A/N: Sorry for the shortness of my last chapter. I felt it was best to just leave it that way, and just…well, breeze through it really. I'm sorry if I disappointed anyone with the…lack of details. But I promise, my writing didn't suddenly turn to crap, I wanted it that short. Trust me, its better that I elaborate in this chapter and not waste any more time on it. I'm sure you're ready to see things…heat up between them. For lack of a better term lol. Anyways, enough of me! On to the good stuff.

Chapter 12

To say things were awkward would be an understatement. It was quite conceivable that no one had ever felt as awkward and uncomfortable as he did in all of history. It wasn't the fact that he had to stand in front dozens of people, some that he knew, some that he didn't. It wasn't the fact that he had just married a woman that he was passionately in love with and whom, quite ironically, despised him with equal passion. It wasn't even the fact that he seemed to have lost his mind for a short while back at the altar where he had kissed Margaret with a fire he never knew he possessed. No, what made things awkward was that he had kissed her again.

And again.

And then once more for good measure.

It had made the guests so uncomfortable that someone actually cleared their throat rather loudly in the middle of his third kiss. To which he replied with a small secret smile and just one more kiss. Then he realized what he had done, and felt the weight of the possible consequences of his ridiculous actions. As he pulled away and straightened, he noticed the flush on her face, the red of her lips where his had just been, and the blueness of her eyes, which had never been quite as vibrant as they were in that moment. Those eyes that looked at him incredulously, questioning his actions. He could give her no answers, for he knew none himself.

The awkwardness hadn't completely settled in until they reached the carriage that would take them from the church, to the Watson's home, where the reception was being held. Never before had ten minutes ever passed so slowly. So he sat there across from her, wondering if perhaps he just might have gone a little too far. But she had such a way of making him…lose himself. His senses, his rationality, his manners, his logic, completely gone, flown right out the window and never seen again. John looked at her, half begging that she would meet his gaze, half terrified that she would. For now she was absorbed by her hands. Specifically, he noted with a slight thrill, the wedding band that now rested on her left hand. She was twisting it around and around her finger, determinedly not looking anywhere else. He wanted to say something to lighten the tension, but could think of nothing. It was as though words had temporarily vacated to a part of his mind he could not access. Several times he would look down thinking, have a thought and raise his head to say something, mouth open and breath in his lungs ready for speech. But when the time came for him to actually speak, it was gone, and he was left looking at her with the most bizarre expression on his face. And so it was that by the time they did finally reach his sister's home, they had not spoken a single word to each other. They would have to speak eventually though, seeing as how they were now married…

He stepped out of the carriage once it had stopped, and turned to help Margaret out as well. She was still playing with her ring, seemingly oblivious that anything had changed at all. He waited for a moment before thrusting his hand a little closer to her. Still unsure about speaking, he cleared his throat. Nothing. Not even a twitch. He took a deep breath.

"Margaret." Her head shot up faster than he would have believed possible for any person. As her eyes met his, her face immediately reddened, and she looked down once more.

"I-I-I'm sorry, Mr. Thornton." she stammered quickly, taking his hand and hurrying out of the carriage. "I was just distracted, it's been a rather-rather eventful day.." she trailed off as she attempted to straighten her dress, which had become rather rumpled during the bumpy carriage ride.

"Think nothing of it," he replied, smiling a little at her attempt to appear tidy. Then, feeling unusually emboldened by the lovely blush still lingering on her cheeks he added: "I will forgive on one condition." Margaret's hands stilled in the process of smoothing out her skirt and she looked up at him, blush perhaps deepening a little, one eyebrow raised in silent contemplation. She looked down, and forcibly resumed her activity.

"Oh?" she asked, still focusing on her skirt. She sounded a little…breathless, he thought. He suddenly felt giddy. He noticed then that her veil looked a little lopsided, and her hairpiece was a little off-center.

"Yes," John replied, taking a tentative step towards her, eliminating nearly all of the space between them. His heart was hammering in his chest, and he couldn't believe what he was about to do. What am I doing?! He thought wildly. The one small part of his mind that was still desperately clinging to sanity urged him to stop, telling him that this was a public location, that this would do nothing to soothe his poor aching heart. But the sound of her breath hitching as he hovered so close to her urged him forward. He leaned forward and reached for the rumpled veil. Lifting it off her hair he shook it out a little, and placed it gently back in it's proper location. "Don't ever call me Mr. Thornton again." He said, repeating her former request back to her. He was still leaning slightly over her. Being so much taller than her, the top of her head only came to his shoulders. John remained frozen in place, his arms still on either side of her head, now adjusting her hairpiece.

"Take it off." Margaret said, her voice somewhat muffled by his own torso. His hands stilled. Had he…heard that properly?

"I'm sorry?" He asked, heart hammering wildly in his chest. Being so close to her was driving him mad. He could barely focus on anything but the alluring scent of her hair right below him.

"My veil." she replied in a breathless whisper. He still hadn't moved, and had no idea what her expression would tell him even if he were looking at her face. "Will you take it off? I don't-I don't think I need it anymore." He nodded, while picking up the veil once more, before suddenly remembering that she couldn't see his face. Unfortunately he couldn't seem to make proper words so he said nothing, but straightened himself and placed the veil carefully on his seat in the carriage.

"Thank you…John." She was looking at him in that way. The way that he didn't quite understand and that made his heart thunder.

"You're welcome." God, how he wanted to kiss her again. He could feel it building up inside of him, pushing him forward.

But in the very next moment they were ushered inside by Fanny before anything could be done about it.

Although this hardly qualified as the most tedious experience she'd ever been through, Margaret couldn't deny that she was unaccountably bored. It was a puzzling thing, considering this was her wedding. She couldn't actually tell if she was bored because the reception was boring, or if it was because she was so exhausted that it made everything around her seem dull. She had been ill, very ill, and wasn't completely recovered from it yet. Despite her best efforts, she had been forced to remain in bed for over a week, in order to allow herself to "completely heal" as Dr. Donaldson had put it. It had driven her insane, however necessary it might have been. The downside of this was something Margaret was becoming increasingly aware of: she'd been resting so much that she didn't have the energy to get through her own wedding. She was trying, really trying not to actually show how exhausted she truly was. It was a little embarrassing for her to admit that she couldn't just push through it.

Margaret hated being ill. It didn't happen very often, but when it did it was truly horrible. It took her weeks to fully recover, and she was always confined to her bed until she was. She never understood the reasoning for it. Well, until now anyway. Her head felt compressed, and her body felt flushed. But she refused to give in to this ridiculous weakness. This was her wedding day, she was meant to enjoy it, and she fully intended on doing so. No matter how unplanned and last minute it had come about. Her thoughts drifted of their own accord to the man who had consistently occupied most of them. He was sitting across from her at the table, deep in conversation with Dr. Donaldson on his right. He delicately fingered the rim of his wine glass with one hand, his other resting on the table with his index finger silently tapping one of his spoons. He was such a confusing man. The last time she had seen him was the day his mother-now her mother by marriage-had been to call on her. The day he had begged her father not to force them into marriage. Yet here they were. Married. She didn't really understand it.

In truth there were many things that she did not understand. There was Mr. Thornton, who had adamantly protested marriage to her, only to come back a week later offering her marriage. Did he feel guilty for the rapid decline in her reputation and ask only out of some misguided sense of duty? Was it her father who came to him, and insisted upon them marrying? Was he doing it simply to spite his mother? Most importantly however, she desperately wondered why it was that he had not asked her himself. A part of her was a little…hurt that he wouldn't face her on his own to ask for her hand. And another part of her was angry, so incredibly angry at him. Sending her father to ask her on his behalf. As though he just assumed that she would say yes! It wasn't even worth his time to go ask her on his own? She was a ruined woman, of course she would say yes. But she was ruined by his own mother, by his very name, and she carried that burden on her own. Why couldn't he face her? Was he so disgusted by the thought of marrying her, of being stuck with her for the rest of his-or her-life that he would not even ask her? But there were moments-wonderful and beautiful moments- where Margaret thought that he might still…care for her. Moments like the walk from Nicholas Higgins house. Moments like that kiss…

Her stomach churned into a pit of nerves just thinking about it, and her face flushed a little warmer than it already was. A kiss that made Margaret feel more than she ever had in one single moment. But then he had kissed her again a little harder this time, and then his hands were holding her face and he kissed her again. He leaned in once more, but paused for a millisecond before softly, sweetly kissing her one last time. She was jolted out of her thoughts by a touch on her shoulder.

"Would you like to dance with me?" Mr. Thornton asked her. She blushed and tried desperately to suppress the butterflies in her stomach to no avail. Feeling overwhelmingly nervous, she managed to take his proffered arm and let him lead her away. The closer she was to him, the heavier the compression on her head became. She breathed deeply, but nothing was helping. His hands were burning her every time they touched, and her heart was racing. But above all of this, she was acutely aware of everything about him. The way he smelled, how incredibly graceful he was (why hadn't she ever noticed?), the somewhat mischievous glint in that was twinkling away in his eyes…there were so many things she'd never taken the time to notice about him…

"Are you well, Margaret?" He asked her, brows creased. "Your face is flushed." Margaret felt herself grow hotter at his words. He would notice that. She was extremely glad that he didn't know precisely what she had been thinking about.

"I am well," she replied, not looking him in the eye. Truthfully she was feeling worse with each passing minute, but she didn't want anyone to know that. She would be fine, she was well enough to make it through the rest of this day, and she would make it through the rest of this day. Her husband she discovered, was not quite so easily fooled, and pulled her to a quiet area of the room.

"You've been ill, Margaret." He said sternly. "You ought to rest." Margaret, despite her best efforts, felt her temper flare immediately as he placed a hand on her forehead, but she forced herself to suppress it. "You're burning up!" He exclaimed, looking at her intently. "Let me take you home."

"No, I'm fine." she said. "There's no need to inconvenience everyone else by leaving early." He frowned at her.

"We're leaving." He said firmly. Margaret looked at him incredulously but had no time to argue the point because he grabbed her arm and gently, but firmly steered her right to her father.

John had seen her complexion grow increasingly pale and flushed over the course of the afternoon. Then Dr. Donaldson had spoken with him at dinner about it. An extremely persistent cold he had said. Nothing to worry about long-term, so long as he made sure she got plenty of rest, along with light foods and small amounts of exercise. He had looked very pointedly at John at the mention of exercise and he felt his face flush hotly in embarrassment before clearing his throat loudly, and excusing himself to go offer Margaret a dance. He'd never danced with her before, and while admired how incredibly graceful and fluid her movements were, he could not fail to notice the somewhat glazed expression in her eyes, and the furious flush on her cheeks. When he'd asked how she was feeling, he wasn't expecting to see the familiar flash of defiance across her face. He certainly wasn't expecting her to refuse to leave either. But it didn't matter. Margaret was one of the most stubborn people walking the Earth, and if he had to drag her home and lock her in her room until she was better, he would do it. He would make her get well. It was the least he could do after all, seeing as how he was the cause of her sickness in the first place. So he did what any sensible man would do when faced with his current predicament: he drug her off to her father and announced that they were leaving. John immediately knew without looking at her that she was furious with him.

As could only be expected, she was angry with him, and did not speak to him the entire trip back to the Marlborough Mills. He tried not to let it bother him too much; after all, they had not spoken a single word to each other the entire trip to their wedding reception. But he knew he had done the right thing. It didn't make it any easier to be staunchly ignored by his bride on their wedding day, but he could easily tell himself that it wasn't a catastrophe.

Upon arriving at the house, he stepped out of the carriage and offered her his hand, which she pointedly refused as though she were trying to prove to him that she was well enough to get out on her own. Unfortunately for Margaret, she wasn't as well as she thought she was. She lost her balance as she stepped down from the carriage and was forced to grab onto John's arm to steady herself.

"Thank you." She said quietly, as he helped her up the stairs and into the house.

"You owe me no thanks, Margaret." John reminded her. He glanced sideways at her, and noticed the slight frown on her face. He didn't really know what to make of it, and try as he might, he could not settle on a definite answer. Once inside the house, he placed his gloves, hat, and her discarded veil on the table in the entryway. Normally there would have been a member of staff present to take such items from him, but he had insisted the take the night off. They had done enough for him in this past week, and wanted to repay them in whatever way he could. He turned and offered to take Margaret's shall. "You're angry with me." He said, taking the soft material from her and placing it with their other belongings. It wasn't posed as a question. It was a fact; he knew Margaret would be angry with him. She did not reply, but he could see it on her face.

She was angry at him. Margaret didn't want to be angry at him; not truly. She should be begging for his forgiveness while thanking endlessly for the sacrifice he was making by marrying her. Instead she was, for the most part, ignoring him. Well, she wasn't actually ignoring him. No, she was very aware of every movement he made, every facial expression he made, and every word he spoke. But she knew if she spoke now, her temper would surely get the better of her, and she would say things she really didn't mean. Everything that had been building up between them over the past two years had reached a point where they could not just move past it, suppress it again, and pretend as though nothing had happened. No matter which way they went from here, Margaret knew that soon, perhaps sooner than she wanted, she would be confronted by the choices she had made and the words she had spoke. He would, undoubtedly want answers from her, that she did not know if she could give. The thought of it terrified her more than she thought possible. Margaret had been sure that his opinion of her couldn't be any lower than it already was. That is to say, she had been sure of it until he had married her. Months she had been agonizing over the loss of his respect, and good opinion. For months, all she wanted was the chance to sit down and explain everything to him. Frederick, the riot, everything. Now she had an infinite number of opportunities to do so, but seriously doubted that it would change anything. They had been stuck like this for so long, was it even possible that anything could change it? Then there was the nagging little thought in the back of her mind. The one that had been plaguing her ever since she overheard him speaking to her father. Would he even want to?

Margaret was beginning to doubt it, although she could not bring herself to place blame on him for it. She deserved his disapprobation, his scorn. She deserved to be in this horribly ironic situation that would mock her every day for the rest of her life. This was probably nothing compared to the way he had been treated by her. And she would bear this burden, just as she had born the others: silent, and without complaint. God had given her a way out of the horrible mess she had gotten herself into. He had given her Mr. Thornton, a man with more patience and kindness than any other in existence. And Mr. Thornton had married her, no matter how much he didn't want to. So she would do what she could to be what he wanted her to be, to be what he needed her to be. Because as much as she knew she would be losing a part of her self along the way, she also knew that she owed more to him than she could ever repay.

Margaret knew that one day, she would want more. She would want him to understand her, and her actions. She knew that there were times she would lose her temper, times where she would forget her solemn pledge. Times where she would say things she would later regret. Times where she would want to pull her hair out in frustration over him. But she knew that she could do it, do this for him.

Because Margaret finally understood that she was hopelessly and madly in love with John Thornton.

John stood there watching Margaret waiting for some form of response, but none came. She stood there fixated on the table where he had lain there possessions, her expression unfathomable. Now that they were alone he had to admit, he was a little nervous about it. He had hoped that, despite how it had come about, Margaret might not be terribly disheartened at their marriage. He wasn't her favorite person, but that had a…friendship at least. In a way. And she had made a sacrifice that ensured her father's continued prosperity. He had hoped that it would at least bring her some peace with the situation. Now he thought she looked more disappointed than he had ever seen her, and it nearly broke him.

"Will you not speak to me?" He asked her quietly, heart thrumming madly with anxiety. He waited with bated breath, almost dreading her reply. None came. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life. All he wanted was her to look his way, maybe smile, maybe just say something, anything that would reassure him that he had made the right decision. That he wasn't really trapping her in a loveless marriage, that she didn't despise him for all she had been through in his name, that even if her heart did belong to another man, they could live in Harmony with one another. He wanted to know that this had been worth it to her. That sacrificing her independence (even though he would never truly ask her to), and spending every day of the rest of her life with him had been worth it. John desperately wanted to believe that it had been worth it, but even he didn't completely believe it. For him, any amount of trial and scorn was worth it so long as it brought Margaret happiness. He lived and breathed for her happiness. But he had done this. Ruined her reputation, seen her shunned, scorned, and hated, and then married her hoping and praying that he could restore her respectability. It wouldn't though, and he knew it. Even his reputation wasn't good enough to bring Margaret out of this. He had always known that. Even when he went back and begged her father to let him marry her. He tried to make himself believe that he was doing it for her, but it wasn't true. He knew Margaret could not refuse him. Not when she had no future she could depend on. He had knowingly tied her to him for her entire life, for his own selfish reasons. Perhaps he hadn't known it at the time, but he certainly knew it now, and he hated himself for it.

Even through the tumult of his mind, there was still enough pride in him to be affronted at Margaret's behavior. Angry with him or not, why was she blatantly ignoring him? It was hurtful. And his pain surfaced in the way it always had: defensive anger.

"Am I truly so repulsive to you that you will not even speak to me, or do believe yourself to be so much better than I, and need not trouble yourself with a response?" His tone was harsh and bitter, more so than he thought it would be. It did however, get Margaret's attention. Her head snapped up, and her eyes met his incredulously.

"I'm sorry?" She asked in amazement. He should stop, right now, when he was still ahead of himself. But he wanted to continue, he had questions and he wanted answers.

"Do you have any idea how frustrating you can be?" His tone was growing louder.

"How frustrating I can be?!" Margaret exclaimed, the fire back in her eyes once more. "Have you examined yourself recently?"

"At least I do you the courtesy of acknowledging you when you speak."

"Oh you do, do you?" she asked him skeptically. "Well I thank you sir, for being kind enough to recognize my existence. As to the wrong you claim I have done you, I am greatly sorry, even though I have no idea to what you are referring. However," she took a step towards him, eyes blazing. "Do not assume you know or understand my thoughts or feelings about you, and do not persecute me based on that inaccurate assumption! I understand you must be upset with this situation as well, but I do not feel I should be subjected to cruelty because of it." John felt as though his heart was suddenly in his throat. So this was it; they were here already, and his worst fears had just been confirmed.

"If you're so upset by this situation, then why did you marry me!?" He was nearly shouting now, heart racing and temper wildly out of control to mask the hurt he was feeling. "No one forced you into this, Margaret!" Her face went pale, and she stared at him open-mouthed.

"Why did you ask me to in the first place?" John choked, not expecting such a rebuff.

"You're avoiding the question, Margaret." he said, quickly recovering.

"I'm very well aware that I was not forced into this." she replied, her tone icy. "You do not need to remind me that I made the decision to be your wife."

"Then perhaps you need to learn to accept the consequences of your actions." He spat. The words had barely left his mouth before he regretted speaking them. Unfortunately he didn't have time to make an apology before Margaret's hand connected with his face and sent him staggering back a step. He looked at her astonished. Her eyes, vibrantly blue once again, sparkled with unshed tears. Regret was flooding his insides, the pain in his face nothing compared to the pain emanating from his chest at the sight before him. He'd gone too far this time. Out of everything that he might have said, that was the thing he had chosen. There was such an unspeakable amount of pain in her eyes that he could feel his throat constricting at the sight of it. He reached his arms toward her, but she stepped back, shaking her head and finally spilling the tears she had been holding onto for so long. But John stepped toward her again. He had to make her see, to show her how badly he already regretted those words.

"Mar-" he pleaded, voice cracking and cutting her name short. He reached for her arm, but she jerked it back.

"Don't." she whispered, her pained voice carving its misery into his soul. "Don't touch me." He didn't get the chance to grant her request however, because she placed a trembling hand on her forehead wobbled unsteadily.

"Margaret." John said loudly, taking hold of her shoulders to steady her. But she did not respond, and instead fell limply against his chest in a dead faint.

A/N: Soooooooooo…whatcha think? Not what you were expecting I'm sure. Sorry I just breezed through the wedding in this chapter. I wanted to focus more on their thoughts during their wedding, than their actual wedding. I left a lot to your imagination. Also, thanks for the very positive responses for my last chapter. As I believe I stated before, I wasn't actually going to write any of that in. but at the request of several reviewers I felt I owed it to you. So, I'm glad you enjoyed it =)

Also, things were a little bit lighter between John and Margaret in the majority of this chapter. When I re-read this the first time, I thought it seemed a little out of character with the way they've been for the last eleven chapters. But I want to explain it now so that if you feel the same way, you aren't angry at me for it later. ;) I really just felt that because of the super intense emotional stress he was dealing with, John would unintentionally take it easy. He relaxed a little, let himself be happy for a little bit, because despite everything, he loves Margaret, and he just married her. No matter what, there's going to be a little hope for him to cling to now, and even though he hasn't realized it yet, it was making him just a little more carefree.

As for Margaret's change in attitude…does it really need explaining? John kissed her four times. I'd be in a good mood too. ;)

Review!