Margaret's mother has been buried; Thornton has seen, and misunderstood, the scene at Outwood.


Chapter 3

"I loved her against reason, against promise, against peace, against hope, against happiness, against all discouragement that could be."- Charles Dickens

-OO-

"Madam is out this morning, but Master's 'ere," the servant informed Margaret. Margaret doubted, hesitated, decided, and was shown to the door where she was announced, "Miss Hale, Sir."

He stood up as she entered, grave and quiet, his eyes narrowed in a little frown, and said immediately, "I am so sorry about your mother's death, Miss Hale."

She nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak; in these days of grief, the merest kindness in a voice, even this one, especially this one, made the tears threaten anew.

"I would have visited before. But Mr Bell assured me you and your father were well taken care of."

Seeing the distress she was fighting to get past, he swung around and looked out of the window to give her a moment. When he looked back, she had composed herself and was standing all erect with her round little chin firm and uptilted. Her mourning dress suited her, brought out the porcelain translucence of her pretty face and neck; a small frill of lace brought a stop to his eyes' descent. He pulled himself up on it, cursed himself for noticing. At a time like this - !

"Thank you for coming to the funeral, Mr Thornton. It was kind of you and your family to attend. She had so few friends in Milton."

"I presume Mr Lennox is staying with you?"

Her face must have shown her surprise. "Why – no. Why would you think so?"

"Mr Bell made a particular point of letting me know. That he takes... an interest."

Margaret felt herself blush, a pinkness starting at her nose, spreading over her cheeks and to the tips of her ears. She knew he had seen it as he turned on his heel and stared at the bookshelf with his hands in his pockets as if examining the spines most carefully. She had to explain or he would misunderstand the cause of her embarrassment.

She said firmly, "Mr Thornton – Mr Lennox and I have no... special friendship. I don't know why you assume so."

Spinning back to face her, "You 'don't know why I might assume so.' Bell is a mischief-maker, I do know that," he said with a flare of temper. "He specifically warned me off visiting you by suggesting Lennox would be there."

She did not understand. "You are not afraid of Henry, are you? You did not seem so at the Exhibition."

This called up a deep dark scowl - "Afraid of Henry? No, I'm not afraid of Henry. You're not understandin', Miss Hale, let's leave it there."

"I don't understand at all, I agree. Why would Mr Bell's mentioning Henry to you cause mischief?" she was really puzzled.

He said, tightly, grimly, "Because, Miss Hale, Bell was, intentionally and with some cruelty, framing us both as... rivals." Seeing she still looked uncomprehending – "Both of us potential suitors, Miss Hale. Are you with me now?"

Now her blush was fiery and widespread. "I can assure you, Mr Thornton, Henry is no suitor of mine," she was so indignant as she said it he knew it must be true.

"I am not so sure Henry knows that," he muttered, swinging away to hide the spurt of emotion at her reaction.

"He does know it, Mr Thornton. I – " she could not finish, it was too private, more on Henry's part than her own.

He turned back again, suddenly knowing, and finding it more enraging than comforting. "Ah! Now I see. He is another of your rejected suitors," he sneered. "Another man who lost his heart to you and was turned down? Did you find the words easier this time – the words you did not have the experience for? And then now there is a third suitor! One much more acceptable to you. One so tempting you feel no shame embracing him in a public place late at night!"

"It was not – " she began

He was completely still, narrowed slate-grey eyes trained fiercely on her face. Sometimes she had seen them bluer than this, under the sky in Hyde Park when he was speaking of swans and a lifetime of love. She knew he was waiting for an explanation and was ready to analyse it, test it out with his sharp instinct for the truth. Feeling on trial before him angered her and instantly firmed her resolve.

"I don't need to explain myself to you, Mr Thornton," she said, turning away from him. "I have told you I am not unhappy with my own behaviour, and that should be enough."

Without knowing it, he had been holding his breath for her reply. He let it out in a long, harsh sigh. He briefly clenched his hands into fists, then let them, slowly, unfold.

"Well – now I know. This will amuse you, no doubt," he said bitterly. "Only recently I'd begun to think perhaps - that perhaps you liked me better than you once did. You seemed at ease with me at times. I thought it meant - this is the laughable part Miss Hale – I thought it meant more than it did -" he was upsetting himself with his own words, which would make him a figure of fun to her, but it seemed important she should know what this had done to him " – but how deluded I was. You are the sort of woman at ease in any man's arms! How foolish I must seem to you. Just one more man who's lost his heart to you. And I'm not even at the head of the queue."

Margaret felt her eyes fill up with tears at the injustice of it. She knew she was going to cry and she did, big tears splashing down onto her cheeks. "I must go," she gasped out and turned around blindly, groping for the way out.

He let her. Though the moment the door closed, because his emotions concerning her were so difficult, so confused, he bitterly regretted letting her leave in tears. He knew this was ridiculous of him, she could not have made it clearer she did not care for him or what he thought, but stupidly, he simply could not bear to see her sad.

He could have been kinder, surely. He had been so harsh he had made her cry. The thought of her running out in tears at his cruelty seemed to hurt him as much as she had hurt him.

But maybe it was better this way, when he did not trust himself. It would have been a risky comfort from him; his urges this time were not so pure. Angry and desiring all at once, wanting to claim what another man had been so eagerly given, and claim it better.

This young woman had just seen her mother buried, not two days before. Why had he had to let his own jealousy spill out on this day of all days? How could he have put himself and his pointless feelings, which were not her fault, ahead of her genuine grief?

-OO-

He had other problems. The whole of his world seemed to be trouble. Darkness every way he looked and no-one to help him fight. And now this: a huge rift between himself and Margaret, dangerous with misunderstandings .


Author's notes:

Thank you to LM and A who left such lovely reviews! The answer to L is, there is a little bit more confrontation to come - not too much! before they can start moving towards their very happy HEA, including one of the sweetest (I think) chapters I ever wrote. :) The next chapter is a monster long one and moves them on considerably...

BTW all Dickens' quotations here come from David Copperfield, which seemed to have any number of very appropriate lines for this story