Since I took some days to post the past few chapters, I'll make up for it by uploading this one quicker ;)

I think John has got a little story for us.

Chapter 9

Later that day, Margaret was sitting at the piano in the music room, trying however unsuccessfully to play a new piece of sheet music Edith had sent her, when the door opened and Jane walked in, carrying a huge vase which was overspilling with the most beautiful bouquet of yellow roses Margaret had ever seen.

It was so big, that Jane had trouble seeing past it, as half her face was covered by blossoms. "This just came for ye from master, Missus", she informed her, struggling to place the vase on top of the piano. "Where d'ye want me to put it?" Margaret could only stare, her mouth slightly agape.

"I'll just leave it 'ere for now", Jane decided after an awkward moment of silence. "'e attached a card for ye too." She pointed to a small letter that was stuck between the flowers. "Allow me t' say t'is very romantic", the girl grinned, before turning serious the next second, having realized that she had probably overstepped her place. She curtsied and turned around to rush out of the room.

Margaret reached out her hand to withdraw the letter and opened it. It bore only a few lines in John's neat handwriting.

Dearest, I want to let you know that I am thinking of you and the baby.

You brighten my every waking moment and fill my nights with tenderness. I thank God every day for bringing you into my life to fill it with your love.

I am looking forward to seeing you tonight.

Yours always, John

Margaret blinked back tears. His words moved her in a way she could not express. He had been different this morning, as he had left for the mill, his usual peck on her lips lingering just a tad longer than usual, his hand brushing against hers before grasping it for a few seconds, interlacing his fingers with hers in a strangely intimate gesture.

She gently traced one of the flowers with her fingertips. They truly were beautiful and so meaningful too, reminding her of how he had remembered her telling him about Helstone all that time ago. He was the most considerate man she had ever known. How was it possible, she wondered, to fall in love with him even deeper with every passing day?

She released a small sigh. Last night had unsettled her greatly. She had known that he carried pain. She could not have known how deep it ran. The magnitude of it had been beyond her imagination and it had scared her. Losing his family in such tragic ways had not only traumatized him, it had affected how he saw himself. He felt responsible for what had happened, even though nothing could have been further from the truth.

What Margaret feared most was her own insecurity as to whether she would be able to help him through this. She had told herself that once they got to a point where he could share his past with her, they would be able to solve things together, but now she was not sure whether this was not a bit too much to handle. She had to be strong for him, she knew, but she could only pray that they would ever overcome this.

What a sweet gesture these flowers were. She hoped he had sent them out of genuine affection, and not as a way of apologizing for last night, or even worse, as a compensation for what he considered his shortcomings.

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John came home a little earlier than usual that evening. He entered the sitting room where Margaret was composing a letter to her brother in Cadiz, and stepped up behind her, bowing his head to whisper a soft kiss onto her cheek.

She turned her head to smile up at him. "I received your flowers. They are so beautiful!" "Not as beautiful as you", he murmured, nuzzling his nose into the side of her face, as he let his hands run down her upper arms. She leaned back into him and lifted her hand to gently pat his head. "John – about last night-", she started tentatively, unsure of how to continue.

"Hush", he murmured against her cheek. "Let's not talk about it now. We can talk after dinner. Let me just hold you for a moment." With that, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, bringing his cheek to rest against hers.

Margaret wanted to argue, afraid that he was deliberately trying to distract her to avoid the topic, but the feel of his stubble against her skin, and the faint scent of his bay rum overpowered her senses and she sank back into him with a sigh. He always had this effect on her and however much she tried, she could not help it.

Over dinner, they talked of their day, as was their custom. Usually, she loved this exchange, eager to learn of his work at the mill and wanting to share her own activities with him. But today, she felt distracted, hoping that he would keep his word and they would have an honest talk once their food had been cleared away.

Finally, he stood, reaching his hand out to take her arm and lead her into his study. He ordered Jane to bring tea, and drew two chairs near the fireplace. He motioned for her to sit and took his own place, close to her. "So", he started after the tea had arrived and the maid had left. He leaned forward and gently took her hand in his. "You want to talk."

She nodded hesitantly, unsure how to start. "It is just – John, you were in such distress last night. And then today you behaved a bit oddly – not in any bad way", she rushed to reassure him, nervously.

"You are always very open in your affections towards me, but today even more so. And those flowers – they are truly beautiful, and they make me very happy. I just could not help but wonder – why did you send them? Does it – does it have anything to do with last night?"

She gazed at him, slightly flustered, praying that her words had not offended him.

He looked down at their joined hands, his grip tightening around hers slightly as he seemed to grasp for words.

"I'm not entirely sure yet – how I feel about last night, Margaret", he confessed. "I have never spoken to anyone about these things. I had always been afraid that – " he swallowed "that if I confronted them, they would take hold of me and never let me go again."

He slowly lowered his head into her lap, touching his forehead to their joined hands. "But they did not", she heard him murmur. "Thanks to you, dearest, they did not. Because you were there to hold me through the pain. And I – " he drew a heavy breath, looking up at her once more.

"I have no words to express my gratitude. It feels as if – once again – you saved me. That is why I sent the flowers, I think. I had never thought that I could love you more than I already did, but last night – I – I felt closer to you than I ever have before..."

"I don't want secrets anymore, Margaret. I want you to know everything. To know all of me. The only thing I am afraid of is that I may overwhelm you with it." There was uncertainty in his eyes at the last statement.

Margaret felt her heart beat wildly in her chest. Slowly she lifted her hands from where they had been joined with his to cup his face, gazing into his deep eyes intently.

"I'm not afraid, John", she whispered. "I'm ready to hear everything you need me to know. We can do this together."

He gave a small sigh and leaned back in his chair, patting his thigh in invitation. "Sit with me."

He did not need to ask twice. Quickly she rose from her chair and sat in his lap, her head leaning against his shoulder, her face close to the pulse of his throat, breathing him in, as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders.

"Ask me anything. Anything at all, Margaret", he murmured.

She did not know where to start. She knew some things from Birdie, but she felt she needed to hear them from him. "What happened after your father died?", she asked quietly.

His hand traced lazy circles on her upper arm, as he leaned his head back against the backrest of the chair, thinking.

"My mother sold most of our belongings to repay as many debtors as she could. It was not nearly enough, I'm afraid. We had to leave our lodging, as we could not pay the rent. I suppose it would have been inevitable, even if my father had lived..."

"We moved to Princeton, to St. Thomas Street, which was the only place we could afford. The house is still there, in fact we passed it the other day", he added, making her look up in surprise.

"We lived there in one room, my mother, Fanny, who was four at the time, and I."

"How was it for you?", she asked, "Moving there?" He gave a slight shrug. "Horrible. It felt like we had been thrown right into hell..."

"We had not been rich before, but we had lived comfortably. Now we all slept in one bed, barely able to afford wood for the stove. There was a brothel next door and a pub on the other side of the street, and it tended to get very loud at night..."

"Mother and I started working at Hamper's and Fanny was taken care of by a neighbour, who had two children of her own. My mother had to pay her to look after the girl."

He paused for a moment, pondering something. "I think the worst part was being taken out of school", he then said in a low voice. "I had always loved studying; I was a good pupil. My plan had been to take over my father's shop one day. I felt like my future had been taken from me."

Even now she could feel his pain, still so evident in his voice, and it left her at a loss for words. He must have been devastated.

"Were you angry?", she asked eventually "With your father, I mean?" "Very", he admitted without hesitation. "I hated him. I felt like he had destroyed everything."

She raised her head to look at him. "How do you feel about him now?"

He exhaled slowly. "I don't know. Part of me still feels angry sometimes. Other times I feel sad. I do think he loved me. He made mistakes and he paid the price for it – and we did too."

She reached out her hand to gently stroke his upper arm. "And your mother?", she then asked. "Did you have a good relationship with her?"

"Very", he nodded. "She was an incredibly strong woman and cared deeply for us. She always tried to protect us as best as she could, to shield us from the harsh realities of the world..."

"To anyone who did not know her well, she might have come across as a bit stern. I don't think it was in her nature to openly show affection, even if she felt it, but I know she loved us with all her heart."

There was a far-off look in his eyes, as he continued. "She taught me hard work and self-denial, and I think it was this early training that got me where I am today..."

"I know it pained her greatly to have me work at the mill. She thought I was too small for this kind of hard labour, and when I came home, coughing from the fluff and crying from the pain in my body, she would hold me, and I could see it in her eyes that she was scared for me..."

"It was only when she thought we were all asleep that she would cry. I could hear her sometimes when I was lying in bed with my eyes closed. I often wished I could have hugged her, but I never dared to. I knew she would not have wanted me to know how sad she was."

Margaret thought back to her own childhood in Helstone. How happy she had been there, with her parents and Fred, chasing butterflies in the fields, having picnics in the back garden, her worst problem being that she did not like practising the needlework her mother forced on her.

She had always taken these things for granted, never questioned them. The things he had had to endure at that age were beyond her comprehension.

"And then you all got sick, did you not?", she asked slowly, gazing up at him. He nodded silently. "John, are you alright with talking about this? If it's too much all at once, please tell me. We don't need to go through all of this in just one evening."

He leaned his cheek against her hair. "It's alright", he murmured and then, heaving another heavy breath, he went on:

"That was about a year after we had moved to Princeton. I remember there had been talk for a few weeks of people falling very ill and dying. Some of the folk in our neighbourhood contracted it. We were all scared, but we tried not to give it too much thought. We could not afford to, we had to fight every day to keep food on the table and wood in the stove..."

"Then, my mother got really sick. She could not get up from the bed, she could not keep any food down. Within a few hours, she was so weak that she could not speak anymore."

She saw his lower lip quiver, as he paused, blinking, and her arms automatically tightened around him. "Then Fanny got sick too. She was only five years old."

A single tear made its way down his cheek and he frantically wiped it away with the back of his hand. "I stopped going to work, to take care of them. I tried to make them eat, I boiled the water because I had heard that the sickness was caused by polluted water and that boiling it would decontaminate it..."

"I – I've never been this scared in my life, Margaret. I was twelve years old, I did not know what to do." His voice trembled, thick with emotion and Margaret had to fight her own tears as she clung to him.

"I watched them fade away right before my eyes", he choked out. "My little sister, Margaret! She was so young!" He could not go on.

Out of impulse her hands cupped his cheeks, her own eyes blurry with unshed tears, as she kissed his face. She trailed soft kisses from his forehead, down his right temple to his cheek. She felt him respond by leaning into her touch, his hands tightening on her upper arms.

"In the end, I fell ill myself", he finally continued. "I swear I have never been this sick in my life. I thought I was going to die. I threw up all over myself and passed out in the street..."

"I came to, days later, in the house of the neighbour who had always looked after Fanny. She and some other women had taken care of me and saved my life. That's when they told me – " He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily. But Margaret did not need to hear the rest.

She remembered how she had felt when she had learned of the death of her father. To realize that she was now completely alone in this world. It had been as if her life had ended right then and there, like the sun would never rise again.

How could someone go on when everyone they had loved – everyone who had loved them – was suddenly gone, wiped off the surface of the earth forever.

And she had had Mr. Bell, and the Latimers, and Dixon who had still been there to tend to her during those first, gloomy days. She had had aunt Shaw and Edith and had always been certain that she would be taken care of, that someone would provide for her. Such had not been the case for him.

"I could not stay at our lodging", he continued, drawing her attention back to their conversation. "As soon as my family had been buried, the landlord came for me. He made me scrape together the handful of my belongings and took me to the workhouse himself..."

"He said it would be for the best. I'd have a roof above my head and something to eat. In theory that was true, but those were the worst two years of my life", he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"There were many children there. They were all separated from their parents. There was a men's ward, a women's ward and a children's ward", he explained.

"Us boys slept in one big dormitory, four boys per bed."

"Four?", she exclaimed, stunned. He only nodded.

"I remember there was this little lad who would wet the bed. The stench was unbearable. One of the older boys told the overseer once, and as a result, the culprit was almost beaten to death.

We tried to cover for him afterwards and bore it silently, but there were always some boys who did not care. One had to be careful that they did not witness anything they could use to their own advantage.

We were rented out to do hard labour in a nearby brick factory. It was even worse than mill work, having to drag around heavy bricks all day. There was food, but it was not enough to sustain us through the hard work, and they would restrict our food rations for any offence we committed. Those offences included things like working too slow or throwing the overseer a cross look as he yelled at you."

"And you were beaten there?", she asked slowly, remembering the scars on his back, as she felt anger and disgust at those people rise in her.

"Yes, several times, and locked inside the detention cell." "What did you do?", she wondered, never taking her eyes off his face. She could hardly believe what he was telling her.

"It was mainly for stealing food", he told her matter-of-factly. "We all did it, whenever we had the chance. Sometimes it went unnoticed, but when they did catch you, the consequences were rather severe. It did not keep us from trying again, however. We were too hungry for that. And I remember there was one incident where I was beaten within an inch of my life and then jailed for three days without food."

Margaret's eyes widened. Who on earth would do such a thing – to a child?! "What happened?"

She saw a faint blush appear on his cheeks. "I'm not sure you want to know", he said with an embarrassed little smirk, looking down. "Tell me", she urged him curiously.

"I – kissed a girl", he muttered. Stunned, she did not know what to say to that.

He gave a little shrug. "Her name was Ellie. She lived in the girl's ward and I had seen her from afar a few times. I thought her very pretty. I was fourteen and just beginning to figure things out – you know – how I felt about girls and all of that..."

"I think she did like me too, and sometimes, when no one was looking, we would meet behind the brick wall and talk a little and she would hold my hand..."

"Then one day, I just kissed her. On the lips. No one had told me that it was improper. My mother had died before she had had a chance to explain these things to me. I had seen older lads kiss girls in the street before, and I – just wanted to try, I suppose. I think it could have been nice, had not the overseer walked around the corner just then. I never saw her again after that. I think they made sure she came nowhere near the boy's ward ever again."

There was a slightly painful look on his face. Margaret interlaced her fingers with his, once again snuggling up to him. As much as she disliked the idea of him kissing anyone but herself, she could not help but feel saddened by how his first experience of tenderness had turned into something so traumatic.

A few minutes passed, without another word. She took comfort in his warmth and the beating of his heart beneath her fingertips, which she had placed against his chest.

"How did you get out of there?", she finally inquired. "There was this old woman, a Mrs. Taylor. She lived on Dale Street, near the brick factory where they sent us to work..."

"On my way there I had once picked up a basket of apples for her, which she had dropped. She gave me an apple for that. Then I met her a few times by chance as we were walking to and from the factory and she would sometimes slip me a piece of bread or fruit..."

"Eventually, she asked me if I was interested in moving in with her. She had worked at Harrison's mill and was getting too old for work. She had no one to provide for her, so she offered to let me stay with her if I went to work at the mill instead of her. I readily agreed, knowing full well that anything would be better than the workhouse. So, she went there and got them to discharge me. I'll always be thankful to her for that."

"What became of her?", she asked. "She died a few years later, shortly after I had started work as a draper's apprentice. I took the opportunity to move out of Princeton. I was nineteen then."

"So you had worked as at the mills up until then?" "Yes, from the age of fourteen, I first worked at Harrison's for a little over a year, until the fire. I could not work for two months after that with my injured arm. Luckily, I had managed to save up a bit to get us through. Then I started working right here, at Marlborough Mills."

"Really?", Margaret asked, astonished. "I didn't know you worked here before you became master." He nodded with a little smirk.

"I started in the carding room and then became a weaver until I applied for work at the draper shop in Lever Street. I was still interested in the trade and it was paid better than mill work. I never thought they would give me a job, but they did and I made sure to keep sharp to my time and work hard..."

"I still remembered a lot of what my father had taught me and was able to put it to good use, so Mr. Clarke, the draper, promoted me to be his assistant after a few months."

There was a sense of pride in him, as he said this, which made her smile. Finally, there was a glint of something happy in that dreadful tale of his upbringing.

"You know", she told him, remembering something, "Mrs. Eldon, Mrs. Latimer's sister told me once, that she met you there – at the shop." "That is possible", he mused. "I can't say I remember, but we had a lot of customers."

"Do you know what she told me?", Margaret had to fight a smirk. "What?" "She said that you were explaining something to her, but she was busy appreciating your fine face."

He let out a chuckle at that. "What?" "It's true", she laughed, as she saw him blush. "I would bet you cut quite a fine figure, even at that young an age." It felt incredibly good to have arrived at a bit of a lighter topic, after all the painful things he had recounted.

"I wouldn't know about that", he smirked, leaning down to brush his cheek against hers, enjoying their closeness for a moment.

"So", she finally said, "how did you go from a draper's assistant to master of Marlborough Mills?"

"The shop did business with the mill, buying cloth from them, and I was sent there regularly on business meetings. The former master, Mr. Downey noticed my interest in the machinery and the manufacturing process. Surprisingly he recalled my name having been on his payroll once, and said he admired my ambition."

"He eventually asked me to start working as his overseer and personal assistant, offering to pay me the same amount I had made at Mr. Clarke's, which was a pretty good income for that kind of work. I seized the opportunity and took him up on his offer, and it turned out that he had set his mind to promoting me..."

"He was almost seventy years then, unmarried and childless and I think it was his plan from the start to eventually hand over his business to me..."

"I worked for him for three years, learning everything from the mechanical workings of the machines and how to repair them, to the quality of raw cotton, to accounting and handling money affairs. I was eager to learn. Whenever I was not working, I was reading. I would go to the local library and read anything that seemed useful. Not only about manufacturing, I would also try to learn how to – you know – conduct myself in society", he said, blushing slightly once more.

"I read an instruction on ballroom dancing and would practice it in my room at night", he smirked, not meeting her eyes. "I would read about table manners and how to dress properly, how to address a gentleman or a lady, anything I felt I needed to know."

Margaret tried to imagine a young John, as he practised tying a cravat, looking down at an open book, holding instructions, and had to giggle.

"John, this is incredible", she told him honestly. "My aunt Shaw took almost ten years to teach me those things. I was not a very eager pupil, I have to admit. It was hard work for me, and I had a dedicated teacher and had grown up in a place where these things were part of our everyday routine. I can't imagine learning all of it on your own from books."

"Well, you did seem to see right through it, Margaret", he smiled at her smugly. "It seemed clear to you from the start that I was anything but a gentleman." "Oh God, let's not go there, shall we", she muttered with a wry smile, as she buried her face in his neck and his hand came up to stroke her hair.

"So, then you did take over Marlborough Mills?", she asked finally. "Yes. Mr. Clarke retired after three years, leaving me in charge of the business, although he still owned most of the mill and lived in the mill house..."

"I had made enough money to repay my father's debtors by then and was able to put some money to the side, so when he died two years later, leaving me his share of the enterprise, I was able to take over seamlessly."

"Wait…you repaid your father's debtors?", she gasped, gaping at him in astonishment. "After over ten years?" He nodded solemnly. "The ones I could still track down, mind you. I felt obligated to do so. I had to clear my family's name, now that I was able to do so."

His eyes met hers as she looked at him with a warm expression. "Do you have any idea how much I admire you?", she whispered eventually. She saw him swallow visibly.

"You flatter me, dearest. I'm sure I have many faults", he confessed. "None of consequence", she replied, touching her forehead to his. "We are all human after all."

They sat like this for what seemed an eternity, listening to the crackling of the fire. Their tea had gone cold, neither of them having touched it.

"Thank you, John", she whispered after a long while. "For sharing all of this with me. I imagine it could not have been easy."

He shook his head, his forehead rubbing against hers where they still touched. "It felt good to share these things with you", he admitted. "It feels like they weigh on me less now that you know."

"I'm glad of it", she whispered, as she slowly traced his jawline with her finger. She loved being able to touch him this freely. Before they had married, she would never have guessed that this physical contact could give her such comfort, but now she could not imagine living without it.

"I suppose that leaves only one more thing for me to wonder about", she chuckled nervously after a while. "Now what would that be?", he inquired in a low voice.

She felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment at the trail her thoughts had taken. "Oh, I don't know, it's very personal, I suppose. You don't have to tell me." She hid her face in his shoulder, wishing she had not said anything.

She felt him place his finger under her chin to gently lift her head. "Margaret, I gave you permission to ask me anything, remember?" She bit her lip.

"You – you mentioned kissing that girl at the workhouse. And I know you – you've been with women." Her face felt like it was on fire now and she quickly covered it with her hands.

"I was only wondering – how many women did you kiss before me, John? How many women did you make love with?"

She felt his hands on hers, gently drawing them away from her face. She met his gaze and wished she could take back her words. "You don't need to answer that, honestly, you don't!", she rushed to assure him.

Then she caught the look of adoration in his eyes. "I told you before, dearest, there is only one woman I have ever made love with", he told her tenderly, pressing a quick kiss to her lips. She could not help but smile. "You know that's not what I meant."

He breathed out a shaky little laugh. "Oh dear", he muttered, dropping his head back against the headrest, looking up at the ceiling. She saw him bob his head slightly a few times with a far-off look, almost as if he was silently counting something.

Then he looked at her a bit self-consciously. "I can't recall how many women I kissed before you exactly, I am positive that, including the workhouse girl, it must have been more than five, but definitely less than ten."

She pondered his answer for a moment, unsure how to feel about it. "And – the other thing?", she then asked, uncertainly.

"You mean how many women I – fucked?" She gasped, her mouth falling open in utter shock at his deliberate use of such profanity. She saw the corners of his mouth twitch brazenly, and it was clear to her that his wording had been intentional, showing her exactly where he came from.

It was astonishing how well he could usually hide his background, and how effortlessly he seemed to be able to switch between a gentleman entrepreneur and a pauper boy.

She had no time to ponder this issue further. "Four", he told her, looking down at his hand, holding up four fingers. "With two of them, I only did it once. The other two – I saw repeatedly."

He searched her face, trying to gauge her reaction, a bit unsure of himself. He wished to be honest with her, but at the same time, he was afraid of hurting her.

He knew he could not have born it, had their roles been reversed. He could not have born the thought of her in another's arms. His reaction to seeing her at Outward station that night, believing her brother to be a lover, had been enough to assure him of that.

"There was never any attachment", he rushed to reassure her. "It was a silent agreement that I would go to their place, we would seek physical relief together and then I would leave. I never stayed the night. I never felt anything for them apart from lust."

Margaret looked down at her lap, chewing her lip absentmindedly and he felt a pang of guilt. "Did they?", she whispered. "Feel anything for you?" Her question took him somewhat aback. He had never thought about it.

"I – I don't know", he confessed. "We never spoke of it. I don't think they did. There was never much tenderness in them."

He slowly reached out his hand to hers, almost afraid she would pull it away after what he had told her, only to feel relief wash over him, as she took it willingly, intertwining her fingers with his.

"They never touched me this gently", he murmured, his eyes darkening slightly as they bore into hers. "They never looked into my eyes when our bodies joined. They never cried out my name at the peak of their pleasure. And they never held me in their arms afterwards, as you do, Margaret", he breathed.

She looked up at him with big eyes, so full of love that he felt himself melt under her gaze. "I'm sorry", he croaked out. "Had I known then, I would not have-" "Hush!", she whispered, tracing her finger over the back of his hand. "You could not have known. Don't worry about it, John. I asked."

"I still feel bad about it", he confessed. "I wish I had waited for you." She shook her head slowly. "The past does not matter, John. You are here with me now and we will never be parted. That is all that matters."

He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her tightly, his eyes closing as he felt her body pressing so intimately against his.

"God, I love you so much", he sighed. "What did I do to deserve you?" "I ask myself the same question every single time I look into your eyes", she hummed into his shoulder.

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They left their cold tea in his study, as they retreated upstairs to the bedroom.

That night they lay next to each other under the bed covers for the longest time. They each lay on their side, facing each other.

There was no rush, only soft touches and whispered kisses, as they revelled in every small gasp and sigh. It felt as if they had reached a new level of intimacy in their relationship. One that was not entirely physical.

The trust he had put in her in opening up to her in such a way, and the things she had learned about him had forged an invisible bond between them.

There was no need to speak, for it felt like they could instinctively sense each other's needs, and when he finally entered her with a shaky breath and she wrapped herself around him, letting her hands wander all over his body in sweet caresses, making him shiver and moan her name, it felt as though their souls were touching each other in ways they never had before.

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NOTE:

We have only got three chapters left, but I don't want to rush the editing too much and since I will be on vacation in the first week of July, I will probably not manage to finish this off before. But will bring it to a close after my vacation.

Kind of crazy to think that we're actually nearing the end of this story. It's been a ride!