… Henry, stop this," she pleaded. "I don't want to hurt you… My feelings for you haven't changed since we last spoke about this subject."
"You prefer him still?" he muttered.
"It's not a matter of preferring," she said with a pitying smile. "I love him."
"Don't say that!" he said as he sprinted forward.
Margaret stepped back in fear until she hit the wall; his face was inches away from hers.
"I'm sure once you see I can be just as… attentive…" he whispered as he placed his hands on her waist, "…you will see things differently."
"Let me go," she said, pushing him away in disgust. "Do not touch me again," she warned.
"Or what? You'll call for Edith?" he asked with a grin. "Please, do. I'm looking forward to explaining how her sweet, innocent Margaret turned out to be a whore," he spat, enraged by her rejection.
The word felt like a slap. She narrowed her eyes, trying to find the Henry she thought she knew, the one she had once considered a friend—he wasn't there anymore.
She made her way towards the door that led to the dining room. She wanted to get away from him as quickly as possible.
"You think I won't?" he asked defiantly as her hand came to rest on the handle. "It's not too late, Margaret… Reconsider."
She opened the door and walked into the dining room without speaking another word.
Aunt Shaw, Edith and Maxwell were all looking at her expectantly from the table, waiting for the big announcement.
"And?" asked Edith, barely able to keep her excitement from showing.
Henry entered the room after her. Everyone's smiles faded when they saw him—he was clearly upset.
"Oh, why is everyone looking so serious?" he asked, pretending to be in a good mood. "I have an announcement to make," he clarified.
They exchanged quizzical looks while Margaret stood straight as a board.
"Mr. Thornton has lost all of his money," he stated, placing his hands on the back of an empty chair.
"Oh, what a shame!" exclaimed Aunt Shaw.
"I don't understand what it has to do with you two," said Edith, who was still waiting to hear about an engagement.
"Oh, nothing with me, for sure…" said Henry, "but with Margaret…" he added turning to her. "This is where it gets interesting…"
Margaret turned to look at him; there was a brief confrontation in that silent exchange.
"I won't be a part of this spectacle," declared Margaret with anger, and rushed out of the room.
As she made her way upstairs, she suspected Henry would be telling her family what he saw. But why should she feel embarrassed? She loved John Thornton… whether he was rich or poor didn't change that reality.
She went into her room and grabbed one of her larger suitcases; she collected her money and other essentials, and picked clothes at random until it was full. The suitcase put up a fight when she tried to close it, but she managed to succeed after a couple of tries. When she finished, she took it by the handle, inhaled deeply and straightened her back. Then, she made her way back down towards the dining room.
When she entered, they all stared at her seriously. There was disappointment in her aunt's eyes, and she knew that meant Henry had opened his mouth.
"How could you, Margaret?" asked Aunt Shaw. "Thank God your parents aren't here to see this—what would they say? …and with a northerner without a penny!"
"Mama, don't be like that," said Edith. "It was just a kiss. Margaret, why did you bring your suitcase, my dear? We won't chase you out of the house for this silly thing—it was a mistake."
"No, Edith…" argued Margaret. "Forgive me if I disrespected you, Aunt," she said before turning to everyone else. "I am leaving… not because I have to, but because I want to."
Even though he was feeling smaller than a bug, Henry held his head high. He knew he had crossed a line.
"I am grateful for everything you did for me these past two months, and I shall keep in touch," she said with a smile. "But I must go."
"And where in the world do you intend to go?" asked her aunt.
Margaret smiled, arched an eyebrow and turned to look at Henry.
"To my penniless lover," she said with pride—he looked murderous. "Excuse me," she added before heading towards the main entrance, leaving everyone at the table with their mouths agape.
"Miss Margaret!" exclaimed Dixon, when she passed her by in the hallway, "where are you going?"
"I can't stop now, Dixon," she said, knowing that the last train to Milton would be departing soon. "I shall come back for you, don't worry," she managed to add before getting out of the house.
She got in the first available carriage and asked to be taken to the train station as fast as possible. As they made their way through the streets, she stopped to think about what she had just done. Had she actually ran away and said the word lover in front of her family? She couldn't help but giggle at her own recklessness—there would surely be consequences to pay, but she would dwell on them later.
She got to the station five minutes before the train was scheduled to depart. She ran to the ticket office and spent most of the money she had at hand. She ran to the wagon and the wheels of the train started turning as soon as she boarded. She found a seat and allowed herself to catch her breath—she would be home soon.
For Mr. Thornton, the past week had been easily one of the worst of his life. He had spent it penning letters to his former clients, explaining what had happened; he also reached out to Lord Davenport and his friend… but the most difficult letter to write had been the one for Margaret.
The letter would probably arrive late, but he didn't have the time to show up and tell her about his circumstances in person. She would probably hear all about it even before the letter reached her hands—bad news spread like wildfire.
The Dawson brothers, true to their word, had come to take the looms to the auction house. Thornton had watched helplessly as they were carried out of the mill and loaded into large carts. He had even scolded a couple of the men who were manhandling them, until he reminded himself that they were no longer his.
Throughout the week he had also scouted for a smaller house, but hadn't yet chosen, since he wanted to give his mother the opportunity of making that decision. They talked about auctioning their larger pieces of furniture—there would be no room for a piano in their new home.
These days were also spent thinking about what he would do for a living in the future; he had forgotten how to do anything else but manage a mill. Although Margaret and the family he envisioned weren't in the cards anymore, he still had his mother to take care of.
That evening they sat together for dinner.
"We should let Anna go," said Mrs. Thornton in a low voice so she wouldn't hear them. "It's an expense that we can no longer afford."
"No, mother," argued Thornton. "She has been with us for years, where would she go? And you should also consider-" he stopped himself short.
"I should also consider what?" she asked.
"You should also consider that you will need assistance," he said gently.
"You intend to say that I'm getting old, ha!" she stated with a sarcastic laugh—this was a truth she didn't want to admit.
"You're beautiful as ever, mother," he complimented dutifully, making her smile. "But, I won't sacrifice your comfort needlessly. I will cover that expense however I can."
She extended her hand to hold his.
"You're my greatest accomplishment," she said.
Thornton was touched by her words.
"Don't let Fanny hear you say that," he jested and they both smiled.
When they finished their meal, Thornton walked his mother to the bottom of the staircase.
"Good night," he bid.
"Aren't you going to bed?" she asked.
"Not now… I need to clear my head," he said.
His mother nodded and asked no more. She went up the stairs and he went out.
Thornton walked the square slowly, the night made it look cold and dark, but he could picture it perfectly the way it should be: full of light and of people running one way or the other, busy with work. The nostalgia threatened to break the mask of strength he had been wearing, but he fought back—he couldn't allow himself to crumble.
He looked up at the dark window in which he had seen Margaret's perfect figure. He yearned for her more than ever… He didn't know if he should thank or curse the opportunity of having tasted her—the memories would certainly make her impossible to forget, although it was unlikely he would ever want to forget.
He came into his office and lighted the lamp. He looked at his now empty desk and the clock on the wall—how many long hours he had spent in this tiny room! He made his way out and continued walking, heading to where the looms had been up to a couple of days ago. He entered and strode towards the middle of the dark room. He looked around; the moonlight that came through the windows illuminated enough to show its nakedness—the space seemed wider than ever without the machines.
The noise of footsteps made him turn around towards the entrance; there was a dark silhouette. When the figure came into the moonlight, he realized it was Margaret.
After reaching Milton, Margaret used the money that she had left to pay for a carriage to Marlborough Mills.
She didn't realize how late it was until she walked to the entrance and realized that the house was completely dark. It would be embarrassing to show up at this hour—she would wake them all up. She felt empty inside when she considered that maybe they didn't live there anymore.
As she walked the square, she noticed the light coming from the mill's office. She smiled, knowing that there was just one person who could be there at this hour. She approached, carrying her suitcase with both hands—it was a little heavy. She opened the door, let herself in and set the suitcase on the floor. There was no one.
She headed back out and continued her exploration; she figured that the light meant he was around. She saw that the door leading to the looms was open… She remembered that part of the building perfectly, as it had been where she had first laid eyes on him. She went in that direction, every footstep echoing loudly.
When she went through the door, she noticed that there were no looms anymore—her heart broke at the sight. Thornton was standing there, in the middle of that emptiness.
"Margaret?" he asked, squinting, not sure if it was a hallucination.
She extended her arms and ran to embrace him. He felt her arms tighten around his waist and her head bury in his chest. When he understood what was happening she held her, too.
"What are you doing here?" he asked in disbelief.
She placed her hands behind his neck and, standing on her tiptoes, fervently placed kisses all over his face. He closed his eyes, allowing her lips to fill his heart with the warmth he thought he'd never experience again.
"My dearest," she said, looking into his eyes with adoration. "I came as soon as I heard. Are you well?" she asked with concern.
Thornton couldn't believe it. Despite his reduced circumstances, she had come all the way to Milton in the middle of the night to be with him—to make sure he was alright. He hadn't realized how much she loved him until that moment. But he wasn't happy; he couldn't allow himself to be, and precisely because he loved her just as much. The last thing he wanted was to condemn her to a life of hardship.
He took her hands and pulled them away from his neck. She stared at him in confusion.
"Margaret, you don't have to," he said with pain in his voice. "I can't do this to you."
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I can't condemn you to this life," he said, the passion he was feeling made his voice tremble. "You deserve better."
"Don't be ridiculous," she responded.
"I'm serious," he insisted, looking at her severely. "I had never been more serious in my life."
"Well, it's too late for that kind of talk," she argued. "I'm yours."
"No, it's not too late," he countered. "I have not taken you… You're not compromised nor obliged to me in any way. You're free to find a more suitable man."
There was a brief silence in which they just stared at each other. Finally, Margaret nodded once, as if she had made up her mind about something. She stepped back, freeing her hands from his hold.
"I understand," she said coldly; her attitude towards him changing completely. "Then our nights together do not bind us?" she asked.
Thornton couldn't discern if she was happy with this news. Was it only their previous escapades that made her believe she was forced to remain by his side?
"No, if you find someone else, that matter shouldn't concern you," he assured. "There's no proof and you must know that I would never speak a word against you."
"Very well," she said looking down. "I think I've heard all I needed to hear," she said before turning around and walking out.
When he found himself standing confused and alone in the dark, the idea that she may have been a hallucination came back. It was very unlikely that she had left London at night and on her own—her family would have stopped her. But what if it was really her? Where had she gone? He couldn't turn her away in the middle of the night; she would need somewhere to sleep.
He exited the building and ran to the middle of the square. He looked around, hoping to see her… What if she had already left? What if she was wandering the streets all alone? Just when he was about to rush out the mill's gates, he saw the light coming from his office. He considered the possibility of her being in there.
He walked in that direction and opened the door slightly. The first thing that caught his eye was the suitcase that had been put to the side, confirming his theory. When he opened the door completely, the image before him left him paralyzed.
"Could you close the door?" asked Margaret after a brief silence. "I wouldn't want to catch a cold," she added.
She was right to fear she could catch a cold! She was sitting on top of his desk, with her crossed legs dangling from the edge, her back proudly straightened, and her arms crossed over her chest... completely naked. Her hair was still pulled up, allowing him to appreciate the length of her elegant neck.
"The door…" she insisted with a smile when she noticed he still wasn't moving.
Her words finally made him react. He stepped into the room clumsily and closed the door behind him.
"What are you doing?" he asked in alarm, trying to keep himself from ogling her body.
"You explained it so clearly… I have to make sure I'm compromised enough so that you do the honorable thing," she said matter-of-factly.
Thornton couldn't believe Margaret had dared to do something like this. Where had her shyness gone?
"This is not what I meant," he said.
"Oh, I know what you meant…" she argued calmly.
"Are you sober?" he asked, swallowing nervously—his body had already responded to the sight of her.
"Quite," she answered as she uncrossed her arms and placed them behind her, with her palms against the desk, to reveal her breasts.
Thornton unconsciously licked his lips as he admired her.
"You don't know what you're asking," he warned, as he stepped closer without meaning to.
"Don't I?" she asked, stretching one of her legs forward with the grace of a ballerina; her foot grazing his hip.
Before he could stop himself, his hand reached for her ankle. He traced a path up her leg as he continued stepping forward. When he got close enough, she opened her legs so he was standing between them.
Margaret's adrenaline pumped through her body. She never thought she could behave in this way, but having rebelled back in London made her aware of the self-assurance and confidence that had been hiding within her. She had also been given the right incentive.
Thornton didn't dare to make another move. They looked at each other as they craved for the pleasure they knew they could enjoy together—their breaths quickening in anticipation.
Margaret's hands traveled to the top button of his waistcoat.
"I'll be more careful this time," she said with a playful smile as she unbuttoned it.
"You need to think this through," he cautioned, but in his lust allowed her to continue with his shirt. "Life won't be easy with me," he said as his fingers brushed her thighs tentatively.
"Do you think I'm currently incapable of making my own decisions?" she asked before letting the garments fall to the floor. "It saddens me to see that even though I'm here, bare in front of you in every possible way, you don't know me at all—and you presume to love me!" she exclaimed with sarcasm.
"You know I do!" he countered immediately; his hands grasping her hips.
"Yet you think I'm the kind of woman who would turn her back at the first sign of trouble," she argued. "I want to be with you…" she reiterated, caressing his face, "…whatever the circumstances may be."
"You say that now," he contradicted.
"Give up," she ordered. "I know how this battle of wills ends," she assured him, before brushing her lips against his briefly—teasing him.
"You underestimate me," he lied, not wanting to admit how close he was to giving in.
She became serious, but said nothing; her lips parted and there was a gleam of wickedness in her eyes briefly, as if she had something up her sleeve. Thornton beheld her with curiosity as she leaned back slightly and tentatively placed her hand on her belly. His heart skipped a beat when it slowly began trailing lower. He immediately remembered the words he had spoken the week before.
Had I been there to see it…
His grip on her hips tightened as he guessed her destination—she had the conniving mind of a military strategist. As she reached between her legs, she held his gaze, waiting to see his reaction; the expectancy in his eyes encouraged her and convinced her that this would break him.
Her hand started moving in the way he had shown her and he watched in wonder—he had never been this aroused in his life. Her eyes became heavy-lidded and her skin flushed; he took in the sight, everything about her in that moment tugged at his most primal instincts. When she started moaning softly, he kneaded her thighs—silently urging her to continue.
The pleasure made her head fall back.
He traced his hand up her back to clutch her nape and force her to look back at him. There was now a hint of triumph on her face—she knew she had him in the palm of her hand. She bit her lower lip and eyed him up and down hungrily as she continued.
"Maybe you underestimated me," she mocked between pants, as his grip on her nape tightened.
The glare he gave her conflicted with his body language.
"Take me," she whispered, looking deep into his eyes.
The siren's call, he thought before sighing in defeat and pulling her towards him. He kissed her passionately, taking her by surprise, but she was quick to respond. As their lips met in a desperate rhythm, she undid his trousers. He helped her push them out of the way along with his underwear.
He roughly guided her into a new position, making her lay on the desk so he could climb on top of her. When he was hovering over her, she immediately clasped her legs around his hips so that his arousal came into direct contact with her core. She gasped in delight and buried her hands in his hair.
He trailed lower, kissing her neck. Using her waist as leverage, he began to thrust slowly without entering her. She held on to him and allowed her hips to follow his lead. She moaned unabashedly, knowing that this time no one could hear them.
"Are you sure?" he asked huskily, caressing her hair and searching for the answer in her eyes.
"Yes," she whispered.
He positioned himself right before her entrance.
"It will hurt at first," he warned.
She nodded in understanding.
She sucked in a breath and dug her nails in his back when she felt him sink into her. She squeezed her eyes shut and reminded herself that the pain would be gone soon. Seeing her distress, he remained still—fighting the urge to continue thrusting.
"Relax," he whispered.
He kissed her cheek and caressed her furrowed brow soothingly. His other hand snuck in between them to continue pleasuring her.
When the pain started to ebb, she opened her eyes—the effort to hold back was written all over his features. She kissed him deeply; her tongue leading a slow exploration. As the pleasure gradually returned, her body writhed on its own.
Her movements encouraged him, and he began to thrust slowly as his hands traced the outline of her body possessively. She drew her head back, breaking their kiss, and letting out a cry. He stopped, thinking maybe he had hurt her.
"Don't stop," she pleaded breathlessly.
Driven by her words, he continued moving; every thrust harder than the last. The increasing pleasure made it more difficult for him to keep any restraint.
He grabbed her arms, placed them above her head and made her hold on to the edge of the desk so that she remained in that position. He admired her in this vulnerable state, as if she were his captive; her loosened braids, her arched back and her heaving chest—she was finally his. He caressed her arms, her breasts and waist with adoration as he dove deeper into her.
She enjoyed that position as well; feeling exposed before him heightened every sensation. She thrashed her head when he placed wet kisses and tender bites all over her chest, and continued that trail down to her breasts.
Knowing that he wouldn't be able to resist much longer, he again led his fingers to that spot that he knew would bring about her rapture. The combination of sensations made her let go of the desk to hold on to him for dear life. As his pace quickened, her moans became louder.
One final thrust sent her over the edge, and he grunted when the feel of her tightening around him brought his release. Finishing inside of her felt like heaven. His arms buckled under him and he rested his head on her chest, which was still moving up and down with haste. She caressed his hair while they both recovered.
All of a sudden, she chuckled and he looked up at her in confusion.
"What is it, you, mad woman?" he asked.
"This sets a precedent on who shall win every future argument," she said with a smile.
"Don't be so certain," he argued.
"Why is that?" she asked while she continued brushing his hair with her fingers.
"Because this one I wanted to lose," he said, grinning and propping himself up to steal a kiss.
He repositioned himself to lie on his side and she did the same, so that they were facing each other.
"Now that you have entrapped me into marriage with your witchery," he jested, as his fingers traced the curve that led from her waist to her hip, "what should we do?"
"Entrapped you?" she asked, feigning shock.
She pinched his arm in reproach, making him laugh as she had never heard him laugh before—the sound made her very happy.
"I don't care for a large wedding," she confessed. "Let us be married tomorrow morning," she suggested.
"You deemed it improper when I proposed it," he pointed out.
"I have reconsidered. And propriety is not a concern for me anymore, given…" she hesitated.
"Given what?" he urged her to continue.
"Given the fact that… I… may have…" she said with trepidation, "…admitted to my family that we're lovers."
"May have?" he asked.
"Well…" she wavered. "I suppose saying I plainly admitted to it would be more accurate," she reasoned. She ignored his shocked expression and continued: "so, you see, eloping could only improve the opinion they have of me."
"I can't picture such a scene!" he exclaimed with a laugh.
"Henry saw us that day in the library…" she explained.
"I suspected as much," he said.
"He didn't show up at the house all week. But today he came to talk about Marlborough Mills in the hopes I would leave you. He harassed me and exposed me…"
"If I ever see him again-" he threatened.
"No," she interrupted. "I chose to come to you despite their judgement. That matter is over. Let us just be together."
"Very well," he said. "I confess I thought you would leave me when you heard the news."
She caressed his cheek tenderly.
"I don't want you to be my guardian; I want to be your partner. If I need to work, I shall do so and happily. It is not a death sentence," she said with amusement.
"I hadn't considered that perspective," he said thoughtfully.
Her optimism was contagious. Suddenly, all the dread he had been feeling during that past week seemed meaningless.
"Would you mind if we moved to the house?" she asked. "Your desk isn't particularly comfortable," she complained.
"Of course," he said, sitting up immediately to find their discarded clothes.
After they half dressed, Thornton grabbed her suitcase and they headed into the house. They went up the stairs and Margaret was grateful that Anna wasn't prowling about in her sleep. When they reached the hallway, Thornton opened the door to his room and waited for her to get inside. After they both entered, he closed the door behind him and set her suitcase to the side.
"Are you sure I can sleep in here?" she whispered.
"Even if you slept in the other room, your unexpected presence at the breakfast table will give us away," he reasoned.
"I'm not looking forward to what your mother will have to say," she said as she opened her suitcase and fished for her nightgown.
"I shall take care of that," he reassured her.
Once they both changed, they got into bed. In the darkness of the room, he held her against him; her back to his chest.
"I don't think I can sleep," she said after a few minutes of silence, "I'm too happy."
"I was thinking the same," he said, tightening his hold around her.
She turned around to face him and gave him a mischievous look.
"What?" he asked, grinning back.
She pushed him so that he was lying on his back and straddled him. She held his gaze as she traced her palms down his bare chest. For him, the image felt like déjà vu.
"You are a witch," he whispered before pulling her down so he could kiss her and make love to her again.
The next morning, Thornton woke first to find himself entangled in her arms. He smiled at the realization that last night hadn't been a dream—this was real life. He kissed the top of her head, waking her up.
"Is it morning already?" she asked drowsily, keeping her eyes closed.
"I'm afraid it is, my love," he said, placing another kiss on her shoulder. "And we must face mother."
She opened her eyes, grabbed the covers and pulled them over her head, suddenly feeling very anxious. He tugged them down.
"You shall be alright," he promised, gazing upon her lovingly.
His words gave her courage, the sooner they got this awkward conversation out of the way, the sooner they could find somewhere to get married.
Like children with a new toy, they helped each other get dressed giddily. She allowed him to tighten her corset, and he showed her how to put on his cravat. He stared at her as she did her hair in front of the mirror, and she smiled when she caught him spying on her in the reflection.
"Perfect," he complimented. "I shall never get enough of this," he said.
She chuckled as she secured the last braid up.
When they were both ready, she took a deep breath before heading out of the room.
"She is probably at the table," he said, leading the way out into the hallway and down the stairs.
When they got into the dining room, the newspaper was covering Mrs. Thornton's face. Margaret noticed that there were three plates set at the table and she swallowed nervously.
"Good morning, John… Miss Hale," she said before putting the newspaper down beside her. "I'm glad you decided to come back so soon," she said seriously.
"Mrs. Thornton, I…" she couldn't complete the sentence; the shyness she thought she had left behind invaded her again.
"You knew?" he asked, taken aback.
"Of course… It was obvious you were up to something... I noticed during the last day of Miss Hale's visit," she said. "And I saw her from the window last night, walking into your office with a suitcase," she added. "Care to explain?" she asked, extending her arm so that they would sit down.
Thornton pulled Margaret's chair so she could sit, and then proceeded to do the same at the head of the table.
"Mother, Margaret and I have decided to get married…" he began.
"Well, I had already come to that conclusion," she interrupted.
"…today," he added.
Her eyes widened, and she immediately turned to look at Margaret.
"Are you with child?" she asked in alarm.
"No," Margaret responded, swallowing nervously. "Well…" maybe after last night, she finished the sentence in her head.
"Then, why the haste?" she asked. "You had the nerve to reject him not that long ago."
Margaret's courage came back then.
"You were right when you told me I knew nothing about the man I had rejected," she said. "I know better now," she added, glancing at him briefly to exchange a smile. "As for the reason behind our haste… My family didn't approve of the match because of the current circumstances... So... I ran away…" she explained.
There was a brief silence.
"I was right about you…" Mrs. Thornton said. "You're headstrong and reckless… you can't be stopped from doing what you will," she accused.
Margaret looked down briefly, not knowing if the words were meant as an insult or a compliment.
"I think we could use someone with your character to face these difficult times," she added with a smug smile.
Margaret smiled in return.
"Mind you, I approve the union but not of the way it came about," she scolded. "But what's done is done, and we better address this matter as soon as possible… You will be the target of gossip for a couple of months, so you must be prepared for that. In this house we've also had to overcome being that target—soon enough someone always does something else that's worth gossiping about."
Margaret nodded, sure that she could face anything that came her way as long as she was with him.
That afternoon they exchanged vows in a modest chapel—the only one in Milton that allowed that kind of infamous impromptu ceremonies—with only Mrs. Thornton as their witness and using Margaret's parents' set of rings.
The rest of the day they allowed themselves to be happy. There were no cares about finding a new house, or auctioning the furniture... they had tomorrow for that.
They retired to bed early, wanting nothing but to have each other as husband and wife. Their lovemaking was slow; they enjoyed each other thoroughly, knowing they had all the time in the world.
They held each other in the afterglow.
"Mrs. Margaret Thornton," he said. "What do you think?"
"I like it," she said, smiling.
"I'm afraid this is the only kind of honeymoon we can afford," he said after a brief pause. "There's a lot to do."
"I understand," she said. "Once we work through this, maybe in a couple of years, we could go visit Fred in Spain… I hear it's beautiful," she mused. "In the meantime…" she said, stopping her daydream. "Your mother and I could go and see the new places you have scouted tomorrow," she offered. "I have some experience from when I searched for a house with father."
"Very well," he said. "Then I will pay a visit to the auction house."
"See?" she asked. "We're an admirable team already."
"Indeed," he agreed.
He kissed her and closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep feeling happy and hopeful about the future.
Mr. Bell had arrived to London earlier in the week to see his doctor and the news hadn't been good. His idea of spending his final days in a house in Brighton now didn't seem that appealing; now he inclined for the Americas, where he would enjoy better weather. But he couldn't leave without making sure Margaret was alright.
He had sent a note earlier to announce his visit, and was at present waiting at the door of Mrs. Shaw's home. When they let him into the sitting room, he noticed that only Mrs. Shaw and Edith were there.
"Good afternoon, ladies," he said cheerfully, preventing his illness from having an effect on his good humor.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Bell," said Edith with a smile that seemed feigned. "Please, have a sit."
"Thank you," he said, taking a seat and noticing Mrs. Shaw was, quite strangely, not in a sociable mood.
"Well, I came to see Margaret, but I'm afraid I have come at a bad time," he said, noting she wasn't there. "Is she out?" he asked.
Mrs. Shaw laughed sarcastically, but Edith just gave her a chastising look. She turned to look at him.
"Mr. Bell… you see-" she began.
"Edith, don't!" her mother exclaimed.
"Mama, he's her guardian—he will find out sooner or later!" she argued.
"He only needs to know that Margaret doesn't live here anymore!" exclaimed Mrs. Shaw, "…that ungrateful girl."
"What happened?" he asked with concern.
"She…" Edith began, not daring to look him in the eye. "She eloped with Mr. Thornton."
"What?" he exclaimed in disbelief, rising from his seat.
"Yes," she confirmed. "She left a little over a week ago."
"That's impossible!" he exclaimed. "Did she know about his bankruptcy?" he asked.
He had heard about it and intended to go to Milton to take the property after this.
"Oh, that is the worst part of all! She knew about it and didn't care!" lamented Mrs. Shaw. "What a disgrace!"
"What about Mr. Lennox?" he asked.
"Oh, he hasn't been around since then," said Edith.
"I must go," he said with haste. "Thank you for your time."
As he headed out of the house he went over all of what they had said again. He didn't want to believe that everything he had done had been in vain; but, more than that, he didn't want to believe that what he deemed a mere caprice had been love—the guilt would be too great to bear.
He needed to go to Milton.
John and Margaret were sitting in the library on the only couch that was left. They were looking at the records of the furniture that had been taken to the auction house.
"Well, I think we're ready to move into the new house," she said, having already agreed to one with her mother-in-law.
"Yes," he said. "And it leaves us with enough money to start a small business… I shall think more on it."
Margaret smiled; she loved how resourceful he was.
"Oh, I forgot to mention—I heard Mr. Bell has been in town for a couple of days," she remarked.
"It's strange that he hasn't come to take the house," he observed.
"I thought so, too," she said.
Suddenly, there was a loud sound coming from the gates.
"What was that?" he asked, and they looked at each other in confusion.
After they heard another loud thud, they both stood up immediately and headed out in a hurry to find out what it was.
When they came outside they saw that there were carts coming in, and they were carrying the mill's looms and the furniture they had just been going over in their record book. The eldest Dawson brother came strolling in leisurely.
"Oh, Thornton, there you are!" exclaimed Charles. "Mrs. Thornton, you're looking lovely," he said politely when he saw Margaret—the whole town already knew of their union.
Margaret smiled in response.
"Charles," he greeted. "What's all of this?" he asked, looking around.
"I have a letter for you," he said, reaching into his breast pocket. "Mr. Bell came to see me," he explained as he handed him the sealed envelope.
Thornton took it and the first thing he noticed was that it was quite thick.
"He suggested you read it as soon as you received it," he added. "I will give you some space," he said before approaching the men that were carrying the looms and directing them into the mill.
Thornton opened the letter, and Margaret immediately came to his side to read it with him.
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Thornton,
Forgive me, but I had to send a letter in my place since I could not muster the courage to face you after my reproachable actions. I promised my dear friend, Richard, that I would ensure Margaret's happiness. But I was misguided into thinking I could determine how that happiness would be in her stead. On that account, I can only say that I acted thinking it was in her best interest, and that now I see how wrong I was. But I do not wish to bother you with an endless speech filled with apologies, so I chose to make it up to you however I could.
As you can see, I bought back the looms and the furniture you misplaced at the auction house. Encased with this letter, you will find the deed of the property, which is now under Margaret's name (as well as some other properties I have acquired over the years). I also enclose the documents of a bank account I opened in her name, in which I left a considerable amount of money.
I thought it best not to show, since it makes it impossible for you to reject my peace offering. And I must let you know that if you intend to find me to give these back, you would have to travel thousands of miles, since I have decided to live the rest of my life in Argentina.
Congratulations on your wedding and I wish you all the happiness in the world.
Send my regards to your mother and sister.
Sincerely,
Mr. Bell.
"I can't believe this," said Margaret as she looked around in awe.
"Well, you better believe it. You're now the owner of Marlborough Mills," he said, handing her the paperwork so she could read it herself.
Margaret couldn't help but smile—the mill was saved!
"This is excellent news!" she said, looking at her name on the paper. "Oh, how I swore to hate Mr. Bell for the rest of my life—now I can't bring myself to! Nicholas, Mary and everyone else will get their jobs back!" she exclaimed excitedly.
They looked into each other's eyes with genuine happiness. They were rich; they would have a honeymoon, they owned a large house, and they owned a mill. But there was a deeper understanding in that exchange; they also knew that if the wheel of fortune were to turn again, they could face it together, because they wouldn't lose what was most valuable of all—each other.
"We should tell your mother; and then pay a visit to Nicholas and Mary to let them know—they can spread the word!" she exclaimed, refraining from skipping with joy.
He nodded and he offered his arm to escort her back into the house.
"Now that you shall be a mill owner, I would be happy to offer my services," he said with a grin as they walked.
"Oh, I doubt it," she jested. "I would have to interview you… But, I don't think you're experienced enough."
"I assure you—I have a wide set of skills," he said, his tone betraying he meant something else. "I can demonstrate tonight," he whispered near her ear, making her blush.
"I look forward to it," she whispered back.
THE END.
AN. This was originally intended to be a one-shot but it kind of took on a life of its own. Thank you for reading and reviewing, your comments encouraged me a lot! I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it!