A/N: Alright, I couldn't resist continuing. I really shouldn't have posted that so soon…I really should have just continued with the chapter and made it longer….buuut I couldn't resist giving you something. Besides, this chapter will (at least, I'm pretty certain it will) be long, and I couldn't bear to keep you waiting for so long. Plus, who knows how often I'll be able to post once semester starts again…on Monday….*sigh* Winter Break isn't nearly long enough.

You're going to flip when you find out where I'm taking this…

Chapter Eight

Margaret could hardly believe that Mr. Thornton was walking her home. After months of so much incivility, so much disdain…she felt as though it was all washing away. Each step she took by his side was a step towards friendship. A step away from all the heartrending grief that seemed to be swallowing her whole. She desperately hoped he would say something, anything, to her. That maybe, just maybe, he wasn't quite as tortured by her presence as he had been recently. Glancing over at him nervously, her heart sank as she noticed how incredibly stern he looked in that moment. Giving herself a few moments to gather up some courage, she opened her mouth to speak.

"You really don't have to be doing this Mr. Thornton, if it makes you uncomfortable…" Her voice came out as a whisper, despite the fact that she was determined to sound confident. She winced a little, and kept her eyes focused on the road, not brave enough to see his expression.

"It doesn't make me uncomfortable." came his short reply a few seconds later, which coincidentally did absolutely nothing to convince her otherwise. Margaret looked down at her hands, idly fiddling with the bandage he had wrapped with such overwhelming tenderness only a few hours before, wishing she knew how to bridge the enormous gap between them. How was it that he could be so….attentive at dinner, and stand here now, all sternness and scowling. She knew the answer to her own question; she had known for months. He had as good as told her himself. But she wouldn't let herself voice it, even in the safety of her own mind…

"Nicholas told me it was you that convinced him to come to Marlborough Mills." He said in a somewhat forced lightheartedness. "I wanted to thank you for it, he's a great worker. More than that, he's a friend; something I confess, I have been missing as of late…" Margaret forced herself not to think, not to over analyze everything he said and did, and so she continued to stare at the ground, speaking only the first things that came to her mind.

"I merely spoke the truth, you owe me no thanks, Mr. Thornton."

"What do you mean?"

She took a deep breath. "Exactly what I said. I told him my opinion of you. Your character speaks for itself, Mr. Thornton, and it needs nothing from me to make it greater than it already is."

"I highly doubt I'm worthy of your praise…" Mr. Thornton replied so quietly, she almost didn't hear him. Her heart sank, if possible, even lower in to her stomach, and guilt washed over her in devastating waves…She forced the feeling away as much as she could before her emotions got the better of her. Already, her eyes were beginning to prick with the first unshed tears. She couldn't bear the thought of Mr. Thornton seeing her in such a state.

"You don't really think that, do you?" the words escaped her lips against her will, and part of her immediately regretted them. She felt a burning wave of nerves, and her heart thundered while she waited for him to say something. But he didn't. She looked up at him and noticed he seemed to be concentrating rather hard on the road before them. Minutes passed, and still he did not answer, and Margaret started to wonder if he'd even heard her at all.

"Mr. Thornton?" She asked. He started at the sound of her voice, and jumped a little in surprise, looking over at her with the most unusual expression she'd ever seen on his face before. "Did you hear what I said?" He just continued to stare at her with that odd expression. It was as though he had simultaneously just now noticed where he was and whom he was walking with, and perhaps witnessed her dumping a bowl of stew over her own head for no apparent reason.

"Uh-N-No, I'm sorry…I was just…" he stammered before trailing off. Margaret had never seen him like this before. His face seemingly betraying a thousand emotions, looking at her like she had sprouted a second head, and pitifully attempting to stammer out some sort of reply that wouldn't betray the fact that he hadn't been listening to her at all.

She couldn't help it, not really. The moment before, everything had seemed so serious, so completely serious, that Margaret couldn't help the laughter that escaped her at the look on his face. She tried to hide it, not wanting to insult him, but it was futile. The laughter infected her soul and soon it burst forth like an overflowing well. Mr. Thornton's initial expression of indignation did nothing to sober her. She should have stopped and apologized, but she didn't have room for any other emotion than the joyous feeling that accompanied laughter. And soon he was laughing with her, his deep laugh thrilling her soul, and his face showing none of the cares he must have had only a moment ago.

Margaret didn't think she'd ever felt happier.

"Thank you, Mr. Thornton." She said earnestly, and smiled at him once more. He smiled at her in return, and she was struck by how completely different he appeared. Gone was the serious, pained, hardworking Master of Marlborough Mills. Before her stood a young man, delighted to be sharing in this unusual experience. It was breathtaking to behold.

"I can't think of what I've done that would require your thanks." He replied, chuckling nervously. What would it take to make him see himself how she saw him? On an impulse (she seemed to be passing the entire evening on impulse), she stepped towards him and took his hands in hers. It might have been crossing boundary lines, breaking the rules of propriety, but she didn't really care. She wanted him to understand how special this night had been for her.

"Everything!" She beamed at him, suddenly breathing harder than strictly necessary. "For being so kind to my mother and father, for taking Nicholas on at the Mill, for helping him look after the poor Boucher children…for making me laugh, and forget the world. Oh, I do not think I have laughed like that since I was a little girl!"

"I'm afraid," He paused, taking a deep breath. "I do not deserve any of the gratitude you are so graciously bestowing on me. I do not believe I am the one ultimately responsible for the fact that Nicholas now works at the Mill. I have only just found out that you were the one who insisted he come to me in the first place."

"Yes, but it would mean nothing if you would not have given him a place in the Mill."

"But I never would have, if it weren't for your influence in my life."

"Mr. Thornton!" Margaret exclaimed, laughing again. "You cannot dissuade me from my good opinion of you, no matter how hard you try! You are wasting your time." She smiled at him. He stared at her so intently her smile faltered, and was replaced by a sensation she could not identify, and had never experienced before. Her heart was racing, and she was breathing harder to try and compensate for the sudden need of more oxygen. She watched, frozen where she stood, as Mr. Thornton removed one of his hands from hers and lifted towards her face. He barely even touched her, but where his fingers had touched her forehead and cheek blazed as though his hands were on fire, and her entire body shivered slightly. Tentatively, he moved to brush her bangs away from her face, and tucked them behind her ear. She closed her eyes, savoring this one glorious moment where there was absolutely nothing between them but the boundaries they put up themselves. She felt him move his hand to rest flat against her face, and she instinctively leaned into it's warmth. She sighed without realizing it.

But soon the warmth was gone, leaving her face colder than it had been before. She opened her eyes and looked at him, mind burning with dozens of questions. Margaret watched as his expression turned serious once more. He sighed and took her hand, placing it on his arm.

"Come Miss Hale," he said, looking quite forlorn. "I do not want your father to worry." Margaret smiled, suddenly feeling inexplicably pleased with the situation.

"Well Miss Hale," Mr. Thornton said once they reached the steps to Crampton. "Thank you for allowing me to accompany you home, despite how adamant you were against it initially." Margaret looked down at him from the steps in mock indignation.

"What are you insinuating?" She asked, still in a mock seriousness.

"Oh, no, I didn't-" He stopped and stepped forward, grabbing her hands. "Forgive me, Miss Hale, I only meant that I am honored that you allowed me to escort you." She laughed openly.

"I was merely joking, Mr. Thornton, and very poorly it seems." He opened his mouth to protest but Margaret cut him off, unusually emboldened by the way he was holding her hands. "I will forgive you on one condition." He looked at her, blue eyes piercing her own.

"Name it."

"Don't ever call me Miss Hale again."

Dear God, had she really just said that!? Mr. Thornton looked at her so intensely, she could feel the heat from his gaze spreading across her face. He seemed to be fighting the thoughts in his head, and remained silent. After a few moments, he stepped forward onto the first stair, making him just a little taller than her.

"Well then." He said before taking her left hand in his, and slowly, tantalizingly raising it up to his lips and placing a lingering kiss there, effectively scorching it through and through. "Goodnight, Margaret." he said against the skin of her hand. He gave her one last searing look, before turning and walking back towards Marlborough Mills.

The morning broke cold and dreary, but John didn't notice. The whole world might have been on fire, and it quite probably would have escaped his notice. Nothing mattered to him today; nothing except the memory of his glorious walk with Margaret the previous night. It was possible that nothing would ever matter to him ever again. And so it was that John still lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment, every single breath of the night before. The singing, the dinner, the children, Nicholas, the walk, and the goodbye…the wonderful, wonderful goodbye…From beyond his door, he could hear the clock downstairs chiming the hour. Excited, perhaps more excited than he had ever been in his life, he shot out of bed, practically threw his clothes on, and rushed out of the house to the Mill. He was going to see Margaret later, it was a fact; the sooner he finished his work at the Mill, the sooner that meeting could take place.

That afternoon, John found himself waiting on the steps to Crampton, and for Margaret. He didn't really know what he expected out of this unexpected visit to the Hale's house, but it didn't really matter to him. All he wanted was to see the beautiful smile she gave him the night before while she stated her terms of forgiveness.

Dixon opened the door, and ushered him in the door.

"Hello, Dixon." He greeted pleasantly, handing her his coat and hat. "I trust you're doing well to-" But a loud crash from upstairs cut him off. The crash was followed by the sound of raised voices. He looked over to Dixon, and asked if everything was well in the household.

"I don't rightly know, Mr. Thornton." She replied. "It seemed fine when I left to answer the door. Frowning, John headed up the staircase, following the raised voices. He stopped outside Mr. Hale's study and listened.

"I cannot allow this to stand a second time, Miss Hale. I will not see you disgrace him any further!" John knew that voice. He knew it well. Dread began to settle in his stomach. There was only one person his mother would speaking to in that manner…

"I disgraced him!?" He had been right.

"Yes, you disgraced him, Miss Hale! And you continue to disgrace him. Three times now, you have entangled my son in your immoral, irresponsible lifestyle. Three! I have already spoken to you on this matter once before, and I believe you know how I feel about the subject."

"Then why are you here!?" John winced at the tone of Margaret's voice. There was a long pause before his mother continued, and even then it her voice was so much lower that he actually had to lean into the door to hear her at all.

"To tell you that no matter how much you may regret your hasty rejection of his proposal, no matter what immoral schemes you come up with to entrap him, you will not have my son. He did his duty by you the first time and you scorned him. He owes you nothing now, despite the rumors you have no doubt created, and circulated on your own."

There was silence for a moment, before:

"You have insulted me quite enough today, Mrs. Thornton. I must ask you to leave."

"No, Miss Hale, I think you will not be rid of me as easily as the last time. This time you must hear all that I have to say to you."

"I must do nothing, except that which I wish to do! You have no authority over me madam, save the respect which is demanded by you being my elder, and by God Himself."

"I have the authority of your mother, though she is long deceased."

Suddenly the door opened, although it was not the way that John expected. Mr. Hale, and Mr. Bell had (so it seemed) been standing with him outside the door the entire time, even though he never noticed their presence, because it was his friend who opened the door and interrupted the conversation happening between Margaret and his mother.

"Margaret, what is going on here?" Mr. Hale said. John, who pressed himself flush against the wall when he opened the door, could not see their faces. He wasn't sure he wanted his mother to know of his presence at the moment.

"Mrs. Thornton is under the impression that I concocted some under-handed scheme to entrap her son in marriage." John choked, and tried to cough as quietly as possible.

"What gives you this idea, madam?"

"I overheard my servants discussing the tale, which they had heard in the marketplace this morning." his mother replied.

"What was the tale?" Mr. Hale asked. John held his breath.

"That they were seen walking last night after dark, and that they seemed to be 'quite intimate' with each other." Someone spluttered

"Nonsense!" He heard Mr. Bell say.

"Margaret?" Mr. Hale asked. John didn't give her a chance to respond, walking purposefully in to the room and saying:

"Yes, it is true, I did escort your daughter home last night." Three shocked faces and one apologetic smile greeted him. Mr. Hale looked at him enquiringly, Margaret…he couldn't tell what emotion her face was relying, and his mother looked at him with fire in her eyes as though challenging him to go against her. "I could not allow her home so late on her own Mr. Hale. Whatever-intimacy- occurred, I take full and complete responsibility for." He could feel Margaret's gaze burning into the side of his face, but he determinedly looked at her father. Mr. Hale looked at him for several long moments before he sighed.

"Will you all please excuse us, I would like a word with John alone." John, still avoiding Margaret's gaze, looked directly at his mother as she made to exit the room.

"I will see you at home, Mother; Do not wait up." He tone brooked no argument, and she nodded nearly imperceptibly at him before swiftly making her way from the room. He looked down at his hands after she left, if nothing else than to avoid Margaret's searing gaze. Soon, the room was emptied and the door was closed, leaving only Mr. Hale and himself.

"Have a seat John." He said, taking one himself and gesturing to the chair beside it. "And tell me about last night."

A/N: so FINALLY IT'S DONE! I just couldn't get this one out… good grief. Anyways, school started yesterday, but I don't think it'll be as bad as last semester….please tell me what you think.

Also, almost 100 reviews! Maybe I'll give some kind of gift to the 100th reviewer. ;)

I love you guys.