Hey everyone!
This is a little one-shot I wrote as part of a group anthology on AO3.
The premise was: Margaret learns (either through time travel or some other means) that she is going to marry John Thornton in the future. How would things unfold, if she knew?
So here is my apporach to that.
Lines of Time
London, May 1851
It almost seemed that the whole world had gathered in Hyde Park these days, for an event of such grandeur as no one had ever seen before.
The Crystal Palace, an enormous construction of iron and glass, which had been built especially for the Great Exhibition, was towering high above the trees, overlooking the Serpentine River. Inside, hundreds of exhibitors from all over the world were proudly showing their cultural heritage, products and inventions.
Margaret Hale followed her aunt Shaw through the Egyptian exhibition, her eyes lingering on the elaborately decorated stone columns on either side.
„I suppose it's only right that we have invited people from all over the empire, even if some of the exhibits are a little exotic", her aunt declared as she let her gaze roam about the room.
"I think it's wonderful. It seems as though all the world is here for us to see", Margaret exclaimed in astonishment.
She was sure that she had never seen anything quite like it and felt almost certain that she wouldn't again, and she was therefore determined to make the most of it.
It had been a long time since Margaret had allowed herself to enjoy a beautiful day out, without being preoccupied with her duties and worries.
Since moving to Milton, nine months before, she had rarely had the opportunity. The northern manufacturing town was not exactly famous for its cultural events. She had been made aware that there were concerts, but had never had the time to go, nor anyone who would have accompanied her there.
With her mother being so sick and downcast, Margaret felt ill at ease at leaving her for too long, and after all the things that had happened in the past few months, she had neither interest nor energy to go out and enjoy herself much.
But especially the past few weeks had been so draining and painful, that Margaret was secretly glad that her mother had persuaded her to go to London for a few days. It was a good opportunity to take her mind off things.
After learning that her dear mamma would not be with them for long, with an uncurable illness bound to take her from them prematurely, there had been the death of her beloved friend, Bessy. Then there had been the strike, which had taken a toll on everyone in Milton, it seemed.
It had ended in a riot at Marlborough Mills, and Margaret had found herself, involuntarily, in the midst of it all. Since that dreadful day, she had tried very hard to banish the images of those events from her mind.
The rioters, breaking down the mill gates, the shadows of the scared Irish workers behind the windows, on the upper floor of the factory, the look Mr Thornton had given her when she had told him that he needed to go down and face these men.
Then, moments later, realizing what she had done, and rushing after him to try and talk some sense into these people, before they stoned him to death, and – in the end – taking a blow to the head herself and collapsing in his arms.
If she had thought that that would be the worst of it, she had not counted on Thornton's visit, the next day, where he had asked for her hand in marriage and had been beyond affronted when she had declined his offer.
What had he expected? From the first moment the two of them had met, they had done nothing but quarrel. She had accused him of being unyielding and cruel towards his workers, and he had considered her naïve and idealistic.
His sudden declaration that he harboured deep feelings for her, had come so out of the blue, that Margaret sometimes still felt unsure whether she had not dreamt the entire conversation.
But then, there had been that look in his eyes, just before he had turned from her and rushed out of the room; a look she had never seen in him before. His eyes had been filled with something very raw and painful, an emotion so deep, that the sight of it had momentarily rendered her breathless.
It was this look, which had haunted her ever since, distracting her during the day and keeping her awake at night.
She had never been particularly fond of Mr Thornton. At the beginning of their acquaintance, she had even felt a great dislike towards him, which had gradually faded into an uneasy truce and, eventually, a sort of antagonistic companionship.
Being her father's favourite pupil, he had been a regular guest in their house, who had taken tea with them almost every week, so Margaret had grown used to his company and he had become a reliable part of her life in Milton.
She had come to recognize that he was one of the most handsome men she had ever met. He was educated - for a merchant - well-versed, and intelligent, and she could understand why many a young woman in Milton had her eyes set on him.
But not Margaret. She was not interested in him in this way, not in the slightest, she told herself firmly.
And yet, she had been unable to get him out of her head ever since that day of his proposal.
Her initial thought had been that his offer had arisen solely from his sense of obligation, after she had publicly thrown herself at him, to save him from the rioters. That he had merely attempted to save her reputation.
But the more she had thought about it, the more uncertain of this she had become. If his intentions had been nothing but that, why on earth had he looked at her like that – like she had torn out his heart?
"I spoke to you about my feelings, because I love you, I had no thought for your reputation." Those had been his words, and however much Margaret had tried to forget them, she could not.
"Margaret?"
Her aunt's voice pulled her out of her musings, and she realized that, once again, her thoughts had strayed into the very direction she had tried to avoid at all costs, especially on a day like this, when she had promised herself that she would enjoy their outing and not allow any gloomy thoughts to ruin her mood.
She looked up at aunt Shaw, who was craning her neck over the crowd to try and find Edith and Captain Lennox, who had walked on without them. "I think they have gone to the Indian section."
They made their way past the Crystal Fountain and across the south transept, to where Margaret's cousin was already admiring a selection of Indian shawls, and together, they walked along a long row of glass cases, looking at the various displays and commenting on them, until they finally reached the end of the room, where their attention was caught by a sort of tent, made of various colourful fabrics.
There was a sign right next to it:
Remember your past, look into your future, know your fortune.
"Oh, it is a fortune teller!", Edith exclaimed excitedly, quickly stepping closer to get a better look.
The curtains of the tent were drawn, and there were some people already waiting in line to step inside, one at a time, and have their fortune told.
"Margaret, let us try! I would love to learn about my future!"
Margaret felt herself being dragged closer to the tent by her cousin. "I don't know, Edith", she murmured doubtfully. "I do not think-"
"Oh come, it will be such great fun!", Edith declared with a delighted tone in her voice.
Margaret threw a glance over her shoulder towards her aunt, in hopes of being rescued, but Mrs Shaw stood a good distance away from them, engrossed in a conversation with Henry Lennox, who had just joined her.
Edith reached a hand into her reticule to withdraw some coins, and stood behind a group of other women, who were all giggling and chatting eagerly, while waiting their turn for a look into the future.
Margaret did not share in their joy. She had no desire to spend money on a fortune teller. She highly doubted that anyone was truly able to look into the future. It was likely just a fraud; an attempt to con money out of the gullible visitors of the Exhibition.
Of course, Edith would enjoy such a thing. Margaret watched as the curtains were pulled open for a few seconds. A young woman stepped out, giggling and waving at her friends who were still waiting.
The line moved forward a bit, as the next person stepped into the tent, and the curtains quickly fell closed again.
It took almost twenty minutes, a very long time, Margaret felt, for them to finally reach the entrance of the tent. She did not want to ponder all the interesting things they could have seen at the exhibition in that time, instead of wasting it on this useless venture.
Finally, Edith stepped into the tent and Margaret was left alone, impatiently rocking back and forth on her heels. What could a fortune teller possibly know about her future? She bit the inside of her cheek as she thought of her life.
With her best friend dead, her mother gravely ill, and few other people she was close to in Milton, the future did not hold much appeal to her, in fact, she rather would not have pondered it at all. The present was hard enough to deal with, without worrying about tomorrow.
While she was waiting for Edith to step out of the tent, the minutes felt like hours, time dragging on at an impossibly slow pace. Finally, the curtains flew open and her cousin stepped out, with a rather disappointed expression on her face. For a second, she caught Margaret's look, before quickly averting her eyes.
Worried, Margaret looked after her, as she walked over to aunt Shaw, who was admiring some Indian wallpapers.
"Step in", a voice could be heard from inside the tent, and Margaret's feet moved forward. A second later, the curtains fell closed behind her. She blinked for a moment, trying to grow accustomed to the dim light.
It was warm, the air stifling with the scent of burning incense. Margaret suppressed a cough, as her eyes grew accustomed to the light. There, on a cushion on the floor, sat a rather old woman. Her long hair was grey, her face wrinkled and her eyes had a strange, far-off look in them. Her skin was dark, and when she opened her mouth to speak, she did so with a thick accent.
"Sit down, my girl." She motioned toward another cushion on the floor, across from her. It looked rather uncomfortable, and it took Margaret a moment to navigate her dress in a way that enabled her to sit down.
The woman regarded her for a long moment, her eyes slowly moving her up and down, before settling themselves onto her face, staring straight into her eyes. Margaret swallowed, feeling quite uneasy.
"Give me your hands", the woman commanded in a husky voice, leaning forward and reaching out to Margaret. A bit hesitantly, she placed her hands in those of the other, who observed them carefully, and then turned them over, to look at her palms for a minute.
"I see."
Margaret bit the inside of her cheek and fought the urge to simply get up and leave. She was already feeling cross with Edith for having dragged her into this situation.
"I sense darkness", the woman murmured, still staring at Margaret's hands. "A gloomy place, cold, filled with loneliness. You were torn away from your beloved home, were you not?"
Margaret swallowed hard, when the woman lifted her gaze from their hands, to look into her face. Her eyes had an odd colour, a very light brown with a strange, orange glow in them.
"I see a great loss. Yes, you will lose people who are very close to you. There will be grief."
Margaret felt anger well up inside her, so strong that it almost brought tears to her eyes. What was the use of being told what she already knew? Of having a confirmation that her greatest fears, the things she had tried so hard to ignore, would come to pass?
She was just about to pull her hands out of the fortune teller's grasp and tell her to stop, when the old woman's eyes narrowed, as if she was intently staring at something in the distance.
"But wait-", she whispered. "There is something else. Someone."
Suddenly, her eyes widened. "Oh my dear, you are very lucky indeed!"
"W-what is it?", Margaret forced out, her voice trembling slightly. She wished the woman would just finish, so she could get out of this dreadful place.
"It appears", the fortune teller started, with a peculiar little smile on her lips, "that you have a soul link. It is something that is rare. Very rare indeed."
"A what?"
"There is someone you are irrevocably linked with. A deep love. A bond, connecting two souls through time, not to be broken, destined to find each other, over and over again."
The old woman's eyes narrowed slightly, apparently concentrating, trying to see something very far away. "There has been an injury", she whispered, almost more to herself than to Margaret. "I can sense pain. Hopelessness." Her eyes focussed once more and now they were staring directly into Margaret's. "A broken heart. You were offered a heart and you turned it down, did you not?"
Margaret did not know what to say or where to look. She shifted on her cushion uncomfortably. How could that woman know of these things? Was she merely taking very good guesses? Was it something she could somehow read on Margaret's face? Or did she truly see things no one else could possibly know?
Margaret had turned down two men in her life, Henry Lennox and Mr Thornton. Her parents and Dixon were aware of the former's proposal, but no one could possibly know of the latter. She had not told a soul. She could not.
"You are afraid", the woman said in a low voice. It was a statement, not a question.
"I – I don't quite understand", Margaret managed to choke out after a moment.
The fortune teller's hands tugged at hers, making her look straight into her face. "The man you turned away", she said slowly, "he was willing to give his life to you. I can sense his pain. His heart is sincere. But you are afraid. You feel you don't know him well. There is a divide between you both, that seems insurmountable, and yet, deep down, you know he is a good man. Deep down, your soul is linked with his."
Margaret could only gape at her in shock. What could the woman be speaking of? She was destined to be with a man she had turned away? But whom? Henry? Or Thornton?
No. It couldn't possibly be Thornton. Not in a million years. She did not even like him. Much.
She liked Henry. He had always been a friend to her. He was certainly more agreeable than Thornton, in many ways, but he was also a bit dull. He would likely provide her with a comfortable life, but one without much excitement, or even joy.
'Oh nonsense!', Margaret thought to herself, trying to shake herself out of her stupor. The old woman was merely making wild guesses, nothing more. She could not know anything of Margaret's life. She had never heard of such a thing as a soul link. It sounded like something the other had simply made up.
"I thank you for your time", Margaret forced out, pulling her hands from the woman's and rising to her feet. She pulled a coin out of her purse and dropped it into the small basket by the entrance that already held a good amount of money from curious listeners. "I'm sure you have other customers to tend to. I bid you a good day."
She turned, and was about to rush outside, when the woman's voice behind her halted her in her tracks.
"He is here, you know? Close by. Just beyond the water, where they make metal and steel come alive; looking much braver than he feels, as is his habit."
Margaret could not help but turn around at that. Close by? So, it was Henry then. He had made her a proposal and he was just outside the tent with aunt Shaw. But Henry…to be the man she was meant to be with?
'This is stupid! Why am I even listening to her?'
"He may seem distant, even sullen, now, but it is only out of hurt and fear. He is not as confident as he appears", the fortune teller went on. "Do not make the mistake of judging him prematurely. It would be regrettable indeed."
She was almost whispering now, fixing Margaret with her gaze, without blinking, appearing almost desperate to get her point across.
"Some things cannot be seen with our eyes. Only with our heart. Trust that it will show you the way."
The fortune teller fell silent. For a few seconds, Margaret just stood there, at the entrance of the tent, shaken by her words.
Then, finally pulling herself out of her daze, she nodded a farewell and, wordlessly, rushed from the tent.
The air felt cool on her face, in comparison to the hot stuffiness, she had just left behind. For some inexplicable reason, her heart was racing; she could hear it thrumming in her ears, as she quickly scanned the room for aunt Shaw and Edith. She discovered them at the far end of the hall, near the water fountain, and started making her way over to them.
Edith looked up at her cousin's approach. "So, what did you think of that fortune teller?", she asked immediately. "I have to say I did not enjoy it very much. She was talking a lot of nonsense, if you ask me. I regret having spent money on it. But Margaret, you look rather pale. Are you alright?"
Margaret quickly shook her head, trying to pull herself together. "It is nothing. It was very warm in there. And the woman was not very agreeable."
Edith linked her arm with Margaret's and started pulling her over to the water fountain, where Henry was standing with Maxwell Lennox. Margaret chanced a glance at him, to find him appearing quite relaxed, with a small, slightly complacent smile playing about his lips, as he let his eyes move over the exhibits near them, apparently greatly enjoying their outing.
He was a very handsome man, Margaret admitted to herself. He was successful, wealthy, and had good manners. He was a gentleman through and through. What was not to like?
'I cannot love him.' It was as simple as that.
As she walked a few steps behind him, following the group to the next section of the exhibition, she tried to imagine living with him, and found that she simply could not. As much as she liked him as a friend, spending her life with him was out of the question.
But her only other option was Mr Thornton, and that seemed even more unlikely, considering that the woman had said the man in question would be here, and Thornton was most definitely not anywhere near London.
Edith's voice broke through her musings: "I asked the woman about my hopes that you and I would one day be reunited again, Margaret. Both of our families living in a big house together, and you know what she said?"
Margaret shook her head silently, trying hard to concentrate on what Edith was talking about. "She told me that this would never happen. That you would find a home far away and would not care to move back to London. I don't want to believe it, dear cousin. What could that woman possibly know?"
Margaret's thoughts were still spinning. If she was destined to marry Henry, why would she not stay in London with Edith? It seemed the reasonable thing to do.
Margaret shook herself once more, forcing herself to let go of these thoughts and enjoy the rest of their day. Determined, she raised her head up high, and strode ahead of the others, who had stopped to admire some exotic vases, towards the "Machinery in Motion" section.
"You're all here to see this fine machinery. Technologically we're the envy of the world…"
She stopped dead in her tracks, frozen to the spot, her eyes staring blankly ahead, not seeing anything. It could not be…
"If only there was a mechanism to enable us all to live together. To take advantage of the great benefits that come from industry. But that will be for future generations."
Her feet moved, of their own accord, carrying her closer to the voice that was so familiar. A group of gentlemen was listening intently to a man speaking. And then he came into view, and her breath caught. It was him.
He was here. Mr Thornton. Standing there, in a dark coat, an elegant grey waistcoat and burgundy tie, looking more handsome than she had ever seen him, as he spoke to the men around him with such calm confidence, easily holding all of their attention and having them look up to him with admiration.
Margaret was hit by a strange dizzy spell.
They had crossed the central aisle with the big water fountain. Metal and steel coming alive – the "Machinery in Motion" section. Could it be? How could the woman know? But she could not, surely?
A man who had proposed to her and had been turned down. A man she did not know well; an insurmountable divide between them…
Oh God!
It wasn't Henry after all, but Mr Thornton? He was her soul link? The man she was destined to be with? How could it be?
She did not even like him!
'Or do you?', a little voice in the back of her head suddenly nagged her. 'Have you not been thinking of him constantly since that day? Going over every word he spoke to you, wondering if you made a mistake?'
Henry's proposal certainly had not thrown her so off balance. When he had asked her to be his wife, there had not been a moment's hesitation in turning him down, for she had felt certain that she would never feel anything but friendship towards him.
With Thornton…there had been shock at his unexpected proposal, anger at the thought that he was merely doing it to rescue her reputation, or worse, that he was seeking an opportunity to take possession of her, like some prize to be won.
Then, there had been astonishment at the obvious pain her refusal had caused him, guilt at having hurt him with her harsh words, and later, after he had left and her mind had had time to catch up with what had happened, wonder at the thought that he might, in fact, have been sincere in his declaration.
From the beginning of their acquaintance, she had had strong feelings about him, most of them negative, but nonetheless, strong. There had been repulsion, and yet, somewhere deep down, a peculiar attraction she had always tried to ignore, as though they were two orbs, circling around each other, unable to leave each other's sphere; and even at times when she had felt indignant at him, had revolted against his views and the treatment of his workers, she had been unable to take her eyes off him, to step away, somehow feeling drawn to him in ways she could not understand.
And on the day of the riot, when she had rushed out of the mill house to protect him from danger, she had felt such fear for him. It was true: She would have done the same for any other man, but the thought of him being hurt had been so unbearable to her.
Could it be…?
Margaret was torn out of her thoughts by the mention of her name: "Miss Hale here, knows the depths we men in Milton have fallen to. How we masters only strive to grind our workers into the ground."
It was then that Margaret realized that Mr Thornton was looking straight at her, as were the men who had listened to him only moments before. His words stung painfully, and she opened her mouth to form a reply, but did not seem to find her voice.
She caught his eyes - a mixture of surprise and irritation in them, and underneath, there was something else. It was the same pain, she had seen in them on the day he had stormed out of their drawing room, after she had thrown these cruel words at him.
"He may seem distant, even sullen, now, but it is only out of hurt and fear. He is not as confident as he appears…"
Suddenly, it was all too much. She tore her eyes away from his, spun around on her heels, and blindly stumbled away. She had no idea where she was going, all she knew was that she had to put as much distance between them as possible.
She rushed past various exhibits, turned a few corners, and finally found herself in a large, dark room, filled with huge colossuses of steel; wheels turning, cylinders moving back and forth, metal screeching. It was so noisy that her ears were ringing, as both her hands clung to the iron railing in front of her, and she leaned forward, trying to catch her breath and fighting another dizzy spell. She could not faint now!
"Miss Hale!"
Mr Thornton's voice was barely audible over the clanking of the machinery, and she did not respond, still trying hard to regain her balance.
A moment later, he was next to her and, unthinking, in his worry, his hand took hold of her upper arm, trying to steady her. "Miss Hale, are you all right?" His voice was full of concern, and after a few seconds, Margaret managed to raise her head enough to look up at him.
He seemed a bit pale, his eyes searching hers in apprehension. "Miss Hale, I must apologize for my words just now. They were unjust and uncalled for."
She still could not utter a single word. He was so close now, that she could feel the warmth of his body, as he held her, to keep her from falling, her knees still so weak. She looked into his face, trying hard to fight back the tears that were burning behind her eyes. She did not know why she felt like crying; all of it was so overwhelming.
It was the first time he had spoken to her since that day of his proposal, and with a pang, she realized how she had missed it, how much she had longed to hear his voice addressing her. The realization did not ease her mind one bit.
"Miss Hale, you are unwell. Please, allow me to assist you!" One of his arms came around her, his other hand still holding her, as she carefully started guiding her away from the noisy machines, and toward the central aisle.
She could only remember being this close to him one other time. It had been the day of the riot, when she had thrown her arms around his neck, to shield him from the angry mob.
Now, as they were walking, his head was bent slightly, his face closer to hers than he realized, making sure she would not stumble, and she could smell his cologne – a faint trace of cloves and sandalwood.
She did not know where they were going, too focussed on putting one foot in front of the other without tumbling to the ground in her weakened state, and then she felt a cool breeze hit her face, and realized that they had stepped out through one of the side exits and were standing in the open air, with the Serpentine river spread out, not far from them.
He gently led her to a nearby bench and helped her sit, before releasing her and bending closer, to search her face. "Miss Hale, should I go and get you something to drink? A glass of wine? Or a tonic water, to refresh you? You look very pale."
She shook her head slowly. "No I – I thank you", she managed eventually, trying to control a strange shiver that ran through her. She took a few deep breaths, before daring to look up at him.
"Mr Thornton I – " she swallowed. "Would you mind sitting with me for a moment?"
He stood, unsure of himself. In the past few minutes, he had gone through such a turmoil of emotions that he did not know how to feel anymore.
Seeing her there, so unexpectedly, had been like a blow to him. He had come all the way to London, only to find that he could not even escape her here. Oh, how he dreaded seeing her beautiful face, so sweet, yet able to inflict such pain in him with her looks, with the words she had spoken.
Since that day, the day she had shattered his heart, he had tried at all cost to avoid her. They had met once, in the street, with Mr Bell and the Latimers, and even though they had not spoken a word with each other, it had been pure torture.
He had tried to tell himself that he hated her, but he could not. He could never. Not when she looked so lovely, sitting there, with her pale face and her big, innocent eyes.
When he had seen her just then, moments ago, he had been so shocked, the pain inside him still so raw, that he had not known how to face her, and, unable to stop himself, he had lashed out, insulting her in front of all these people.
A second later, he had cursed his blasted mouth, wanting to take back his words. He had almost hoped that she would respond, would say something clever and face up to him, as she had done so many times in the past. But she had not uttered a single word.
Instead, she had turned and run, her face ashen, her feet unsteady, as if she was going to faint at any moment, and without another thought, he had rushed after her, his heart thrumming in his ears, sick with worry at having caused her such distress.
And now, she was sitting here, looking up at him almost shyly, and asking him to sit with her. Out here, on a bench, just the two of them, unchaperoned. He knew it was highly inappropriate, and yet, something in her eyes rendered him unable to refuse her.
Unsurely, he sank down onto the very edge of the bench, trying to keep as much space between them as possible.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Eventually, unable to bear the silence any longer, he muttered: "Miss Hale, my words to you in there were unforgivable. I cannot fathom what got into me. I sincerely beg your forgiveness."
She shook her head slowly, before turning toward him. Their eyes met and he forgot to breathe. She had never looked at him like that before. She appeared tired and a bit worn-out, but underneath it, there was something else. Something like wonder, almost as though she was seeing him for the very first time.
For a second, he thought he saw her eyes flicker down to his mouth, but a fraction of a moment later, they were back, looking into his, and he told himself, he must have imagined it.
"What brings you to the Great Exhibition, Mr Thornton?", she asked softly, obviously intending to change the subject.
"My banker", he replied; realized that his voice sounded oddly hoarse, and quickly cleared his throat. "Latimer. He made me come down here to represent Milton and try to secure some investors for the mill."
"I see", she nodded. "I had not expected to see you here."
"Nor I you", he confessed.
"I am staying with my aunt and cousin. My mother made me go, after they had invited all of us, but with her in such low spirits…" She broke off, unable to continue and he fought the urge to reach out and put a consoling hand on her shoulder.
He was aware of how bad things stood for Mrs Hale, and, having lost a parent himself, wished that there was anything he could do to ease Margaret's pain.
"I'm sorry", was all he was able to utter. "Miss Hale, if there is anything I can do…"
She raised her eyes to his once more. "I thank you, Mr Thornton", she told him, her voice low, but sincere. There was none of the harshness she had addressed him with during their last encounter, nor did her face bear any sign of hostility, quite the contrary, she almost seemed to have softened towards him, and he was unsure what to make of it.
"Did you manage to gain the interest of potential investors?", she asked.
He shrugged. "Interest, there may be, though I doubt many would truly act on it. Starry-eyed Londoners who dream of making a fortune by dabbling in cotton, but are unwilling to put in the work."
"I see."
Suddenly, she drew in a breath, as if preparing herself to say something she had been holding back.
"Mr Thornton, I need to apologize for the way I spoke to you that day, when you came to see me." The words tumbled out of her mouth, a bit breathlessly. She had to say them, before her courage left her again.
"I had not expected any such offer from you. I was taken aback and overwhelmed, and I reacted in a manner I am not proud of. The things I accused you of – they fill me with shame now. I so wish I could take them back. It was never my intention to offend or hurt you. You are a man of honour and dignity, I know, and I regret having suggested anything less. I do hold you in high regard and I value the friendship you have given my family. I pray you could find it in yourself to forgive me."
After she had ended, she chanced a quick look at him from beneath her lashes, before firmly lowering her eyes to lap, where her fingers were fidgeting nervously.
Caught completely off guard, John did not know what to say to that. He was aware that she was waiting for him to reply, and opened his mouth, to hear himself speak aloud what had haunted him for the past weeks.
"It is I who must apologize, Miss Hale. I should never have spoken to you the way I did. Who was I to assume that you would welcome any such declaration from me? I had never given you any indication of my feelings. It must have come out of nowhere, and it was therefore no wonder you did not take it too kindly."
He drew a breath, suddenly self-conscious, as he continued: "I am not usually a man to act without thinking. I did, that day, and I have regretted it ever since."
There was a minute of silence, as each of them was absorbed in their own thoughts.
"Mr Thornton, the things you said to me on that day", she eventually started, feeling heat rush to her face, but summoning up all her courage and forcing herself to go on: "Did you really mean what you said?"
He looked away, mortified. "Even though I'm entirely sure I deserve it, Miss Hale, I wish you would not mock me for my sentiments. Whatever I may have said is of no consequence, and I shall never bother you with it again."
"No!"
Without thinking her hand flew to his, bare skin touching bare skin, and they both startled at the sudden, inappropriate contact, as though they had been struck by lightning, but she did not pull back.
His eyes flew to hers. "Mr Thornton, I do not mean to mock you. I – I just need to know."
He felt his face flush, all the way to the tips of his ears, and was sure that he had to be red as a beetroot, as he carefully pulled his hand from where it still lay on the bench, underneath hers.
"What difference would it make, Miss Hale?", he forced out, trying to keep the sting out of his voice.
"It does make all the difference", she whispered sincerely.
He bit his lower lip. If she was torturing him now, he had provoked it with his own, stupid actions. It would likely be best to get this whole thing over with.
"I was sincere in what I said to you about my feelings, Miss Hale", he confessed, wishing his voice had not shaken the way it did. "I wish it weren't so, for I would not want to cause you discomfort of any kind, and you need not fear my ever acting on them. I shall not speak of them again, in hopes that the two of us might be able to return to the polite civility of regular acquaintances."
"Is that what you would like us to be, Mr Thornton?", she asked. He did not know what to say to that. Why was she asking him these questions?
"What I wish is irrelevant in this matter", he choked out.
But she turned towards him, fully facing him now, and bravely held his gaze. "Mr Thornton", she began, "ever since the moment you rushed from the room that day, I have not been able to shake off the thought that my rejection of you might have been a bit premature."
His breath hitched at that, and he stared at her, aghast, entirely unable to speak.
"I know you have been a good friend to my father", she continued. "But we have seldomly had the chance to speak to one another undisturbed, and I feel I do not truly know you all that well."
There was a pause, during which he shifted on the bench a bit uncomfortably.
"I – ", she took another breath, "I think I would not mind getting to know you better, Mr Thornton. That is, if you are inclined to – to get to know me, that is."
Could she be asking what he thought she was asking? He knew she could not state it all too plainly, for it would have been inappropriate.
"Miss Hale-", he gasped, almost fearful that he might have misread her meaning. "Are you saying that you would allow me to – to court you?"
He did not dare breathe, his gaze resting intently on her face, trying to read her expression.
"I think I would like that", she told him, with the ghost of a smile.
Her words were followed by silence, only broken by the cries of the nearby waterbirds and the muffled noise wafting out through the door of the Crystal Palace.
John Thornton looked as dumbfounded as though someone had unexpectedly slapped him in the face.
"Y – you mean it?", he breathed then, and Margaret could not help but smile at his astonishment.
"I do mean it, Mr Thornton"
It was then, that something in his countenance changed. She watched in amazement as the corners of his lips tucked up into a disbelieving little smile, which then spread upward to his eyes – his eyes that suddenly had a softness in them she had never seen before, looking at her in wonder.
Captivated, she could not pull her gaze away, as she watched the stern mill master transform right before her eyes, into a man who, at once, looked so much younger, so much more approachable.
And for the first time ever, Margaret felt something, she had not deemed possible: That maybe she could find herself falling in love with him.
His hand found hers, warm and with a tenderness she had not believed him capable of. Could this really be the same hand he had used to beat up that worker for smoking in the mill? A fist, able to conduct such a violent act, yet so soft, as it rested upon hers now.
"I would like that very much, Miss Hale", he managed in a shaky voice, still unable to believe what was happening.
Slowly, he rose from the bench, clasped her hand in both of his, and gently pulled her up. "If you would allow me, I shall speak to your father as soon as I am back in Milton, and ask his permission to court you."
She nodded with a timid smile, as her fingers tightened around his for a moment.
Neither of them knew how long they had stood there, until eventually, she tore herself out of her daze. "We should go back. My aunt must surely be looking for me."
He nodded, and quickly released her, but offered her his arm a second later, to escort her back inside, and look for her family.
Before they stepped through the door, Margaret hesitated for a small moment, looking up at him.
"Mr Thornton?"
"Yes?"
"Do you know what a soul link is?"
He furrowed his brow in confusion.
"I don't think I have heard of it. Why do you ask?"
A slow smile spread across Margaret's face, as her hand tightened on his arm.
"Never mind."
With that, she let him lead her back, through the open door; and maybe, Margaret thought, it was much more than that.
Maybe he was leading her towards a future she had never imagined they could have.
Notes: Hope you liked this little one shot. Feel free to leave a review, if you like. Any feedback is welcome - do stay respectful though. Thanks :)
