I am thoroughly enjoying all of your opinions on this story and the fact that it does polarize a lot. ? Some of you are siding with John and calling Margaret a brat, others are defending Margaret and stating that John is behaving stupidly, some are even siding with Mrs Thornton, and I think all of it is BEAUTIFUL!
This is a story about human relationships, and it's very true that neither of these characters is perfect and all of them make mistakes and bad decisions, which are easy to point out for anyone watching from the outside, while the people in the situation are completely blind to them. And I think that's actually a very human thing. So, do keep the discussion going, and we all might learn new things from each other's views.
Also - why is this chapter so long? :P What a pain to edit indeed!
For All the World to See
The train clattered cheerfully along the tracks, the trees and meadows passing by in a blur. Margaret realized that it was her first train journey, since she had come to Milton.
They were sat in a compartment with Mr Latimer and his daughter Ann, as well as Fanny, who had talked her mother into letting her come along. The girl had always longed to go to London and was beside herself with excitement.
For the entirety of the trip, she was giggling and chatting with Ann, wondering aloud about all the things they were to see there and how grand all of it would be.
Mr Latimer looked out of the window silently, trying to ignore the noise, until his eyelids started to droop and he fell into a peaceful slumber.
John had been reading a newspaper for the past two hours. Occasionally, Margaret would see him throw a glance at his sister and roll his eyes when he thought himself unobserved. She had to smirk to herself whenever it happened, silently sympathising with him.
Margaret tried to focus her attention on the landscape they were passing. The north of the country differed much from the south.
Everything seemed rougher, almost wild. It was strangely romantic in a way, reminding her of the conversation she had once had with John about Wuthering Heights. She could almost imagine Heathcliff breaking through the trees on his horse, windswept, riding through the storm to find his Cathy.
Margaret looked away from the window to find her husband watching her over the edge of his newspaper.
The moment their gazes met, he quickly dropped his – but not quickly enough for her to miss the strange look in his eyes. She had never seen it before, and it instantly unsettled her. It had almost looked like – some peculiar sort of longing, she could not make sense of.
Margaret shifted in her seat uneasily, averting her eyes, only to find herself unable to look away a second later. She threw another quick glance at him, needing to reaffirm what she had seen.
He was staring at his newspaper, but his eyes were not moving, lingering intently on the same line. She saw him swallow and forced herself to look somewhere else, her heart thumping nervously in her chest.
No word was spoken between them until their arrival in London, almost two hours later. A porter was called to take care of their luggage.
Mr Latimer and his daughter were to take a coach to their hotel near Hyde Park, while the Thorntons were to go to Harley Street.
They found Captain Lennox, Edith's husband, waiting for them in the station hall. He greeted them with a polite smile and lead them out of the station to a carriage, which was already waiting there.
On their way to aunt Shaw's, Margaret gazed out of the window in wonder. It had been such a long time since she had been in London, it almost seemed a lifetime ago. She recognized many streets, buildings, parks and shops they were passing. Not much had changed, it seemed.
Fanny's face was so close to the window, her nose was almost pressing against the glass, and every few seconds she would call out in exhilaration, pointing to things she saw and clapping her hands, unable to sit still in her excitement. Captain Lennox shot her a few bewildered looks, but made no comment, while Margaret was torn between shame and amusement.
Fanny would certainly succeed in confirming all of her aunt's fears regarding the family of a tradesman: Not well-versed in society and far too overwhelmed with what aunt Shaw would consider the usual banalities of life.
The coach halted in front of 96 Harley Street and Captain Lennox helped both Margaret and Fanny out of the carriage.
They were greeted in the entrance hall by a butler who led them upstairs into the sitting room, where aunt Shaw and Edith were already waiting for them.
Edith was beside herself with excitement, and the moment Margaret entered the room, she practically flung herself at her cousin, to wrap her in a tight embrace.
"Margaret, oh Margaret! I am so glad to see you. I have missed you so!"
After their first greeting, Margaret started introducing everyone. Fanny seemed rather nervous and curtsied deeply to both, aunt Shaw and Edith, informing them how excited she was for the Great Exhibition. John appeared calm and collected. He nodded at the women and answered their questions in a polite manner.
They took tea together, and then aunt Shaw called for a housemaid and asked her to show the guests up to their rooms, to be able to refresh themselves before dinner.
At the top of the stairs, Fanny was led to the left, while John and Margaret were told to follow another maid down the right-wing corridor, until the young woman pushed open a door and stepped aside to let them enter.
Taking a few steps into the room, it took Margaret a few seconds to realize…that there was not going to be a second bedroom.
She whipped around to John in shock and found him looking as uncomfortable as she felt. The maid had left, closing the door behind her.
There was no way they could ask for another room. They were married, and with that came the expectation that they would be able to tolerate sharing a bedroom.
Still, Margaret had not expected this. Sleeping in the same room, nay, the same bed was not common practice in London circles, in fact, it even tended to be frowned upon, and aunt Shaw surely was quite conscious of the fact. It seemed unlike her to provide her guests with an inconvenience such as this.
But then, having only just returned from Corfu, Edith and Captain Lennox were also still staying at Harley Street, along with little Sholto and his nursemaid, and Fanny had taken the additional guest room, so it was likely that Mrs Shaw had been torn between hosting them in one room or not being able to invite them to her house at all, which would have been infinitely worse in the older lady's eyes.
Maybe it was also John's being a mere manufacturer that had their host convinced that this sort of accommodation would be sufficient for a man of his standing. Why, oh why had Margaret not thought of these things before?
Seconds passed, during which they just stood, neither of them speaking. Then, in a very quiet voice, Margaret uttered:
"What now?"
John did not make a reply. Instead, he walked over to the window and pulled the curtains to the side, to look out onto the street in silence.
"Are you not going to say anything?", she asked anxiously.
"What would you like me to say?", he muttered, before slowly turning around to her. "I told you we should have stayed at the hotel."
Margaret bit her lip. "I had not thought – I had not considered this."
He strode over to a chair near the window and dropped down onto it with a weary sigh, passing a hand over his face. "I think there is a dressing room there", he motioned toward a nearby door. "Feel free to change and freshen up for dinner. I won't look."
She looked at him doubtfully for a long moment. Then, realizing that he was not going to do anything about this situation, because there was nothing to be done, she turned towards her suitcase, which had been placed at the foot of the bed, next to his, and nervously started rummaging through the clothes she had brought, to find something suitable for dinner.
While she was washing and changing, her whole body was on high alert. There was a tight knot in her stomach, her heart thrummed wildly in her chest, and every other minute, she kept halting in the middle of her movements, to listen for any sounds from the other room.
There were none. He was likely still sitting in that chair.
'Dear God, have you no mercy?' she thought miserably.
All of this was so improper that she could barely think about it. And worst of all was, that it was not regarded as such by anyone else.
Henry Lennox had come over for dinner. It was the first time Margaret met him since his proposal at Helstone. He was all politeness, but she was unable to read his countenance.
As they sat down to eat, Captain Lennox asked John some questions about the cotton industry. He seemed genuinely interested.
"I have heard that there will be an industry section at the Great Exhibition", he stated with a tinge of excitement.
"So, there is. I will, in fact, be there tomorrow to represent Marlborough Mills", John told him calmly.
"I think many a man has thought about getting into cotton", Henry chimed in suddenly.
"There is good money to be made from it, I suppose. But I daresay that we don't need heavy machinery to make money in London, nor do we need to suffer the northern climate, but should Maxwell ever consider dabbling with such things, I am sure he may approach you for guidance, Thornton."
Margaret's eyes shot over to her husband at this pungent remark. She did not know what would could have caused a man such as Henry, who was usually so calm and collected, to stoop as low as to slight another in such an obvious way.
John held the other man's gaze with what looked like calmness to anyone who did not know him well, but Margaret could see a dangerous fire burning behind his eyes.
"I'm not sure I'm the one to speak to", he told the other coolly. "I'm not sure I'd know how to dabble."
"Have you always been in trade, Mr Thornton?", aunt Shaw attempted to take part in the conversation.
"Aye, ma'am, I started out as a draper's assistant and then, later took over the mill."
Aunt Shaw furrowed her brow slightly, but seemed to consider herself too gentile to express her distaste any further.
"John is very successful in what he does", Margaret heard herself say, beyond annoyed at her family's behaviour.
"Marlborough Mills is well known in all of England, and beyond. There are many buyers on the continent and even overseas."
"Is that so?", aunt Shaw asked with polite indifference. "I suppose, here in London, we still prefer to wear linen."
It had been a dreadful meal. Aunt Shaw's and Henry's comments had been beyond rude, and as the evening had progressed, Margaret had felt an increasing need to defend her husband.
He had born it quietly and with a surprising amount of politeness, but she had grown to know him well enough to know how annoyed he truly had been and how much self-control he had had to muster to bite back a remark.
He was used to speaking his mind – it was the way of the north. Maybe he had not wanted to stoop to Henry's level in this matter, and Margaret was grateful for it.
The mill was John's passion, his lifeblood. To have others look down upon his achievements in such a way had most definitely hurt him, and Margaret felt anger well up inside her at the thought.
Much had changed since she had first moved to Milton, less than a year ago, she realized, and especially during the past few months that she had been his wife.
Before coming to the north, Margaret herself had looked down at tradesmen and regarded them as beneath her own class.
It had been what she had been taught from a young age, and there had never been any reason to question it, until she had met them herself.
She could not claim that she understood everything about the people of the north and their ways, but she had learned enough to admire them for their hard work and honest ways.
Was it not more honourable to have acquired one's fortune through one's own hard work and determination, rather than having inherited it, without having had to raise as much as a finger?
After they had finished their meal, the men retreated to another room for drinks, and Margaret almost pitied her husband for being further exposed to the company of Henry.
The women took to the sitting room, where Edith finally had Margaret all to herself and took this opportunity to shower her cousin with a seemingly endless flow of anecdotes of her time in Corfu.
Aunt Shaw and Fanny both seemed less than pleased to have no one but each other for company. One had seldomly seen two people so different from each other, and consequently, they had very little to talk about.
"Oh, but do tell me of your life in Milton, Margaret", Edith finally asked, after she had relayed all of her adventures in Greece to her cousin.
"Is your husband treating you well? He seems an eloquent man, but a bit serious for my taste, although I have to admit that he is quite handsome."
Margaret was unsure of what to say. In her first letters to Edith, after she had learned of her pending marriage to the mill owner, she had not hidden the fact that the prospect of becoming his wife was by far the last thing she desired. But since then, things had changed.
Margaret felt quite certain that, if she was given the choice now, she would still decline to marry him, for she had always wished to marry for love, which was not something she felt towards him, nor he for her, she was sure of it. But she had to admit that being his wife was not quite as terrible as she had initially feared.
They had settled into a kind of companionship that was not overly close, but close enough so she felt sure that she could count on him whenever she needed him, and in turn, she had come to care about his well-being.
"He is very kind to me", she finally said. "I must confess that my fears concerning this marriage were mostly unfounded. We live quite comfortably, and there is a certain mutual regard between us."
"I am glad to hear it", Edith replied, still looking a bit unsure.
"But you do not love him", she whispered then, to which Margaret shook her head.
"I do not. But many a woman has married for less than what I feel towards him. I think few people are blessed with a love match."
Edith looked crestfallen at her cousin's words. "Oh Margaret, but I had wished it for you. You are so precious; you deserve so much more than this."
At this very moment, the door opened and the three men entered. Margaret's eyes immediately sought John's. When their gazes met, she unconsciously rose to her feet, and within seconds, had made her way across the room to him.
She could sense his discomfort at the company he was forced to endure and could not help but feel ashamed at her family's lack of manners and guilty for exposing him to their rudeness. "Are you alright?", she whispered to him, standing close, so nobody else could hear.
She carefully placed her hand on his arm, looking up at him in a desperate attempt to console him. His eyes darted about the room for a second, to make sure that the others were all standing far enough away so they would not catch their conversation, before lowering his head slightly towards her.
"I will be glad when these two nights are over", was all he said, in a very low voice.
"So will I", she replied honestly. "I will tell aunt Shaw that we are both tired, and will retire. Let's not make this evening any more uncomfortable than it already is."
He nodded quietly.
A few minutes later they made their way through the empty entrance hall and up the stairs.
"Margaret?"
She was walking in front of him and spun around at his use of her name. "Yes?"
"This Lennox fellow-" He regarded her with a rather dark expression. "Do I have any reason to believe that he has some romantic attachment to you?"
She felt herself blush furiously at his words, but when she opened her mouth to reply, she was glad to find her voice sounding calm and steady. "None that was ever reciprocated, I assure you."
He seemed doubtful, so she went on. "He asked for my hand once, before we moved to Milton. But I refused. I never felt anything for him beyond friendship. And I never shall."
He seemed to take a moment to ponder her words, before he nodded slowly and, without another word, started walking towards their bedroom door.
As terrible as the evening had gone, Margaret had feared its ending.
She did not know how to go about the bedroom situation, and as he closed the door behind both of them and slowly turned towards her, she shot him a look of uncertainty.
John could sense her nervousness. It mirrored his own. This trip to London had not turned out as he had wished.
First of all, he had not wanted to force his company on her family. He had spent an entire evening being pestered with stupid questions about the industry, having to endure Lennox's spiteful remarks, truly a most disagreeable man - even more so, knowing that he had set his eyes on Margaret.
And now, as if all of this had not been enough, John would probably spend a night being tortured by the close proximity of the woman he loved and longed for in ways he dared not even think about, all the while knowing that she did not return his feelings, that she was likely even repulsed by the thought of being this close to him.
He sighed inwardly and looked at the chair by the window with an air of hostility. He would have a very sore back tomorrow.
"You may have the bed to yourself, Margaret, I shall sleep in the chair", he then told her firmly, trying to not let her see his discomfort at the prospect.
He saw her eyes dart from the bed to the chair, then to him, then back to the bed. This motion was repeated a few times, until she turned to him fully with a look of brave determination on her face.
"No, you will not. I cannot let you do this." Her voice was shaking only slightly.
"That chair looks beyond painful. It is a big bed, and we are married, after all. We will manage two nights in the same bed."
He looked at her uncertainly. "Margaret, are you sure? I would not want to trespass on your privacy."
She was not sure.
Of course, she was not.
This whole situation was terrifying.
But she would not have him break his back, while she was sleeping comfortably in a bed that seemed much too big for one person.
"We will both keep to our side of the bed", she told him shakily, unable to meet his eyes.
She went over to her suitcase and hastily started pulling out her nightclothes.
"I will get ready for bed", she choked out, before ringing for the servant and rushing into the dressing room.
After the girl had helped her out of her corset, Margaret stayed in the dressing room on her own, keeping the door firmly locked.
It almost felt like she took years to get ready that night. Her hands were trembling so hard that she found it difficult to remove her hairpins.
For a moment, she considered leaving them as they were, for she felt very uncomfortable at him seeing her with her hair down. It was so improper.
But she knew that she would not be able to sleep and, come morning, she would look even worse than without them, and would likely have trouble removing them at all, if they got tangled in her hair while she slept.
When she was finally finished, she stood in front of the mirror in her nightgown, her face hot with embarrassment. She slipped into her robe and tied it tightly around her waist. She would ask him to look away before she removed it, to get into bed. She could do this.
Margaret took one last shaky breath and tore open the door with more force than would have been necessary, causing John, who had taken a seat in his chair once more, to startle and look up.
He had not meant to look at her. He knew, he should have averted his gaze instantly, but she had let her hair down, and he felt his breath catch at the sight of it.
He had not known that her hair was this long. Mesmerized, his eyes followed the dark curls down her shoulders until they almost reached her waist, realizing that she was only wearing a robe with a nightgown under it.
He was lost – drowning in her beauty, as he felt his body react to her in a most embarrassing way.
She stopped dead in her tracks, halfway between the dressing room and the bed, as she caught him looking at her, and her face immediately flushed a deep shade of crimson.
He hastily tore his eyes away, flustered, shifting in his chair uncomfortably and clasping his hands in his lap to hide the evidence of his arousal.
The moment his eyes had dropped from her, Margaret made a dash for the bed.
"Don't look", she pleaded, and he nodded towards the floor.
She slipped out of her robe and darted beneath the bedcovers as if her life depended on it, pulling the blanket up to her chin.
Then, she lay flat on her back, stiff like a statue, and stared up at the canopy, as though every little movement would prove lethal.
She sensed him move about the room, but did not dare look at him, and when the door of the dressing room slid closed behind him, she released a shuddering breath, she had not even known she had been holding.
John doffed his clothes and quickly washed, slipping into his nightshirt. He decided to leave on his drawers beneath it, to retain some dignity, before quietly sneaking back out, through the semi-dark room.
Margaret had extinguished the candle on her nightstand, and he could barely make out her face beneath the covers.
He made his way over to his side of the bed and slid in, turning his back to her and making sure to stay at the very edge of the bed.
"Good night, Margaret", he whispered.
"Good night", she breathed, still not moving even a finger.
It took a long time for either of them to fall asleep, each uncomfortable for their own, personal reasons.
Margaret, because she could barely take the impropriety of the situation, and John, because he was desperately trying to ignore the urges of his body at being so close to her.
Eventually, after what seemed like hours, Margaret had drifted off, and when she was woken the next morning, by a ray of sunlight that fell onto her face through the window, and recognized with a pang where she was, John was gone.
His side of the bed was abandoned and cold, and he was nowhere to be found. He had to have left the room early in the morning.
Relieved at the fact that this gave her some privacy, she rose to get ready for the day.
When she descended the stairs towards the entrance hall, a while later, she saw John enter the house through the front door.
She stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of him. He looked different. He was wearing his usual black frock coat, but underneath it, he wore an elegant dark grey waistcoat and burgundy tie, which made him look stunningly handsome.
He noticed her standing there and, taking off his top hat, gave her a small nod and a smile.
"Good morning."
"Good morning. Where have you been?", she inquired, slowly walking down towards him.
"I went out for a walk. To catch some fresh air."
Margaret had reached the bottom of the stairs. They were standing mere inches from each other, and half-consciously, she reached up her hand to brush an imaginary grain of dust off his right sleeve.
"You look very elegant today", she could not help but praise him, unable to keep the tinge of admiration out of her voice, and saw a faint blush appear on his cheeks.
"I am to represent Milton at the exhibition", he explained. "I thought I should dress accordingly."
The bell rang for breakfast, making them both look up.
"We should go. Best to get an early start, as we will only have one day, and I'm sure Fanny will want to look at everything there is to see", he told her with a wink.
The Great Exhibition was unlike anything Margaret had seen in her life.
In the middle of Hyde Park, there stood a building, so grand, that it seemed out of this world. It was made almost wholly of glass, big windows blending into each other, reflecting the sunlight in every direction.
Inside, there were great halls, elegantly furnished, with real-life trees and multiple floors with countless exhibits.
All of it was so vast that they were overwhelmed with the sheer grandeur, not knowing where to head first.
Fanny would not stop talking, bubbling with excitement, and for once in her life, Margaret shared her enthusiasm as they walked with Captain Lennox, Edith and aunt Shaw, looking at all the exotic exhibits from around the world.
John had excused himself almost the minute they had entered the building, claiming he had to go find Mr Latimer and head over to the industry section.
"Oh, John is such a stick in the mud!", Fanny complained loudly. "All he ever thinks about is cotton."
"I should remind you that this is the reason we are here", Margaret defended her husband matter-of-factly, to which the girl gave an exasperated, and not very ladylike, groan, and then turned her attention towards a collection of vases from Russia.
They spent all morning, wandering about the exhibition, looking at this and that and discussing what they saw.
In the early afternoon, they finally reached the industry section. Fanny seemed not remotely interested in it.
"Oh, I can see that sort of thing in Milton any day!"
Aunt Shaw declared that she was not so interested in this section either and, to all of their surprise, declared that she would accompany Fanny to another section and proposed to meet them all an hour later at the great water fountain, for some refreshments.
Margaret, Edith and the two men entered the industry section and were immediately overpowered by the impressive heavy machinery, colossuses of iron and steel, reaching up to the ceiling.
There was a steam engine of course. Margaret had never seen one in real life, even though, she realized with a pang, there had to be one at Marlborough Mills.
She almost felt ashamed of herself for a moment, at having lived right next to the factory for months now, and not having been interested enough to have a look, and instead having to come all the way to London to see what was right outside her door in Milton.
Captain Lennox was beyond impressed, reading all the descriptions and wondering aloud about the workings of these things.
Margaret caught a familiar voice nearby and spun around to see her husband, standing only a few yards from them, surrounded by a group of gentlemen who all looked at him intently.
John had crossed his arms in front of his chest. He spoke calmly, with an air of confidence, leaving no doubt about the fact that he was an expert in his field.
"You're all here to see this fine machinery. Technologically we're the envy of the world. 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."
She could not tear her eyes away from him, as she stepped closer. "We can bring back marmosets from Mozambique, but we cannot stop man from behaving as he always has", he carried on with an earnest expression.
"Don't you think we can bring about an end to strikes?", one of the gentlemen asked with apparent interest.
John looked down at that for a moment. "Not in my lifetime. But with time and patience, we might try to bleed them of their bitterness."
His eyes roamed about the crowd, and then fell on her.
Their gazes locked for a few seconds, which seemed like minutes, and she saw a small smile appear on his face, as he gave her a barely visible nod.
Margaret felt an odd flutter in her chest, as she was suddenly filled with a sense of pride for him.
Here he was, the centre of attention, not because of his noble birth, but because of his own achievements.
He had worked hard to get to where he was, he had become an expert in his trade, so knowledgeable, that it made others look up to him and value his opinion.
The group started scattering after a while, and he walked over to her. "Are you enjoying the exhibition?"
She nodded with a smile. "It is truly magnificent. John, have you seen anything of it? Truly, you must!"
"I'm afraid I have not had the opportunity as of yet, but as most of my potential investors have just walked on, I may spare some time, if you would be willing to accompany me?"
She readily took his arm, stepping close to him.
"Were you able to secure any investors?"
He gave a little frustrated sigh at that. "I fear most of them are just here to look. Starry-eyed Londoners who dream of making a fortune in cotton, but are not willing to put in the effort."
Her hand unconsciously patted his arm in a reassuring manner. "You could explain the machines to me. We do have them at Marlborough Mills, do we not?"
They walked over to the machines and he started showing her the different weaving looms, and explained their workings. He knew all the ins and outs of each machine and without hesitation was able to point out their specifics.
There were samples of cotton cloth with different weaving patterns. She had never given much thought to those things, but now that she did, she found it quite fascinating.
After they had crossed the machinery section, she proposed to roam around some other sections for a while, to which he readily agreed.
They walked together comfortably, looking at various exhibits, pointing out things, and discussing what they saw.
It was one of those times when they were completely at ease with each other, and Margaret once more found that he could be quite enjoyable company.
They met the others later, at the water fountain, and took some refreshments, before heading back out through Hyde Park.
Henry did not stay for dinner, as he had a meeting at the gentleman's club. During the meal, they spoke of all the things they had seen.
Everyone was filled with unforgettable impressions, and Margaret felt certain that this day at the exhibition was something they would look back at fondly in many years to come.
They retired early that night, as they were all feeling quite exhausted. While Margaret was getting ready for bed, John sat down to read the newspaper, determined, to not look up this time when she exited the dressing room.
They lay down in silence, each on their side, with a considerable amount of empty space between them.
They extinguished the candles and bid each other good night, and this time Margaret found it much easier to fall asleep than it had been the night before.
She felt something warm beneath her cheek.
Warm and solid.
It felt unfamiliar, but not unpleasantly so. There was a faint trace of something like clean cotton and soap, as she breathed in, and in her daze between sleep and wakefulness, she nuzzled into it further, somehow feeling strangely secure and protected.
She lazily dragged up her hand to place it beside her cheek, without opening her eyes, spreading it over the unfamiliar surface she was sleeping on.
It was then that she noticed something beneath her fingertips, a faint throbbing, almost like a heartbeat.
Within a fraction of a second, Margaret was wide awake.
Gasping in shock, she leaped back from the bed, and in the process, unintentionally pushed her hand hard into the thing she had slept on, which turned out to be nothing other than the chest of her husband.
He let out a painful grunt and tore his eyes open in shock at the sudden blow, which had so rudely awakened him.
She saw him blink in utter confusion, before staring up at her, his mouth slightly open, gasping for breath.
"I – I'm so sorry", Margaret stammered, beside herself.
"Wha' on earth are you doin'?", he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, as he unconsciously rubbed his hand over his chest, where she had hit him.
"I'm sorry, are you alright?", she asked with a pang of concern, carefully kneeling on the very edge of the bed, not daring to move any closer.
"Did I hurt you?"
He dragged himself up into a sitting position, rubbing a hand across his eyes.
"I'll live", he mumbled. "Although I wonder what I have done this time, to cause you to attack me in my sleep?"
She felt her cheeks burn and dropped her eyes in shame. "Nothing – you – you have done nothing at all. The fault is all mine, I – I panicked, I'm sorry."
Her thoughts were reeling:
'I panicked, because we have never been in such an intimate position with each other before.'
'Because I don't know how long we were lying like this before I woke up.'
'Because it was I who invaded your private space, moving over to your side of the bed, practically flinging myself at you in your sleep.'
'Because…no, don't think about it, Margaret, DON'T think about it…because it felt good to be this close to you.'
'Oh, dear God, no! I cannot mean that!'
She watched him rise from the bed slowly and noticed that he was only in a nightshirt and drawers, which reached down to his knees. Everything below was bare, down to his feet, as was part of his chest, where the collar of his shirt gaped open.
The next thing she realized was that she, herself was in nothing but her nightgown, which had shifted from her movement, exposing her neck and part of her shoulder.
Hastily, she dragged the garment back in place with a shaking hand.
She saw him look at her, his eyes unconsciously getting caught on her figure.
She spun around, turning her back to him and practically flew into the dressing room, slamming the door behind her, and then she stood, with her back against the door, her eyes closed, her breathing coming in heavy gasps.
She could not tell how long she had stood there, unmoving. There was a soft knock on the door and she jumped upright with a gasp.
"Margaret? Are you feeling alright?" His voice was soft, concerned.
"I – I'm fine", she managed to choke out. "I will just quickly – wash and dress."
Then she noticed that she had no fresh clothes. They were still in her suitcase, in the bedroom. And she would need a maid to help her dress, as she was unable to tie her corset on her own.
Margaret buried her face in her hands, trying to hold back her tears.
She drew a long breath. "John?"
"Yes?"
"I – I will come out. I think it is better if you dress before me, for I will need a maid to help. Can you – can you turn around when I come out? Please?"
There was a short pause.
"Of course", he replied then.
She heard his footsteps moving away from the door, before he called out. "You may come out."
Carefully, she tiptoed back to the bed, throwing a glance at him, as she did so.
He stood by the window, in his nightshirt and drawers, his back turned away from her.
She hid under the covers.
"You may go and dress", she then told him in a weak voice.
He turned and for a moment their eyes met. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but thought better of it, quickly grabbed some garments out of his luggage bag and disappeared into the dressing room.
Neither of them mentioned the embarrassing events of the morning, as they silently took breakfast together.
Edith seemed downcast at Margaret's departure after only two nights. Fanny was not much happier. She felt that she had seen close to nothing of London, and felt sure that her spoil-sport of a brother would not bring her back here anytime soon.
Two hours later, they were on board the northbound train, out of London.
It was only the three of them, Fanny, John and Margaret, as Mr Latimer and Ann had decided to stay in the city for a few more days, a fact, which had infuriated Fanny even further, knowing that her friend was to explore London for longer than she had.
The moment the train had started moving, Fanny had taken out one of her cheap romance novels and buried her face behind it with an over-exaggerated sulky expression.
Margaret threw a glance over at John, who met her eyes and then nodded lightly towards his sister with a wry little upwards tug of the corners of his mouth.
She could not help but return his smile at this small, silent conversation. It was something she had come to like about him.
Before they had married, she had not been aware of his sense of humour. It was very subtle and dry, but pointed; the kind of humour one could miss easily when not paying close attention, but which was highly amusing when recognized.
They spoke little during the train journey. John was once more engrossed in a newspaper and Margaret was looking out of the window, watching the landscape change gradually, the further they advanced into the northern part of the country.
Oh, how she had despised the north when they had first come here, but now, Margaret realized that it had grown on her.
The hours ticked by as they started moving closer towards Milton, towards home, she thought, and wondered at herself.
She looked over at her husband. He had dropped his newspaper some time ago and had closed his eyes, the consistent clattering of the train lulling him into a slumber, as his head slowly rolled back against the headrest of his seat.
He appeared younger in his sleep, more relaxed. His face had lost all its sternness. A single lock of dark hair had fallen into his forehead and she fought the urge to reach out her hand and brush it out of his face.
He almost had an odd vulnerability about him, when he was like this. It stirred something inside her she could not quite name. Something that unsettled her.
Their relationship had always been a peculiar one. First, there had been dislike, mistrust, even a strong sense of rejection, then a somewhat begrudging compliance and acceptance.
What he was to her now, she could not say. But if there was one thing, she could be sure of, it was that she had never been indifferent to him.
They reached Milton just as the sun had started to set. John called for a porter and soon they were on their way back to the mill.
While Fanny was busy enlightening her mother on everything she had seen at the Great Exhibition, Margaret retired to her room early.
She was glad for a night, during which she would have her bed to herself, without the physical proximity of a man towards whom she was no longer sure of her own feelings.
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NOTES:
Okay, so when it comes to historical accuracy (which, as you may have noticed, is kind of slightly important to me, lol) I reaaaally put my neck out with the shared-bedroom-thing. Especially in upper social classes, sharing a bedroom, even when married, was not common (although not unheard of). In fact, in some circles it was even deemed unhealthy, as there was a belief that the weaker of both partners would drain the stronger one of their energy while sleeping.
But I could not pass up the opportunity to use this hackneyed fanfic-classic of the shared bed, inside an equally hackneyed trope xD.
And if we all stuck to accuracy all of the time, there would be no Margaret wandering about Milton in search of houses, unchaperoned, in the BBC adaptation, or entering the mill all alone, no Henry Lennox accompanying her to Milton for her business proposition (not that we really needed that one), and most certainly no train-station-kiss scene, so we'll just pretend that my excuse of aunt Shaw's house being a bit too small is totally valid, okay?
