A/N: So I made a despicable amount of typo's in the last chapter, which I did go back and correct, but I'll make sure I double check this time ;) Again, all your reviews and enthusiasm were so incredible, and thank you so much for your thoughts! =) Also, the proposal scene last chapter was taken directly from the book, with only a few alterations. It's like 98% Gaskell, and 2% me, haha. Either way I thought I would throw it out there for all you BBC version lovers ;) I mean, don't get me wrong I love Richard Armitage as much as the next North and South fanatic, but I read the book and it was so good, it blew my mind, haha. Anyways, on to the chapter!

Chapter 3

Months had passed since Margaret's incident, and Mr. Thornton had not been back to visit her father since then. She didn't quite understand his behavior, but to be fair, she had never understood his behavior. He was acting exactly the same towards her as he almost always had, but he usually came to see her father on a regular basis. Now he sent notes and books back and forth with Mr. Hale, under the pretense of being too consumed with business at the mill. A nagging voice in the back of her mind told her that she was the reason he no longer called after her father. That he did look on the incident at Outwood as she suspected he did. The thought of him thinking so badly of her struck a pain through her core that she didn't understand. She was so anxious about all the unspoken things between them that she could hardly do more than pace around the house, and try to calm her heart as it leapt out of her chest at every ring of the doorbell.

She needed to see him again, to put all these horrible misgivings behind them. To show him that she had indeed changed, and to make good on her resolution to be kind to him. She never even had the chance to thank him for the impromptu rescue in her father's study, as well as the Outwood incident.

As more weeks went by with no visit from Mr. Thornton, Margaret's anxiety reached an all time high. Although her father seemed to have a fresh resolve to pay more attention to her than ever, he could not offer her the company she longed: Bessie. She longed to be able to just leave, and spend the afternoon talking away all of her concerns with her dear friend. She could write to Edith, but she knew her cousin would only take it as an opportunity to condemn her father for his poor decision in moving their family so far away, and ask her to come visit her in London. It wasn't as though she didn't want to see her cousin, she didn't feel as though she could leave until she had word of Frederick's safety. She could ask Henry, but there was the possibility that he only knew as much as she herself did, and Margaret knew that this would only make her feel even more anxious. No, she would say nothing to Edith, and she would bear this burden on her own.

"Margaret, are you well?" she heard her father ask from the doorway to the drawing-room.

"Yes father, I am well." Margaret replied looking out the window to the street below. She sighed. "I was just lost in thought." Her father stepped into the room a little.

"Is it about the Boucher's?" The Boucher's; she had completely forgotten about the Boucher's. About a week earlier, the police had discovered the body of John Boucher, and only a few afterwards, his wife joined him in the afterlife. Their six newly orphaned children were now in the care of Nicholas Higgins.

Margaret contemplated her answer, but before she had a chance to speak the doorbell rang and her heart exploded in her chest. Surely not right now! As much as she had been hoping for a chance to speak to Mr. Thornton, she suddenly felt unprepared. She heard Dixon's footsteps on the stairs, and tried to control her breathing.

"This came to the door for you, Master." Dixon said, and handed a book to her father and stood a little off to the side. Margaret attempted to calm herself and suppress the stinging waves of disappointment and frustration that made her want to hide in her room and cry.

"Ah, it's from Mr. Thornton!" her father said cheerfully. Margaret was able to school her expression into cool indifference, but inside her emotions were raging again. "He sends his regards, and asks how we are doing!" her father smiled fondly at the note, and turned to Dixon. "Tell him I am well, but that Miss Hale is-"

"Oh please, papa, make no mention of me." Margaret interrupted quietly. "He did not ask." her father scrutinized her intensely over his half-moon spectacles. She knew that her face gave nothing away, but she could not be sure of the tone she had just spoken in, and she was suddenly so anxious at the thought of Mr. Thornton's impression of her that she was shivering slightly. "My dear!" Mr. Hale exclaimed. "You have turned very pale indeed! Go and lay down for a while and rest." Margaret didn't complain at the convenience of this escape from the society of her father, and immediately brushed past him to her room. Perhaps if she wouldn't have been so consumed in her own thoughts, she might have heard her father say,

"Just a moment, Dixon. I will write a reply to Mr. Thornton, and you can send it with his servant before he goes."

John sat at the desk in his office with one hand over his face, and the other resting on the table with a quill sitting loosely between his fingers. It had been a long day sitting in his office, writing out ledgers and making budget plans. It might not have taken as long as it did if every other thought did not constantly turn to Margaret. He had been so busy at the mill these past few months that he was unable to call at Crampton. The strike had done far more damage than he had ever anticipated, and they weren't picking back up as quickly as he would like. Although business was quite tricky for him at the moment, he could not say it was his only motive for avoiding Crampton.

His feelings for Margaret were so conflicting, that he could barely understand them. He was so passionately in love with her that he thought her, even with all her faults, more lovely and more outstanding than any other woman he had ever met. Still, he knew her to be so attached to another man, so led away by her affection for him that she would violate her truthful nature. It was that moment-that very falsehood that stained her and proved to him how blindly she loved this other man-this dark, slight, elegant, handsome man while he himself was rough, stern, and strongly made. No, he could not compare, and he knew that this other man had the look of a man whom Margaret deserved. It was this way of thinking, these very thoughts that propelled John into an agony of fierce jealousy.

He remembered that look; he would have gladly laid down his life at her feet for a look of such tender devotion from her. He laughed at himself for ever having thought that her actions on the day of the riot were an expression of partiality towards him, not when he could compare how soft and bewitching she looked with a man she really loved. He remembered every single part of her rejection-word for word, movement by movement.

John was very aware of the fact that he had never been more irritable in his entire life than he was now. He felt inclined to give abrupt, sharp answers, and bark orders at anyone who questioned him. The knowledge hurt his pride nearly as much as the sting of Margaret's rejection. He had always prided himself on his ability to control his emotions; and he resolved to work harder than ever to control himself. He would, and could overcome this great obstacle, and consequently he became very quiet and stern-more so than he normally was. Even at home he was more than unusually silent at home, and had taken to waste his evenings away by pacing the sitting room repeatedly. On one particular evening earlier that week, his mother seemed to have had all she could take of it.

"Can you stop-can you just sit down for one moment?" she asked harshly. Immediately John sat down in a chair against the wall. "I need to speak to you about something." He glanced at her before looking down at the floor again. She sighed and continued. "Betsy says she must leave us; she claims her lovers death has affected her so greatly that she cannot giver her heart to her work."

"Very well," John replied still looking at the floor. "I suppose there are other cooks we could meet with." His mother scoffed at him.

"That is so like a man she is not merely the cook, John. She understands the way the house is run, and it will be a very long time before another will meet the same standard. However I wished to speak to you about what she is saying about your friend Miss Hale." John suppressed the urge to laugh at her.

"Miss Hale is no friend of mine." he said bitterly. "Mr. Hale is my friend."

"That's good to hear." he mother replied loftily. "for if she was your friend, it might bother you to hear what is being said of her."

"Just tell me what it is." he snapped quietly.

"She says that her fiancée was killed by a man who was walking out with Miss Hale at the station that night. That this man pushed him down the stairs, and he consequently died; and Margaret! John, Margaret is involved! She was with this man, after dark, and is now involved with the police!"

"Why does this concern us, mother?"

"Oh John." His mother said sympathetically, as though trying to explain a difficult matter to a small child. Her tone irritated him beyond belief.

"Mother I tell you right now, this man died as a direct result of his own drinking habit, not by violence."

"How could you possibly know that?" his mother exclaimed incredulously.

"Because I spoke to the surgeon myself."

"Was Margaret there?" She had finally come out and said the question that had been burning in her mind for days.

John did not answer her.

"What about the young man?"

Still John did not answer her. Several minutes passed before he spoke again. "Mother I am telling you, there was no inquest; no judicial inquiry."

"But Margaret was seen there, at that late hour walking backwards and forwards with a gentleman, and was seen by the draper's assistant!" she looked scandalized. At this, John could suppress his growing anger no longer, and he stood abruptly and walked toward the fireplace where his mother was sitting.

"It is not so very long ago that I myself was a draper's assistant." He said irritably. "Being noticed by a draper's assistant does nothing to alter my opinion of her character. She may do as she pleases, with whomever she wishes, and it is no concern of mine." He tried to make himself believe what he had just said.

"I am glad to hear it." his mother said. "However I have, and will keep my own opinion of her. You think he is her lover, don't you?" Hearing those last words spoken out loud by another, his own mother, made it seem a hundred times more probable. A wave of pain shot through him so powerfully and penetrating, that his body began to shake, and he struggled to suppress it. He turned sharply and faced his mother.

"Yes, I do believe he is her lover." he turned around just as quickly, writhing in his pain, and raised a shaking hand to grip his face, praying it would relieve some of the agony he endured.

It did not. Before she could say anything, he turned to face her once more.

"Mother, I do believe he is her lover, whoever he is. But I believe she may be in need of some womanly council. Perhaps she is experiencing things which I do not understand, and perhaps you could advise her of. I know something is wrong. Some dread that must be a terrible torture to her."

"For God's sake, John!" she burst. "What on earth has happened? What do you know?" But again, he did not answer her. "If you do not say something, I cannot tell you what I think of her! You have no right to say what you have done against her."

"Not against her mother; I cannot speak against her!"

"Well then you have no right to say what you have done, unless you say more. These…half-expressions are what ruin a woman's character!"

"Her character!" anger flared within him towards his mother. "You do not dare…." he stopped short, and suppressed the urge to finish his speech. Then, he drew himself up with deliberate dignity and composure, and continued. "I will not say any more than this: I believe Miss Hale to be in some strait and difficulty connected with an attachment which of itself, from my knowledge of Miss Hale's character, is completely innocent and right. What my reason is, I refuse to say, but I will not hear another word spoken against her." He could tell he shocked her with his abrupt tone, but he didn't care.

"Very well, John. I will speak with her." John left the room without another word to her.

John was brought back to reality by a knock on his door.

"Come in." he called. The servant he had sent to Crampton earlier returned with a note, which he gave John before leaving. It read:

John,

I hope this note finds you well at the Mill, and that business is proving to be easier than it has been of late. Thank you for your concern for myself and my daughter. I find that I am doing quite well, but I fear Margaret is not faring as well these days. I fear she is spending too much time indoors and has become rather lonely since her mother's death. It is for this reason that I send a note instead of a customary reply. I hoped that perhaps you might join us for dinner this evening, and give Margaret some company better than myself. I believe it would do her immense good.

Sincerely,

Richard Hale

His heart was pounding in his chest; Mr. Hale wanted him to come to dinner…to keep Margaret company.

A/N: hello again! I just wanted to take a chance to answer the reviews, haha.

The most common question I've had is if I'm going to let it play out with the original book ending. The answer is no, it's probably going to be a mostly different story from here on out. =) also, Neska-Polita, I believe the line you were remembering is "and all this while, Margaret lay as still and as white as death on the study floor!" It's the very line that inspired me to write this story, haha =D

**Additional update: Sweet Lord, I'm having an incredibly bad spelling streak. Please Please Please forgive my ignorance; I've gone through and fixed the typo's I've noticed, but if you see any more, just let me know.