Today has been terrible; tonight will be better.

-OO-

Let me look up from it - as at last I did, thank Heaven! - and from its long, sad, wretched dream, to dawn." - Charles Dickens

-OO-

Margaret did not know and never would know all the darkness of this hellish day. He thanked all the gods he did not believe in that she had been spared the worst of it. Some day he supposed he too might be able to forget; the wounds would leave a mark on his soul as if he had been whipped by devils. Weary, he leaned against her in the carriage he had had summoned, wanting urgently to get somewhere safe with her. He knew they had an understanding now, but he could not yet feel the joy of it, and nothing had been said... but that would be something to put to her on a happier day than this one.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow might be their happy day.

She, seeming much more cheerful, was asking all kinds of questions – "How does one run a Mill, Mr Thornton?"

"You tek on a Master that does it for you. That's the usual way." A little smile passed between them.

"You cannot expect to have it all your own way, you know. I shall not be like Mr Bell and visit only once a year, at Christmas..." her eyes sparkling at him as if it was, indeed Christmas, and she had just unwrapped a happy gift. "I want you to explain it all to me."

He was replying, a patter he had given many times before to interested parties, without thinking about it, hearing the odd word of his own here and there: "Well, Miss Hale, you may own your Mill, but it makes no money standin' empty. So you must source and buy raw cotton, and hire ... process... markets ...price... one eye to the future... investing ...competitors..."

"All that I could have guessed myself!"

"You are teasing me, Miss Hale, but ahhh, there's more. You must also be available all day to dry your workers' tears and listen to their grumbles about the prickings of their spindles and such-like."

Then the carriage was drawing to a halt outside her Crampton house.

There were eggs and bread for supper. "My father loves this simple meal, Mr Thornton." Then she confessed, "The strangest thing. Once or twice today, I have found myself thinking 'I wonder what Father is doing in Oxford now? And even just then, 'I must make sure there are eggs for Father when he comes home' – it is if I have forgotten ...am I a little insane, do you think?"

He was so touched by her earnest little face looking anxiously at him. "Of course not... it's the mind's way of easin' you into it – puttin' it to you little by little. It's natural."

She was so much calmer tonight, reminiscing a little about her father, with which he found easy to join in, and when the meal was over, he rose.

"You are not leaving?" she said, beginning to be upset.

"I'll not leave you for long, but I must pay a call on Mr Higgins. He'll be anxious, after what I said to him earlier. How he'll feed the little ones if the Mill were to close. I'll not have it on me to leave him in such a dark place through the night."

"Mr Dickens would approve of you. He has something to say about it – let me find it – I marked the passage to read to you – here - 'unless we learn to do our duty to those whom we employ, they will never learn to do their duty to us.' That is a fair picture of you, Mr Thornton, do you not think so? Of course I did not always see you quite so clear," and what could he do but smile at her, the tenderest little smile which made her blaze up with love.

-OO-

He was back within the hour. She had changed her clothing meantime, and was now wearing a long nightgown buttoned to the very top with a robe over it. More chaste than her day-dresses, which she tended to wear low at the bosom, but still it seemed shockingly intimate.

"You have changed your dress also, Mr Thornton," she said with a shy smile.

A fastidious man, he had wanted to feel fresh cotton against clean skin. "I went to Marlborough briefly. My mother'd retired for the night so I left her a note."

"What did you say in it?"

"Very little," economically said. "Enough that she will wake to an easier place."

He could not leave Margaret tonight. He did not want to. Whatever gossip there might be was not going to matter now.

"Where shall we live, after we are married?" she said brightly. "Here, or will we reside at Marlborough House? I dare say your mother and I will learn to live peacefully side by side – "

He was very still for a moment, and then his chin dipped and his eyes flashed sideways to look at her. Her face had frozen now as she realised in horror what she had said – her hand flew to her mouth – her skin flooding hotly with pink.

"I am so sorry – I don't know – what can have got into me? Oh Mr Thornton – I truly am going insane - !"

"No," he said strongly, and in two strides he had crossed the room to take hold of her. His hands took her shoulders, firm, strong fingers squeezed her. "No more of such talk. Margaret – look at me – it doesn't matter." Her hands had come up to cover her eyes. Gently he took her chin in his fingers and tilted it up. Took hold of her little wrists in his hands and, against initial resistance, pulled them away and held them safely in his own. Her huge grey-green eyes were magnified by tears that dropped over lower lashes and fell to her cheek.

"I am so sorry," she said again, pitifully embarrassed.

He took his time replying – "We both are a little insane after today and no wonder. But Margaret – have you forgotten? I'd already asked you to marry me. We will just pretend you never refused me at all." His eyes followed hers as they tried to avoid his look, chasing and teasing until they met his and doubtfully stayed and found him smiling.

"I don't like that memory, Mr Thornton. I shall never be able to laugh at it."

He declined to join her in unhappy memories. He dipped his head in a little, formal bow. "If you are accepting me, I suppose there'll 'ave to be a wedding. Do you know about weddings? I've not the smallest idea of how one goes about it." He added after a moment, "You will have to start calling me by my name."

Now a little smile was trembling on her lips. Seeing nothing else to use, not wanting to let go of her, he very tenderly wiped her eyes with his sleeve. Then he exhaled, long and slow, his forehead resting on her head, her soft hair tickling his nose. Just held her close, breathing her in. Her breasts were pressing to him through her thin robe. Interesting, comforting, but not stirring, because...

He was exhausted, bone-tired, wrung-out, wreckage tossed onto a shore after a violent storm. The ocean looked peaceful now, but under the glassy surface, deep underwater where no-one could see, great turbulence had thrown up strange new shapes to map.

"Margaret," he whispered, lips moving in her hair, swaying on his feet. "I must sleep now. Is that all right?"

She forgot her own turmoil in light of his neediness, seeing those marks of stress and fatigue once again around his eyes, his mouth. Mr Thornton, this isolated, arrogant, capable man, needs me. She was beyond proud that he trusted her to be with him at his most vulnerable. It had taken them a long time to get to this moment, but here they were, leaning on one another, already taking for granted there was a strong support leaning back. At some point, the elements of them had become compound.

Not wanting to enter her father's room tonight and have to see the things he had left behind, she took him to her own bed, tenderly helped him to undress as if he were Sholto, leaving only his shirt and undergarments.

"You're quite safe," he said without opening his eyes, turning his head to where he thought she might be. "I promise this time you can trust me," and he was asleep.

She locked and bolted her door, in case Dixon rose early and thought to bring her tea; and took off her robe and lay beside him. It was not proper, it was very far from proper, even though they were to be married, but nothing could have persuaded her to leave him tonight. He had seemed quite strange and unlike himself when she and Higgins had come to Marlborough Mill. She remembered how for a moment she had thought he might be having some kind of a breakdown; he had looked ghastly and sick to death.

After some time spent in watching over him, because she was sleepy and the room was growing colder, she lifted the covers and slipped in beside him. He murmured something, but hardly stirred as he rolled onto his side, into the circle of her warmth and love, settling there where he belonged.

-OO-

Author's notes:

First published this story on AO3 and just realised I'll have to edit the next chapter a bit due to FF's policy on 'explicit' scenes! bit of a shame but there you go. Obviously I'll leave in what I can, and any 'plot'