"My son works hard Mr. Hale. He's never ill."
Margaret had to snort when she remembered Mrs. Thornton telling her father that once. In her experience overworking oneself is bound to catch one some ailment sooner or later. But poor John. He had a miserable cold.
Although, to be sure, Margaret had to admit it didn't help that the children had been ill with this same cold last week. And no matter how much Margaret tried she just couldn't keep John from playing with his children even though they were sick.
More often than not he was the one to read to them at bedtime and tuck them in. He would play with them in the drawing room every evening and would often come home for luncheon just to be smothered in their hugs and kisses.
"John is a wonderful father," she thought with a wistful smile on her face. So of course he came down with the same cold the children had (how Margaret had escaped was as yet a mystery).
So there he lay that evening, miserable in bed, a well-used (and impeccably embroidered) handkerchief in one hand, his father-in-law's Plato in the other, and Bessy's cup filled with water on his bedside table. Margaret was there as well, sitting next to him on the bed, a cool compress for his forehead in one hand while the other combed lovingly through his hair while she listened to him read aloud to her.
"John, dear," Margaret said upon a pause in his reading, "You seem to be getting better. Your nose is not as red as it was yesterday, and you don't cough as much. Maybe you will be able to get out of bed tomorrow and go back to work. It has been two whole days! I don't think you have ever spent this much time away from the mill since our wedding trip!"
Setting his book down and reminiscing fondly of their wedding trip, John sat up slightly and blew his nose then started to cough. Margaret handed him Bessy's cup so he could take a drink.
"No, no, Margaret, my love," he said slipping his arm around her after setting Bessy's cup down, "I am still much too sick to get out of bed yet," he replied, trying not to smile. But Margaret noticed the smirk and the spark of mischief in his eye.
Margaret gasped. "John Thornton! Have you been pretending to be sick just to stay in bed?" Margaret asked incredulously.
"No," he replied, the smile on his face growing, "Not just to stay in bed. I have also greatly enjoyed the attention you and the children have lavished upon me these last few days." He drew her closer and started nuzzling her neck.
"John! I can't believe that you have been faking being sick!" she said, playfully pushing him away. "Although, I admit it has been nice for the children and I to have you around so much." She snuggled up to him and started playing with the ties on his nightshirt. "You know, you could take a day or two off from work without having to pretend to be ill."
"Yes, but then I would miss you doting on me. The past few days have been quite relaxing and enjoyable." He stated as he resumed his assault on her neck.
"Well," said Margaret, a little breathless under his ministrations, "maybe we can arrange for something in the future so you don't have to pretend to be ill. You are setting a bad example for the children and your mother would be quite disappointed in you." She jokingly admonished him.
"No one need know," he said as he continued his amorous pursuit.
"Oh!" Margaret exclaimed, "It seems your mother was right after all – you are never ill."
"No," he replied with a twinkle in his eye, "just occasionally mischievous."