John watched with a scowl as the carriage left the yard. He should have gone too, for the streets were surely unsafe even now. The faint sound of whistles and shouting still echoed in the distance, but he could not bring himself to care. The worst of the trouble would be well away from Crampton, and his mother's passage home should be clear too. Princeton would bear the brunt of the violence, for the rats who had caused the riots would run right back to the hovels they had come from.

He could not stay here, dwelling on the day. He needed to walk, needed to get away from here. There was still work to be done, but for once John did not care. He left the mill without bother, walking through the now empty streets until he reached the hills above the city. The air was cleaner here, above the clouds of smoke that spewed from chimneys day and night. He stopped, looking down at the place that had raised and shaped him into the man he had become. It all looked so small from here, yet at the same time the factories and closely packed houses sprawled out as far as the eye could see.

He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. Here, the air smelt like grass and late summer flowers. It was such a rare indulgence to come here, and he felt his heart slow from the frantic rhythm it had kept all day. He thought of Margaret. She always smelt like flowers, somehow. When he had kissed her, she had smelt like roses. How could anyone smell so pure in this place, where everything smelt like smoke and dirt?

He felt cowardly for leaving his mother to accompany her home; he should have done so himself, for he needed to see that she was safe and well. Hell, even if she did not care for him as he so desperately wished, the thought of her injured because of him - he felt sick with guilt. He should have been firmer in his instruction yesterday, for she was too headstrong to listen to any advice she did not appreciate. Behind his closed eyelids, images of the stone striking her flashed over and over again in his mind, growing worse and worse until all he could see was blood.

His eyes snapped open, and he chased the images from his mind. She was well. He would visit in the morning as soon as it was polite - for some small part of him hoped her behaviour this afternoon could be almost entirely blamed on the blow to the head she had received. One way or another, he had to know his fate.

He lingered until the light dimmed, the sky streaked purple and red as he began his walk back to the mill. By the time he reached home, it was almost entirely dark. He entered the parlour as the clock struck ten. His mother sat in her chair, repairing the linens. She did not lift her head at the sound of his footsteps, but he had no doubt she knew full well he was standing behind her.

"You're back, then."

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to be so late."

"Where've you been?" She asked. "You've been gone hours."

"Walking."

"And where have you been walking? The servants said you left not long after Miss Hale and I. Where've you been all this time?"

"Just walking. Thinking." He sat down heavily on the settee, feeling his head begin to pulse. Now he thought about it, he hadn't eaten all day.

"Little use in asking what about, I suppose."

He did not answer her, changing the subject to one that would not result in an uncomfortable conversation he was not quite ready for.

"It has been a long day. I thought you'd be in bed, you must be exhausted."

"I am quite well. John-"

"Mother, please."

"I saw you."

He should have known this was coming. He knew full well his mother had seen him whispering to Margaret, for he had seen the appalled look on her face at the discovery. He had known she would scold him for his lack of candour, and he was too perplexed by the day's events to have such a conversation.

"What?"

"I saw you, on your knees in front of Miss Hale. I heard the pair of you whispering together in a way that can only mean one thing. What are you thinking of? If the servants had seen, there'd be no saving you both from the gossip."

"What gossip?"

"You think the whole town is not talking about today? A woman such as Miss Hale throwing herself between you and a mob baying for your blood could do nothing but ignite talk! The servants have been clucking all afternoon. It has been a veritable henhouse today, not a lick of work done between the lot of them."

"Pay no mind to gossip, Mother."

"John, what has passed between you? Are you engaged?"

"No. No, we are not."

"Something has happened. The look on her face when I walked in, and yours too. This is not like you, John. You've certainly never behaved so carelessly."

"It's nothing."

"You will visit her tomorrow?" Mother asked.

Her voice was tight, the lines around her mouth visible even in the dim candlelight. Her disdain for the idea was poorly hidden. It was no secret that Miss Hale was no favourite in this household, for Fanny had been quite vocal in her dislike for Miss Hale - though John thought that was mostly jealousy, caused by Fanny's infuriating obsession with London and all things frivolous. Though his mother had never said that she did not like Miss Hale outright, she had expressed strong enough opinions of that nature. He did not want to go against his mother, yet this was not her decision to make, nor Fanny's. He wanted Margaret Hale for his wife, and the other women in his life would have to learn to like her.

"I'll visit the house tomorrow. You know what I will have to say."

"You could do nothing but." His mother said. "Not after today."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you are bound in honour. That girl's reputation could have been ruined today, and yours with it. A servant twisting what I saw would be enough to damage you both. Never mind that I saw her leave your office not two days ago."

John swallowed heavily. He had been foolish enough to think nobody would notice Margaret Hale slipping out of his office in the middle of the day. Whatever this passion that suddenly overwhelmed him was, it had clearly robbed him of his senses. Of course, Mother had seen her, for his mother saw everything. He slumped in the chair as the realities of the dangerous game he had been playing with Miss Hale these past few days hit him.

"Mother, I love her."

John had not voiced his feelings to anyone other than Margaret, and to finally share this secret with the woman who had shaped his character felt like a relief. He had clearly done a poor job of hiding it, as her face did not even flicker at his declaration.

"I know. I've seen a change in you before you even saw it in yourself."

"Did - did Miss Hale speak of me at all?" John asked, though truly he was not sure if he wished to know the answer.

A pause.

"She did."

"What did she say?"

His mother hesitated, halting her sewing mid-stitch. She sighed heavily, setting her work aside and leaning forward to reach out to him. He placed his hands in hers, his heart hammering in his chest as he wondered what she was about to reveal.

"Before you get cross with me, son, know that I am speaking truthfully, as I have always done. It would be remiss of me if I did not ask you if you are certain of her affections for you. I'll not see you humiliated by that girl, not for anything."

"Humiliated?" He blinked, his face twisting into a frown. "Why would she do that? What exactly did she say to you?"

Mother shook her head, and he was sure his own frown was mirrored on her face.

"Why, she denied anything more than an acquaintance with you. She seemed most offended at the implication there was any sort of attachment. Does she think I am so blind?"

It did not surprise him in the least that Margaret had denied knowing him in any intimate manner. What they had done was shameful, and he would be in no hurry to admit such behaviour to Mr Hale if their roles had been reversed. Yet it stung to hear that she had been so quick to deny him.

"It is private, Mother, between Miss Hale and I. Whatever mistake I've made thinking with my heart over my mind, I'll rectify it. I - I dare to believe she might care for me. She was confused today, I think she was not herself. I hope that is all it is." He removed his hands from his mother's, scrubbing at his face. "Mother, I do not know what I shall do if she refuses me."

Margaret's earlier words echoed in his mind, her weak protestations that she required more time. Surely a night would be enough? Any longer and he would send himself mad trying to understand what was going on. No, this needed to end. One way or another, he must know where Miss Hale's heart truly lay. Perhaps this was a common occurrence for her, something in his mind sneered. Perhaps she used her good looks and charming manners to taunt men for her own amusement. He shook his head, banishing the thought. What use would that be? She was too well-bred, too strong in her own mind to behave in such an immoral way. He recalled his accusation of such a thing right to her face, cursing his own temper. She had been hurt, the expression on her face could not be mistaken for anything other than insult.

His mother's voice snapped him out of his melancholic ruminations.

"She has shown her true feelings to the world, however much she might try to deny it. Flinging herself between you and an angry mob without a care for her own safety - there's not many folk'd do that for someone they held no affection for." She picked up her pile of sewing once more, and stared down at the piece of linen in her hand. "These shall have to be changed. They'll bear your initials now, yours and hers."

He did not know what to say to that; he had seen those linens every day of his life with his own parents' initials in each corner. To think that they might be replaced, that he might soon have a wife of his own filled him with both trepidations and, in a smaller amount, joy. She would refuse him, he was certain of it. A woman as fine as Miss Hale could never love him.

John had never known a morning to drag so slowly. Every glance at his watch showed only a few moments had passed, yet each tick of the clock's hand felt like hours. He was restless, his feet tapping at the floor as he tried to work, unable to keep still - reminding him that he needed to be somewhere.

By half past ten, he was no longer able to stay away. He left the mill, clutching a gift of fruit for Mrs Hale as some vague reason to be calling at such an early hour, walking to Crampton at such a speed he was surprised the soles of his shoes could withstand such pounding. He knocked at the door, adjusting his hat.

The door opened and he was surprised to see Margaret herself answer. She looked equally surprised to see him, though she stepped aside wordlessly.

"Miss Hale."

"Mr Thornton. Dixon is occupied with my mother at the moment, that is why I answered the door. I am afraid my father is not here."

"I have come to see you, Miss Hale." He said quietly. "Might I have a word?"

"Of course. Follow me."

He still wore his coat and hat, but he followed her into the small dining room into which she beckoned him. She allowed him to pass first, before closing the door behind them. He balked a little at such a gesture, for it was not proper for -

He almost laughed; it was far too late to care for what was proper now.

"I've brought some fruit for your mother. I hope she is feeling a little better." He set the fruit down on the table, the redness of the berries bright against the dark wood of the table.

"A little, yes. I must thank your family for the loan of the water mattress, for it has certainly made things easier for her."

"I'm glad of it." John cleared his throat. "I need to talk to you, Miss Hale."

Margaret stiffened, her neck tightening. She swallowed, her hands clasping together as she seemed to recover herself. She offered him a smile, though it did not reach her eyes. She was an intimidating sort of woman, though he was unsure if that was intentional or merely a natural consequence of her beauty. He had never before been reduced to a gibbering mess before by any girl, yet Miss Hale seemed to rob him of his wits with the smallest glance.

"I owe you an apology. For I was unforgivably rude to you after you had been so kind to me and had taken such considerate care for my wellbeing. I owe you a great debt, I am certain."

He blinked, surprised at the unexpected sincerity of her thanks. He had half expected some grapple, the usual battle of words that seemed to come easier than anything else. Yet she seemed to be genuine in her gratitude.

"There is no debt. You saved me." John said, removing his gloves and setting them down beside the fruit.

Margaret shook her head. She looked well, he conceded, at least in comparison with the previous day. However, her eyes were ringed by dark shadows and held an undeniable sadness.

"I placed you in danger. The men are desperate, but I did not realise just how desperate. If you were to be reasonable,show them a little understandi-"

"You think I'm unreasonable?" John interrupted. "Those men could have killed you, and still you take their side!"

Her eyes widened, though she swallowed whatever she was trying to say. She was measured in all that she did, her voice soft and even, her hands clasped together tightly. He could not help but feel she was speaking to him in the manner one might address a petulant child. He must be mad to think it was a good idea to come here, that this whole thing wasn't a waste of time; she had made her feelings quite clear yesterday. She was not on his side. She never had been.

"They are desperate! Their children are starving, near death. I have heard their cries, I have seen gaunt faces and hollow eyes, what else am I meant to think?" Margaret argued. "I wish to see peace and compromise, not violence and death!"

"You must think me a monster for inflicting such cruelty." He said stiffly. "The troublemakers will get what they deserve, I assure you. Those who wish to work honestly are welcome back."

"I do not think you a monster. I just wish there could be some way of settling this divide!" Margaret's hand raised to her temple, rubbing at the spot that had been hit the previous day. "I am sorry, I am in no condition to argue this."

He softened then, watching as she sat down. Her hand did not leave her head, fingers kneading at the spot which the rock had struck the previous day. Despite his temper and cruel words, he dropped to his knees beside her once more. It did not feel right to loom above her, and he could not leave while she was in pain.

"You're unwell."

She looked up, seemingly surprised to see him beside her. She shook her head, but did not rise.

"No. No, I am merely tired and a little bruised. My friend Bessie Higgins, she is dying. It is her chest."

Another divide, another reminder of what she thought he was capable of. Higgins' daughter had worked for him, he knew that. Plenty of workers had died of fluff on their lungs. It was not something that sat easily with him; he worked to lessen the fluff in the sheds. It made sound business sense to install the wheels; experienced, long standing workers led to less accidents, less mistakes. He valued his worker's health, and worked hard to make his mill as safe as he could. Despite doing all that he could, there was no way of removing all the dangers.

"And that is my fault too, I suppose?"

Her eyes snapped upwards, her lips drawn tight.

"No. It is not your fault, Sir, but I am exhausted. If you wish to argue, I must ask that you return another time for I am in no mood. Bessie Higgins does not think you a monster, nor does she hold you responsible for her condition. She does not wish you ill, perhaps you would do better to show her some respect."

Her sharp words stung him as surely as a slap to the cheek. She was right - what was he doing, using the sickness of some wretched girl as a personal insult?

"I am sorry. It was wrong of me to speak in such a way. Miss Hale, I do not wish to argue with you. I wish - I want-" He shook his head. "Now I am here, I cannot find the words."

"Mr Thornton-"

"Miss Hale, my feelings for you are very strong." He took a deep, heaving breath. "I wanted to ask you if you-"

"Stop."

"Excuse me?"

"Do not continue in this way. It is not the way of a gentleman."

"I am all too aware that in your eyes I am not a gentleman, but I do not know how I am being offensive."

"It offends me that you speak to me in such a way and in the next breath presume to ask me to marry you!" Margaret countered. "I think you a man of honour, sir, no matter what you might think of me."

"These past days, our embraces, what were they? Some sort of game?"

"No, not a game. Not a game at all. I cannot explain it, even to myself."

This had been a ridiculous idea; she had made herself clear enough yesterday but he continued to cling to the absurd hope that her hesitation was merely the result of some head injury - rather than facing the truth that, no matter how many passionate moments they had stolen together, she had shown him little more than contempt for the entirety of her time in Milton.

"I should go."

"I think," Margaret interrupted as his hand reached for the doorknob. "I think I should like to get to know you. Properly, I mean. We have kissed, but I scarcely know you at all. I wish to know you."

"To court?" John asked finally, his back still turned.

"Might I look at you?" She asked, and he turned dutifully to face her. "Thank you. I don't know if courting would be appropriate. Not at the moment." Margaret exhaled shakily. "I truly - I truly do not understand what has come over me these past few days. My emotions - they overwhelm me. Please, do not ask me to make a decision as enormous as this now."

"Unmarried men and women are not friends, Miss Hale." John said. "Perhaps things are different in the South, but here it is not the done thing. The event at the mill - I fear it has already sparked a great deal of gossip."

"I do not care about gossip." Margaret said, though the heat in her cheeks betrayed her lie. "I will not make so great a decision based on the tittle-tattle of serving girls, Sir."

Was she mocking him? He was not sure. He could not work her out, nor get the measure of her. She seemed to talk in circles, her words swerving one way and then another,tying him in knots.

"You are trying to be kind, I think. To reject me slowly, rather than all at once. Do not toy with me, Miss Hale. You wish to end whatever has passed between us? Then do it. I did not take you for a coward."

"A coward, sir? I have been accused of enough by your mother, I will not take insult from you too."

"My mother?" He asked. "What does she have to do with all this?"

"I can assure you that she had plenty to say to me, none of it pleasant. I am sure she will be pleased that I have not accepted your proposal. Please excuse me, Mr Thornton, for I find myself exhausted."

"No."

"No? You would keep me here? I mistook you for a gentleman."

"I did not take you for cruel, Miss Hale, but you toy with me in a way that is certainly not fair. Is this a game to you? Am I just one among countless others to have offered you their heart?"

"How dare you! You think so little of me?! You claim to love me but cast doubts over all aspects of my character merely because I am not bending to your will? I am not your employee, Mr Thornton. You cannot frighten me."

"You think me such an ogre I would frighten you into marrying me?! I thought - I thought you cared for me, Miss Hale. I see I am mistaken."

"I am sorry for my behaviour. It was wrong, and I cannot explain it. You scarcely know me, Mr Thornton, and I must admit I have seen many things about you that I do not admire."

"I will take my leave. I am sorry to have caused you offence. I must be mad, Miss Hale, to imagine that a woman pressing her lips to mine meant that she cared for me." His voice shook with anger, and he swallowed heavily. "It is clear to me now that I am merely a source of amusement to you, a fool who's heart can be played as easily as a fiddle."

"You misunderstand me, Mr Thornton!"

"No, I don't think that I do."

"I can assure you that you do!" Margaret said, rising to her feet and walking over to him. "You really are infuriating, Mr Thornton! I am trying to explain how I am feeling yet you choose only to hear what you wish to! Are you determined to be angry with me for merely speaking my mind over my own future?"

"No, but it is quite clear what you wish to say."

"Is it? Well isn't that fortunate! Perhaps you could tell me then, for I am afraid that I do not know at all."

"You regret what has happened between us."

"In some ways, yes. In others, I do not."

"Yet my courtship would be unwelcome."

"Yes. Forgive me, Mr Thornton. I am unused to such attention and I fear poorly prepared to-"

"Reject them?"

"Understand them. Do you not see - we can hardly have a civil conversation! What basis is that for a marriage? Would you really expect me to marry you when we have so little understanding of one another?"

"What would getting to know one another entail? I cannot have more occasions like my office, Miss Hale. It is not right."

"No. No, that was most wrong indeed. Continue your lessons with my father, sir. I shall see you then."

"And then?"

"I do not know."

That was enough. There was nothing to be said; she did not wish to marry him, however earnestly she claimed to want a friendship. He would not stay, could not stay, to be made a fool of.

"I am quite clear, Miss Hale. You wish for our attachment to end. I will continue my lessons with your father, he is my friend. You need not worry yourself about being my friend, I'd not put you through it."

She shook her head in exasperation, but he had tired of her endless excuses. He valued plain talk and honesty, and he would find neither here.

"Mr Thornton, you don't understand-"

"I understand, Miss Hale. I understand you completely."

A/N: Hello! I'm so sorry for the delay in updating, I had to have my appendix out in June and I've really been struggling with recovery so writing was pretty..blargh. Chapter 7 is almost finished so hopefully there won't be as long a wait for that one. Thank you for reading!