As summer gave way to autumn, Margaret found herself feeling rather out of sorts. There was little to look forward to; she felt an overwhelming sense of dread that consumed her, for she knew that Fred would have received her letter and was possibly on his way to England. Her mother's health worsened a little with each passing day, however much Dixon tried to deny it. Two things played on her mind constantly; the grave risk posed to Fred by coming to England at all, and the very real possibility that their mother would die before he got here - meaning he would have placed himself in danger for nothing.
In an effort to keep these thoughts from driving her quite mad, she strived to stay as busy as possible. She walked for miles every day, until her feet hurt and her body was weary. She spent time in Princeton, though some days that only served to hurt her more, for the loss of Bessie was still raw in her heart. She missed her friend bitterly.
Margaret had never felt so alone.
The resumption of production at the mills meant Mr Thornton had been too busy to attend his regular lesson, and Margaret was unsure if she was glad of this or not. She had not seen him for many weeks, and she found herself thinking every dark haired man in a hat that she saw out of the corner of her eye was him. But no, there had been no sign of him.
In the dying days of summer, as the trees turned brown and the air chilled, Margaret had received an invitation to attend the Great Exhibition with her aunt. At her mother's urging, she now found herself in London, standing in Hyde Park and looking upon the most astounding thing she had ever seen.
"Isn't it wonderful?" Edith chirped, looping her arm through Margaret's as they approached the enormous glass structure. "I have never seen anything so exotic, even in all my travels!"
"It is wonderful." Margaret agreed, taking in the unusual architecture as it grew nearer. "But so strange! It looks as if the building is from another world, quite out of place. And full of such marvels, I feel blessed to see such a thing."
"I am so glad you joined us! I am only sorry Aunt Hale could not be here too."
"I am to tell her all about it when I return. I must remember every detail, or she will be most displeased!"
"I am sure you could never do anything to displease her, Margaret! Now, what shall we see first?"
Their time at the Exhibition slipped by frustratingly easily, for Margaret felt they had barely scratched the surface of all there was to see. She watched as Maxwell and Henry made self important conversation as they remarked upon machinery they knew nothing about. How tiresome it was, to hear men wax lyrical about things they did not understand.
She swallowed down such disloyal thoughts; the Lennox brothers were not bad men, perhaps she was being too harsh on them. She found it increasingly irritating, however, to feign interest when all that she wished to do was take in the splendor around her in silence. To observe every detail, to touch and to hear and to learn, without being told what she must see and how she must react. Edith was no better, squealing with delight over anything and everything, with Aunt Shaw barely disguising her sneers at things that were not to her taste.
Oh, Margaret thought, how wonderful it would be to be alone in this place. To wander freely, to spend hours looking at what she wished. It was a folly, really, for the place was packed with people. Still, one could dream.
"I suppose it's only right," Aunt Shaw began as they walked past some ornate chairs, "That we've invited people from all over the empire. Even if some of the exhibits are a little..exotic."
That last word hung in the air, the tone of her voice clear to anyone who heard it that she did not care for that which she did not understand. Margaret paid her no mind, her eyes still fixed on the sumptuous objects that surrounded her.
"I think it's wonderful." Margaret stated simply. "It is as if the whole world is here for us to see."
"I was impressed by the machinery. I have to say, I never realised the power of it, or the money to be made in cotton. Maybe we should go into cotton."
Margaret opened her mouth, but closed it quickly as she realised a laugh she could not suppress would escape if she tried to speak. Oh, it was not kind to laugh but really! That Maxwell, sweet, simple Maxwell thought he had the drive and the business acumen to succeed in an industry such as that. She did not need to pass comment, for Henry spoke words not dissimilar to her own thoughts.
"I think it would take rather more energy than you have, Maxwell. We don't need heavy machinery to make money in London. Nor do we need to suffer the Northern climate. Do we, Miss Hale?" Margaret turned, finding his eyes fixed on hers. She looked at him questioningly. "I ask the expert amongst us."
"It is true." Margaret agreed. "The air is not so clean in Milton."
Then why do I miss it so very much?
She walked on, not wishing to dwell on the subject for much longer. There was so much to see, why waste time consumed in conversations that had taken place half a dozen times before? What would Mr Thornton have to say, she wondered, about Maxwell's idea? Oh, she smiled, for she was certain that he would have no patience for such follies. No, cotton seemed to be an industry that consumed those who were involved; Mr Thornton had certainly dedicated himself to it.
"You're all here to see this fine machinery. Technologically, we're the envy of the world."
As though she had thought him into existence, there he was.
She blinked, for it did not seem possible that he was standing here before her. What was he doing here? Her father had made no mention of Mr Thornton being in London for the exhibition, and he had spoken of the man often. Too often, Margaret had thought at times when each mention of the man's name was like a stab to her heart.
She stopped, listening as he spoke to a small group of men who were gathered around him. She wished to hear him speak in a professional capacity, to know a different side to him. She had seen him as Master, but she had never heard him speak to his equals on the subject.
"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. We can bring back marmosets from Mozambique, but we cannot stop man behaving as he always has."
"Do you think we could bring about an end to strikes?"
"Not in my lifetime. But with time and patience, we might try and breed them of their bitterness." He looked up, catching her eye. "Miss Hale here knows of the depths we Milton men have fallen to."
She swallowed heavily as the men turned to look at her. She felt a strange kind of fury, for his conception of her missed the mark by some way.
"I certainly do not think that." She said, burning with humiliation as these strange men ran their eyes up and down her. "As Mr Thornton would tell you, if he knew me at all."
As she turned away, a hand caught her elbow. She turned to face him.
"I'm sorry. That was not fair."
"No. It was not." Margaret replied. "I do not know why you would say such a thing."
"Miss Hale!" Margaret's head turned at the sound of her name.
Seeing Fanny Thornton in London was unexpected, yet somehow made far more sense to Margaret than her brother's presence here. Fanny had spoken often of her desperation to travel to the capital, and Margaret was pleased she had finally managed it. Though Margaret did not hold London in high regard, she did appreciate the abundance of culture that was to be found. Fanny greeted her with a tight, forced smile, appraising her with a cool look in her eyes.
"You've managed to come to London at last."
"Mother allowed it only because John was coming. And Miss Latimer, of course. Who she approves of. Greatly." Fanny said with a pointed look at her friend. "She seems to think she is far more sensible than me!"
Margaret took notice of the woman beside her then, dressed neatly and barely offering her a smile in greeting. Margaret knew Miss Latimer from the Thornton dinner party, that night that had changed so much. She seemed a fine young woman, accomplished and a graduate of a fine finishing school in Switzerland according to Mr Bell. For all her expensive education, Margaret thought she might be inclined to pretend to be polite, at least.
"How nice." Margaret said. "I was very surprised to see Mr Thornton here. I am visiting the Exhibition with my family."
"I did not even know you had left Milton, nobody said." Fanny sniffed.
"Oh, I suppose nobody takes much notice of what I do." Margaret said lightly, for it was true. "My mother wished me to visit on her behalf."
"Margaret."
"Henry." She gestured towards John. "This is Mr Thornton."
"Mr Thornton, all the way from Milton."
The men did not shake hands, and Margaret got the distinct feeling that they did not like each other very much. Indeed, she suddenly felt rather like a mouse caught between two angry cats, for the glares the two men fixed upon each other lacked only hissing to assert their dominance.
Mr Thornton's face had turned hard, his eyes narrowing as he observed Henry. Margaret regretted introducing them at all, for Henry looked upon Mr Thornton with nothing short of a sneer.
"My brother is interested in dabbling in cotton."
"I'm not sure I'd know how to dabble. If you'll excuse me, I'm needed back in Milton today."
Margaret watched in silence as he left, embarrassed by the poor impression her family had made. Really, they looked at him like he was some sort of animal rather than - what was he? A gentleman? She would never have made such an assessment just a few months prior, and she recognised just how wrong she had been. He was a man as worthy as any other.
She stared after Mr Thornton, not hearing the words said around her; she could have been alone in that great hall for all she knew, until Aunt Shaw took her arm and pulled her away from her own thoughts. Fanny and Miss Latimer bid them good day, leaving Margaret alone with her family.
"I am surprised your father has such a friend, my dear." Aunt Shaw sniffed. "Or should I say, I am not surprised, for I do not think I know your father at all!"
"Mr Thornton is a good man." Margaret stated simply, turning her head once more so she might take in her surroundings.
She saw Mr Thornton in the distance, and as Miss Latimer looped her arm through his, Margaret turned away. She did not know why, but such a sight made her stomach twist uncomfortably.
A short while later, Margaret found herself at a stand exhibiting fine Spanish lace. She read the information printed neatly on cards in front of the fabric, picturing warm sunshine as she looked upon the intricate designs. And, as she always did when she thought of Spain even fleetingly, her mind turned to her brother. She swallowed heavily, wondering if Fred was on his way to England at this very moment. Oh, what if he had arrived already! She would miss him entirely! No, no it was too soon for him to have arrived, she told herself. It would take another week yet, at the very least.
"Miss Hale."
A deep voice from behind her made her jump, as though the person would be able to hear the thoughts of her brother's secret. She turned around. Mr Thornton was staring down at her, and she felt her cheeks flush. As fearsome as he could appear, he could certainly not read minds.
"Mr Thornton. I thought you had gone."
"No, there's something I need to do." He said. "It's kept me here longer than I intended."
"I am sure you are very busy. Please, don't let me keep you."
"I have a little time." He said stiffly.
He made no move to leave her; indeed, he stood perhaps a little too closely to her. She looked over her shoulder, concerned her aunt should appear and berate her quite thoroughly for talking to a man without a chaperone. There was no sign of Aunt Shaw or any or the others, so Margaret allowed herself to relax just a little in his company.
"I did not know you would be here." Margaret said. "I have not seen you for some time."
"I've been busy." He said. "I sent my apologies to your father, did he not receive them? I heard nothing back."
In truth, her father had felt rather melancholy about his favourite (or only, depending on how one looked at it) student's sudden absence. He had sent word to Mr Thornton after the first set of apologies, but had not responded to the subsequent three notes from Marlborough Mills. Mr Thornton was so busy after the strike, her father had decided that it would not do to pester him.
"I know. I - I thought perhaps you were no longer interested in your lessons." Margaret said, trying to keep any interest out of her voice. "Perhaps you know all there is to know about Plato now."
Her remark earned her a small smile. The room suddenly felt rather hot, which was strange as there had previously been a pleasant breeze. How odd.
"No, I am. Time is not something I have at the moment."
"Then we shall look forward to your return when you do have the time. Incidentally, I must ask that you do not make assumptions on my thoughts and impressions of Milton - and you. I will not pretend that I agree with all that you said. But you make your case with conviction, and that is to be admired. I certainly do not think you a man of low bearing."
"Thank you." Mr Thornton nodded. "I know we have not seen eye to eye on these matters, I thought you would be unhappy with what I had to say about the workers. I am sorry if I upset you with my comment. I meant no offense."
"I think perhaps you have misjudged me, Mr Thornton. I have always said that I try to see both sides of the situation, and I truly wish to understand it from your perspective as well." She paused, looking at him once more. "I truly did not expect you to be here. I cannot believe you are real."
Though her statement was a foolish one, there was no denying that it was true; to see him out of place here was most jarring indeed, yet somehow he fit perfectly into his surroundings. He spoke of his trade with knowledge and eloquence, his stature and confidence filling even this cavernous place.
"I can assure you Miss Hale, I am quite real." A tiny smile played on his lips as he stared down at her, and she felt her heart race slightly.
He looked at her, that smile still in place as he tore his eyes away from hers and looked down at the fabric she had been examining.
"You like this?"
"Very much. I wish to travel to Spain one day." Margaret said absently.
"Spain? Why there?"
When she realised what she had said, how much she had inadvertently revealed, Margaret jolted back to life, regaining control of her tongue and her senses.
"I have heard it is beautiful, with wonderful architecture. And the warmth would not be unwelcome."
"The Milton climate must be unpleasant for you." Mr Thornton said stiffly.
"Not unpleasant. Merely different. I am growing used to it with each passing day."
A strange sort of silence passed over them for a moment, and he fixed her with a stare that she could not escape. She swallowed, wondering if the room had suddenly increased in temperature or if the sudden heat she felt was from the burning of her own cheeks.
"Who is he?" Mr Thornton finally spoke.
"Who?" Margaret asked, heart hammering with fear.
He could not know that there was someone she wanted to see in Spain, it was impossible. There was no conceivable way he would know of Frederick's existence - unless, perhaps her father had made some kind of slip?
"Henry." The word was a sneer, distaste dripping in a way that could not possibly be more obvious.
Margaret exhaled a little too suddenly, the relief that he had not somehow guessed their secret. She shook her head, trying not to laugh at Mr Thornton's disgusted expression.
"He is my cousin's brother in law. He is my friend. I am pleased to see you have had plenty of company on your journey south, Mr Thornton. Fanny spoke so often of London. And Miss Latimer is with you too. I did not know you were so well acquainted."
"Her father is my banker. He wanted to see the exhibition. Miss Latimer asked to accompany him."
"And I do not blame her, for it truly is a marvel. I hope Miss Latimer has enjoyed it?" Margaret remarked, her eyes drifting to where Misses Thornton and Latimer stood. Both women were staring at her, rather unsubtly for when Margaret caught their eye, they both turned around like two naughty school children.
John turned to see what she was looking at, frowning as he turned back.
"I don't know."
"I thought the two of you might have discussed it. She seems most fond of you. Fanny made it clear how greatly your mother approves of her, and I know how much you value your mother's opinion."
"What are you implying?"
"Nothing."
"Miss Latimer is the daughter of a business associate. That is all."
"It is of no concern to me, for you are free to associate with whomever you wish." Margaret said lightly, walking on to view another exhibit.
Mr Thornton followed her, reaching out to touch her arm as they stopped by a display of silk curtains. Margaret eyed the fabric with painfully feigned interest, for in truth she had no interest at all in curtains, no matter how finely produced.
"As are you. Though I thought you'd prefer a man with a brain in his head."
"John!" Margaret clapped a hand over her mouth, trying desperately not to giggle. "Mr Thornton, I can assure you Mr Lennox has a brain. I think. Sometimes."
His lip quirked up in the slightest smile, and Margaret felt her heart leap once more at the rare sight.
"Miss Hale, you do not know how pleased I am to see you. I have wanted to speak to you for some time."
His sudden admission caught her quite off guard, for he had never been so plain in his words before. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Once satisfied they could not be overheard, she turned back.
"You have been busy. I have had little spare time myself. My mother has needed me at home."
The mention of her mother made him stand a little straighter, and the concern she saw in his eyes touched her. For all that they had had their disagreements, she was coming to understand Mr Thornton as a man who did his best - his generosity towards her mother had not gone unnoticed.
"How is she?"
"She - she is tired." Margaret said, for she could not bring herself to admit just how quickly her mother's condition was deteriorating. "And disappointed to have missed her chance to see the exhibition, but she was unable to travel."
"I am sorry to hear it."
"Thank you."
"Margaret." His voice was lower now, the familiar tone that seemed to be reserved just for her. She had heard it on the night of the dinner party, as they had kissed in her hallway, in his office. Here it was again, the soft murmur that seemed to set her skin ablaze. "Margaret, tell me-"
"Margaret!" Margaret winced at the shrill sound that could only be her Aunt Shaw. "Margaret, here you are."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wander off. I was just, ah, looking at this."
"Well, dear, we best be going." She swept her eyes over Mr Thornton. "Good day, sir."
His face back to his stern mask once more, John nodded at both women before wishing them a good day and leaving.
"Goodness me, that man is most unfriendly! Are all men as such in Milton? It must be the most miserable place to live, for I do not believe such a man has ever smiled!"
"He is Papa's pupil, and a good friend to him. He shows Mama great kindness, and is a very well respected man in Milton." Margaret said, her eyes fixed on the retreating figure of Mr Thornton. "He is just serious by nature."
Aunt Shaw hooked her arm through Margaret's and led her away, still tutting.
"Well, I found him rather charmless. Now, have you seen everything?"
"I think I could stay here for days and still have much to look at." Margaret sighed wistfully. "But I suppose it's getting late."
"Yes it is. And we have guests for dinner."
Margaret smiled, cursing in her head. She was so tired, feet aching terribly from the long day and the uncomfortable shoes she was wearing. She certainly had no wish to chat idly with pompous members of London society for hours. She would return to Milton the next morning, and she found herself wishing she was instead returning at this very moment.
The next afternoon, as the September sun desperately tried to break through the clouds, Margaret was overjoyed to be back in Milton. She had arrived that morning, and found herself quite unexpectedly giddy to be back amongst the hustle and bustle of the city. When she had returned home, she had been disappointed to find her mother asleep. There had been so much to tell her, so much to describe! Yet Dixon had shushed her, telling her to save it for later.
Her mother eventually awoke well after midday, and was excited indeed to see Margaret. She lay in bed, her speech slow and slightly slurred.
"Good afternoon dear!" Her mother smiled. "I'm sorry I was asleep when you arrived home. I really am so terribly tired. Come, tell me everything about the Exhibition. Dixon has told me that the newspapers have said such wonderful things!"
Margaret sat down in the chair near her mother, holding the gifts she had brought from London in her lap. She did not know how to begin describing the wondrous things she had seen.
"Oh Mama! It was marvellous. I cannot do it justice, but I shall try! The sights, the sounds! The building itself, so light - I do not think I shall ever see another thing like it. I have brought you some things so you might have a little piece of it to keep."
"Oh good. I'm so glad you went, darling. You cannot stop smiling!" Each word grew quieter, the effort of each syllable clear to see in her face. "The change of scenery has done you the world of good, I think! I can see such a change in you. Tell me - if you wanted to go to London, to stay with your aunt.."
Margaret's smile slipped. She had no wish at all to live in London. She had spent enough of her life there, doing things she did not care for and minding her manners or holding her tongue lest she offend somebody or other. She certainly did not wish to leave her mother. She did not want to leave Milton at all. She felt panic surge through her, for Aunt Shaw would surely love nothing more than to steal her niece away from this place.
"No! No, Mama. I want to stay here. I would not leave you. Milton is not so bad; indeed, I found myself missing it while I was away."
"Well, I never thought I would hear that! I certainly wish there was some respite from the damp and the smoke." She shifted in her place, exhausted by the conversation already. "So, please tell me, my dear. What did you like the most?"
Margaret could scarcely think of what to discuss first, for the variety and splendour of the things she had seen overtook her all at once.
"There was the most enormous diamond! I am sure you have read about it but really, it was extraordinary to see it in the flesh. And the animals! There was so much to see, I cannot think where to begin! I wish you could have come too, Mama. Here, they were selling the sweetest souvenirs."
Margaret handed her mother an envelope which contained a strange little pop up picture that depicted the exhibition itself when you peered through a hole at the front. It was nothing like seeing it in person, of course, but it was the only way to bring a little piece of what she had seen to Milton.
Her mother cooed over the gift, delighting in folding it down and then watching it pop back up again. She held it up to her face, peering through the small square to see the pictures inside. When she had finished peering through, she lowered it with tears in her eyes. Though it was clear she was still exhausted, perhaps more so than when Margaret had left the smile on her face was genuine. Margaret gave her the second gift, a new fan in a pretty Oriental pattern.
"Well isn't this a nice sight! Afternoon, Miss Margaret."
"Good afternoon, Dixon."
"Dixon, you must see this!" Her mother beckoned. "It is marvellous!"
Margaret smiled as Dixon peered through the small window, happy that such a small token had brought joy to her mother. She had weakened in the time she was away - or perhaps the time away from her had only highlighted how much she had changed without Margaret realising. Margaret sighed, hoping once more that Frederick was making his way across the sea at this very moment.
"What's all this noise?" Her father asked, smiling as he took in the pleasant scene that greeted him. "Oh, how marvellous. Margaret, dear, how was it?"
She had not seen her father either; he had been out all morning. He looked tired, she thought. Had he always looked as such, and she had never noticed? It was strange, but a few days away from Milton had opened her eyes to so much.
"Wonderful, Father."
"I don't suppose you saw John there?" He asked as he sat down in his chair, unfolding his newspaper.
"Mr Thornton? Y-yes, I did. I was quite surprised to see him there."
"I heard from him just after you left for London, I did not have time to write to you but I had hoped you might happen upon him."
"People seemed interested in what he had to say, and in the machinery he was showing." Margaret said lightly, loathing the way her pulse quickened as she talked about him. "There was much to see in the way of fabric. Such patterns! Fine shawls from India, as though sunshine were woven in the very cloth."
"How delightful you make it sound." Her mother sighed wistfully. "So much excitement for one day!"
Margaret looked at her mother; her eyes were closed as she leaned back in her chair. Her shoulders sagged with fatigue, her mouth small as she gritted her teeth with pain evident in her face.
"You should rest, Mama."
Margaret excused herself from the room, returning to her bedroom. Frederick had still not responded to her letter, and she grew increasingly anxious with each passing day. What if he had not yet received her request? What if he had been caught in his passage from Spain? Her mind churned with every possible scenario until she felt quite sick with worry.
She spent the day walking, tidying the house, utterly lost in her own thoughts. Come seven o'clock, as she was reading in her usual chair, her father entered.
"Dear, would you join John and I tonight?"
"What?" She asked ineloquently, the book falling through clumsy fingers. "I mean, I did not know he had a lesson his evening."
"Yes, yes, he sent word yesterday. Did I forget to say? My memory is a little shaky I suppose! I know it is not perfect timing, as your mother does not seem well. She does not mind, she says. Well, he is coming in an hour."
As soon as her father had left, Margaret almost threw the book down and went with haste to her room. Peering in the mirror, noting a slight ink stain on her cheek and her hair unravelling rebelliously from her bun, she wished her father had given her a little more warning of their guest. Quickly taking her hair down, she paused as she wondered why she was giving so much thought to her appearance.
You know exactly why, her treacherous mind whispered. You wish to look your best for him.
When he arrived, Margaret answered the door. Dixon was occupied with her mother, and her father found the stairs difficult.
Though she had only seen him a few days previously, it felt like far longer. It had been weeks since he had last been in their home, and his tall figure felt even more imposing in the darkness of the hallway.
"Evening, Miss Hale." He greeted her with a stiff nod.
"Mr Thornton. How nice to have you visit us again."
"Did you enjoy your time in London?"
Margaret nodded; though she had found staying with Aunt Shaw a little tiresome, there was no doubt that her time at the Exhibition had lifted her spirits and expanded her mind.
"Very much. And you?"
He shook his head, jaw tight.
"No, not particularly. I don't much care for it.. It was for business, not pleasure."
"I trust your sister enjoyed herself at least?" Margaret asked. "London suited her, I think."
"Aye, she hasn't stopped talking about it."
Margaret did not doubt that; in fact, she wondered if Fanny Thornton ever stopped talking at all.
"May I take your coat?"
He hesitated, his hand moving to rest over his coat. She frowned, confused as to why he would keep it on. He cleared his throat, not meeting her eye.
"Miss Hale - I hope you don't think me forward, but I have brought you something. A gift."
"Oh?"
He reached into his coat pocket and took out a small square package, flat and wrapped in paper. He handed it to her wordlessly, and she frowned. Pulling at the wrappings, she stared down at the little bundle of material she held in her hands.
"You were admiring that Spanish lace." Mr Thornton said, seeming embarrassed as he explained the gift. "I bought a little from the merchant. I thought - I thought it would look nice as a collar."
"How thoughtful of you." Margaret ran her fingers over the impossibly delicate fabric in her hands. "Truly, how kind. Thank you. It is beautiful. I admired it very much, and it is just as fine as I remembered."
Folding the cloth back into its brown paper wrapping, Margaret looked up at the man who had given her such a thoughtful gift. His eyes were fixed on her, a nervous half-smile on his lips. It was the most vulnerable she had ever seen him look; for even though he was a man, confident and assured in so many ways, he reminded her of a nervous boy. It was endearing, really, that one so stoic might be reduced to nerves by merely giving a gift to a woman. She smiled in return, feeling a great sense of peace come over her. Perhaps the conflict between them, the confusion of these past weeks, had finally lifted and she could come to know the man he truly was.
Looking over her shoulder to make sure nobody was lurking behind them, she stepped closer. Wishing she wasn't quite so short, or perhaps Mr Thornton wasn't quite so tall, she reached up on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.
"You're welcome." He said as she pulled away, and he reached out as if to touch her face before snatching his hand away. "I should go up."
"I will put this away and fetch the tea. Really, John. Most sincerely, thank you."
He nodded stiffly. Margaret swept away, before realising she had yet to take his hat or coat. When she turned around, his hand was resting on the cheek she had kissed. She smiled, for surely a peck on the cheek was nothing. He knew her more intimately than any man, yet he was cradling his cheek as though the brush of her lips against it had been the most wonderful thing in the world.
"I'm sorry." She said, and he flinched, hand sharply returning to his side. "I did not take your coat!"
"Quite alright, Miss Hale." If he was embarrassed, his voice did not betray it.
"You do not need to call me-"
"Margaret." Her name had never sounded so fine. "I am able to hang up my own coat."
"Of course. Let me - let me go and fetch the tea."
Some hours later, when Margaret's eyes had grown heavy and her mind disinterested, the lesson finally concluded. Her father had had much to say, seemingly making up for the time Mr Thornton had missed all in one night. Mr Thornton, though too polite to say anything, looked tired as well. He bid her father goodnight, and once again Margaret was left to show their guest to the door.
They stood in the dark doorway, the house silent around them as Mr Thornton put on his coat. Margaret stared at her hands as he did so, her heart thumping quite wildly against her ribs. She half wondered if he could hear it, though that was absurd, of course. If he was in a similar state, his manner did not betray it. When he was ready, he cleared his throat. Margaret blinked back to life, realising she was standing in front of the door and blocking his path.
She held out her hand, that greeting that she had not understood at first she now seemed to yearn for each time she saw him.
"Goodnight, Mr Thornton. Thank you again for the gift, it was very kind of you to think of me."
He smiled, the slight movement of his lips barely visible in the poorly lit hallway but as bright to her as if it was illuminated by the sun. He took her bare hand in his, the warmth of his skin against hers heating her very soul. He lingered for longer than was proper, but perhaps the blame lay at her feet. Her hand stayed tight in his, until his fingers laced through hers.
"I have had more time to think about my behaviour, and I am sorry for my harsh words to you in front of others. It was not fair."
"You have already apologised." Margaret frowned. "I considered the matter resolved."
"I know. I know that I have been hard on you Miss Hale. I have regretted my behaviour towards you for some weeks."
Margaret had no wish for another apology; they only ever seemed to lead to arguments. She did not want to argue, she did not want to spoil this moment of rare civility. This is what she wanted, to know him without tension between them or bickering. To know the man he was inside, beyond trade and without others dictating how he must behave. She wished to know him, exactly as he was.
"Sir, there is no need to-"
"I care for you."
"I know."
"Did you mean what you said on the street?" He asked. "Do you truly care for me too?"
"Mr Thornton-"
"John."
"I do not say that which I don't mean." She said simply, though the confession felt monumental to her in that moment. "I thought you would know that of me by now."
"Really?"
"Yes. I - I have thought of you often these past weeks. I have found myself missing your company."
"I have thought of you too." He murmured, in that voice that she had come to know was meant for only her. "Of little else, in fact."
His thumb ran over her knuckles, caressing her so gently that her breath caught in her throat. She was not sure when they had become so close in proximity, but his body was pressed against hers, his palm on the small of her back as he lowered his head.
"We cannot do this." She whispered, though her hand raised to his cheek, pressing against the skin she had already touched her lips to this very evening. "Not again."
"I love you." The words were a murmur as his lips met hers, any reply that she might have silenced by his kiss.