Margaret's feet were killing her. She had spent the entire morning walking all over Milton, in quest of a decent home for her family in this northern city.

They had arrived in Milton just the day before and needed to find a place in which to live in their new hometown. With her mother's illness and their maid's required attendance upon her, the task of helping her father fell once again on Margaret's shoulders.

Ever since her father surprised the family with this unexpected and undesirable removal to the North, her mother had been indolent and ill, insisting upon the constant attendance of her lady's maid. Her learned father was likewise useless in the planning and executing of such an upheaval and long-distance move. Therefore, Margaret was forced to work herself to the bone packing up all the family's belongings, settling business in their former town, and planning their trip to Milton.

Margaret had divided the morning's labors with her father. In half a day's time she had found that suitable residences in Milton were sorely lacking and that the rents were exorbitant. The last place she had visited was the best she had found, even with the hideous wallpaper and heavy cornice, but the landlord had been downright rude and offensively condescending.

She was fuming as she walked toward the center of Milton. She could not believe the gall of that Crampton landlord. First, he had refused to even consider replacing the wallpaper, then, he would not talk rent with her because she was a woman! Telling her that some strange man, a Mr. Thornton, was taking care of everything and she didn't need to worry her 'pretty little head' about it. She didn't even know who this person was, this Mr. Thornton - probably some crotchety, rotund old man with gray hair and multiple chins. And to be dictating where she and her family were to live and at what price! Just who did this Mr. Thornton think he was!

The landlord had directed her to Marlborough Mills as his place of work and she intended to give him a piece of her mind.

As she passed through the large mill gate, she spotted an elderly man who seemed to be in charge. Maybe this was the man in question.

"Excuse me," she interrupted him at his task, "Are you Mr. Thornton?"

"Nay, Ma'am, I'm Williams, the overseer," the man replied, in a heavy Northern burr, "The Master is inside. Come with me, I'll take ya to 'is office."

After being led up a flight of stairs and down a few corridors, Margaret was disappointed to find that Mr. Thornton was not in his office. The overseer told her to wait there while he went to find the Master. Margaret sighed and sat down to wait.

Time ticked away on the clock and Margaret got more and more impatient. She stood up to pace around the office and it only took her one simple step to feel once again how sore her feet were. She sat back down to loosen the laces on her boots and give her feet some relief.

Another ten minutes ticked away on the clock. Margaret was beyond frustration. She decided to go find the elusive Mr. Thornton herself.

Leaving the office, she walked through what looked like a storeroom toward a door at the other end. She pushed open the heavy door and was met with the loud clattering of machines in motion attended by many workers. White bits of cotton floated through the air giving the scene an ethereal look. She walked through the large room, amazed at the speed with which the people and machines labored, weaving thread into cotton fabric.

She strode forward and as her head swiveled from left to right, she was awed by this impressive demonstration of modern manufacturing. Turning her head once more, her eye was caught by the sight of a tall man standing upon a dais overlooking the work going on below him. His black clothes made him stand out against the stark whiteness of the well-lit room and the cotton fluff floating in the air. He exuded power and confidence. Margaret was taken in by his handsomeness. The moment their eyes met, there was an instant connection that, it was obvious, they both felt.

Then, all of a sudden, from some nearby part of the room, Mr. Williams yelled, "Aye! What are ya doin' there?"

Margaret, feeling guilty that she was somewhere she should not have been, assumed he was yelling at her. Thus startled out of her infatuated reverie, she turned and ran. With the first step toward her escape, her left foot slipped out of her loosened boot. The shoe was left behind in its solitary loneliness on the mill room floor.

….oOo….

John Thornton, the Master of Marlborough Mills, paced back and forth upon the metal framework of the dais that stood above the clattering machines of the weaving shed. This was his domain, his kingdom. Nothing happened here that was not approved and decreed by him. He stood upon this perch multiple times a day, making sure all was running as it should be. If something was amiss, he would see it.

He was, therefore, quite stunned to lift his eyes and see a beautiful young lady, who was quite out of place, standing in his mill. She had seemingly appeared out of nowhere, like an angel sent from heaven. Their eyes met and all the noise of the mill and the rest of the world seemed to fall away. All that existed were the two of them, some unseen tether connecting them together.

Suddenly, his overseer yelled, and the spell was broken. The Master's attention was drawn to the object of the overseer's ire - one of the hands with a pipe in his mouth. When he looked back, the young lady was gone. Mr. Thornton looked back and forth, torn between chasing after the young lady and chasing after the errant worker. Remembering his responsibilities, however, he ran after the would-be arsonist.

After permanently dismissing the recalcitrant employee, the Master began to ask around to determine if anyone knew who the woman was. His interrogations were in vain. However, he did discover that in her haste, she had left behind a shoe. Here was some tangible evidence that the lady was real. He was beginning to think it all a dream.

He spent the rest of the day sitting in his office starring at the boot and replaying in his mind every detail of their encounter: the smoothness of her skin, the color of her eyes, the look of shock and yet recognition in them. He was certain she had felt the same connection he had, as if two halves of a whole had at long last come together.

Vowing to woo and marry the young lady who stole his heart with but a glance, he determined upon finding the owner of the shoe.

….oOo….

Margaret, ignoring the fact that she was missing a boot, ran out of the mill and through the mill yard. She stopped just beyond the gate to assess her situation, in light of her half-shod status. Too embarrassed to return to the scene of her crime, she decided to venture home through Milton hobbling along in one boot.

While Margaret was gingerly descending a stone staircase, the noon whistle sounded. The alley stairs were suddenly filled with the sounds of rushing footsteps and urgent chatter.

"'Ey up, what have we got here?" said a man when he saw Margaret faltering on the steps.

"Watch out, lass!" said another, purposely jostling her. Some of the other workers in the onslaught laughed uproariously.

"'Scuse us!" said a woman, elbowing Margaret as she passed, causing her to drop her bag.

"Please," Margaret begged throughout all of this, "Please... Please don't. Just stop. Please... please stop."

An older, kindly looking man approached. "Leave the lass alone," he said in a commanding voice. "Here y'are!" he said to Margaret, handing her the bag.

"She shouldn't take on so," whined one of the other men, "We were only having a bit of fun."

"Leave the lass alone," he commanded the others as they pushed forcibly past.

Turning back to Margaret the sympathetic man said, "Come on, miss. Be careful where you walk when the whistle sounds for the break. But don't worry, they won't harm you. They just like a bonny face. And yours is a picture. Come on."

He took her arm and helped her safely descend the stairs. If he noticed she was missing a shoe he did not mention it. However, when they reached the road at the bottom, he hailed her a cab.

"I'm... I'm obliged to you," said Margaret gratefully, "Thank you, sir."

"You're welcome, lass," he replied kindly. She tried to give him a coin for his service, but he declined, saying, "No charge, miss."

The man helped her into the carriage and it drove off.

Margaret settled back in the seat. Realizing now that she would never have made it home on foot without her shoe, she was grateful the man had hailed it for her. However, she never got his name. She would have to remember to look for him around town and introduce herself if she saw him again. Maybe there would be some kind service she could perform for him in return.

Bending over to examine her stockinged foot, she saw that a hole was already forming in the heel. It would need to be darned, again, as they could not afford new ones right now. Margaret sighed, yet another menial task she would have to do herself, as their only maid was busy with the cooking and tending to her ailing mother.

Margaret would sorely miss her other boot. They were expensive and well made – a parting gift from her Aunt Shaw in London. Of course, she could always go back to the mill and ask about her boot but that would be rather embarrassing, and it was likely one of the poor workers she saw there would walk off with it hoping it was worth selling – probably gone forever now.

And she certainly couldn't face that man again. That man! Margaret closed her eyes and sighed, recalling his striking visage. She realized now that he was probably the Mr. Thornton she had been looking for. The connection she had felt toward him was all consuming. She could not tear her eyes away. If it weren't for the other man shouting at her she did not know how long she would have stood there staring at him. He was extremely handsome, tall and fit in his well-tailored suit, and those eyes, ice blue and they met hers with such a piercing heated gaze. She could get lost in those eyes forever.