Happy weekend everyone! I had planned on updating twice this week, but it seems that my own dating life has kind of taken off unexpectedly, so I was a bit preoccupied ;)

Smut warning for this chapter (there seem to be a lot of them in this story, lol).

Chapter 7

About four and a half months into their marriage, Margaret noticed the first signs. They were subtle in the beginning: She felt tired and slightly more irritable without any obvious reason. Then, she noticed that her monthly cycle had not occurred as it used to.

When she woke a few days later, and, upon trying to get out of bed, was hit by a fit of nausea so strong that all she could do was stumble over to the washing bowl and relieve the contents her stomach into it, she knew it was time to call for Dr. Donaldson.

She was glad that John had already been up early that day, working in his office, so he had not noticed her fit of sickness, for she did not want to worry him unnecessarily. She sent Jane to call for the Doctor and a mere hour later, he confirmed what Margaret had already suspected: She was with child.

Afterwards, she sat in a chair, in the upstairs sitting room, in a complete daze, her hands absentmindedly tracing gentle circles on her belly, now still unchanged, hiding her secret from the world. She felt like crying with happiness, feeling completely overwhelmed by it all. What would John say? Dear Lord, she needed to tell him. Tonight, after dinner, when he had settled down enough from his mill duties to be able to receive this news.

She stood by the window, watching the workers leave for the night, and shortly thereafter her heart gave a nervous little flutter when she saw the door to the office open, as her husband stepped out. Oblivious to her observation of him, he made his way across the yard and towards their home.

He was in shirtsleeves, two fingers linked into the collar of his frock coat which was dangling from his left shoulder. She saw him give a little smile, as he looked towards the house and suddenly had to fight back tears. It seemed she was very emotional these days.

During dinner she tried to look neutral and unsuspicious, listening intently, as he told her of his day at the mill, of some big order which had come in, and of the fact that some leather straps in the weaving room needed to be replaced. "You are awfully quiet today, dearest", he eventually declared, observing her with a slightly worried look.

"I am fine, I'm just a little tired", she told him quickly, while piling some more boiled potatoes onto her plate. "

After they had finished eating, she took his hand and they retreated to the upstairs sitting room. This in itself was not unusual, as they often spent their evenings there, but today something felt different to John. There was a strange look on his wife's face. She looked almost…nervous.

"Margaret, what is the matter?", he inquired, as she sat him down on the settee before taking a seat beside him.

She took his hand in hers and he saw her swallow. "Dearest, you are worrying me!", he exclaimed with a pang of concern, but she quickly shook her head and lifted her eyes to his. "No, John. It's nothing worrying. I just – I need to tell you – " And then her eyes welled up with tears as she took both his hands in hers and brought them to her chest, so he could feel the wild thumping of her heart.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and smiled up at him happily. "You are going to be a father, John."

For a long minute, he just stared at her, unmoving, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging slightly open. Then his gaze dropped from her eyes down to her belly.

He withdrew his right hand from her grip and very gently placed it there, as her words finally sank in. "Dear God, can it be true? You – you are carrying my babe?", he breathed, his eyes suddenly moist. Her hand was on his cheek, willing him to look at her. "I have only known since this morning. There were some signs, so I called for Dr. Donaldson and he confirmed what I had suspected."

She watched his face break out into the most glorious, teary-eyed smile, she had ever seen. "Oh Margaret!", he exclaimed, as he pulled her into his arms and pressed her to him, as if he would never let go of her again. "Margaret, you cannot know how happy you have made me. This is – ", he struggled for words, pulling away from her enough to find her lips with his.

Neither of them knew how long they sat like this, clinging to each other, both utterly overwhelmed with this life-changing news. "We are going to be a real family now", she eventually whispered to him. He slowly raised his head to look at her in wonder. "I – ", he struggled to contain his emotion, "I never thought I would ever have a family again." He leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers and closing his eyes.

"John", she whispered. "Let us retire. I need my husband tonight." His eyes flew open to stare at her uncertainly. "But Margaret, can we – is it – ", he gestured towards her belly with a questioning look. "There is no need to worry, it's perfectly safe", she told him. "I asked Dr. Donaldson. We should refrain for the final few weeks before the birth, but until then, there is no need to hold back."

He still looked a bit unsure, so she leaned forward and captured his lips in a passionate kiss, drawing a moan from him, as she nibbled at his lower lip. She let out a shriek when suddenly, in one swift movement, she felt herself being lifted into his arms, as he carried her out of the sitting room and through the hallway towards their bedroom door.

"John!", she gasped, laughing, "what if the servants see." "The servants have surely been made aware of our activities on various occasions, Mrs. Thornton. It's not like there are many quiet nights in this house." Margaret felt like her face was burning up at his words, even as she leaned into him, to kiss him, almost causing him to stumble. He quickly caught himself. "Dear Lord, woman, you're going to break both our necks."

"No one asked you to carry me. I'm pregnant, not an invalid. I can walk." He shook his head with a smirk, kissing her once more. "You will not escape these arms. Not when it feels this good to hold you."

They had reached the bedroom door and he pushed it open with his back, stumbling in. He kicked the door closed behind them and put her down, only to start fumbling with her dress and then her corset. His hands knew exactly what to do, having practiced undressing her countless times now and a few moments later he placed her on the bed in only her chemise, as he sank down on top of her, carefully propping himself up on his elbows so as not to crush her with his weight.

She smiled up at him in between kisses. "Do you remember the first time you carried me like you did tonight?" It had been on that fateful day, so long ago, when he had saved her from those two wretches in Princeton and then had to carry her over a mile through town, because she had sprained her ankle.

"How could I forget", he moaned as her hands slid down the side of his neck to caress his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt. "It felt like torture. I wanted you even then", he confessed, breathing heavily. "It's a good thing I did not realize", she told him plainly. "I was scared out of my wits as it was." "I'm glad you changed your mind", he murmured as he pressed his lips to the base of her throat, causing her head to fall back with a sigh.

Something in his touch was different tonight. It was sweet, gentle – none of which was unusual, but tonight he seemed much more careful, as if afraid of breaking something. She briefly considered telling him that she was not made of glass, but something held her back, touched by his consideration and the fact that he cared so much.

So she tried to show him instead, growing bolder, turning them, so she was on top of him and pushing him back into the bed with determination. With one vigorous movement, she yanked his shirt open, sending one of the buttons flying, as it was torn from its thread.

She tugged the garment up hastily, making him sit up to pull it over his head, only to push him back down again. She threw one of her legs over him, straddling him, as she settled her weight onto his crotch.

He let out a whimper when her fingernails gently grazed down the naked skin of his chest. She bent forward and started kissing one of his nipples. "Mar – garethhh!" His hips bucked involuntarily against her, as his fingers found their way into her hair, part of which had come loose from its pins. She pulled her chemise over her head, and all he could do was stare at her naked body above him, her skin glowing in the light from the fireplace.

Her hands fumbled with the fly of his pants, pulling them down with urgency, quickly followed by his drawers. And then her lips were on his, her hands all over his chest, as she started grinding into him, her folds rubbing against his manhood in sensual agony.

He felt like he was going to faint, as the room spun around him. She knocked the air right out of him, leaving him a quivering mess, begging for mercy. "Margaret! P – please." And then she reached behind her, grabbing him, lifting herself, and finally sinking down on him with a moan, taking him in all the way, right down to his base, her wet tightness engulfing him, threatening to push him over the edge right then and there.

She started a slow tantalizing rhythm, lifting herself up onto her knees and sinking down on him again and again, gasping every time his tip hit her inner wall. His hips moved to meet her, his hands on her buttocks as he lay, defenseless, watching in fascination as her breasts bounced up and down with every movement. It was like a feverish dream. Her perfect body, now carrying his child, connected with his, moving as one.

She increased the pace of her rhythm, now pushing down on him with such vigour that it was all he could do to keep from screaming. "Margaret – you – you feel too good, I – I can't", he cried, gasping for breath.

It was just then that she threw her head back and let out a strangled cry. He felt her inner walls starting to clench around him over and over, pushing him over the edge, and he spilled into her, her name falling from his lips in a series of throaty groans.

She collapsed against him, her breasts pressing into his bare chest, her face buried in the crook of his neck, as her arms wrapped around him tightly. He lay with his eyes glazed over, delirious, drunk with his love for her and all the things she made him feel. The back of his hand glided down her bare arm in a feather-light touch.

He wanted to tell her how much he loved her, that she was the world to him, that he was so happy about their baby, but all words failed him. After a while, she moved to pull the bed covers over them, before settling her body against his again and closing her eyes. No more was spoken as they both drifted off into sleep, too exhausted by their nightly activities as well as the emotions which had overwhelmed them.

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Once more his eyes flew open in the middle of the night. He found himself still lying on his back, the warm body of his wife entangled with his. He barely dared to breathe, let alone move for fear of waking her. He attempted to just close his eyes, but instantly the images were back once more, stronger than ever, so vivid that he felt like crying out against them, to scream at them to leave him alone.

Dear God, he was going to be a father. The thought thrilled him beyond anything he had ever experienced and yet – at the same time, it felt like it made his throat tighten painfully, threatening to choke him. How could he be a father? Have a family? The one thing, he had accepted long ago, that life would never grant him.

It felt like he was trying to cheat the odds, taking back something destiny had ripped from him, something that he felt like he was not supposed to have. What if he was not strong enough?

He knew there was a seed of something dark inside him, the very same thing that had taken his father. What if John was like him? What if he failed them?

He felt a deadly fear grip him, paralyzing him. He could not breathe. Gasping he pulled himself out from under his lover and staggered out of bed and over to the wash basin. He poured some cold water into it and sprawled it across his face in a desperate attempt to wake himself out of his fit of anxiety.

"John?" He closed his eyes, biting his lip. He had woken her. Slowly he turned towards the bed to see Margaret, propping herself up on her elbow, her eyes searching him in the dark. "John, is everything alright?" He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice even.

"I'm fine, I just needed a drink of water", he quickly said, quickly slipping back in bed next to her. She snuggled up to him, pressing a gentle kiss to his jawline, before quickly drifting off again with a sigh.

He held her, closing his eyes, even though he knew sleep would escape him for the rest of the night. He would brave it out for her sake. He had to.

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Within the first few days of telling John about the baby, Margaret noticed a change in her husband. At first, she could not point her finger to what it was exactly. He appeared to be somewhat unsettled, like something was troubling him.

Whenever they were together, she felt his eyes on her, as if he was watching her every move, making sure she was alright. He would make sudden appearances at the mill house during the day, which was highly unusual, as he tended to be so busy in his office with all the work. He would never stay long, but would always inquire how she was feeling and press soft kisses to her cheeks and lips and pull her into a tender embrace.

She thought it sweet and greatly enjoyed his attentions, and yet there was something about them that felt a bit off. It almost felt like he had to continuously reassure himself that she was still alive and well. She did not dare mention it, for fear of hurting him by questioning his little tokens of love.

But then, a few days later, it became plainly obvious that something was decidedly wrong.

"What are your plans for tomorrow?", he asked, looking up at her from the book he was reading. "I will go to Francis Street to see the children. I have a new book for Tommy. He is reading full stories now and…"

She stopped when she saw the look on his face. He closed the book slowly and put it aside, gazing directly at her with an anxious expression. "Margaret –", he started in a low voice. "I know you enjoy your visits to Princeton, but…" He hesitated. "But?", she inquired. "But – I'm asking you not to go." She looked at him incredulously. "Why not?"

He shook his head, searching for words. "I don't like the thought of you being there. I never did, but now I – please, don't go." His eyes were practically pleading with her, making her bite back the harsh remark she had been about to spit at him. She got up from her chair and strode over to him, crouching down before him, to look up into his face worriedly.

"John, pray, tell me, what is the matter? You have been behaving strangely these past few days. You know I have gone to Princeton hundreds of times and I was always fine." "Not always", he reminded her. "I had to beat up two drunkards and carry you out of there once." "That was after dark, and it was my own, stupid mistake. I was new to the city; I did not know any better. But I know these streets well now, John. I have friends there. Nothing is going to happen."

"You cannot know that!", he ground out, obviously distressed. "You don't know the place like I do, Margaret. May I remind you that I grew up there? I have seen things happen there – things happen to women, Margaret." She bit her lip, knowing that there was no point in arguing these things with him. There was no denying that he knew Princeton inside out, and likely had valid reasons for his worries, even if she was certain that she would be safe.

"Is this about the baby?", she asked bluntly, knowing that it could be the only reason for his sudden decision to not want there at all anymore. He looked down at his hands. She saw a muscle twitch in his jaw and her heart went out to him. "John, dear", she whispered, grasping his hands in hers, "nothing is going to happen to the baby. I promise you."

She saw his lip quiver, his eyes still not meeting hers. She lifted her hand to put a finger under his chin, making him look at her. "Please", he breathed. "Don't go. Not on your own. I'll – I'll go there with you if you must." She stared at him in shock. "But – John, I know you hate going there. I would not want to make you uncomfortable."

He shook his head gravely. "It does not matter, I will come. As many times as you want. We can go there every evening, if we must. Just promise me that you won't go on your own." Her mouth fell open at this proposal. Was he really this desperate? His worry seemed inordinate to her, but the anguish on his face left her with no choice but to yield. Whatever it was that put him into such distress, she could not do it to him. She loved him too much for that.

"Alright, John", she concluded, giving his hand a squeeze. "If you insist, I will wait for you to accompany me. Do you have time tomorrow?" He gave a small sigh, dropping his gaze once more, and for a moment she thought he would withdraw his offer. But then he nodded. "I will finish work early and we can go there before dinner, while it's still daylight", he stated in a low voice.

She lifted her face and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. "Thank you", she whispered.

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It looks like things are seriously coming to a head for John. I wonder what will happen when he goes back to Princeton.