Not a Gentleman
by Tintinnabula
Chapter Thirteen
The Ring
Author's note: This chapter contains more frank talk between lovers, and a consummation. I have done my best to keep it rated T. :) Please let me know if you feel otherwise.
Hannah waited impatiently for Fanny to finish pinning favors on the wedding guests who stood, chatting, outside the meeting house in the late morning mist. John and his new wife would be outside in a moment, rice would be thrown, and after some extended conversation with their guests the pair would be off to the mill house in the Thornton's carriage. All should be waiting in anticipation of this moment, but there Fanny was, nattering on with that Watson about something or other, as she pinned a leafy bundle to his shoulder. Her over-ebullient giggling was highly inappropriate for the circumstances, and Hannah wondered just what the rather dull-witted master could have possibly said to elicit such a response from her daughter.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the emergence of the wedding couple. Hannah beamed. Clearly John was happier in this moment than his mother had ever seen him, his arm clasped possessively around his new wife's waist, his eyes sparkling with joy. Margaret looked radiant, as every bride should be, and Hannah had to admit she had been wrong about the gown. Its simplicity suited the girl in a way that a Honiton lace confection would never have been able to. She wore the gown, rather than it wearing her, and Hannah caught a glimpse of the regal bearing she had witnessed on prior occasions. But in this case, the girl's seeming haughtiness did not concern the matriarch: traits that might seem like a liability in an unmarried woman would be seen as assets in a married women. On balance it would likely do the Thornton name good to have such a queenly woman on their books. And that was even more true, now that the fox-like Mr. Bell had settled a dowry on her.
"Mother," said her son as he approached. He kissed her on the cheek, and she allowed Margaret to do the same.
"Welcome to the family," Hannah murmured to John's new wife.
"I thought you had decided on half-mourning for today?" John asked his mother, noting her choice of clothing for the celebration.
"Oh, I couldn't convince her!" Fanny cried as she bounded up to the group, Watson trailing behind her. "You're not the only stick-in-the-mud, John. You'd think she could wear lavender for just one day. What do you think, sister?"
Margaret thought for a minute before replying,"It fear it is not our place to judge, as we have not yet walked that path. And I must note that you are wearing black, John. How is that different?"
"I believe I may have unwittingly instigated our first quarrel," John said ruefully. "Although my sister may have had something to do with it. Regardless, Margaret is right. I have spoken greatly out of turn, Mother. Please accept my apologies. After all you have done to prepare for this day, it was most unappreciative."
Hannah was nonplussed. While on the one hand she appreciated Margaret's words, her son's easy deference to his wife was unseemly. He should be taking the upper hand right from the start of things. Of course, she thought with a frown, he had seen little of such things in their own household. Such were the hazards of being raised by a strong widow.
Hannah waved her hand dismissively. "The lavender was faded. I had not worn it for so long that I did not realize its poor condition. If I'd more time to prepare I might have obliged you, son."
Fanny whispered something to Watson, which set the pair giggling.
Hannah rolled her eyes and addressed her son. "I know your carriage takes precedence, but I must return to the house to ensure the servants have made all of the preparations. The brougham I ordered is out of sight around the corner. My leaving should not upset the order of things."
"I understand Mother. I am sure we will be here for some time, unless the rains strengthen. Will that help?"
Hannah nodded. "Fifteen minutes should be enough. Fanny, let's be off."
"But Mother, I was hoping to stay a little longer-"
"You'll have no one to escort you back."
Fanny flounced down the steps like a sullen child, her mother following more slowly as she stopped to welcome each guest and remind them of the wedding breakfast.
"Watson is but ten years my junior," Hannah said once the two were seated in the brougham. "Does that not concern you?"
"Should it?" Fanny shrugged as she looked at the window. "I would think you would be happy to get rid of me."
Hannah grasped her daughter's hand. "Fanny, why on Earth would you say such a thing?"
"Because that is what I think, Mother. No. Truly, that is what I know. John has always been your favorite." Fanny shook her head, sending ringlets bouncing. "Do not deny it. I am not a simpleton. And soon your home will be filled with grandchildren. I need to find my own place in the world."
"It is not good to rush into these things."
"Shall I compile a list of Watson's pros and cons to assess his suitability? I think that is what someone like John would do. Besides, he knows."
"Who?"
"John, of course. Watson asked him if he might court me. Apparently John thinks him good enough for me." Fanny turned her head again to peer through the carriage window, sooty Milton's Saturday morning hustle and bustle suddenly of great interest to her.
Hannah's brow creased. "He did not tell me," she said softly.
There was much to do when they arrived back at the mill house. Hannah immediately observed that per her instructions, the front drawing room had been cleared of most of its furniture to allow room for the receiving of the guests by the family. A single, silk-upholstered settee remained in the room, as the invalid Hales could not be expected to stand. And the large, round table that usually dominated the room had been moved to the side. But Jane had not arranged the presents received that week on the drawing room table as Hannah had requested. Indeed, the room's table was still covered with the books that usually sat there. They had been re-arranged precisely, into the spoke-like formation they always took.
Hannah sighed at the girl's inability to follow the most simple of directions and left the room in search of the gifts. She found them in her own sitting room. At least the gifts were tagged, she noted. Hannah rang for Jane and the pair quickly carried them into the drawing room, arranging them so that the largest gifts were in the center of the table, and so that all tags were clearly on view. The matriarch noted with some satisfaction the high value of the gifts, even as she recognized the uselessness of most of them. Yes, a wedding of some substance was the right decision, no matter what her new daughter-in-law had thought. The appearance of wealth must be maintained for the business to remain successful. She and her son had learned that lesson early on.
Hannah left the room and hurried to the dining room, where she was pleased to see the table already laid out for the so-called breakfast. Extra leaves had been added so that the table could accommodate the twenty two people to be seated, but the room remained more than adequate. In the center of the table stood a two-tiered cake, reminiscent of the Queen's in decoration, although smaller in size. It was flanked by two smaller cakes- one for bride, and one for groom. Flower-filled silver epergnes stood to either side of the cakes, and once Hannah ordered the colza chandelier to be lit, the profusion of crystal goblets and silverware already laid on the table caused the room to sparkle, in defiance of the gray day.
She'd brought on extra staff for the morning, and two of these girls entered the room now, setting out the cold viands. She noted each with approval: lobster salad- Hannah had considered whole lobsters, as she'd recently acquired the silver with which to serve them, but decided the likelihood of injury to clothing was simply too high—prawns, capon, rack of lamb, mayonnaise of salmon, veal and ham pie, and boar's head, as well as tongue, well as savory jellies, green salad, a blancmange John specifically requested, fruits and assorted pastries. That should be enough.
Hannah returned to the front drawing room and sank into the settee, allowing herself a brief's moment of rest before the onslaught of guests. Her shoulders sagged as she contemplated the vast amount of effort it had taken to ready for this day in such short order. She would, of course, do anything for her son, but these past days had been exhausting. This was not only due to the wedding: John's magistrate's duties had required Hannah to pick up the slack at the mill. This was something she did without question or complaint, but she'd also needed to be at home as preparations were being made. It was difficult to be in two places at once, but somehow she'd managed it, scurrying back and forth across the mill yard like a rodent possessed. Yes, it had been an exhausting fortnight. And the necessary outcome of all this effort was that she lose her position as mistress of the household.
But that was as it always was, and as it always would be. Furthermore, it was as it should be. Hannah Thornton knew she would need to make her peace with it, much as she would need to make her peace with the fact that the rogue preacher and his wife would soon be her permanent house guests.
Hannah looked again at the gifts piled up on the table and smiled as she considered the wedding she'd planned, an event truly befitting a manufacturer of her son's status. Yes, the price she'd paid was worth it.
They were finally alone, if only for a few minutes. John could not shut the door to the brougham quickly enough, and within moments his love- his wife!- was in his arms.
"Margaret," he murmured, after anointing her lips with a feathering of kisses. "Mrs. Thornton."
She looked at him with bemusement. "Mrs. John Thornton," she said, finally. "I am glad to be your wife." She laid her head against his chest, and listened to the rapid thudding of his heart. "It hardly seems real."
"I was concerned for you," John said quietly. She pulled away and looked into into his cerulean eyes, her own blue-green ones belatedly echoing his own concern.
"I thought you might be having second thoughts," he elaborated.
"Why would you think that?"
"You forgot the words."
"No," Margaret shook her head. "I simply did not know those words."
John looked at her quizzically for a moment, then understanding illuminated his face. "You must forgive me. I have not attended many weddings, and those I have were at this same meeting house. I did not realize the customs were that different."
"It does not matter, John. We are married. That is what is important. And I had wanted to talk to you ..."
"Oh?"
"About studying your faith. I would like for us to share one."
"I'm not sure it would be fair to ask that of you. Unlike your father, you do not appear to be a dissenter. But this is not something we need to decide today." John smiled as he grasped her hand, then frowned. "Your glove is torn. When did this happen?"
Margaret pulled her hand away and blushed, much to John's confusion. "It does not matter. I rarely have occasion to wear such long gloves, and I am sure it can be mended, anyway. I will just remove them. There is no need for gloves at a breakfast, is there?" She struggled with the several buttons that held the glove closed at the wrist.
"Allow me."
John unfastened five tiny mother-of-pearl buttons, one by one, kissing the small expanse of flesh revealed in each unworking, until finally the glove was loosed above the pulse-point of her wrist. He kissed the exposed skin greedily, eliciting a heady sigh as his reward. His lips then traced the upper boundary of the glove, and as he tugged on each finger, slowly pulling the kidskin garment downward, he allowed his lips to slowly trace the contours of his lover's inner arm. John paused for a moment at the sensitive flesh inside her elbow, when he intuited from her breathless reaction that this was an area that deserved extra elaboration. Margaret's cheeks were flushed by the time his journey to her fingertips was complete.
"If you continue," she said shakily, "I am afraid I will not be presentable at my own wedding breakfast."
John continued.
He would have divested her of her veil as well, for it was in the way- and surely, like the gloves, it had no true function at a wedding breakfast- but the carriage stopped, and their journey was complete.
John's brow lowered in irritation as he considered the hours stretching before them. He would gladly skip the breakfast altogether and dine alone with his wife in the master's chambers. A quick glance at her seemed to indicate she felt much the same way. John laughed. He had never seen her look so much out of her own possession.
"Should we make a run for it?" he asked. The rain had strengthened from a mist to a drizzle.
He alighted, then lifted his wife from the carriage, then carried her in his arms as he ran for the shelter of the portico.
"In the South, are brides carried over the threshold?" John asked teasingly.
"They are, but I do not think your mother would approve," Margaret said laughingly, the color high in her cheeks.
John ignored her warning, and pushed the door open. They were greeted by the sight of the servants- all of them- arrayed on the grand staircase that filled the entrance hall. John's mother shook her head in displeasure while Fanny laughed uproariously.
"Welcome home, Mrs. Thornton," John murmured in Margaret's ear, before allowing her to find her feet below her.
Stokes moved forward to collect John's hat as well as the gloves Margaret had dropped while getting to her feet. With the discretion of a well-trained servant he handed the fine kidskin items to John, as Margaret appeared to be somewhat mortified by the many eyes upon her. John glanced at the gloves again and noted the small tear, and the tiny holes along each edge of what was once a seam. But it wasn't torn at all, he realized. The third finger was merely unstitched. John's brow creased as he belatedly understood the significance. He pocketed the items, as a reminder of a task he must complete before day's end, and turned to his wife.
"I think it would behoove me to listen to you, love," he whispered. "It appears you know my mother better than I." He steered Margaret into the front drawing room and smiled as her eyes widened as she viewed the table laden with gifts.
"This is excessive, John."
"Make sure you do not say so in front of our guests. They will be offended." He walked to the window as he heard hoof beats and the clatter of a large carriage. There was Stokes, standing in the steady rain, umbrella at the ready, waiting for the occupants of the britzka to alight. "Look. Here are your parents."
They were fatigued- there was no question of it- but Richard and Maria Hale seemed filled with joy. Margaret and John led them to the settee and Margaret knelt at her parents' side in a display of filial devotion that made her husband's heart sing. She was everything he had hoped she would be when he first fell in love with her. He could not believe his incredible luck in encountering her.
Guests began to arrive, and the protocol was for each to offer their congratulations to John, and their felicitations to the family. Margaret's happiness in all this appeared to be understood and unacknowledged, the new husband noticed with some disquiet. He pulled her toward him, a little more closely than propriety allowed, and laughed with her as she thanked the guests for their gifts, oohing and aahing over them as appropriate.
The first to arrive were his fellow magistrates, Davis, Kirk, and Carleton, and their wives. John introduced them, noting that all were in cotton, although each employed in different aspects of the field: Davis was a broker, Kirk, a dye importer and Carleton, an administrator at the exchange. From each came gifts in silver: a toast rack, which would be very useful if the household did not already own one, a cruet set, and a completely superfluous grape dish and shears. John noted the giggle threatening to burst forth from his wife's petaled lips, and squeezed her arm gently in warning.
"That is so very thoughtful," she said instead. "We will think of you every time we cut grapes." Margaret bowed her head in thanks and trembled with unreleased laughter as the line moved forward and the Carletons mingled into the small crowd of well-wishers.
Next came the coterie of mill masters. First was Hamper and his wife. It was clear his better half had selected their present because it was quite presentable: a pair of simple sterling candle holders, meant for the bedroom. The fact that Henderson was married was also apparent in his gift choice, although that woman had gone overboard with in her selection, a two-tiered gilded cake stand large enough to outfit a small army. However, it fit what he knew of the woman. The abundance of ribbon on her bonnet seemed to match the level of ornamentation of the gift.
Watson's was next, and Margaret could not help herself. But she did stare at the strange, nautilus-shaped object in silver for some time before asking, "It is certainly beautiful. But what is it?" Thankfully, Fanny was by Watson's side to explain in a voice that was as strident as it was loud.
"Why it is a spoon-warmer, of course! Have you not seen one before? I have heard it is the latest thing in London. And as I knew our- well, your- household does not have one, I pressed Watson to buy it!"
Mother shot daggers to her daughter from across the room, but they missed their target. The girl babbled on about her superior taste in table settings for quite some time before Margaret was able to get a word in edge wise.
"Of course. A spoon-warmer. That will be very useful in winter. Or whenever there is a requirement for hot spoons." John squeezed his wife's arm once more, and she turned to gaze at him with laughter in her eyes.
The crude Harkness was the penultimate mill-master. His contribution was a crystal salt cellar, of the type usually provided in sets. The skinflint.
And finally came the odious Slickson, although his gift was in no way offensive. It was simply a silver mustard pot, of the type that graced upper class homes all over the country. They both bowed their thanks, and John regretted the impulse immediately, as the lecher took the opportunity to peer down the front of Margaret's gown. John battled a sudden urge to throttle the man.
Margaret's smile stopped him.
"Mr. Bell!"
John steeled himself. He had no doubt Bell would make some mention of his little bachelor's gift, however obliquely.
"It has stopped raining, although my day has already been brightened considerably by your presence , my dear." He offered the necessary greetings to the family and rejoined the couple by the gift table.
Margaret regarded the present tagged as Mr. Bell's. It was a large watercolor hung temporarily on the wall behind the gift able. It showed a scene of beautiful desolation: a Greek temple in ruins on a promontory overlooking a turbulent sea at sunset. In the foreground, two underfed wolves sat among the stones of a broken frieze, dwarfed by the crumbling gods. "It is beautiful, Mr. Bell. But when did you acquire a Turner?"
"Oh, years ago, on Sounnion. I was there for research, and he was there with Mrs. Booth. Ah. You are wondering why I am passing it on to you. As you are studying the classics, John, I thought it might be appropriate. But," he quirked an eyebrow, "would you say, given your recent tutelage, that you are now more recently interested in the moderns?"
John did not take the bait. "I would say both interest me equally, Adam," he replied evenly.
Margaret picked up on the undercurrent of tension and looked between the two men in confusion. She attempted to de-escalate the situation. "You are much too generous, Mr. Bell."
John laughed sharply. "Did he not tell you, Margaret?"
"Tell me? About what?"
"About the dowry."
"What dowry? Mr. Bell?"
"What's this, Adam?" Mr. Hale rose with difficulty from the settee and approached them.
"Well, yes, I was meaning to mention it to both of you. I had been wanting to do something for my darling god-daughter, and as I figured that as I would be leaving for South America soon, now seemed the most appropriate time."
"South America?" Richard Hale was stricken. "But that is so far away! And why would you leave Oxford?"
"I have been a don for well on five and thirty years. It is time to pass on that mantle to some younger man. And my physician has advised me that the land of my childhood would do my health good. He tapped his foot lightly. It's this gout, you see. The warmth will help, or so I have been told."
"You should have asked," said Mr. Hale with some reprobation.
"Forgive my presumption. Attorneys will press in on a person, as I'm sure you know. They were looking for me to wrap things up. Come, come, this is for the best! Margaret enters into her marriage with property and the union will be stronger for it."
All eyes in the room were on them by this point, and John felt the mortification of both Mr. Hale and his daughter. Thankfully, Mrs. Hale seemed to be oblivious, possibly due to the effects of laudanum.
"What is the endowment?" Margaret asked quietly.
Mr. Bell shrugged. "The mill. Think of it as a wedding gift, if you must."
Margaret bowed her head. "Thank you, Mr. Bell."
Could it get worse? John wondered. Oh, yes, he decided, because next entered Margaret's cousin Edith and her escort Henry. Here was his wife's near sister, who for whatever reason had not stood up as maid of honor. Margaret and he had not had time to discuss the circumstances, but clearly something was amiss. The expression of sadness on Margaret's face as Edith approached attested to this.
"Margaret!" the beauty squealed as she hugged the bride close to her. "You look so beautiful today. And your wedding was lovely. I cried!"
"Edith, this is my husband, Mr. Thornton. John, this is my cousin Edith. As you know, I spent the larger part of my childhood under Edith's roof. She was always like a sister to me."
"I will be back directly. We must greet your parents." Edith was gone in a blur of pink and cream, while Henry approached the couple, having already made the required felicitations to their parents.
"Henry," said Margaret. "This is my husband, Mr. Thornton. Mr. Lennox is Edith's brother-in-law, and an attorney in London. I have known him for a few years now. What a thoughtful gift this is, Henry."
John nodded. It was an elegant silver wine ewer, in a classical shape, its handle curved upon itself in a sinuous arc. Clearly, the man had taste.
But Lennox actually blushed, and John wondered if the man had once had feelings for his wife. John narrowed his eyes as he assessed the slight attorney.
Edith crinkled her nose in consternation when she returned. "I did not realize there would be a gift table."
"Yes," replied John. "That is how things are done in the North."
Margaret picked up the first of two gifts tagged with Edith's name—a silver vinaigrette- and the blonde protested once again.
"But I would not have- Oh, Margaret! Might I speak with you in private? Please?"
"I think that would be a very good idea," replied Margaret with a sudden look of anger. John did not blame her. "Let me show you the library. I think you will be surprised."
John smiled to himself as he made his excuses to Lennox. The set of faux books did not insult him, no matter Edith's intention. Nor did it surprise him that a high-born London lady would assume a man like himself to be barely literate. But to give Margaret a gift that implied she would be spending her married days in a state of constant fainting was really a bit much. John almost wished he could be in the library with the pair to hear the dressing down this cousin surely deserved. He knew what Margaret was capable of once fired up. And Edith had it coming to her. But John something else to attend to at the moment. He removed the carnelian signet ring from his right ring finger, wrapped it in a handkerchief, and sought out Fanny's new beau.
"Charles?" said John once he found Watson, "Might I have a word in private? I was wondering if you would do me a favor."
The breakfast itself went off without a hitch. There was too much food, in Margaret's opinion, too much wine for the noon hour, and two too many cakes, but those were trifling concerns. And while a London society host might have been perturbed that some of the male guests had no female companions, leaving the table quite uneven, this did not bother Margaret in the least. The mill-masters were a lot like John, she reasoned. They were driven by work, and worse, some had not had the benefit of his early education. It was unlikely Slickson or Harkness would ever find women to stand by their sides. Margaret wondered what Edith thought of them.
At least her cousin was no longer red eyed. Margaret hadn't said a word to her before Edith burst into tears. She'd apologized profusely once within the sanctuary of the library, for the harsh words of her letter, for her presumption and for the gifts. She'd very nearly brought Margaret to tears. It seemed that Edith had fully realized her own selfishness, and that indeed she was not the Sun, and Margaret a mere planet in her solar system.
"I did not mean to be cruel," she offered. "I just did not understand."
"I know, cousin. We see the world through different eyes. But do you see now, the man I see?"
"I see that he loves you. And that you love him. And if you can live in... this place..."
"This place?"
"It is much more elegant than I presumed. But-"
"The problem is that you presume, Edith. Do you not understand?"
"Margaret..."
"Trust me, Edith. Trust me as I trusted you when you fell in love with the Captain. Can you not do this for me?"
Edith nodded then. "Yes. That is exactly what Henry said."
"Henry?" Margaret's brow lifted. "What did you tell him?"|
Edith stammered. "H-he only saw the gifts. He did not approve. He thought I was being petty. I guess he was right."
"Whose idea was it for Henry to come? Yours or his?"
Edith bit her lip, a mannerism Margaret knew well.
"I see. Did you think I would leave John at the altar?"
"I did not see an altar, Margaret."
"You know what I mean. And again you are being petty. Yes, he is different from you."
"And from you- from the life you grew up with."
"He is not different from the way I am now. I have chosen to be his wife. That will not be undone."
Margaret's recollections were interrupted by the touch of her husband's hand on her own. She looked up at him to find him gazing at her with unadulterated adoration.
"You were far away. What were you thinking?"
"About the long, happy life we will live together."
"Yes. If only this breakfast would end."
She rubbed his hand with her own. "How are Mama and Papa doing?"
John looked to his left. "Fatigued," he whispered. "They are only just holding up."
She patted his hand. "I will ask your mother if we might cut the cake. I believe that is your duty, although I am not sure given that there are three. She turned to her mother-in-law but stopped herself, turning back to her husband instead.
"Where is your ring? The signet. Have you lost it? I am sure I saw it on your finger earlier."
John smiled. "I took it off not long ago. It is not lost." He turned to his mother-in-law. "Mrs. Hale, may I offer you some refreshment?"
Finally the cake was cut, and the guests dispersed, leaving only the family that had been joined on that day.
"Mother," said Fanny, "I would like to borrow Jane for a while, as Watson has asked me to go out walking with him, now that the weather has improved."
Hannah nodded. "That will be fine, Fanny, as long as you are back within an hour or two."
"Would you excuse us?" John said to the room in general. "There is something I need to discuss with my wife in private. We'll be back momentarily."
"This is mysterious, John," Margaret said, as they climbed the stairs. "Why are we going upstairs? Surely we are not retiring yet?"
John smiled wickedly. "If so, we would not be returning momentarily." He paused at the top of the staircase. "I know that this day was not as you might have wished."
"John, that is not so. I am with you, and that is all that matters."
"No. A wedding day is a day to make memories. It is day of intention, filled with planning. It should have been as you desired. But there was a reason for this." He paused. "Would you close your eyes for a moment?" She complied. "Now give me your hand." He led her down the hall, opened the first door on the right and led her inside. "Open your eyes."
"Oh, John."
Margaret looked around the room. It smelled of sawdust, fresh plaster and wallpaper paste. And at present, it was only partially furnished, as it was waiting for key pieces from Crampton. However, the wallpaper was identical to her mother's room. And as she stepped through to the adjoining room she saw that it had the paper of the downstairs sitting room- that which her mother had described as somewhat similar to that of the vicarage in Helstone. There was still another room adjoining, this one reserved for her father.
"Mother and I struck a bargain," John said by way of explanation. "She thought a lavish wedding was imperative. I thought it would do you good to have your parents here with you."
Margaret could not contain her tears.
"Did I do wrong?" he asked with concern, folding her into his arms.
"I would have married at the registrar's office. As long as it is you, John, the details are irrelevant. This is- Why are you so good to me?" She sobbed against him.
He kissed the tears from her face and led her to the bed, sitting beside her on the striped mattress. But this was no time to take advantage of her heightened emotions, tempting though it was. John waited patiently for his wife to calm herself.
"Shall we ask your parents?"
Margaret nodded and they made their way downstairs.
"Mama, Papa, we have something we would like to ask you," Margaret began.
Her parents could not have been happier.
The Hales returned to their Crampton home for the afternoon. The removing would take place on Monday once the hands returned to work. That allowed a day and half's honeymoon, of sorts, for Margaret and John, as Hannah and Fanny were removing themselves to a hotel for the remainder of the weekend. Likewise, the servants would have the afternoon and evening off. His mother had already given each a small gift in honor of the special day, and the staff were well-pleased at the opportunity for some time to themselves.
The new couple sat in the library as they awaited the return of Fanny and Watson. The sooner she returned, the sooner their time alone would begin. John regarded his new wife, and noticed how she twisted her engagement ring nervously.
"Would you like to take a walk?"
"In my wedding finery? Through puddles?" Margaret laughed. "Well, I would actually. I will go up and dress. I will just need help locating my trunk." She stood to ring for a servant.
John's brow furrowed. "No, don't." He had fantasized for too long about this day and about divesting every item comprising her wedding ensemble himself "I am sure Fanny will be along shortly." The eager husband picked up the latest copy of The Economist and tried to read an article on amendments to the patent laws, but was utterly unsuccessful. He wanted to take his wife to his bed—their bed- poste haste.
Finally Watson arrived, and it was all he could do not to rip the man's head off. He left the room with the man who seemed to be shaping up into his future brother in law, but returned in less than five minutes. Then he checked his pocket watch no less than five times as he waited for his sister to gather her belongings and quit the place along with his mother.
"Shall we?" John asked, when he and Margaret were finally alone.
His bride nodded nervously, but did not falter when he offered her his hand. He lifted her into his arms and smiled.
"My darling, as carrying you over the threshold was so summarily thwarted, might I carry you upstairs?"
Margaret giggled, and lost a kidskin shoe somewhere along the way.
The feel of her arms around her neck reminded him of that day, the day that had set all of this in motion, and suddenly John was glad of the riot and of the brutish workmen that could not control their own savage natures.
She was light as a feather, just as she'd been that day, although a bit more unwieldy in the layers of crinoline that puffed out about her, cloudlike. John lifted her across a second threshold, this to the master chamber and set her down gently.
"What do you think?" he asked.
She smiled. "It's beautiful." She walked directly to the window and caressed the yellow damask draperies that had hung there for only the past two days. "Are these Spitalfields?"
John laughed. "Have you ever been? To Spitalfields, I mean, during your time in London."
Margaret shook her head.
"We might visit when we're next in London."
"Do you make the journey often?"
It was John's turn to shake his head. "I thought you might fancy a visit to the Crystal Palace. I do owe you a honeymoon, after all."
"Really?" Her excitement was palpable.
"But they're not silk. The drapery, that is. They were made just across the way. You've never been to the jacquard shed. We've not that many looms, but what we produce is of high quality."
Margaret shook her head as she inspected the fabric closely. "Exceptional quality. These are beautiful. And the color is lovely against the grey walls."
John beamed. He had hoped she'd be pleased. The yellow was the same shade as the pic-nic blanket. He'd had the idea of changing the bed clothes and draperies from their masculine maroon to this more Margaret-like yellow as soon as he'd proposed. The grey silk moire fabric on the walls was the same as it ever was, but the yellow made the room much less oppressive than it had formerly been. And that was risible, because he hadn't seen it as oppressive until he'd changed it.
John moved across the room to open an adjoining door. "This is my dressing room. Its twin is across the way. He pointed to the door set in the opposite wall. The rooms were only twins in layout. John's was rather severe in coloration as he had not bothered to change it, while Margaret's was papered in a sunny yellow and grey scrolling strapwork design he hoped would please her.
He followed Margaret inside her dressing room and did his best to view things through her eyes as she took in the room. She moved first to the narrow divan covered in grey silk, then to the mahogany clothing press, and washstand and wooden commode beside it, and finally to the vanity. Atop its low surface sat a coromandel box not dissimilar to the one still sitting on the gifts table in the front drawing room below.
"That is from Mother and Fanny," he said as she lifted the lid, to display a velvet-lined case fitted with crystal containers, each covered with engraved silver lids. A tray of mother-of-pearl-handled tools useful for dressing sat in the center of the case, and within the lid was a mirror. A drawer was set into the bottom of the case. Margaret pulled it out slowly, to find a golden bracelet set with carnelians.
"That is from me," said John softly. "Would you wear it?"
She obliged, and John stood mesmerized as the bracelet immediately slipped down the length of her taper arm.
"But I have no gift for you," Margaret said, abashed.
"On the contrary," John replied. "You have given me everything."
She looked around the room. "It seemed you already had everything."
"No." He reached for her hand, but she slipped away, her interest seemingly diverted. She inspected the clothing press, and seemed surprised to find her garments already neatly folded inside of it.
"Margaret-"
"There is no bed," she said, as she turned to face him.
"No," John agreed. In the North, husbands and wives-" She surprised him then, by moving closer to him, and lifting her arms to encircle his neck. She kissed him softly.
"It is no matter. I want to share your bed. Husband."
What had he done to deserve this bliss?
He offered her his hand and led her into the bed chamber.
"Are you not afraid?" he asked.
She nodded. "This morning, Mama said something that surprised me." Margaret's eyes moved to the lower right as she remembered the conversation. "She said I must 'endure.'" Margaret turned away from him. "Why did you not tell me that there would be pain?"
He pulled her to the bed and sat her on his lap.
"Margaret. Look at me." Gently, he lifted her chin so that he could peer into her lovely blue-green eyes. Somehow, you think I am a man of some experience. You greatly misjudge me. I have not had the time to chase after women. And I would never-" He paused as he struggled to phrase the next words delicately. He started, and stopped, several times. Finally, in frustration he asked, "Do you really think me the type of man who would stoop that low?"
"I have been told that men and women inhabit different spheres, and that what is right for a woman is in no way appropriate for a man,and vice versa. While I would greatly hope that you were not such a man, I would therefore never expect it. For it would seem I have no right to do so."
John sighed. "You should expect it. I am not such a man."
Margaret again twisted the ring on her finger, reminding him of the task he'd set Watson on that day.
"I am glad of it," she said quietly.
"I cannot promise you there will not be pain, my love, but I do promise you that I will never intentionally hurt you. Do you understand?" He kissed her gently. "We will learn together."
He surprised her next, by pulling out the glove he'd held in his pocket the day long.
"It took me a while to figure this out," he said, as he ran his fingertip over the open seam. "I noticed the questioning look you gave me in the meeting house, but I did not understand. Finally it dawned on me." John rose from his seat on the mattress' edge and retrieved a book from the bedside table. "Do you recognize this?"
Margaret nodded after examining the paging briefly through the small volume. "It's the Book of Common Prayer."
"Turn to the page I bookmarked." He returned to her side and watched her face as she paged through the book.
She smiled in recognition almost immediately. "There's really no need. I have the Form of Solemnization of Marriage memorized. I attended many services with my father, you see. I was often flower girl. Papa said the flowers were a remnant of our pagan past and a result of the Church's syncretism." She nodded. "I suppose that's why there were no rings at today's service- they must also have a pagan history and dissenters have made an effort to strip away such irrelevant things, have they not?"
"It is clear I married a scholar's daughter," John said dryly. "But Margaret, truly it did not occur to me that the words we said this morning might be so different."
Margaret laughed softly. "The vow I took does not require me to love you."
"Does it not? I'd not noticed that."
"Only to obey. It was a bit of a surprise."
"Will you say the words again? These words? I'll begin." The new husband read from the volume: I John, take thee Margaret to my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.
Margaret started to cry, but she said the words from memory:
I, Margaret, take thee John to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.
John reached in his waistcoat pocket and pulled out a simple platinum ring. He placed it on Margaret's finger as he said the next words of the form: With this Ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.
She kissed the ring, then gazed at her husband through tear-stained lashes.
John opened her hand, and placed a second, larger ring in her palm.
Her brows lifted in confusion. "But this is not part of the form. A man would not-."
John smiled. "The ring signifies a binding, does it not? If you are bound to me, I would be equally bound to you."
A single tear fell as Margaret whispered the words. "With this Ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen." She placed the ring on his finger, then pressed his hand to her lips, kissing the symbol of their union.
John looked at her with reverence, with longing, with passion.
"May I?" he asked in a low rumble that was almost a whisper.
Margaret nodded, and she trembled as his lips pressed against hers. She sighed as his caresses moved to the ivory flesh of her shoulders and to the smooth decolletage exposed by the cut of her gown. And he was surprised to find her fingers as eager as his own.
She stood, and unloosed his cravat easily, and pressed her own lips to the triangle of flesh revealed by the opening of his shirt. He thought he might burst. He moved her hands to his frock coat in a silent plea to disrobe him. She obliged, partially, removing the offending garment.
He turned his attention to the troublesome plethora of closures running down her spine. But instead of ripping Margaret's dress apart as some small bestial part of himself urged, he taunted himself, unworking each silk-covered button slowly, and inhaling her fragrance as he found himself one layer closer to her true anatomy.
"Where does it begin?" he asked, once he encountered the mystery of her corset lacings.
"They are tucked away, at the waist. You will need to slip your fingers inside." Margaret blushed furiously at the double entendre. John noted how the color crept not just to her face, but to her neck, and even down her back. He was enchanted.
He did as she requested, feeling for the first time the sensation of forbidden flesh against his own. He unlaced the garment slowly, deliberately teasing himself. She was the most beautiful gift, a present enveloped in layer upon layer of snowy white tissue paper and cotton wool. He kissed every new delight as it was revealed to him, and innocently, she began to reciprocate.
Eventually, she was fully revealed to him, and he to her.
Slowly, carefully, John removed the combs and pins from Margaret's hair, and watched enraptured, as wave after chestnut wave tumbled around her.
She stood before him finally, his Eve. His glorious wife.
John was thankful then, to Mr. Bell, and for the embarrassment of riches the man had bestowed upon him just two days prior. Because of that man's rather indecent tutelage, John was able to make Margaret his own. He was able to delight her in both spirit and flesh in ways he'd not before imagined, in ways that eased their eventual joining, so that when they did become one flesh it was not as painful as it might have been. For there was also pleasure. Not just for him, of course- could there be any question of that? But for her, as well. He'd heard it in her voice, in the way she'd cried his name.
"We are one now," he murmured now as he pulled her possessively against himself.
"We are one, John," she agreed.
Author's notes:
Thank you again to everyone who continues to stick with this story and to everyone who is kind enough to fave, follow, or best yet, leave a review. You make me want to keep writing these very long chapters, so thank you! Sorry for posting this later than usual tonight- real life got in the way.
I hope the love scene was not too much! I'd love to hear your comments.
You may have noticed that I like to do research. ;) For this chapter I looked at all of the etiquette guides I could find that were written during the Victorian era. I was not terribly successful in my quest, however. I also referenced an article from the British Library by Kathryn Hughes entitled "The middle classes: etiquette and upward mobility." Hughes details how rigid the social hierarchy was in the Victorian era and the steps the newly emerging middle class—and wealthy industrialists- had to take to make sure they were able to fit into society. Many books were written sharing in excruciating detail exactly how to behave in every social setting. Sadly, despite all of this detail, the etiquette guides written before or during the 1850s are very vague about wedding receptions and those that I did find with details were written well after the time period of this book. Some early guides suggest that gifts are not to be mentioned publicly, as they are a rather private thing. Others suggest that gifts should match the station in life of the recipient. However, this small amount of information is not a lot to go on. Therefore, I had to do some extrapolating. The Habits of Good Society, published in 1859, and The Housewife's Treasury, published by Mrs. Beeton in 1865 came closest in time frame to this story. I relied on both for the menu and on Beeton for the description of the gift table (with unwrapped gifts), and for the types of gifts that would be appropriate: the former book does not mention these. Note however, that the latter book was most definitely targeted toward the values of the burgeoning middle class and nouveau riche, and not the established upper class. The upper classes saw the new, wealthy industrial class as gauche, and would therefore have seen their conspicuous consumption as equally gauche. I am guessing, therefore, that the ideas presented in a book for the middle class might seem outmoded or in poor taste to someone from the highest level of society.
By the 1870s etiquette guides for the middle class suggest that a gift table filled with tagged gifts is an unacceptable breach of civility, so certainly the usage of such tables changed over time. Even in today's electronic age, where information is transmitted extremely quickly we see that different parts of society embrace change at different rates, and do not necessarily communicate with each other. So how long would it have taken for the trends embraced by the upper echelons of society to filter down to the middle classes in the 1850s, when society was much more stratified and communication much more slow? And did the wealthy use gift tables circa 1850? I have a feeling they did not, that they would have felt the practice was unseemly. But this was not possible to ascertain from the materials available to me. Therefore, if anyone has information to share I would welcome it. My assumption was that Hannah Thornton, who was not "to the manner born" would rely stringently on an etiquette manual in planning the wedding breakfast as she would want to get every last detail right, while someone like Edith would be very much in tune with the latest London fashions concerning such celebrations. Hence Edith's consternation in seeing her rather insulting gifts displayed, with tags, for all to see.
About the gifts: I visited a number of online antique stores to find circa 1850 gifts that would be ostentatious enough to be given by mill-masters concerned about their standing in society. If you are interested, you can find many of these items on the antique shop aggregator firstdibs dot com (I have no affiliation, just a drooling interest.) Coromandel wood is a beautiful tiger-striped wood that was often used in the mid-Victorian era on furniture and as a veneer on boxes. A decanter box was a velvet-lined box that typically held four cut crystal decanters plus matching stemware. It may have also had a drawer for cigars. And it locked, to keep the alcohol away from the servants. A spirit kettle is simply a sterling silver kettle that had an alcohol burner below it, so that it could be used at the dining table. Although the spoon warmer Fanny has Watson give might seem frivolous to our modern sensibilities (and to Margaret!), it was actually a useful item in a cold Victorian home: filled with boiling water, it would keep serving spoons warm until they were needed. The grape plate and grape shears, on the other hand are excessive, but they illustrate the Victorian penchant for a tool for every purpose. The shears are for cutting the grapes from the stem, because apparently that could not be done by hand. It is not clear to me why a special plate would be needed to hold the grapes: it looks like any other silver plate.
The "books" and vinaigrette Edith gives to the couple can also be found on the website I mention. The set of faux books was intended to fill the bookshelves of people more interested in the having an impressive looking library, rather than going to the trouble of actually reading books. (You can still buy modern versions of these faux books today, believe it or not. But why?) The vinaigrette was a locket-sized silver object that opened to show an interior pierced through with holes. It was to be filled with smelling salts. Fanny might have appreciated having one.
Note that The Economist, the magazine John is reading was first published in 1843. It was very much in favor of industrialization and against the Corn Laws, protectionist acts which were generally opposed by manufacturers. I can therefore see John taking this magazine.
The watercolor painting Mr. Bell gives the couple is by J. M. W. Turner, one of the masters of English landscape painting, but a controversial artist in his time. He died in December 1851, during the time frame of this story. The painting I reference is entitled The Temple of Poseidon at Sunium (Cape Colonna) and was painted in 1834. It can be viewed at the Tate, in London.
From Queen Elizabeth's reign on, Spitalfields, London was a center of silk-production in England, after French protestants were driven from that country and brought their weaving skills to England. Spitalfields soon became renowned for its high quality of silk goods. However, unlike the cotton industry in Milton (Manchester) the looms used for weaving in Spitalfields were not centralized in a single location, even after the simple looms began to be replaced by complex jacquard looms that required less skilled laborers. Rather, these looms were spread out among individual cottages. In 1860, a decade after the time period of this story, a free trade treaty with France resulted in the rapid decline of Spitalfields, as it was impossible to Londoners to compete. During the time of this story, the Spitalfields industry has been through many ups and downs and its laborers are living in great poverty, as detailed by Dickens.
If you'd like to see the wallpaper I chose for Margaret's dressing room, go to Adelphi paper hangings dot com (again, no affiliation on my part), a maker of reproduction wall papers. Click on catalog, and then 1830-1860, and then "Renaissance Strapwork" I chose colorway C. It is Greek Revival, which fits with John's interest in the classics, I think.
The type of dressing case Mrs. Thornton and Fanny gave to Margaret began to be produced starting in the 1850s and were typically made of Coromandel wood. Quite a few of them still exist, but they must have been expensive in their time, as they were made of the finest materials.
Please note that chapters for the following two weeks will be posted on Monday or Tuesday, rather than Sunday evening, due to the Christmas and New Year's holidays. :) Thanks for understanding.