Chapter Fifteen

Margaret woke slowly, but substantially more lucid than she had been previously. She could tell without opening her eyes that the sun was shining, it's bright warm light caressing her face and filling her with an unusual sense of cheerfulness. The birds outside were singing beautiful melodies of impending springtime, and the steady presence of the Mill made her feel protected and safe. Much like the man who ran it. In the quietness of the morning she could hear his soft, steady breathing indicating that he was still asleep. She could feel him beside her. They weren't exactly pressed together, but they were very close. Certainly much closer than they had ever been before. She could tell he was still on his stomach, most likely so exhausted that he hadn't moved the entire night, or however long it was they had been sleeping. His face must have been turned towards her own, for she could feel his breath touching the very top of her forehead right at her hairline. The more she focused on their position, the more she became aware of him beside her. Everywhere he touched, every breath he took, the way his back expanded each time and pressed against her side. His upper arm that was pressed against the side of her face, the way he smelled…

Perhaps it wasn't the unseasonably sunny day that was bringing her cheer after all.

Finally, she opened her eyes and tried focusing, but all she could see was the white, wrinkled, and rolled-up sleeve of John's shirt. She tried to move her head back, but found she couldn't. His hand somehow made it's way into her hair, where it was currently tangled and preventing her from moving away from him. Not that she particularly minded where she was. She was actually enjoying it very much. But eventually the gnawing of doubt and insecurity made her mind wander to an area it was not yet accustomed to being in. What if he minded waking like this? She was in his bed after all, would he have expected her to move to her own bed after she woke? They had only been married one, perhaps two full days. Perhaps this would be too unusual for him. He didn't think very highly of her, after all. And there was the matter of that argument the night before-or was it two nights before? She didn't know how long they'd slept. But the memory was still very fresh on her mind, as though it had just happened. She did not doubt it would be the same for him as well. Margaret wasn't very clear on all the details of how it started-or ended for that matter- but she did remember one thing very clearly: John asking her why she had married him.

It was a complicated question, to be sure. It didn't have an easy answer either. She honestly didn't know why she agreed to marry him. The last day Margaret had seen him was the day his mother had called on her. The day he adamantly protested marrying her to her father. He had not asked for her hand in person, and she knew nothing of what might have passed between John and her father before then. Perhaps he could not bear to face her after everything that passed between them. It was unfortunately, a situation they were both quite familiar with, and had already been in before with disastrous consequences. Perhaps her father would not allow him to, seeing as how she had been quite ill and may not have been able to receive him properly. A tiny part of her mind suggested a new idea: that perhaps he didn't feel the need to ask her in person. Perhaps he knew she could not, would not refuse him twice. She forced herself to banish the thought. He would not do that. He was too honorable for that. Even after all that she had done to him, she knew undeniably that he would never do something like that out of spite. His arm twitched then, and she looked at his face. It was so different to see him like this; his face free of any emotion or expression. It made him look…vulnerable. Something she had only really seen on one other occasion, only she didn't have the foresight then to understand what it meant. But she understood it now. It represented a fear that would never abate but were strong enough to face, it spoke of the depth of a person's soul, but most importantly to Margaret it said: 'I am trusting you with everything I am.' It was then that she noticed the first fluttering of his eyelids. The fear that she would be unwelcome here, had just enough time to completely take hold of her before his eyes opened completely. John stared into her eyes, piercing her with his usual intensity for what felt like eternity.

"Hello." He whispered. Margaret was frozen with terror, insecurity sweeping over her in waves. She had never felt like this around him before. Insecurity and shame, yes, but never to this intensity. Then again, she had never woken next to him in bed, after staring at him for God only knew how long.

"Hello." she whispered back. He was quiet for several minutes, a slight frown on his face that Margaret didn't know what to make of.

"I have no idea how I ended up here." He said finally, voice still thick with sleep. Margaret stared back at him for a long time, once more trying to conceal it. But she couldn't. The sincerity in his expression was her undoing. In exactly the same manner as she had when he had walked her home from the Higgins' home, she pressed a her hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. The immediate confusion in his expression only made it more amusing. His brows furrowed, head tilted to the side, was made more comical by the fact that he was still on his stomach. Margaret giggled uncontrollably. "What is it about me that amuses you so?" He asked. She glanced back into his eyes again, and briefly registered the slight frown on his face, before her mind registered another realization. Their faces were incredibly, impossibly close. She didn't notice how close they actually were while he was sleeping. He seemed surreal then. She certainly noticed it now. An unexplained nervousness began to settle in her stomach.

"You have absolutely how amusing you are." She replied matter-of-factly. She was sure he did not intend on being so very funny; Margaret was only just realizing he possessed the attribute herself. John simply arched his brow, looking at her with boyish curiosity, although he did still bear the slight frown.

"Is that so?" He also appeared to have absolutely no idea the effect he was having on her. Margaret tried desperately to reclaim control over her nervous and giddy self, but failed. So instead of forming a reply, she simply stared at him entirely transfixed, forbidding herself from lowering her eyes to his lips. It was his fault, really. She would never, ever, have thought of kissing him at this moment if he wouldn't have kissed her the way he did on their wedding day. Even after two days, she could already feel her lips burning simply with the remembrance of his having been there at one point. His expression, still serious, held something more in it that she could not identify. She thought perhaps she had seen it before in his eyes, but she could not place it, nor what it signified. He opened his mouth a little, took a deep breath, and broke their searing eye contact. Margaret felt herself deflate somewhat. "I cannot feel my arm." He stated abruptly, and Margaret found herself laughing once more.

"Oh, I am sorry." She said breathlessly, her voice till shaking slightly with laughter. "Truly, I am not mocking you, but you are very amusing." He did not smile. In fact, his expression was still quite stern. It was the ever so slight twinkle in his eye that became the hole in his wall of impenetrable emotional strength. It made her feel giddy. The fact that he had thus far not banished her from his sight gave Margaret a boldness that, while she was quite familiar with it, caused phrases to come tumbling out of her mouth she would not normally have spoken. "I would gladly move my head off your arm," one such phrase began. "But I'm afraid I cannot." He looked at her with that wondering, curious expression that made her heart beat a little faster than it already was. Something about that look thrilled her beyond comprehension.

"I do not understand." He replied, tone perfectly matching the expression she was rapidly becoming to love almost as much as the man it belonged to.

"Well you see," She continued in her emboldened and simultaneously nervous tone. "Because I have cut off the circulation to your arm, you are most likely unable to feel that your hand has become quite entangled in my hair. I am, at present, unable to move." He immediately looked apologetic, but she headed him off. "Do not distress yourself John, it causes me no pain." His face transformed before her very eyes to one she had never laid eyes on before. It was light, and joyous, and spoke of a life without troubles.

"That does complicate things." He added, a smile gracing his features fully, entreating Margaret to a sight she never could have imagined.

It was very obvious then, that he truly had no idea the effect he had on her.

It took nearly five minutes to untangle his hand from her hair. It would not have been so difficult normally but John not feel his hand, and neither could actually see where he had trapped it. But at last when his arm was freed, they propped their pillows up against the headboard, neither wanting to dispel this unusual and glorious moment between them. In a moment Margaret could only attribute to force of habit, John pressed his hand to her forehead, looking quite intently at her before declaring that her fever seemed to be gone for good. She smiled at him, suddenly feeling breathless.

"So you never did tell me," He said, reaching over her for the plate of scones on the side table, his body brushing her along the way. He sat back and looked at her as though this were something they did every day. As though it were completely normal for them to be laying in bed together, eating scones. She desperately hoped that perhaps it was, or could be normal. The John sitting next to her, currently sifting through scones to find one of his liking, was so entirely different from the one she had seen just two days ago when he married her. What could have happened between now and then for him to change so drastically? And surely he would have brought up the fight by now? "How did I end up in bed?" Margaret cast a sideways glance at him. One brow arched in contemplation, the twinkling in his eyes magnified by that curious, boyish wonder…Perhaps he did now what he was doing to her. Her heart was practically bruising her ribcage, surely he could hear it, if not see it? What was he doing to her? Didn't he despise her? Forcing herself to attempt some form of nonchalance, she reached over and plucked a scone of the plate now resting on the blanket above his legs.

"Well," she said slowly, contemplating her words. "You practically climbed over me and crashed into the pillows, nearly exactly the same positing you woke up in." She did not know what she expected his reply to be like. Denial, contemplation, anger, shock, but certainly not embarrassment. Indeed, he seemed to inhale a few stray crumbs from his scone for he immediately began to cough wildly, his face, neck, ears, even the very tip of his nose flushed with shame. Although she desperately wanted to, Margaret did not laugh at him. When his coughing subsided, he looked into her eyes, mortified.

"I'm sorry, I do not remember or I could tell you what I was thinking, or perhaps not thinking-"

"Again, do not concern yourself too much. I was barely sane enough myself to think on it any more than simple observation. And you had not slept all night, so I'm quite certain you cannot be held too accountable for your actions." The teasing smile she wore faded when she caught sigh of his expression. But he did not elaborate, and she floundered for another topic. She wanted to avoid their conversation on their wedding night, but did not know of anything else to discuss. Still she waited several minutes before she felt brave enough to actually speak the words. "I am sorry about last night." she said eventually. She turned to see him studying her face intently, as though trying to work something out in his mind.

"What do you mean?" He asked quietly.

"Well, I honestly don't remember too much of it.." she trailed off uncertainly. "But I do remember shouting at you, and for that I am sorry. You did not deserve it."

"Although I will disagree with you how much of it I did deserve, I do feel that I've already been punished quite enough for it." Margaret would have laughed, if she could have seen any trace of humor in his features. "I cannot say I have ever been so deserving of a slap in my entire life, and for that I am also sorry."

"What?" she exclaimed, not entirely understanding.

"You have quite and intimidating arm, Margaret. I must say I have never been hit so forcefully by a woman before. Actually," he paused as though contemplating. "I don't think I have ever been slapped by a woman before." Now it was Margaret's turn for unbearable mortification.

"What!" She exclaimed, feeling her face flame and her hands shake. Surely she did not do something so deeply appalling as slapping him. "Please tell me I did no such thing! Oh, how could you ever forgive me for something so atrocious!" Her face was so hot it might have made the room warmer on its own. She was so overwhelmed with embarrassment that she buried her face in her palms, wishing she could simply die there. But soon she could feel his hands touching hers, gently prying them away from her face, and soon she was staring back into his piercing, wonderful blue eyes.

"Do not distress yourself Margaret." He said softly. "I very much deserved it. And even if I hadn't," he continued, seemingly sensing her imminent interruption. "It speaks something of your character that I greatly admire." She was frozen by his eyes, his look, his words but could not dwell on them for long, because there was a knock on the door, and a man entered. Seemingly oblivious to their current state of…well their current state in general, he set the large tray on a table and began collecting the other dishes and trays that were laying about. It was then that Margaret noticed the state of disorder the room was in. Dishes laying in various places they would not normally be in, bits of cloth strewn about, and in the corner, on a chaise lounge was Margaret's wedding dress, along with all the underclothes that went with it, John's laying directly adjacent. She stared at the clothes incredulously, and looked back at John, who seemed to sense where her gaze had fallen and cleared his throat loudly. Surely he didn't-but the noise had gotten the attention of the man, and startled him so badly he dropped everything he was holding, and directly cut off Margaret's train of thought.

"Oh my-" the man said, gasping for breath and a hand place on his chest. He suddenly seemed to notice her presence, perhaps a few moments before he realized what he had interrupted. Margaret wished she could tell him it wasn't what he thought, that it looked worse than it was, until she remembered that they were married, and such things were completely acceptable for them to be doing. "Forgive me sir," He panted, still struggling to reclaim his nerves. "It's just I wasn't expecting-that is to say you are always-I did not know the Mistress was awake." He finished quickly, his face reddening ever so slightly. A strange feeling encompassed her as she digested the last part of his statement. The Mistress. He had called her the Mistress. She was now the mistress of the house. The responsibility wasn't unknown to her; she had been running her father's household for quite a number of months. It was the realization that she was now running John Thornton's home. She was now Mrs. Thornton.

This would take some getting used to.

A/N: So here it is, short but sweet. =) I hope I've brought some sort of happy feeling to you with this one, haha. Next chapter will be a lot of John's perspective during this, and probably moving on past what we've covered here. I'm working on that one already. Pretty please, super pretty please review? I love you guys. You're amazing! =D

Ps: sorry I haven't had time to respond to your reviews individually through fan fiction PM like I usually do. I have been very busy lately, and getting these chapters out are difficult as it is. Please don't be too angry. Although, if you have questions about anything, I'll make it a priority to answer it as soon as I can =D