So a few things before we get started here: First, this story has been following the original story pretty well; I changed a few things here and there, and made sure to mention them along the way. In answer to the many reviewers asking this same question, no, I do not intend to follow the main story line from here on out. I do have a different ending planned out, and I will be continuing, even though the summary only makes reference to the fainting incident. Also, I'm planning on speeding things up a little.

In the book, the night after John makes his snide comment to Margaret, Bell leaves to go back to Oxford, but I was thinking about having him stay a little longer with the Hale's, and having her Father go a little earlier to Oxford with him. Which I'll probably end up writing in this chapter. . But then again, I might not do that at all. I haven't quite decided completely. I have a clear knowledge of where the plot is going to go, I'm just trying to get there, haha. I hate writing filler chapters sometimes. Hopefully, I'll think of something super interesting a few pages down, and I'll be able to make it as un-filler as possible. There will be a few other differences, but I shant elaborate any further; I just hope you know the story well enough by now to spot which differences I put in place. Of course, if you're ever in confusion about it, feel free to ask me! =)

Also, SUPER IMPORTANT: Margaret did urge Nicholas to speak to Thornton about taking work with him, I just didn't see it necessary for me to write in. We all know it takes place. So that happened exactly as it did in the book (or movie, for those who didn't read the book), the only difference is that Mr. Thornton never found out that it was at Margaret's urging. So keep that in mind for this chapter, or you will be immensely confused. I'm going to start drifting away from all the direct associations with the novel, as the plot (in this chapter especially) will be breaking away from the original story line.

Secondly: thank you for the wonderful reviews, and for letting me know that I'm still keeping you interested in what's going to happen between John and Margaret.

QOP, you mentioned you were starting to hate Margaret, and now I'm curious, haha. Why? =)

Miltongirl, Thank you! Soon, very soon, the time will come for confrontation. However I cannot say things will be worked out soon; because they wont. That's far off in the distance.

To the rest of you: Thanks again, and please do not hesitate to send me your thoughts on what you're about to read!

Chapter Six

Margaret Hale was pacing. Not that it was so very unusual; it had become a rather annoying habit she seemed to have picked up after her mother died. I seemed to add a clarity to her thoughts when she had many that were in the forefront of her mind. So naturally, she seemed to be pacing all day long. Thinking of him-she could not even bring herself to think his name- always made her restless in a way she did not understand. She wanted nothing more than to have him understand her once and for all. To have him know the entire truth, to apologize for her hateful rejection. The idea that there was someone in the world who disliked her as vehemently as he did, and to have the knowledge that no matter what she said to him, or if he ever forgave her, she deserved every bit of his scorn. She had never known the power of one's emotions before she had met him. They frightened her. The realization that she had once been the key to his everlasting happiness, that one tiny word from her had the power to make or break him as a man…..it was terrifying. Of course, there was no doubt in her mind that she wouldn't be able to do anything like that again. Even if he did trust her enough, he certainly did not care for her anymore….that was painfully obvious. The notion made her feel a little…empty inside.

It seemed as though fate was conspiring against her wish to make things right with him. Every time she was around him, every single time there was an opportunity for her to show him that she appreciated him, something would happen that made it impossible. But Margaret was confident that somehow, she would get her chance; God would not let her prayers go unanswered, and she would make things right with him, no matter if it took her every remaining year she had on the earth.

But fate seemed to have other plans for her, and saw fit to intervene once more.

One day, several weeks after his last visit, she went to visit the Higgins'. It had been some time since she had seen Nicholas, as he had been working at the Mill as much as he was allowed, and she was looking forward to seeing all the Boucher children as well. It was still freezing out as they were in the full throws of the northern winter, and her father and Mr. Bell seemed quite content to stay in each other's company for an indefinite amount of time. So Margaret would go alone.

"Oh Miss Margaret!" Mary exclaimed when opened the door. She threw her arms around Margaret in a warm embrace. "Oh it is so good to see you! It's been some time!"

"Yes, it has." Margaret replied, her voice a little scratchy from lack of use. "I'm sorry for not coming more often; I'm afraid my mind has been rather distracted of late." Mary ushered her inside and out of the cold.

"Don't trouble yourself, it's been a busy time for you. Think no more of it." Mary smiled so warmly at her, that Margaret's spirits couldn't help but lift a little. Soon, all the Boucher children were clamoring to see her. They wanted to tell her of everything that she had missed, all the lovely pictures they had drawn, and new words they had learned to read. She felt so much more at ease here, praising the children, and receiving their unconditional affection in return. For a few hours, Margaret was able to forget about Mr. Thornton. It was so nice to smile, to laugh, and to rejoice with others. It was something she had not been able to do for a while. She told stories, and played games, and taught the children new words, enjoying herself so much that when Mary asked her to stay for dinner she quite happily obliged.

After much insistence on Margaret's part, she began to help Mary prepare dinner, but not until she set the children up singing a cheerful song, and tidying things up for when Nicholas arrived home from work.

"Sing wif us Miss Margwet!" The youngest begged.

"And you too, Mary!" Johnny called. Margaret paused chopping the vegetables, and turned to the eager shining faces of the young children.

"Oh very well," she sighed dramatically. "Only if you promise not to lose track of your chores!" The children nodded happily and continued their singing, joined now by Margaret and Mary.

Margaret didn't think she'd ever been happier than in that moment; there, in the small run-down home of the Higgins family with the six Boucher children singing and dancing whilst tidying up, and she herself preparing dinner with Mary. She smiled as she peeled potatoes, a genuine smile that had such a profound effect within her that she could even feel a little bubble of joy forming in her chest, threatening to explode with euphoric laughter. The bubble made her want to laugh until she cried, to jump, sing, dance, and play with the children until she couldn't breathe. As it was, her face felt as though it were cracking from the strain of the enormous smile she wore. She thanked God that these children had been placed on the Earth, if for nothing else than giving her this moment. She wished that her father was there with her, so that she could share in her newfound happiness with him. He could have a taste of what it was to be completely carefree for a time. Even if it was only for a night. Nothing could dampen the mood she had so long suppressed; not even Mr. Thornton.

"What have we here?" A booming voice exclaimed from behind the half-opened front door. "A very merry party you lot seem to be this evening!"

"Hello Nicholas!" Margaret called cheerfully from her position near the fire. She glanced up quickly at him, but never ceased in peeling the potato she was working on. He was making his way inside, still on the threshold, and appeared to be attempting to keep the snow from his boots from entering the home. She picked up her singing again at the next verse.

"Miss Margaret, is that you?" Nicholas called back. "I should've known this would be your doing." He chuckled slightly as he looked at the children. "My, it's been so long since I've seen ya, and may you're looking quite jolly this evening!" Margaret laughed and blushed furiously at both his compliment, and in guilt for not having visited sooner. "What'd ya say, Master?"

"Yes Miss Hale, I must admit that although I have never seen you in a setting like this, you are looking very well." Margaret jumped so violently at the sound of his voice, that her head shot up and she completely forgot about the potato she was halfway through peeling.

"Oh!" Margaret exclaimed, dropping the knife and looking at her hand. She must have looked away from the potato mid-swipe, because it appeared that her thumb had become it's replacement. Blood seeped quickly from her thumb, immediately ruining all the potatoes in the process. She made to wrap it in her apron, before a hand gently arrested her movements. Mr. Thornton had stepped closer to her, and taken her hand in his own. He lifted it slightly, and bent his head towards the wound, looking at it closely.

Margaret felt as though her face might actually be steaming from the heat there. What was he even doing here? Months of passing her over, refusing to speak to her unless absolutely necessary, that horrible insinuation at dinner a few weeks before….What was he doing to her? Was this his idea of fair punishment for everything she had put him through? As though he believed that ignoring her in every situation wasn't enough, now he was playing with her emotions, and making her hope…

She was hoping? Hoping for what? Either she didn't know, or she would not let herself answer the question. She realized that she had been staring open-mouthed at Mr. Thornton, who was still looking very intently at her hand. She tore her gaze away from his face, and noticed that he was cleaning her thumb off with a wet cloth. Where did that come from? she thought. How long was I staring at him! She was looking at his face again; there would never be another opportunity such as this one, where Mr. Thornton wasn't glaring at her and giving her a well deserved cold-shoulder. So Margaret completely took advantage of the situation, and secretly memorized every part of his face she could, for reasons she didn't understand at all. He was saying something, she noticed then. His lips were moving, but Margaret couldn't hear anything. Her heart was racing in her chest, and the rushing sound it brought was thundering through her. He glanced quickly up at her, and Margaret was surprised to see the mischief that twinkled in his eyes, and his half upturned lips as though he were making a joke. She laughed so nervously, it came out more as a breathy chuckle, for reasons that had nothing to do with whatever it was he had said. She barely even noticed when he lead her over to a chair to sit. It was Nicholas Higgins voice that brought her out of her Mr. Thornton induced haze.

"Margaret, how do you always manage to do these things to yourself?" he asked. All her senses were returning to her now. The children still danced and sang, Mary had taken the potatoes to be washed thoroughly, Nicholas was smiling down at her, his eyes twinkling merrily, but most prevalent of all was the man in front of her. John Thornton, holding her hand, and gently wrapping it in a dry strip of cloth, before tying a knot at the top. He held her hand a moment more, and although it was probably considered improper, Margaret couldn't care less.

"Oh, you know me Nicholas." She replied, still a little breathless. "I'm always finding some way of hurting myself." She smiled, and looked down to Mr. Thornton, who was still holding her hand, although very gently. He didn't look at her as she spoke, but she almost thought she spotted a tiny smile on his face. A boldness grew within her at the sight of that little smile; a boldness to do exactly the thing she had been wishing to do for months. She would be as she had been before Mr. Thornton had arrived, and no one, not even he, could spoil this day for her. Here was her opportunity to show him that she appreciated him, more than even she herself probably realized. It had been weeks since she'd resolved to show Mr. Thornton the same kindness she had shown her. Now there was nothing getting in her way. A small, very tiny part of her felt a small vindictive pleasure at the possibility of making him feel guilty for how horrible he had been to her, but she instantly squashed the thoughts, before grinding them into dust.

She deserved every bit of his disdain; those very thoughts alone proved that, even if none of her other actions did. He deserved to be treated with kindness; if she was lucky, perhaps he would receive her kindness without thinking she was buttering him up for some ulterior motive.

Mr. Thornton let go of her hand, and resumed his place next to Nicholas. "Well, Miss Hale," he said, resuming his normal aloofness. Margaret was acutely aware of the pain in her hand now that his had left it. "It should be fine, but I don't recommend you continue to try and peel potatoes." Margaret, who had been looking at her hand, looked up at his face in surprise. The twinkling jest was there in his eye, even though his face still remained void of expression. That was all the encouragement she needed; she smiled openly at him.

"Thank you Mr. Thornton." she replied. "I'll keep that in mind for the next time I try to help with the cooking." Nicholas laughed loudly.

"Well, I'm sure glad you're here, Miss." He said, still laughing a little. Margaret blushed again.

With very little help from Margaret, dinner was eventually served. They all, even Mr. Thornton, laughed, and smiled, and played with the children until the children were so tired, one of them actually fell asleep in Margaret's arms. Margaret spent most of the night admiring how amazing it was that something so simple as laughter could transform a man's features so completely. He hardly even looked the same; his eyes practically danced, and his expression looked years younger. He had almost a boy-like vivacity about him that made Margaret's heart flutter a little. Soon, Nicholas declared it was time for the children to go upstairs to bed. Mary rose and began to usher the children towards the staircase, and Nicholas made to get the slumbering child out of Margaret's arms.

"Oh no, Nicholas." Margaret said, suddenly extremely apprehensive to be left alone in Mr. Thornton's presence. "Don't trouble yourself; Mary and I will see the children to bed tonight." Nicholas smiled warmly at her, and Margaret carefully lifted herself out of the chair, taking extra care not to jostle the small child. In the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Thornton rise with her, but for some reason or another she couldn't bring herself to look over at him. Perhaps it had something to do with the burning wave of nervousness that attacked her completely unannounced. She walked briskly over to the stairs, where the children were slowly making their way up one by one.

It didn't take very long to get the children settled in. Upon kissing them all goodnight, she made her way back to the staircase, bumping into Mary along the way.

"I think I'll retire, myself." Mary said, before reaching forward to embrace Margaret once more. "It's been a busy day. Thank you so much for coming to see us today Miss. I don't think I've seen father quite so happy since before poor Bessie died." Margaret smiled at the memory of her dear friend.

"Well, I can only say how sorry I am for not coming sooner, if that is the case. I hope to be able to come over more frequently once things settle down a bit." Mary gave her an understanding smile before slipping through a door without another word. Margaret sighed before walking through the remainder of the hallway as quietly as possible. She descended the stairs with a quiet grace, her eyes focused on her neatly wrapped thumb, and her thoughts swarming with the gentleman who had given it such affectionate attention.

"If it wasn't for Margaret, who knows where I'd be right now?" Margaret paused right at the bottom of the stairs as Nicholas spoke her name. She wasn't really one to eavesdrop, but she wondered why Nicholas was speaking of her to Mr. Thornton.

If John Thornton thought his dislike for Margaret Hale was the most unbearable feeling he had ever experienced, it was nothing compared to the loathing he inflicted upon himself. That look-that hauntingly beautiful expression of betrayal plagued him every hour. If that was not enough for him, he realized what a coward he truly was; he was a man! And he ran like a coward from a tiny, thinly-framed woman. Yes, he realized he could very easily hate himself more than he hated Margaret. He had resolved on his last night at the Hale's, that he would do everything in his power to see as little of her as possible.

So John worked, and worked hard. He would drown his sorrows with his business, and pray that by the time he closed his eyes at night, his mind would be too exhausted to bring any images of Margaret up. It seemed to help his suffering heart a little, but his hyperactive mind was constantly throwing loopholes for him to dodge.

"Master," A voice interrupted him from his intense concentration on the accounting. He look up and saw Nicholas Higgins standing in the doorway to his office. John rubbed his face wearily with one hand while reaching into his waistcoat with the other.

"Good Lord," John said, looking at his watch. "Is it that late already?" Nicholas chuckled.

"Aye, Master it is; and Mary will have my head is we're too late." John had struck up an interesting, and wholly unexpected friendship of sorts with Nicholas Higgins. Occasionally, John would go home with Nicholas, and have dinner with he, Mary, and the six little Boucher children whom he was growing increasingly fond of. Tonight just happened to be such a night. The random, and completely unexpected friendship that John had begun with Nicholas Higgins was almost like a soothing balm to his aching heart. Sometimes, he would spend nearly every night at the Higgins home. A little knife of guilt would stab him occasionally when he thought of how he had nearly abandoned his friendship with Mr. Hale, but he consoled himself when he remembered that his college friend Mr. Bell was still at Crampton, and was most likely being a jollier guest than he ever could have been himself. Naturally, as John thought of Mr. Hale, his thoughts betrayed him by turning to his daughter, and it took all of his self control to focus on the conversation he was having with Nicholas as they walked towards his home.

As they got closer to the house, they began to hear the beautiful sound of singing. But not merely any singing, the wholesome and pure melody of children's voices. As he and Nicholas stood in the entry way, he heard Nicholas mumble a rhetorical question of sorts, and as they stepped inside the house together, he suddenly found he could no longer breathe. He felt as thought his entire body were on fire, every nerve completely alive and hyperaware of her presence.

John had never heard Margaret sing before. He vaguely remembered Fanny and his mother proclaiming about her lack of musical talents, what could have been a hundred years ago. That was obviously a complete falsehood. Although he knew it wasn't on his mother and sister's part; they claimed that she herself made the statement first. God, did this woman have no idea what she was? What she was to him?

He chose not to answer that question.

At that moment he heard her greet Nicholas so cheerfully, that his chest literally ached in partial guilt and longing. Dear God, what would he give just to hear her show that level of excitement at him merely walking into the room. Then Nicholas asked him a question which, thanks to the many months of wandering around like a corpse, he was actually able to answer. He wasn't fully aware of what he was saying until the words left his mouth. It wasn't as though he regretted them. He just wished he could have approached civilized conversation in a somewhat…subtler manner. He stood frozen by her confused expression, and incredibly becoming blush faintly showing on her cheeks. This tantalizing vision of Margaret so completely at ease, singing with children, who cared that she was working in the kitchen, a position completely below her. And yet, it suited her; that she could be more at ease here, in Higgins' (very) modest home, with his seven children, making food with Mary….It made his chest ache all the more. Suddenly her gaze snapped down, and he distantly heard the sound of metal clinking on the wooden floor, and her sharp intake of breath. Margaret had somehow sliced clean into her finger, and was hastily attempting to wrap it in the apron she has donned. He couldn't help his actions; honestly. His body and hands moved entirely of their own accord, and he could only watch helplessly at what progressed.

He began to realize the implications of his actions almost immediately. Though the rest of the household would most likely notice nothing in this display, this spoke immeasurable volumes between Margaret and himself. The last time he had touched her (while she had been conscious, at least) was the day of his passionate proposal. His hands were shaking slightly, although it was hardly visible. He was terrified that he had overstepped some unspoken boundary line, and any moment her eyes would be flashing at him with anger and disdain. But no such moment came. He waited, and still she did nothing. He couldn't bring himself to look at her. Still holding her hand as gently as he could, he reached over to a conveniently located cloth and dipped it into an even more conveniently located bowl of water before ringing it out, and bringing it to her thumb. There was absolutely no difference in her demeanor. He began to feel some small resemblance of hope. Perhaps….no. he should squash that thought now!

But still…What if he could…test the waters, so to speak? He knew, perhaps better than most did, that his attitude lately was absolutely abhorrent. He was a bitter old man. But what if could show her that he wasn't always so volatile? God only knew he had more than proved his ability to be an incorrigible, offensive, discourteous ass to her. Perhaps he could, just for tonight anyways, tempt his fantasies, and attempt to woo Margaret. He nearly laughed aloud that how positively ridiculous that sounded.

"So how badly has she done herself in this time, Master?" Nicholas asked, chortling a little.

"This time?" John replied, his heart already feeling lighter than it had in ages.

"Oh yes, haven't you heard? Margaret, in all her southern graces, is disastrously clumsy." He laughed a little louder at that. John decided now was as good a time as any would be. He glanced quickly up at Margaret's face, not entirely able to school his expression beforehand. His heart immediately began to pound wildly in his chest. Her cheeks were flaming with embarrassment (at what, he wasn't quite sure), her blue eyes once again piercing into his soul, but he was taken aback by the unusual expression on her face. Her eyes looked at him in a sort of wonder, and his made his breath hitch, and his blood rush through his body at an unnaturally fast pace. He returned his gaze to her hand to finish the bandaging, and held on to it as long as he could. Perhaps a little too long.

Before too long, dinner had been eaten, and the children were falling asleep right where they were. One in particular had fallen asleep on Margaret. As Mary ushered the children together for bed, Nicholas stood and made a motion for the slumbering child in Margaret's arms. She shook her head at him and firmly declined his assistance to put the child to bed. Soon they could all be heard scuttling around upstairs.

"Ah, she's a good lass she is." Nicholas said suddenly, staring off at the ceiling. John didn't know what to say, so he said nothing. "It's nice to see her smiling again. I can't say I've seen her smiling like that since before her mother died, bless her. I don't know where I'd be if it wasn't for her" John looked down at his hands feeling a little guilty for some reason. "She was with my Bess up till she died, even though her own mother was so unwell. I was so mad at her that day, too." John looked curiously over at him; he was tracing a pattern on the rough table with a tiny smile on his face.

"At Margaret?" He asked.

"Aye. She-" he stopped and laughed a little louder that time. "She looked me square in the face the day I came home and found Bess had gone, and forbade me from leaving the house to go drink."

"That sounds like something she would do." John said, making Nicholas chuckle again.

"Aye she certainly is a fierce one. You know she's the one who told me to come to you for work?" John's eyes widened in surprise.

"Really?" He asked, trying desperately not to let the hope kindling in his chest to show on the face.

"She told me to forget who you are as a Master, and to appeal to your heart. Said she knew you'd be compassionate enough to hear me out." John's heart was racing in his chest. Could Margaret really have spoken so highly of him? Did that mean that she, against all odds, perhaps had a soft spot in her heart for him after all?

But he did not listen to Nicholas originally, he had turned him away.

No, she could not care for him.

"It would seem she might not know me as well as she proclaims." He replied. "I did not hear you out, like she thought I would."

"Oh I don't know Master. I'm inclined to believe she knows you a little better than you do." John stared at him in disbelief, but Nicholas said nothing more. He merely sat there with an odd look playing about his face. The sounds of someone coming down the stairs stopped any reply that John might have come up with. Margaret suddenly appeared, smiling a little nervously and smoothing out her dress.

"Well Nicholas," She said in a clear voice. "The children are all asleep, Mary included, and I'm afraid should be going home myself." she smiled apologetically at him.

"Yes, you wouldn't want your father to get worried."

"Indeed I would not." she smiled at him again. John was always a little mesmerized by her smile, and it had been so very long since he had seen her smile…he knew he would cherish that smile forever, even though he knew it would probably never be directed at him. Perhaps it was her smile was clouding his mind, for he found he couldn't think straight. His mind was fuzzy, and he couldn't focus on the words that were coming out of Nicholas' mouth. All he could think of was Margaret, and how this wonderful evening would most likely never happen again, of how things would go back to how they had been, and of how badly he didn't want that to happen.

"May I walk you home?" He blurted out to everyone's surprise, including his own. He cringed a little at how desperate he sounded, and silently begged that Margaret didn't think he'd lost his mind. "I mean…" he added, coughing a little nervously. "It will probably be dark soon, and I'm sure your father wouldn't want you walking about so late by yourself." He looked directly at her, trying to ignore the raised eyebrows on Nicholas' face.

"I-" Margaret stuttered. "I don't think that would be very proper, Mr. Thornton, but I do thank you nonetheless." A brief memory of her claim of his lack of gentility crossed his mind, and for a moment he knew she was right, and it would be extremely improper.

Damn propriety.

"Yes, but it would be worse for me to just let leave at such a late hour alone." John noticed a little spark of something in her eyes, but could not distinguish it. "Please Miss Hale, my conscious simply will not allow it. I will gladly take any blame that may come from it." This time he could not ignore the incredulity on Nicholas' face, and as John looked over at him, the incredulity changed into a knowing smile that made him feel a little uncomfortable. He looked back at Margaret, who was looking down at her hands once more, her cheeks tinged with pink.

"I-well-I supposed I cannot dissuade you then?" she asked. John shook his head, and Nicholas laughed. Margaret took a deep breath, and extended her arm towards him, presented her bandaged hand, the one he himself had bandaged, to him with her palm open. "Shall we then?" John swallowed thickly in an attempt to drown the burning waves of anxiety, but with little success. He rose and very gently placed her hand on his arm, heart nearly exploding out of his chest at her close proximity.

"Yes," he practically whispered. "I believe we shall."

A/N: Sorry for the long space between updates. Like I said a few chapters ago, this semester has really been difficult. However, I have all my finals this week, so if I live past it, I will be updating sooner (I hope). I also had a touch of writers block with this chapter. I just felt like it went on and on and on and on…..I didn't intend to end it right here but….I caved. Lol. Also, sorry to everyone who reviewed after I started writing the chapter, and didn't get their name listed above. And please tell me what you think, to help get me out of this writers block….