Saturday: June 23, 2007

Margaret lay on her side staring into the darkness. She didn't know what time it was—only that it was quite late and John was still awake. Heavens knew why. Normally his unpredictable sleeping habits didn't affect hers but for some reason Margaret couldn't sleep either. Something was on his mind but she wasn't sure she should press the matter. But Margaret knew he would just lay there and brood over whatever it was, and that irritated her. She let out a huff of frustration.

Margaret heaved herself over on her other side so she was facing him, but it was too dark to see more than his vague outline. He was staring at the ceiling, hands laced behind his head.

"What's the matter?" She demanded.

"What?"

"You're thinking so loud I can practically hear you, John Thornton."

"Maggie, it's late—"

"Precisely. Your thinking is keeping me awake." She sat up and scooted closer. "Tell me what's bothering you, please, so we can sleep."

"Nothing's bothering me."

"Right. And you're wide awake for absolutely no reason at all."

John didn't answer.

"Well?"

He let out a heavy sigh, "Fanny is throwing us a baby shower."

"A shower?" Margaret made a face, trying to sound more enthusiastic than she felt. "That's—nice. Why is your sister's baby shower keeping you awake?"

"Because," John hesitated a moment. "Because I told her we aren't going."

"You did?" Margaret blinked into the darkness, a small amused frown wrinkling her forehead, "Why would you do that?"

John sat up and flicked on the bedside lamp. Margaret yelped, burying her face in her pillow.

"Here."

Margaret squinted into the soft yellow light, scowling at her husband as he pulled the invitation from his nightstand and handed it to her. She glanced over it.

"July fourth?" Margaret squeaked. "You're joking?"

"Nope."

"But—but that's soon."

"Less than two weeks."

"Bloody hell," Margaret muttered and rubbed her eyes, reading the invitation again, "Why didn't she say anything to me?"

"She wanted to surprise you."

Margaret stifled a groan. She'd wondered for months if Fanny or even Mrs Thornton would plan to host a shower, hoping against hope they wouldn't. It was a small hope, and she knew it. "I hate surprises," she muttered under her breath.

"I know."

At this reply, Margaret snapped her eyes from the invitation to her husband. Sometimes John's hearing was too sharp for his own good. He rubbed the back of his head, a cocky amused look flickering across his face.

"Don't you dare laugh, John Thornton," Margaret swatted his head with the invitation. "It's not funny. Who would she even invite to this shower?" She flopped back into her pillow. "There's no getting out of this—"

"Actually, there is," John replied, his eyes sparking. "I told Fanny we couldn't go because I planned to take you on a short trip that week. A honeymoon."

Margaret eyes widened, "A honeymoon?"

He nodded.

Margaret glanced down at the invitation and then back at John as the full meaning of his words hit her, "Did you lie to your sister about a last minute honeymoon you haven't actually planned just so we don't have to go to her baby shower?"

"I did plan it." John folded his arms. "After Fanny told me about the shower."

"Where?"

"Helstone. It's my family's old home in South Carolina. Mr Bell owns it now but he lets us visit whenever we want." John ran a hand through his hair, and shrugged. "I thought you'd like it."

"But you still lied."

"Sort of." He shifted, looking a little sheepish. "It's only a lie if we don't go to Helstone."

Margaret stared at him, fighting between the urge to slap him or to kiss him senseless. How could one person be so infuriating and so endearing all at once? Margaret had given up on the idea of a honeymoon the day after they were married. John was far too busy and it seemed selfish even to wish for it let alone ask. And now John had lied to his sister—and planned a last minute honeymoon—just so she wouldn't have to go to an awkward party.

"You're such an asshole," she said finally, tossing the invitation aside. "Do you realize that?"

John raised an eyebrow. "For planning a honeymoon?"

"Yes—you ought to have planned it sooner. Now we have to tell Fanny the truth," Margaret threw her pillow at him. "And we have to go to the shower in spite of all your brilliant scheming."

"Like hell we do." John tossed her pillow back. "I'm not going to a baby shower."

"Don't you dare abandon me. This baby is half your doing—"

"I'm not going." John grumbled.

Margaret shook her head. John hadn't asked anyone— including her—before deciding the baby shower was a rotten idea. That alone should have made her angry. But she was surprised to realise it didn't actually bother or upset her at all. It made her feel—cared for. Margaret bit her lip and let out a rush of air. She crawled over the space between them until she was sitting on top of him.

"You will tell your sister you lied."

"Maggie—"

Margaret leaned down and kissed him, heat spreading over her skin, "And you will apologize—"she kissed him again, "—for being so rude."

"You can't blackmail me into a baby shower."

"I'll go alone, but I'd much rather you swallow your manly pride and came with me."

"And I want you to stop trying to accommodate everyone else," John reached up and brushed her hair out of her face. "Do what you want for once."

"The honeymoon sounds lovely. More than lovely—"

"But?"

"But," Margaret sighed, pushing away a sharp pang of disappointment. "Fanny's already planned the shower and it wouldn't be fair to take that from her."

"Fair, my ass," John rumbled, rolling them over. "Come to Helstone with me."

"John, we can't—"

"We can."

"Your sister—"

"She won't die. We won't have a chance like this again before the kid gets here. We've only got three months, Maggie." He held her gaze. "I don't care if my sister is mad as a hellhound. I'll live with it."

"I know you don't care." Margaret tried to wriggle out from under him, but John didn't budge. "I actually want to get along with your family, you know. We've had a rather bumpy start and—"

"Our family." John shifted carefully, his chest brushing against her rounded belly and Margaret shivered a little. "I'll talk to Fanny," he said, leaning down and pressing a slow kiss to her lips. "And I'll apologize—" he kissed her again, "—if you come with me."

"John—"

He kissed her a third time, heat crawling under her skin as her thoughts scattered. Margaret couldn't help but imagine what sorts of delightful mischief they'd get into if left unoccupied and alone for a few days. She blinked, a little dazed, when John finally pulled back, a wicked smile on his face.

"You know you want to."

"I—" she panted, her whole body flushing. "I don't know what I want."

"Yes you do," John's lips twitched, but his tone was serious. "Please, Maggie."

She shifted and shook her head, "You really are an asshole."

"Is that a yes?"

"I don't know," she pushed at him. "Get off please."

John shifted off of her, his face unreadable. Margaret's mind continued to race, her desire to have a real honeymoon with John at war with her conscience. It really wasn't fair to Fanny but—

"Why are you so gruff with Fanny?" Margaret demanded, rolling closer to him again. "I know she's a little high strung, but she adores you."

"I know," John replied with a sigh. "She's not an easy person to live with."

"Neither are you."

"Fair enough." He was silent for a moment. "But Fanny knows I love her."

"Of course she knows," Margaret murmured, resting a hand on her stomach. "But you ought to tell her more and try to be nice. It's easy for a person to forget such things."

John didn't respond.

The baby turned, pressing its foot against her ribs and Margaret rubbed the spot with her thumb. A small thought sprang into her mind, twisting around her chest. Would John ever bother to tell their children he loved them? Or would he be just as gruff and brusque with them as he was with everyone else? Like he was with her—

Margaret bit her lip as her conscience pricked her. That wasn't completely fair and it wasn't true. The honeymoon was proof—like his daily notes or how he'd taken care of Tom's funeral without being asked or his stubborn insistence on picking her up from work because it was dark or how he always asked if she were cold and kept an extra blanket in his truck just for her. John didn't say it out loud but Margaret knew he loved her. It made the part of her that wanted to love him back grow more desperate. A honeymoon would definitely help her in her endeavor to fall in love with him—

"When was the last time you took a proper holiday?"

John turned and the whole bed shifted as he scooted closer to her, "It's been a while."

"How long?"

"Thirteen years."

"Years?" Margaret breathed. "Bloody hell, John—why not?"

"We couldn't afford them after my dad died," John grumbled. "And then when we could—" he shrugged, "I'm not very good at taking a vacation."

"How can you be bad at it?"

"I hate doing nothing. It always rubbed me the wrong way."

"You better not be planning to work on our honeymoon, John Thornton," Margaret snapped, sitting up. "Because if you are—"

"I have to get some work done, Maggie. Otherwise I can't afford the time off—"

"It's our honeymoon, John."

He studied her, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, "So, you do want to go?"

"I—" Margaret bit back her denial. She sighed. "Of course I want to, impossible man. Your sister is never going to forgive us."

John started laughing, a low delicious rumble that spread over her skin like silk and velvet.

"Shut up," she grumbled, rolling away from him, tucking her quilt firmly about her as John continue to laugh.

"Mr Bell needs a full report on the Marlborough office I have in Blanding. I'll have to work a couple hours every morning, but that's it."

Margaret looked over her shoulder, "How many hours?"

"Four. And most of the work I can do at Helstone."

Margaret thought a moment and then nodded. "Turn off the light please."

John reached over and flicked off the lamp, plunging them into darkness.

Sunday: July 24, 2007

"I knew it!" Fanny shoved her brother—hard. She didn't care that they were standing in the church or that a dozen lingering parishoners, including their mother, turned to stare at them. Unfortunately, John was too tall and too heavy for her antics to do more than irritate him. "You big-ass liar, I knew you were just making that shit up about Helstone—"

"Fanny—"

"—and wanting to take Margaret on a honeymoon—"

"Fanny, stop."

"—you absolute asshole, John Seamus Thornton—"

"Fanny!"

"What?" She snapped.

"Wanting to take Maggie on a honeymoon wasn't a lie."

"We've already planned the whole damn shower, John, and now you want to upset the apple cart because you can't be bothered to come."

"This isn't about me—"

"Bullshit. You hate parties and you like being a stick in the mud whenever you can—"

"If this was about me, I wouldn't have bothered lying. I just wouldn't show up."

Fanny glared at him. That much was true. John made no qualms about doing exactly what he wanted for all the world to see. He never hid his decisions or made excuses for himself.

"This isn't funny, you big asshole," Fanny asked, trying to kill his amused look with a thunderous one of her own. "Why did you lie to me?"

"You should've told Maggie about the shower months ago."

"You don't know she won't like it," Fanny retorted. "You barely know her, John—"

"And you know her better?" He demanded, his face darkening, all hints of amusement gone. "Did you invite Mary and Bess Higgins to this party?"

"No." Fanny shrugged, "It's a couple's shower and I'm pretty sure they're both super single."

"They're also Maggie's best friends. How about Tanya Sloan? Or Jill Parkinson? Did you invite them?"

"Who?"

"Her friends she works with at The Station."

"I don't—what's your point, John?"

"My point is this baby shower should be about Maggie and what makes her happy. But it's not. You know she doesn't know any of the people you invited—"

"She knows Anne—"

"You also know that every single gossip in this town will be raking my wife over the coals for being pregnant at nineteen."

"Whose fault is that, big brother?"

"Mine."

Fanny flinched, her face flushing. "I thought you didn't care what people think." She muttered.

"I don't, but Maggie does. That's the point. I only lied because I'm not going to watch my wife be miserable and humiliated for five hours with people she doesn't know and doesn't like."

"You think I'd let them do that? That's not fair, John, and you know it. Besides you could always come and keep the wolves at bay."

"I shouldn't have to do that," He snapped.

Fanny shifted on her feet, changing tactics as she felt a twinge of guilt, "Did you even bother to tell her about the shower or did you lie to her too?"

"I told her."

She blinked, a little taken aback.

"Look, Fan," he shoved his hands into his pockets. "I'm sorry I lied to you."

Fanny gaped at him, all her angry words caught in her throat. She could count on two hands the number of times John had apologized to her and she certainly hadn't expected him to do so now.

"I still think this shower is a shit idea but would you be willing to reschedule it for the end of August?"

"Reschedule?"

"Maggie still wants to go."

Fanny stepped back a little. "She—she does?"

John nodded.

"And what about you?"

"Hell no." John scoffed.

"It was worth a shot," she grumbled, shaking back her curls. She pretended to consider John's request for a moment hoping to make him squirm. He didn't. She sighed, "Fine. I'll reschedule, but only because your wife is a million times nicer than you."

John rolled his eyes.

"And you," she jabbed a finger in his chest," are no longer invited."

"Good."

Saturday: June 30, 2007

"There's someone to see you, Miss Hannah."

Hannah Thornton looked up from her work and frowned a little as Margaret followed the nurse into the small cubicle. She raised her eyebrows but nodded. Margaret sat in the chair where hundreds of other young women had sat, and hundreds of others would one day sit, looking for help. She tucked her feet under the chair, her large eyes darting around the room.

Hannah set aside the stack of papers she'd been reading and folded her hands. Fanny had told her about the shower fiasco, but Hannah had resolved to stay out of it. John made it quite clear that his mother's opinion was welcome only if they asked for it. Ever since Hannah's apology to Margaret, their relationship had been strained but cordial, so Hannah wasn't certain why she was here. The girl fidgeted, opening her mouth, and then closing it, looking more and more uncomfortable.

"Well?" Hannah raised her eyebrows, waiting.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Margaret began haltingly. "I—I hope—I want to—" she sighed, pulling sharply at a loose thread on her blouse. "I'm sorry. I'm doing this all wrong."

"Doing what wrong?"

"I need your help." Margaret looked up.

"My help? With what?"

"I—I've never been around babies, Mrs. Thornton."

"Never?"

Margaret shook her head, rubbing her rounded stomach absently, "I've only got the one cousin and we're the same age. There were babies at church but I never had much to do with them." She paused. "I don't know anything about birth or nursing or changing napies, or— or anything. I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm running out of time."

Hannah watched as Margaret grit her teeth, a light blush dusting her cheeks.

"I don't—I don't have—a mother." Margaret said haltingly, dropping her voice. "And even if she were still here I don't think she'd be much help. You—I know you aren't fond of me and I've been—I've not been terribly civil to you but—you know what it's like," her blush deepened, "to be in this position." Margaret took a breath, and looked at Hannah, her eyes pleading.

"Are you sure you want me to help you?" Hannah asked gently.

"I'm about to have a baby, and I don't know how to do any of it." She twisted her hands. "I've done some research but—you know far more than I ever could and I—I'm afraid—of doing this wrong."

"There isn't one right way to have a baby—"

"I know that, but surely you can tell me something. You've done this twice and—"

"Three times, actually." Hannah interrupted softly. She didn't know why she said it, but the words just slipped out. "I lost a baby between John and Fanny."

"You—" Margaret's face went white and she swallowed. "John didn't tell me."

"It's likely he doesn't even remember. He was only two. We never talked about it."

"I—" Margaret shifted in her seat. "I'm so sorry."

Hannah gave a tiny nod and cleared her throat. "I don't know what you want me to do exactly. Giving birth is different for every woman. It's wise to educate yourself about the general progression of labor, and understand what might happen."

Margaret nodded, pulling a book out of her backpack, "I've read this bloody book twice, but I still don't feel prepared."

"In some ways you can't really prepare yourself for a child." Hannah took the book and flipped it open, glancing at the pages. It was meticulously marked in Margaret's neat cursive writing. Hannah raised her eyes, looking at her daughter-in-law again, "Babies change everything, and they never do what we expect."

After a moment of awkward silence Margaret straightened her shoulders, "Will you help me? When the baby comes?"

Hannah blinked as she sat back, startled and strangely pleased. Margaret was fiercely independent—she had to be, having practically raised herself. To ask for help must have been incredibly difficult and humbling. "If that's what you want," she said, her voice firm, "I'll do what I can."

"Were you afraid?"

"I was." Hannah pressed her lips together. "Motherhood isn't something you can catalogue with charts and statistics, Margaret. I can give you advice, but my experiences won't be yours. I can almost guarantee that."

"But—you raised John and you know him better than I do and—I just want—" Margaret's eyes filled with tears, "We're both of us fumbling about, pretending we'll be fine and—I don't think we're ready for this."

"My boy isn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination. But he'll find his feet. He always does." Hannah's face softened and her fingers twitched. "And so will you."

"What if—what if we don't?"

"Try." Hannah insisted. "It's all any of us can do."

"I am trying." Margaret murmured almost to herself. "I'm trying to love him."

"I know."

Margaret paled and she pressed a hand over her mouth, "Oh God, I didn't mean—I—please don't tell him—"

"Margaret," Hannah reached out and squeezed her hand, "I know loving Thornton men isn't easy. Sometimes you wonder if you can love them with the same burning intensity. But you will. Once a Thornton writes his name on your soul there's no getting rid of him."

Margaret pulled her hand away, her eyes wide as she stood to go. But she paused at the door, "Thank you."

Hannah nodded.

Sunday: July 1, 2007

John yawned and rubbed his eyes, staring into the bright shafts of morning sunlight slanting through the broad windows. He hadn't been in this room since he was a kid, back when he could fit into any bed in any of the rooms. John had always chosen the same bedroom every time they visited. But Helstone only had one king-sized bed and it was in his parents' old room.

John turned his head and found the clock, it's grating tick like nails on a chalkboard. It didn't matter how late he stayed up or if he hadn't slept at all, his body was it's own damn clock. John slowly inched his way out of bed and swiped the clock off the wall. He popped out the batteries and slid them, along with the clock, into the bottom drawer of the dresser. Then he eased himself back onto the bed, watching Margaret's sleeping form. He smiled when a tiny frown creased her forehead, but she didn't wake up.

It had been her idea to leave Milton last night instead of waiting for the morning.

"If we go now we can have all day Sunday and you won't have to work."

They arrived at long past midnight, but John didn't mind. He'd enjoyed the dark and the quiet of the drive. Margaret hadn't talked much, reading another one of those damn baby books she kept checking out from the library, until she was too tired to stay awake. John had left her alone, and sat with his own thoughts.

September 23rd loomed in his mind like a hawk chasing a rabbit. It was too damn close and John had never felt so unprepared for anything in his whole life. He felt like he was sprinting towards the birth of his kid and he had no clue what he was supposed to do. His worry had twisted around him the entire six hour drive.

Now John shook his head, trying to shove the worry aside—at least for the next six days. He rolled over, gently pulling Margaret closer, and buried his face in her hair. He had to come up with some kind of plan—something so he wouldn't feel so damn useless when their twelve weeks were up. But for now it could wait. John ran his hand lightly over her belly, feeling the squirming movement of the baby inside.

"I'll take care of you." He grumbled softly, kissing Margaret's neck. "I promise."

He closed his eyes and let himself go back to sleep.

The first thing Margaret noticed when she woke was the silence. It was almost eerie in its completeness. Bustling city noises had been apart of her life for so long she'd ceased to notice it. First London, then New York, and now Milton. She blinked slowly taking the silence into her soul and letting it rest there a moment. As it did, the softer noises of the house crept over her. The muffled whir of the air conditioning, the chirp of birds, a rushing tumble of wind through the sycamore trees clumped about the house, and—

Margaret smiled to herself as she caught the steady in-and-out of John's breathing. A strange warm sensation spread over her, almost like triumph at a hard won victory as she lay perfectly still, and listened to her husband sleep. For the first time since Easter morning, she wasn't waking up alone and the realisation made her almost giddy.

Something about it reminded her of New Year's Eve, laying on her bedroom floor, watching him relax into someone she didn't recognize. Margaret laid her hand on top of John's which rested on her stomach. His breathing immediately shifted and she sighed. John was too light a sleeper. She heaved herself over to face him as he stretched and rubbed his face with his hands. She suppressed a giggle as he blinked, his eyes still heavy with sleep and his hair an absolute mess. He was always so put together it was quite nice to see the more rumpled side of him. Margaret reached out and tried to tidy his hair.

"Stop," he grabbed her hand and tugged her closer.

"You're a sight John Thornton."

"So are you," he muttered, planting a series of small kisses along her jaw.

"What time is it?"

"Who cares?"

"I do," Margaret tried to maneuver herself so she could see the clock. Except it wasn't there. She could still see the small nail sticking out of the wall and Margaret shot an accusatory look at her husband. "Where did you hide clock?"

"I'll put it back when we leave."

"How am I supposed to know what time it is?"

John rolled his eyes and glanced out the window. "It's the morning. Maybe an hour out from noon at the latest."

"That's not the same, smart ass."

"It's our honeymoon, Maggie. We could stay in this damn room all day and no one would know or care."

"I've never actually stayed in bed all day—not since I had chicken pox." Margaret scooted closer, pulling his arm over her. "Play your cards right, and you might be able to convince me."

"Is that a challenge, Maggie?"

"It might be."

John raised an eyebrow, a slow sly smile spreading over his face. "Give me your phone."

"Why?"

He held out his hand, "Trust me."

Margaret narrowed her eyes at him but she shrugged, dug her mobile from her bag, and tossed it over to him. John switched off his own device, and then hers. "If we're going to stay in bed," He stood, shoving them in the bottom bureau drawer, and slammed it shut. "we're going to use the bed."

"Are you accepting my challenge then?"

"Hell yes," John grinned. "But first we brush our teeth."

Margaret grunted as she rolled off the bed, swiping John's shirt from the floor. He watched her lazily as she pulled it over her head, and brushed back her hair.

"Come on, lazy bones. Get up."

"I thought you wanted to stay in bed."

"Your baby is hungry and I want a tour of this house."

"It's just a house," John sat up, grabbing his boxers and jeans. "There's not much to see."

"Stop grumbling," Margaret grabbed his hand and John let her tow him after her. "Coming to Helstone was your idea and now I'm curious."

"Food first."

But they'd barely walked down the hall into the foyer before Margaret stopped in her tracks, her jaw hanging open as she turned about.

"This isn't a house, John Thornton. This is a bloody mansion."

"It's not a mansion," He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "It's just a big-ass house."

"And you lived here?"

"Yeah," he shoved his hands into his back pockets. "Once upon a time my family had a shit ton of money."

Margaret wandered through room after room, exclaiming over the art, the furniture, the vaulted ceilings, the original fireplaces, even the hardwood floors. John enjoyed her sheer delight as they explored the old Victorian house.

"We spent summers here, but my mother always preferred Milton."

"Why? This place is incredible."

"She doesn't like the heat and South Carolina is hot as hades from June to about mid September. But dad loved Helstone."

"You love it too," Margaret said, running a hand over a mantelpiece in the music room. It wasn't really a question.

"I do," John crossed his arms, watching as she examined the grand piano and the case containing his grandfather's violin. "It's not the house. I like the quiet and the solitude." John snagged Margaret's hand and sat on the small leather loveseat, pulling her into his lap. "But what I'd really like is to take you back to bed."

"Twice this morning wasn't good enough for you then?"

John ignored her question, cutting off her nervous giggle with the kind of kiss he'd learned she had trouble resisting, especially when they were alone. The one kiss quickly escalated, much to John's delight. He always had a sinking feeling that Margaret was slightly uncomfortable whenever he kissed her, only agreeing to sex because she felt she owed it to him. But right now was different—it reminded him of New Years Eve when he knew without a doubt that she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

"What happened to using the bed?" Margaret teased, a little breathless as he shifted them from the cramped couch to the floor.

"Floors work too."

"I don't want tomorrow to come," Margaret murmured, half asleep.

"Why?" John rolled onto his side, facing her. They'd eventually made it to the kitchen, fixed a quick meal, and gone back to bed. The sun was slowly sinking behind the tree line, the room colored with a haze that made time feel lazy and slow. "We have a whole week, Maggie."

"I know, it's just—today's the first time I think I've seen you relax," Margaret said slowly, brushing absently at the hair on his chest. She traced a finger over the scar on his ribs. "Tomorrow you'll go to work and—"

"I'll be back before you wake up." John leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

"And then what will we do?"

John grinned, "Whatever the hell we want."

AN : For everyone still reading, thank you. I know these chapters have been stretched out, but I'm trying to make each one exactly right. I'm really grateful for your patience and enthusiasm. I hope after this chapter I can post the chapters sooner (fingers crossed).

This one's a bit fluffy with a tiny bit of angst. The next will be more of the same. Thoughts?

Cheers.