Dear readers,
Thank you so much for the useful reviews once again. They make my week and I appreciate them very much. The next chapter is here. I knew this one would be hard to write and it really was but I hope you like it.
Please do review and let me know either way.
Thanks for reading, Elle. x
…
The short remainder of the train journey to Oxford station had been awkward to say the least. Dixon had refused to look at her, staring steadfastly out the window to her right and she in turn, had refused to look to her left at Mr Thornton, instead focusing on anything else to avoid facing his scrutiny.
She was unsure how she could possibly have been so bold as to take a man's hand- let alone thread her fingers through his in such an intimate manner. She supposed that once they were married no-one would bat an eyelid if she was to do so again, yet, until she had done it, she hadn't even realised people did hold hands quite like that. Now she suspected that there might be something rather nice about being connected to someone in that way. She supposed, if she were in love with Mr Thornton, she might want to be linked with him. Underneath her feelings of sheer panic at the reaction of her companion, the feel of his hand entwined with hers had been sort of comforting- a way of promising something without words. His reaction, however, was a mystery to her. Perhaps it was a result of his surprise at her boldness, but she had been able to feel his heartbeat through their touching arms, the ferocity of its pounding had been such. And his hand had shaken, undetectable by the eye but noticeable to her. Perhaps her own would have shaken had she known what she was about to do but her mind had made the decision for her and it was too late to take it back by the time she had realised what she had done.
That look he had given her had been too much though- it had been enough to make her own heart react in a similarly distressing way and she was suddenly scared of what would happen if she didn't let go. Part of her had wanted to know- was interested to do it again- just to see what would happen, but the rest of her was horrified by the thought.
Since she had released him, Mr Thornton had been pretending to stare at his lap or out of the window, but Margaret knew better. His gaze burned into her face every few seconds as he not so inconspicuously glanced towards her form beside him. She knew he was confused why she had taken his hand and she was desperate to be alone with him again so she could explain her innocence but it would not be. There was no possibility of Dixon falling asleep again now in such a short time and since her untimely revelation, she highly doubted Dixon would let her be alone with him again until her Aunt arrived and Dixon could implore her to forbid Margaret from marrying.
That was another obstacle in this whole debacle that Margaret had not thought of until now. Somehow, she suspected that her aunt would not approve of her choice of husband- a mere manufacturer- and whilst her aunt could not really stop her, she did not want there to be friction between the two of them. She had no intention of disclosing the nature of her marriage to her aunt but she may need to warn Mr Thornton that her mother's sister was extremely likely to dislike him purely for his lack of rank in London society.
When, finally, the train pulled into Oxford and they were able to exit the train, Margaret was relieved to have a distraction from her confused thoughts. Mr Thornton went to find a porter to help with their belongings and Margaret trailed behind him like a lost sheep, not wanting to be alone with Dixon whose lips were still pursed into a tight line, a silent sign of her disapproval. Margaret knew if she was left alone with the maid, her disapproval would not remain silent and she needed to focus on other things. Finding her godfather for one.
Thank goodness the man before her had agreed to take her to Oxford to find Mr Bell, as it only dawned on Margaret that she had no idea where he lived or how to find an address in Oxford without his help, as she followed him around the station like a child. Equally, she was relieved to find that he had made reservations for them at a hotel in Oxford for that night, as she had not even considered where they would stay. Instead she had been purely focused on what she would do if Mr Bell was to deny her of her wish. He had returned to his stony expression, hardly paying her any mind as she trotted after him and walking just a little too fast so that she had to run just slightly to keep up with his longer legs. To an observer it must have appeared quite comical, but Margaret was relieved to see things had returned to the business-like efficiency she had come to associate with him.
Oxford was a beautiful place- she could not deny it. Something about the tall stone buildings, perhaps the reverence of the place or the academic atmosphere as their carriage to the hotel passed students in their academic gowns, seemed to suit her father and for the first time she doubted she was doing the right thing. People smiled as they walked down the streets in their southern fashion choices, clearly distinguishable to her from the styles of Milton and even the weather seemed to approve of Oxford. It was the first time she had seen sun in months and Margaret could not help but smile at the heat of its rays as they gently warmed her face. In her elation, she turned to catch Mr Thornton, staring at her with an unreadable look on his face- an odd mixture of wonder and sadness perhaps, who coloured deeply at having been caught and pretended to have been looking out of the carriage window. Margaret was not fooled. He was still confused by her earlier actions, that much was clear, and she coloured again at the memory of her immodest behaviour.
"Have you been to Oxford before, Mr Thornton?" She asked to cover her embarrassment, trying to make the situation less awkward and defuse the tension she had unwittingly created.
"No Miss Hale, I have not had much opportunity to travel I am afraid." His voice was a little disapproving as if he was humouring her rather than answering because he wanted to and Margaret for the first time felt completely alone in the world. Since she was now an orphan, Dixon and Mr Thornton- her fiancé- had become the only two people she had in existence and now it appeared she had ruined all that. Dixon was not talking to her and apparently, she was back to cold civility from the person she had thought she was defending from Dixon. The whole situation was becoming rather frustrating, not to mention ridiculous and she sighed in frustration.
Still, she would not allow the foul mood of others to dampen her happiness. She returned to her view and tried to put both of her companions from her mind.
Not wanting to cause more fractures in her now cracked relationship with Dixon, she had chosen to sit beside the maid, whose happiness to both have escaped the confines of the train and be back in the south was palpable. Indeed, she was smiling rather than her sour disapproval.
"Oh, Miss Margaret, surely those are the same roses you loved so in Helstone!" The sight of yellow roses growing in the hedges combined with the sunshine coaxed her from her silence, the words bursting forth as if ripped from her. Margaret could not help but smile at the change in atmosphere in the carriage and she giggled in response.
"I believe you are right Dixon! How I loved picking them with Papa and presenting them to Mama. She was always so pleased, even when we had done so hundreds of times before!"
"No wonder Mr Bell, wanted to bury your father here in the south! I only wish your mother could have been left to rest among beauty rather than the dirt and smoke." Dixon trailed off, looking for Margaret's reaction.
"I'm sorry, Miss, but I cannot help how I feel."
She did not continue and Margaret did not know how to respond so she did not. She did not miss Mr Thornton's hurt expression and the magnitude of the wall which was now steadily rising between them again, even as the one she had unwittingly erected between her and Dixon began to fall.
…
The hotel was small but clean and more than adequate for one night's stay. Margaret would be sharing a room with Dixon and Mr Thornton had his own next door. They dropped off their bags and sought out food. Dixon's icy demeanour had thawed somewhat and she had prattled to Margaret throughout a large luncheon, ignoring Mr Thornton who equally ignored her back, barely saying two words to either of them through the hour and a half they must have spent eating in the sunshine. It was the most Margaret had eaten in days and although it was only the early afternoon, they would not need dinner.
Margaret had tried to persuade Dixon that she could trust her and Mr Thornton to seek out Mr Bell's office alone and wait at the hotel, but the older woman would not be persuaded, as predicted. She was watching Margaret's every move like a hawk, though her hostile demeanour had almost fully slipped and she had consented to idle chit-chat on the short walk to Mr Bell's college, where Mr Thornton seemed to be convinced they would find, the man they sought.
Mr Thornton strode ahead, always at least five paces in front as the woman struggled to keep up and Margaret got the distinct impression that he felt uncomfortable in his present surroundings. His body was rigid as he walked and his shoulders slightly hunched as they had been last night as he retreated from Campton. His dark coat seemed in contrast with the colours of the blooming flowers, which decorated the stone walls and buildings around them. A sad figure, against the happiness the surroundings seemed to exude and Margaret was reminded of her dream- yet now the dark figure was ahead, as if he was the one trying to escape her advancing figure. She supposed she too was a dark figure- a blot of the beauty of this place. Perhaps she no longer belonged in the south either, ruined the landscape. The thought made her sad.
As they turned into one of the colleges, they were greeted by arched walkways surrounding a square courtyard, filled with shortly cut grass and an edging of flowers. Wooden benches complemented the four sides and Dixon made her way towards one, falling into it motioning for her two younger companions to go on.
Several wooden doors lined the walkways and Mr Thornton silently pointed towards one on the far side of the courtyard, striding purposefully towards it without waiting for her. He knocked smartly three times and waited.
With a creek, the large door opened and her godfather greeted her happily before pulling her towards him in a friendly embrace. He released her and moved to let her inside before shaking her companion's hand and motioning for him to do the same.
His office was large and filled with books. Margaret could see why her father would have liked visiting Mr Bell here. She could imagine him sitting in one of the chairs beside the fire and reading or discussing with Mr Bell. How she wished she could have had the opportunity to visit her with him. Had he not said in his letter that he hoped she would have the opportunity to visit with someone else if she could not with him? Well, now she was here with Mr Thornton and going to become his wife. Her life had completely flipped upside down from what she had thought it was not four days ago and she bit her lip to stop herself from crying.
Mr Bell, gestured towards two of the chairs beside the fireplace and Margaret selected one and sat dabbing the couple of tears, which had managed to sneak past her defence with the handkerchief from her pocket, becoming self-conscious when Mr Thornton took the chair beside her and widened his eyes at the sight of his initials stitched into the material.
Luckily, she did not have time to worry about this as her godfather took a chair opposite them.
"I wish your visit was not under such sad circumstances, Margaret but I do hope you are liking Oxford?" His question was kind and showed no pity or pretence and Margaret was glad she had come, regardless of the outcome. She had always liked Mr Bell and hearing his voice reminded her of her father and the times she had heard the pair discussion the world in his study.
"When I received Thornton's letter this morning, informing me of your arrival, I was most surprised but pleased to be seeing you so soon."
Mr Thornton's letter? That surprised her? How had he received a letter from him so quickly when the slow speed of the postal service was the sole reason she had ventured here in person in the first place.
"How did you get a letter here so quickly?" she asked rounding on Mr Thornton, all thought of embarrassment at having been caught using his handkerchief forgotten and replaced with bewilderment and a hint of mistrust.
"I sent a man ahead on the last train last night so that Mr Bell might be able to ensure he was here to see us today…" his reply was defensive and delivered without looking at her and as the men launched into polite conversation about the state of the mill, Margaret relapsed into her thoughts.
He had sent a man ahead? Paid to send a man with a letter on a train so it might get there quickly and then also made the same trip with her and a maid this morning? He had paid for four return train tickets, rather than the logical method of asking her to write her plea to Mr Bell and send that with the man on the train last night? It made no sense.
Baffled, Margaret kept quiet as the men talked, observing the man who had done so much for her with confusion. If he wished to bring her and Dixon to make sure of their success as she requested, why bother sending the man at all? She was not at all convinced by his claim that he wanted to check Mr Bell would be there. It was his work- he was always there.
"Margaret, Mr Thornton told me in his correspondence that you wish for your father to be buried in Milton rather than Oxford?"
Margaret's confusion deepened. If Mr Bell knew of this wish already, then there really was no need for them to come! She frowned at Mr Thornton, who was watching her expectantly and turned to her godfather.
"Yes, Mr Bell. I wish to be able to visit him easier as I fear not many others will. Other than yourself of course…" she trailed off under Mr Bell's scrutiny.
The older man's face crinkled in confusion. "Surely Oxford it better for you too, Margaret. Certainly, Oxford is closer to London than Milton is, so it would be easier to visit your father here than there!" He raised one had to his chin, his elbow resting on the arm of his chair and Margaret got the distinct impression he was trying to analyse her.
"I won't be living in Oxford, Mr Bell." Her answer was confident but incomplete. Had her father's letter specified whether Mr Bell knew of her father's request of his tenant? She wasn't sure he has actually clarified that point but there was something about the way he was looking at her that made her wonder.
"Has your Aunt not agreed to take you in, my dear?" His eyebrows raised slightly and she decided he must not know. Otherwise he surely would not have asked that question? If he did know, he must have realised that he had asked the wrong question?
"Mr Bell. Miss Hale has agreed to marry me." Mr Thornton declared and Margaret's heart missed a beat. Goodness knows, she had thought about it enough over the last few days but hearing it out loud still shocked her.
"Has she?" Mr Bell turned to face his goddaughter and raised his eyebrows further still. "Well, I see, congratulations are in order, to both of you then." Looking between the two, Mr Bell's expression was one of curiosity rather than surprise.
"When will the wedding be?"
"We have not decided the particulars yet, under the circumstances, we have not had chance." The question was answered before she had the chance to formulate a response and she felt a ripple of annoyance. She was perfectly capable of answering for herself and fully intended to shoot daggers at Mr Thornton but her anger quelled at his look of apology. He seemed to be pleading for her forgiveness as if he had realised he had spoken for her and, mollified, she stayed silent.
"Mr Thornton, might I have a moment alone with my goddaughter?" Mr Bell's eyes remained focused on Margaret throughout his question, rather than the recipient and Margaret met his gaze with as much intensity. Mr Thornton voiced his agreement to the request and stood to leave.
"I will be just outside if you need me, Miss Hale." He said before he strode purposefully from the room, closing the wooden door behind him with a bang and Margaret was glad of his reassurance, knowing all too well what Mr Bell wanted to speak to her alone about.
Mr Bell, stood pacing now, his sharp eyes trained on her all the while.
"I am so glad you got my letter, Miss Hale. I was very distressed to be the one to deliver such sad news." His sadness was genuine, his voice breaking slightly at the end and his eyes softening a little.
"Do not be distressed, Mr Bell. I was only glad to have received the news quickly and from someone I knew so well and could trust. I am sure he would have been pleased to go so quietly and seemingly painlessly?" Her confidence faltered at the end and it came out more as a question than the statement she intended it to be.
"I certainly do not think he suffered, Margaret. Do not concern yourself over that."
Margaret nodded, marginally comforted by his confident tone. She had not properly cried since that fateful moment in Mr Thornton's office, but she could not stop the quiet trail from making their way down her cheeks at the thought of her father's body being found by Mr Bell and she was glad Mr Thornton was not here to see it.
"I see that you decided to give my tenant the letter from your father."
Her nose had started streaming once again and she rustled agitatedly in her lap for the handkerchief to stop it with.
"It seemed wrong not to."
"Even knowing what it contained?"
Margaret's head snapped up to face her godfather. So, he did know. He had known all along? Had he known the enormity of the choice he was asking her to make, when he sent her all three letters?
"You knew what my father was going to ask of him." It was a statement, despite her uncertainty in its truth.
Mr Bell nodded. "We spoke of many things whilst he was here. I will not disclose everything as I fear that would be unfair to your father who trusted me, but one thing was your future."
"Seize the day. We both have our reasons." That was what her father had said. There was something else they were keeping from her, she was sure of it.
"Did I do wrong in giving you the choice, Margaret?"
Did he? He must have known that in giving her the choice he had actually (in a way) taken 'choice' away from her. How could she choose to go against her father's wishes to pass on the letter? On the other hand, how could he have known her feelings had changed towards Milton and London and what she wanted for her future?
"No, you did right, Mr Bell."
He did do the right thing. Had he not sent them, if she had ever found out she would have ultimately resented him for denying her father his last words.
"I think your father was concerned you would be forced to do as your Aunt wanted, rather than your own wishes, and he has had first-hand experience of how your aunt can be…"
She knew he referenced her aunt's disapproval of her sister's choice in marrying a simple clergyman and the ensuing battle had had faced over the matter upon every visit. The same disapproval she was going to likely experience very soon.
"Don't get me wrong, my dear, I don't to mean to criticise, but I fear she sometimes has her own agenda?"
Margaret nodded. That was one way to put it. She loved her aunt and was grateful for all the care and hospitality she had received from her but she was easily swayed by what was fashionable rather than what was right.
Taking his seat once again, he continued, "I cannot help but wonder, my dear, whether you have really thought this…"
"I know what I am doing, Mr Bell." She cut him off, assuring him. If there was one thing she did know it was what she was doing.
"But do you know what he is doing?"
For a moment she was baffled. Did she know what who was doing?
"What do you mean, Mr Bell?" She supposed he must mean Mr Thornton.
"Has he told you the whole truth, do you think? Just something to think about." His words made her feel uneasy and again questions about why Mr Thornton had sent a man ahead with a letter and then brought them to Oxford anyway swam in her mind. She did know he would not do anything unless he thought it would help her, and that thought gave her comfort.
"I will, Mr Bell. Thank you for your concern."
He nodded thoughtfully and turned his attention to the unlit grate.
"Mr Bell, please. I must implore you to move my father's funeral to Milton. I know it will incur extra costs but I will happily pay them…"
"How, Margaret. How will you pay them?" His tone was kind but she detected a sharp edge behind them.
"I will find some money."
"You will find some money?"
"Yes, I will find the money."
"From where?" It was beginning to mirror the firing back and forth of questions and answers, which she and Mr Thornton had exchanged in the sitting room in Crampton yesterday and Margaret's skin began to crawl, resenting the interrogatory route the conversation had taken.
"Mr Thornton will help me, I know he will."
Mr Bell's eyes were piercing her with the ferocity of a knife as he regarded her thoughtfully.
"Are you sure you know what you are doing?" His tone definitely had an edge now and Margaret felt like she wanted to cry again, fresh tears starting to sting her eyes.
"I am sorry my dear. I did not mean to distress you." He walked towards Margaret and offered her his hand to help her stand. She did so and he led her towards the door.
"People marry for many different reasons and I am certainly not one who can criticise them having never married myself, but don't hurt him Margaret. I do not always see eye to eye with my tenant but he deserves better than that. And so do you for you will surely end up hurting yourself too. Your father may have wished for your union but that does not mean you have to."
She wasn't going to hurt Mr Thornton. He knew how she felt, she had told him no that fateful day following the riot. They had discussed her motives and he had laid his own plain last night when she accepted him. Did no-one trust her? Just because she did not love him did not mean she was using him. She had been entirely honest about her reasons for accepting and fully intended to keep her side of the bargain. She had not agreed to marry him for love, that would have been untruthful and she would never have told him she loved him knowing it to be untrue, but friendship was a different matter. Part of her wanted to tell her godfather the real nature of their intended union but something stopped her. That was private, between her and Mr Thornton and no-one else needed to know. They could figure out how it would all work themselves.
"I want to marry him, Mr Bell." And she did. There were too many reasons why to explain to him, too many to make sense of in her mind and they were too complicated to distinguish but she firmly believed it was for the best.
"Then I do congratulate you, Margaret and I will do as you ask. I have already made the arrangements for the funeral to take place in Milton on Friday." His tone was kind, the sharp edge gone completely and his eyes sparkled just a little as he granted her wish. "That gives us a few days to travel and prepare, and my closest friend will be reunited with your dear mother."
She visibly sighed with the relief of it all and allowed him to open the door for her, squinting into the now slightly dimming sunlight and returning to Mr Thornton's side. Standing closer than strictly necessary, possessively, in fact to make a point to her godfather.
"My father left me a little money, Mr Bell. I will have it made accessible to you." She said slightly sheepishly.
"No need my dear. I was merely teasing you. Think of it as a gift."
The feeling of peace and elation threatened to overwhelm her and she considered taking Mr Thornton's hand once again, in an effort to prove to Mr Bell the conviction of her words.
"Allow me to congratulate you again Thornton, and I will be awaiting my invite to the happy day. In somewhat more sombre news, the arrangements have been made and the funeral will take place on Friday morning. Now, where are you staying? I will walk you all home and then I trust I can leave Margaret in the care of yourself and Miss Dixon?"
The latter had made her way over to the trio and greeted Mr Bell warmly.
"Miss Dixon, allow me to escort you back to the hotel." He offered her his arm and Dixon blushed a little.
"That is most kind of you, Mr Bell, but I really should walk with Miss Margaret."
"She will be right behind and in good hands, I assure you!" He offered the older woman his arm again and she took it, glancing between Margaret and Thornton with a warning look and Margaret could not help but roll her eyes.
Mr Bell led Dixon out of the courtyard and into the street with a glance behind him and then they were out of sight for a moment as they rounded the corner.
"Thank you, Mr Thornton, I cannot put into words how grateful I am for your help."
"My pleasure, Miss Hale."
Side by side, they began to follow the route out of the courtyard and back to the hotel. The afternoon was now starting to come to its close and the streets were beautiful in the now established twilight.
They did not speak as they walked but every few steps Mr Thornton's arm would brush with hers as they accidently stepped a little off straight; the uneven cobbled path made it somewhat difficult to stay an even distance apart. Whilst Dixon and Mr Bell walked quickly ahead, they walked slowly, companionably enjoying the last of the day's sunlight.
Margaret rehearsed over and over how to explain her behaviour on the train as they walked. Finally gaining enough courage to voice her thoughts, her voice betrayed her by trembling as she did so: "Mr Thornton, I wanted to apologise for earlier."
His step slowed a little. "You may have to be a little more specific, Miss Hale."
Both faced forward, concentrating on the pavement but she could feel him glancing in her direction every few seconds as he waited for her to elaborate.
Steeling her resolve, Margaret took a deep breath. Perhaps she should take his hand again just to show him? It probably wouldn't hurt her cause with Mr Bell either and she might be able to persuade him that they should use that to convince her aunt of their true affection and thus make her more likely to give her blessing.
Her hand shook just a little as she reached tentatively across the few inches between them and linked her fingers through his much larger ones as she had done on the train. His step faltered at the initial contact but he kept moving, staring forward as if avoiding looking at their joined hands. Margaret did the same, sure she would lose her nerve if she looked down.
She gulped thickly: "I am sorry for doing this on the train."
Silence enveloped them, except for the tapping of hard soles of their shoes on the ground.
"And for doing it again now." She added, biting her lip and raising her eyes heavenward as she realised the absurdity of apologising for the very thing she was currently doing.
He still did not speak and she started to doubt herself. "Please understand that I did it because I wanted to convince Dixon that I am serious about marrying you. That is all." She shook her head as she spoke, the need for him to fully understand her motives overwhelming her. Her voice sounded too high and thin, like a child's and she felt ashamed of her failing.
He stopped at her justification, so that he stood a few steps behind her, their hands still joined. Behind his eyes, something had dimmed a little but it was not anger there this time- just confusion. Good. If she had to be this confused, it was only fair that he was too.
Gently, he pulled her back towards him so that they were facing each other, barely inches away and Margaret was glad the streets were now deserted. It was too much again, his eyes burning into hers and now, with clarity, she realised she had been wrong earlier. She did not want to know what would have happened if she hadn't let go. This unrelenting intensity- it was too frightening. She needed to pull her hand free and find Mr Bell and Dixon but she didn't seem to be able to, lost in the darkness of his eyes; they were asking something of her, imploring her but she didn't understand what they sought and felt helpless to provide whatever it was. She wanted to release his hand but he had started stroking her knuckles as she had done to him earlier and now she could comprehend why his breathing had changed so when the tables were reversed. Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he would notice and she couldn't breathe at all, wanting to gasp for air.
"Margaret?" One simple word he gave her- one that she had heard a million times over in her lifetime but never before had it seemed to hold so much gravity, so much significance. His voice broke a little at the end and it made her heart judder absurdly. "Why are you doing it again now?"
It was a fair question. The problem was she had no idea how to answer it.
Desperation crossed his face and she wanted to run, to get away from the responsibility she felt to rectify that desperation. Why should she be expected to solve this riddle he was setting her when it didn't even seem to be her truthful answer that he was looking for?
The reason she had done it again had been to convince Mr Bell, of course! To assure him that she was being completely transparent with Mr Thornton, that they had an agreement, which they had both been happy with. Yet as she turned to see where her godfather was, she realised he and Dixon were now so far ahead they were not even a blot in the distance anymore. They were probably back at their lodgings for the night and definitely unable to see them so why was she still doing it? Even after telling herself to let go?
It was too confusing and her mind was so muddled that she couldn't seem to find any words, let alone the ones she needed. Instead she turned away from him, starting to walk in the direction of the hotel and pulling him with her, their hands still joined together. He followed, his face unreadable as the intensity passed but he did not let go. For the remainder of the journey they walked like that, not looking at each other, their sides still bumping together every few steps as they crossed the cobbles. Thank goodness the street was empty and no- one had seen them, for it was completely inappropriate behaviour in public, even for a married couple let alone two people who were not. They might be away from Milton, but Margaret did not want her reputation unfairly being smeared further.
Oddly, as soon as she spotted Dixon and Mr Bell sitting in the entrance of the hotel, was when she finally managed to untangle herself, before their two companions could see her hand was ever entwined with Mr Thornton's.
Margaret was sure she was blushing furiously again as Mr Bell kissed her cheek and bid her farewell until Friday, and she felt a little faint. Every stress of the past few days seemed to have hit her once and all she wanted was to be alone from it all, alone from Mr Bell and Dixon and most of all him and to just forget it for a moment. Dread set in as she remembered she was to share with Dixon, and would not be alone until tomorrow night.
Silently, an odd tension filling the air between them, the three walked the stairs to their rooms and paused just outside. Dixon surprisingly politely bid Mr Thornton good evening. She tried to usher Margaret inside their room but she refused, telling Dixon she would be along in a moment and finally the maid relented, the small click of the door signalling that she was out of ear shot.
She had decided. It was time to tell him all of what had transpired that night at the station. Despite the strange atmosphere between them, her unspoken anger at him for lying and acting in a most absurd manner over helping her contact Mr Bell, she trusted him. She had wanted to wait for Fred's letter, to know for sure that he was safe but now that didn't seem to be related to Mr Thornton knowing at all. The two things were mutually exclusive. He would not betray her and he would not betray her brother, regardless of his status as a magistrate.
"Mr Thornton, I promised I would tell you about who I was with that night when you saw me at the station and I will uphold my part of the bargain." She stared at her hands, afraid of what she might see if she looked onto those brown orbs again.
"That night…"
"You do not have to tell me, Miss Hale." He cut her off; his voice sounded funny, as if something was distorted, or broken. She realised he was not looking at her either, instead focussing on his hands.
"I release you from that part of our agreement."
She swallowed, confused more than ever and an unpleasant weight settled in her stomach at his words. He had been so clear that he wanted to know, stressing it after the fact and now he didn't want to anymore? He had judged her quite unfairly and implied she was wrong to keep it from him and now he had changed his mind? She had thought she knew him yet after the revelations of today, she felt she had been wrong. She did not know him at all.
"I will not make you tell me. I do not need to know."
Her mouth hung open a little, convinced she had still not heard him correctly but afraid to look up and find out.
"But you see, I would have told you earlier. It was only that…"
Now she had begun, she floundered, unsure how she should reply to that. Was she to insist and tell him anyway? She wanted to with every fibre of her being, but if he didn't want to know then she supposed she shouldn't. Was he regretting their entire deal or just that part?
"If you tell me, it cannot be because I forced you…" he trailed off, his deep voice having become deeper still. She was about to reassure him that she did not feel forced when he added: "Besides, I fear it won't make any difference."
Baffled she shook her head. Any difference to what?
"But the rest of our agreement remains unchanged?" She asked quietly, doubting everything she knew all at once. She forced herself to look at him then, and instantly could tell that he was gathering himself, preparing, standing taller than he was before, and he was monitoring his facial expression, forcing the calm, uncaring façade that she was becoming so used to.
"Of course. If it is still agreeable to you then our agreement still stands."
The prickle of anger threatened to flare up inside her and she gritted her teeth with the effort it took not to snap at him for his childish behaviour.
"If it was not agreeable to me, I would have told you. I think you know that." Her voice was flat and unaffected and she was secretly quite pleased to have controlled herself so well.
His forehead creased and she could tell he was struggling with some demon, threatening to break through the calm but he pushed it away.
"Sleep well, Miss Hale and I will call for you both in the morning." He pushed his key into the lock of his room and opened the door a jar.
"Good evening, Mr Thornton." She was too tried to pretend again and it sounded forlorn to her own ears. The set of his jaw softened and he let go of the door. In one deft movement, he had grasped the same hand he had held twice that day and brought it to his lips. His eyes met her wide ones as he softly kissed it, a lingering kiss, before retreating quickly to his room without looking back at her.
Sinking back against the door to her own room, Margaret released a breath she had not known she was holding and air flooded back into her lungs as she again inhaled normally. Her heart, however, was more stubborn and remained beating at an alarming rate for far longer than she cared to admit, even as she had gathered herself together, changed and lay in the uncomfortable bed opposite Dixon.
"Are you really intending to marry Mr Thornton, Miss Margaret?" Dixon's voice startled her in the gloom and she jumped violently. She had assumed the maid was asleep already and was hoping to avoid talking any further tonight.
"Yes, Dixon. I really am." Her answer was assured but her heart ached anyway. She did not receive a further reply.
Within minutes, Dixon was snoring and Margaret remained staring intently at the ceiling above her, as if it could provide her with answers to the questions that were rapidly forming in her muddled mind.
She knew she would not sleep tonight. Every time she closed her eyes, she could feel her hand in his once again and the same urge to flee returned, but even in her subconscious, she could or would not. He was there, ever present waiting, begging for her to give him something and although she did not know what he sought, she somehow understood it was something she could not give.