Hello readers. Thank you for your reviews over the last two weeks. I am sorry for the delay with this chapter, but I was on holiday visiting a friend at Oxford University funnily enough. Many of you have been longing to hear Mr Thornton's thoughts and so I have obliged. I know a couple of people are annoyed with Margaret and feel she is being unfair to Mr Thornton- I feel the same and think she is also unfair to him in the book, but then she is only 19 and we believe he is in his early 30s. They are going to be at different places in matters of life and love, which is one reason I think she is so mortified when John proposes for the first time in the book. Margaret hasn't got the maturity to understand and deal with what she does or does not feel and isn't mentally at the same place he is yet. Anyway, please do keep reviewing, they are lovely to read and always give me things to consider and re-evaluate, for which I am most grateful.
Happy reading. Elle. X
…
Until the fateful day he had met Miss Hale, John Thornton had prided himself on his impenetrable resolve and natural flair for commanding authority. The morning she had charged so forcefully into his life, his world had started to tear a little at the seams. Of course, he had known the very moment he had laid eyes on her that she had the advantage in the situation. His correspondence with her father had told him he would be meeting a clergyman and his daughter but he foolishly had been expecting a little girl of perhaps nine or ten, clinging shyly to the side of her father. Instead, he had been greeted by an extremely self-possessed young woman, perhaps in her mid-twenties who had arrived late, without the man in question anywhere to be found and commanded him to sit with such ease that he had done it before he had chance to remember his displeasure at being kept waiting. It was market day and he was expected back at the mill and he had been just about to leave when she had finally arrived. Miss Hale had regarded him with nothing but a polite but quiet cold demeanour at the time and surely could not then have known how she affected him so, indeed, he himself did not understand it until later, but he had realised his admiration for her confidence from the start. She was not like other Milton girls- girls like his sister, Fanny, who were concerned with fashion and idle gossip and she was certainly not shy in showing that she considered herself above that sort of nonsense. Now he knew he had probably fallen in love with her almost immediately, despite his annoyance at her demeanour and apparent disregard for the social pleasantries of the north.
It was not just her beauty, though he could not deny the instant attraction he felt for her physically. It was an attraction he had not previously allowed himself to feel for a woman- he did not have the time, and besides, his mother had distilled in him a displeasure at young ladies who were not inclined to dedicate themselves to anything other than sewing and playing an instrument- young ladies like Fanny. He had been annoyed by and yet in awe of her ability to ponder on topics she found important and deliver her considered opinion with no regard for how it would be received.
The day Miss Hale had thrown her arms around his neck for his protection he had well and truly been lost forever; the crimson of her blood on the white collar of her dress staining his heart had tipping his resolve over the edge. The possibility, no matter how small, of losing her had made him realise how far he had fallen- he had known that he would always love her, no matter what her feelings towards him were- or more appropriately were not. Her rejection of his first proposal had been a stab to the heart and he had wanted to hate her. He knew that it was to her chagrin that he loved told her that he would love her still in spite of her repulsion and also to his mother's distain. To be sure his mother's hatred was enough to encapsulate the hatred of two people. This want- no- need to hate her had magnified the night he had seen her in another man's arms at the station. Everything he had thought he knew about her had been shaken. Above all, he had thought he knew her to be morally sound but her stance, that embrace, left him with little choice but to believe he had been wrong. She would not have fully compromised her maiden modesty without marriage, he was sure of that. She was the daughter of a clergyman and firm in her morals, but what he had seen was evidence enough that she had in some way given herself to another. Perhaps part of him had hated her then, for a while, since hate and love were so closely aligned, but to his immense shame he knew that if she showed just one sign of loving him back, he would forgive everything and implore her to be his once again, regardless of the very real possibility of a second rejection ruining him. He had tried- oh how he had tried- to forget her and indulge his sister's attempts to pair him with Anne Latimer and, whilst Anne was a lovely girl of good moral standing, she could not hold his attention in every way like Miss Hale. At first, after the rejection, he had tried to carry on as normal, continuing his lessons, but the scene at the station had stained him and he couldn't do it to himself any longer. He would cover for her- some might say lie for her, despite his hatred of liars- but he would not condone her actions and he would not torture himself. Yet, absenting himself from her company altogether had not eased the ache of his heart but only intensified it a hundred-fold as he found himself seeking her out with his eyes at every turn, only to be disappointed when she was not there. It was as if he needed to see her to reconcile his belief in her moral compass and stature- a belief so at odds with the poisonous image of another man embracing her at the station.
Seeing her there in his office yesterday had made everything shift yet further. He could and would not deny it- Margaret Hale was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on and his heart had nearly beaten out of his chest at the sight of her dark hair, dishevelled and cascading down her back and the wind induced flush to her cream cheeks. To his shame, he had endeavoured to remain impassive. He had wanted to hurt her as she had him. He had acted before, when visiting her mother, before she died, as though she simply wasn't there, but in the confines of his office with just he and Miss Hale, that option was lacking in practicality.
It was a matter of self-preservation of course. He had told her that he would always love her but that he would not display it and he intended to stick to his word.
The sight of her tears, however, had nearly broken his resolve, even before he knew of her true grief. Of course, he had felt sadness for the loss of his friend and the empty place he would leave in his heart, but his very soul could not bear to see his Margaret before him so distressed, her small body wracked with sobs as she stood broken before him. His arms had moved towards her of their own accord and he had drawn her to him as tenderly as he could with featherlight touches. No other part of his body was touching hers as he waited, certain she would push him off and rebuke him, but she had not. Her head had come to rest upon his chest and he had felt the coldness of her cheek against his shirt, penetrating through to his chest and his heart had raced alarmingly in response, threatening to burst forth from his chest as he clasped her more fully to him, one hand caressing the soft blanket of her hair, leading down her back to the base of her spine, where his shaking hand would dare to go no further.
Then she sprang back from him and he felt the cruel stab of rejection again. His heart must have betrayed him for surely, she had felt it through his skin and shirt. The haughtiness he had seen so many times before, her adamant denial of any misconduct in her actions had taken over and he wanted to hate her again- more than ever, yet even then he had been unable to make himself feel so, instead assuring her of his services if needed. In spite of her physical rejection, her attitude of superiority, her refusal to be dissuaded from her far-fetched ideals and her continued harsh comments to him- in spite of everything, he had loved her, wanted her more than ever as he watched her walk away from him. It had dawned quickly on him that if he did not act, he may never see her again for her only option now would be to return to London with her Aunt, turning her back on Milton, on him, forevermore.
He could not bring himself to read her father's letter, abandoning it to stare at her from his office window for just a moment, drinking in the sight of her dark figure, before one of the men had disturbed him to ask for his help with one of the looms and he had turned his back on her for the moment knowing that he must decide. Either he must lay himself bare once more, completely vulnerable in the knowledge that it was highly likely he would burn or nurse a broken heart and spirit for the rest of his life.
Forgotten, the letter from Mr Hale had lain disregarded on his desk and he completed his work, quickly secure in the knowledge that he would propose again, but not as before. It would be better to have part of Margaret, a marriage without her love or physical affection but her companionship, conversation and he hoped her respect for now he knew he would be haunted without her; better to be haunted by her and the marriage he longed for than without. He would offer her a partnership- a chance to remain in Milton with someone who would respect her views- invite them even- and make a real difference. He would offer her friendship and equality. More importantly perhaps, he would not degrade her, ask her to participate in an act that should be borne from love, that she could not be an equal in. More than anything, Margaret was passionate in everything she did and he would not make her do something for which she could not display her passion. A partner, in life and in business, however was something he knew she could devote her full passion to, if not him.
However, John Thornton was not a complete fool, blinded so by love that he could not see her imperfections. No, he knew she was flawed as much as he- stubborn, young and clouded by her impenetrable but naive sense of right and wrong and he knew she was human. It had been foolish of her to display her feelings for the man at the station so openly, where anyone could have seen and he did not wish to think of what other mistakes she may have made for the cad's regard. Whatever she had done he needed to know- that would be his one condition- that they start their partnership truthfully. If she loved another, even if she had made love to another, he could live with it if he only knew. Not knowing was too much, the thought of another man having a part of her that he would never have, making his insides twist violently. Secretly he hoped that if she had done the latter, it might end his torment and a life without her love or physical affection might be less painful. Yes, if he only knew for sure that it was the case, although he would never stop loving her, he might be able to easier live with the knowledge that she had loved another but chosen a partnership with him anyway.
For hours he had pondered, pacing the length of his office and then the mill floor, each stride cementing his resolve that he must offer himself to her like a lamb to the slaughter and reap whatever she may sow. Despite his wishing and reasoning he had not truly expected her to say yes. In that one word, she had both shattered his every hope and granted it at once. It had happened, he could not have her body but he would have her mind and that was as much as he could ask for.
As she had asked for his help he had known before she had even finished speaking that he would do whatever it took. His reason told him that she had only accepted his offer to make him help her but his heart and mind told him not to listen- assuring him that he knew of her character and she would not trick him in this. Her face as he rounded the corner of her street was truthful- he was sure of it. Regardless, he had not told his mother. It had been ungentlemanly to appeal to her when she was grieving so and his conscience squirmed uncomfortably in the knowledge that she may not have been entirely herself when she chose to accept him and may feel differently in the morning. Still, he would help her no matter what. It would be difficult for Mr Bell to change the date of her father's funeral so close to the planned date barely two days away, not to mention expensive. He would escort her tomorrow as she had requested but he feared it would be too late. By the time they could arrive half way across the country, it would be mid-afternoon at best and possibly too late for Mr Bell to call the undertakers and others involved in the funeral. It would cost him far more than he should be spending when the mill was in such a state for the ticket alone, but he must send a man ahead to implore Mr Bell to act fast. Without delay he had penned a letter explaining her feelings and that she had asked for his help and begging Mr Bell not to tell her of his words when they arrived. He sent a man with money to contribute to the additional costs by the 9pm train to Oxford, that he might arrive in the early morning and catch Mr Bell early enough for the man to act.
John Thornton knew Miss Hale. She had asked for his help, but she wanted to be the one to speak to her godfather herself, to feel that she had taken control of her father's resting place so he did not tell her of what he had done and embarked on the journey with her and Dixon the following day in order that she might be the one to talk to her godfather. He had withheld the truth from his mother, claiming that business was taking him away from Milton over-night and left Higgins in charge of the mill. It was the first time he had not been entirely truthful with his mother but he knew she would not approve of his extravagance in paying for four train tickets across the country and a man for his time and effort in delivering his correspondence as well as contributing to the funeral of someone who was not family. She would hate Miss Hale still more and he could not allow that to happen- he did not wish to hear her scorn. Of one thing he was certain- he would not tell his mother the true details of his marriage. He could not stand her pity, and he reasoned, it was none of her concern. Even in a marriage of convenience some things should stay between a man and wife.
Finally, as he had lain in bed, contemplating the events which were sure to follow in the morning he had remembered the letter, still lying untouched on the desk in his office. It was too later to return to the mill that night but he had grabbed it and placed it in his pocket before leaving to collect the two ladies from Crampton.
Then Miss Hale had called his proposal a sacrifice, unable to see that he was not sacrificing anything he could have had with another, when there was only here, would only ever be her. She had said that she was not missing out on anything she wanted, which should have pleased him but it did not. Instead, he was sad to think that she did not understand the passionate, abandoned and fulfilling love she was missing out on by settling for him.
Then, she had asked him why he offered her a partnership rather than marriage as he had before and he had not been able to say the words- to tell her that he loved her more than ever and could not let her leave him forever, but also would not ask her to compromise herself for him. She must know why. Deep down she simply had to have worked out the state of his feelings; he could hear it in her voice and feel it in her touch.
As ever, her scorn of him was not to be avoided and she had been angry at him for not telling his mother and believing she would change her mind, but failed to see that she too had not told Dixon and had questioned him- implying she had thought he would change his! Her hypocrisy riled him and yet he loved her all the more for her rage, a sign of her passionate nature. Then she had told Dixon, as if to prove him wrong about her had grasped his hand, the soft skin of her thumb moving over his and he had allowed his act to shatter, staring unashamed at her, imploring her to explain her actions. He knew to her they must be entirely innocent. She was younger than he and must not understand what her touch in such an intimate way would do to him. He wanted to resent her, his self-preservation instincts taking over, but he could not bring himself to be angry, too lost in her eyes, the feel of her hand and the way his heart responded to her. The scale of his task throughout the rest of his life in resisting his desire to display his affection to her, however, hit him with an immobilising force.
To his dismay he had let himself down in the last few minutes of their journey, unable to remove his eyes from her as she so vehemently tried to avoid his, her innocent intentions apparent. She was not trying to mislead him, to make him believe her affections had changed; her lack of feeling for him merely blinded her to what her actions might be doing to him and as he scrutinised her face he was reminded again how young she must be- perhaps younger than the twenty-five years he had first thought and he was annoyed at her for making him love her and showing him what a fool he was for allowing that iron resolve he had been proud of for so many years to crumble before him.
Closing off his emotions had been easier from that point onwards, bringing to the forefront of his mind that detestable image of the man at the station and he had remained cold for the rest of the day, until that walk. That wonderful, hateful walk back to the hotel, where she had apologised for taking his hand on the train and then took it again. This time she had not let go and the thick, expectant atmosphere he had felt before settled around them. He had sounded desperate when he asked her why she was doing it again, and he was. He needed to hear the rejection that would surely come, the confirmation that it was part of the act to persuade Dixon and Mr Bell that they were doing the right thing but if did not come and the confusion clouding her eyes had prevented him from asking again when she did not supply a reason. In that moment, he had known that it did not matter who her lover was and what they may have shared. He already hated himself for having practically demanded it of her in the first place and he would not be that person. If she told him, it needed to because she trusted him as a friend and not because he had asked it. It would not make any difference to his feelings-loving her in silence would never be easy; whatever her reasons were, she had chosen to accept him and he did not, could not regret his offer of a partnership. If he had heard the reason for her grasp from her own lips, if she had been able to voice it, he would not have kissed her hand. As it was, he had done it and then fled before he could experience the consequences of his actions.
It was then that he had remembered the letter from her father and hurriedly read its contents. It was not a long letter and straight to the point. He had not expected his friend to beg him to marry his daughter. It appeared the older man may have suspected his feelings towards Miss Hale but his imploring tone and clear desperation suggested that he could not appreciate the full extent of his passion towards her. Still, it made no difference now and in the darkness, he stored the letter back in his jacket pocket and had mourned the loss of his friend.
Now, lying in the small bed in the same hotel room in Oxford with the sunlight seeping lazily through the gaps in the curtains, John was in a foul mood. He had not slept for more than a few minutes and his eyes, no doubt, were red rimmed from fatigue. It might not matter who her lover had been and what she had done in terms of his feelings for her, but he had been an idiot to think it did not matter at all. Stubbornly, the thought had still plagued him throughout the night, scenes of her in another man's arms and bed, mixed with her father's voice imploring him to save his daughter, shamefully infiltrating his mind and making him sick and resentful by the time the sun rose over Oxford. He hated the man who had taken a piece of what he wanted so badly but could only hope that he had loved her as much as himself.
…
It felt to Margaret as though she had barely closed her eyes when she was woken by sunlight, seeping through the gaps left in the curtains. Visiting the place of her father's death had awakened a fresh wave of sadness and she had spent the night tossing and turning, the hollow ache in her stomach refusing to quell enough to let her sleep for any length of time and the deep-seated roots of loneliness seemed to have settled into her heart.
Her mind had raced at a hundred miles an hour, pondering over why Mr Thornton would spend so much money helping her and bring her all the way to Oxford if he was prepared to send someone with a note that would have solved her problem of getting a letter to Mr Bell on time. Still she had no real answer but she suspected the kiss on her hand last night probably had something to do with it. The feel of his lips on her hand still burned into her pale skin and, although there was no physical mark, she felt as though she was branded by it just the same. Oddly, she thought, the feeling, despite its sting was not unpleasant and that troubled her all the more. Her annoyance at his refusal to hear her reasons for lying about being at the station with Fred had not dimmed at all and that was beginning to override her mind, confusing her thoughts and putting her in a terrible mood.
In the morning sunlight, that yesterday would have made her smile, Margaret's eyes hurt and head ached and as a result Margaret spent the morning alternating between wanting to cry and wanting to hit something. She had barked at Dixon when they were getting ready to leave, and remained silent for the rest of the time. When they met up with Mr Thornton, it did not escape her notice that he too looked as though he hadn't slept and was equally tense. He directed his companions into the carriage and then the train politely but without speaking more than strictly necessary and Margaret did not follow him this time, choosing instead to wait wearily beside Dixon, whose frown of disapproval was firmly reinstated but Margaret paid it no mind. She was keen to be back in Milton and despite the foreboding task of telling her aunt of her engagement waiting for her upon return, she was excited to be reunited with someone who might be an ally and hoped more than anything that Edith might have returned from Greece and accompany her, then Margaret might have a confident to share the unusual nature of her relationship with Mr Thornton with.
The train journey began much as the carriage journey. The three companions were quiet, keeping to their own thoughts and a strange and slightly hostile atmosphere pervaded through the carriage. Strategically, she had sat beside Dixon and opposite Mr Thornton so that she might look out the window without having to peer past Dixon as she had yesterday and found the time passed much faster with the scenery outside to focus on rather than her self-pity. She only removed her eyes once to scowl at the source of her annoyance as he accidently hit her arm when reaching to put her bag on the rack above her head and he did an excellent job of pretending not to notice he had done it, which infuriated her even further.
To her surprise and annoyance, Dixon's mood seemed much improved and the further the train travelled from Oxford, the more she began to try and engage both Margaret and Mr Thornton in conversation, seemingly delighting at the clear awkwardness between them. However, dismissed by both targets numerous times, Dixon did not last long before she had slipped into sleep and her heavy, even breathing filled the carriage. This time, Margaret and Mr Thornton did not speak, instead avoiding each other's gaze, the atmosphere between them now a different kind of tension, heavier and suffocating.
Twice Margaret was sure he had been staring at her as she gazed out the window at the changing scenery, but as she had turned her own eyes to his face, he had been looking out the window after all and she returned to her task. Was the rest of their life to be like this? Constantly walking on egg shells and taking two steps forward to then take three steps back? She hoped not- it would be too much to bear. How could anyone spend a life time with someone who she could not even remain on friendly terms with for more than a few hours?
Feeling his eyes on her for the third time, she finally caught him staring. He did not look quickly away as she thought he would, his impassive expression impeccable except for a faint blush beginning to creep across his cheeks. Those dark eyes were sad again, something in them defusing her anger and making her feel a little ashamed of her behaviour. He had really hurt her when he would not let her tell him about Fred. She was about to open up to him and prove she trusted him as a friend and he had broken that trust. Perhaps he had done to her what she had done to him when he had proposed to her after the riots. The thought made her squirm uncomfortably.
Well, he might be able to pretend not to care about anything with his facial expressions but he could not with his eyes. Suddenly, she did not want to fight; she wanted to draw a truce, regardless of who was at fault, and make whatever this unsettled feeling between them was disappear and thank him for all he had done for her, but the words would not come. Instead she smiled at him. It was a small closed lipped smile but it was a transparent and honest smile that spoke all the words she could not voice and she hoped he would take it as the peace offering she meant. Another piece of her broken heart re-grew a little as he smiled back at her, equally small but open and honest and she knew it was an acceptance of her silent apology.
'Friends should smile at each other,' she thought, vowing to make more of an effort to do so in the future. When they broke eye contact, it was awkward once again but somehow it was different, no longer heavy and hostile and more understanding.
More at peace than she had been for days, Margaret relaxed her upright posture, leaning back into the carriage seat and allowing herself to close her eyes. She could tell he had done the same, his legs brushing hers as he repositioned and it was not long before she could see that he had fallen asleep.
She studied him then, making the most of the opportunity to do so without judgement. There was something comforting about the soft rise and fall of his chest and for a few minutes she was mesmerised. He looked tired and thinner than when she had first seen him that day at the hotel, over a year ago now, where they met, and tired even in sleep. Like this, he didn't look so imposing and the prospect of spending the rest of her life with him as his friend did not seem so impossible or unpalatable at all.
The rhythmic movement of the train and the thudding of her head got the better of her and soon she too allowed sleep to take her.
Margaret had not woken until the train juddered to a halt in Milton Station and Dixon gently shook her awake. Mr Thornton's carriage dropped the two ladies back at Crampton and the man himself had carried their bags inside. As he had two nights ago, he tipped his hat to Dixon. Her heart had stilled as he reached for her hand, thinking he was going to kiss it again but he did not, grasping it in his own and shaking it before retreating to his carriage. Margaret watched the carriage pull away and then he was gone and she was not to see him again until her Father's funeral.
…
The next couple of days were lonely but productive and she and Dixon had managed to box up the majority of her parents' belongings from her father's office and their bedroom. Margaret had found herself feeling more at sea than ever and bursting into tears every five minutes as she stumbled across another item belonging to one of her parents, that only heightened her grief. She had managed to find a likeness of both her parents with her and Fred and she had placed it safely away so that she may look at it and remember happier times when the grief threatened to overwhelm her.
Since Oxford, Dixon had not mentioned Mr Thornton and her intention to marry him at all and Margaret was thankful to be spared more questions, the concept a distant spot on the horizon rather than an approaching threat.
Thursday afternoon brought with it three visitors. Margaret had been packing up the last of her father's belongings in the sitting room when Aunt Shaw swept through the door and gathered her niece into her arms without warning and launching into a speech of sympathy for her unfortunate position. Margaret could not deny it, she was pleased to see her aunt and even more so to see Edith with her. Her joy was only slightly dampened by Henry Lennox's arrival. Thankfully, he did not embrace her as Aunt Shaw had and Edith also did, but he did bow to her and pat her on the shoulder before sitting down with the two ladies. The three had barely been there three hours before whole mood of the house seemed to have picked up and Dixon was happier than she had been in months, bustling around and bringing tea and more cake and biscuits every few minutes, despite the fact that they had only eaten lunch together a few hours before, her aunt and Edith chatting non-stop about Greece and the gossip she had missed in the upper circles of London society.
Tired from their journey, and walking Milton, the visitors had requested one of Dixon's most prolific dishes for supper and the maid had practically burst with pride as she served them. Having made their way into the partly packed up sitting room, Aunt Shaw, brushed her hand over the cushions of the chair beside her several times, wincing as she did so before gingerly taking a seat.
"Thank goodness we have arrived to take you away from this place, Margaret!" She looked disdainfully down at her father's chair as she did so and Margaret bristled a little at the judgement of her parents' taste, the happy air covering her sadness, which the guests had brought with them fading a little. Aunt Shaw had passed comment on her distain for the Milton smoke, people, buildings and many other things as they had walked, but it hurt to hear her criticise her parents' belongings nonetheless.
"Why is it so dirty here?" Edith asked innocently. "All the buildings are so dark. Why aren't they painted white like the houses in London? It looks so much cleaner and neater- don't you think, Margaret?"
"People here would find painting houses white a waste of time, I fear, Edith" she replied kindly. "Besides, the smoke from the factories would just stain it back again." She had missed her cousin dearly and did not judge her too harshly for her ignorance.
"Oh, yes the factories look ghastly! I do believe we passed one on the way here and I could not stand to look at the dirty great thing…" Aunt Shaw twittered, her voice high and loud for effect as she looked over her audience expectantly.
"Oh yes, Mama, you would never see such a great dirty eyesore in our part of London." Edit agreed casually and Margaret wracked her brains how to manage the situation before this conversation got too far and she offended someone in her defence of the place.
"Tell me about you, Edith!" she interjected loudly. "How is Sholto?" Truth be told, she was pleased her new nephew provided a reason to change the subject and had been keen to hear about him too.
"Oh, he is a darling! You would love him so much, Margaret!" Edith practically leapt on the subject, her voice brimming with joy as she spoke about her young son.
"He looks just like his father and is equally as clever." Aunt Shaw added proudly. "Such angelic blonde hair! You must play with him when we get home, Margaret. He will be most pleased to have another person to play with."
"Will you be taking Margaret home soon, Mrs Shaw?" Asked Dixon, innocently, addressing the woman reverently, but her eyes would not meet Margaret's, which were shooting daggers at her.
"I will take her the day after the funeral of course" Aunt Shaw affirmed easily and nodding profusely. "Dixon, you will remain here to pack up the belongings of my dear sister and Richard and meet us next week." Aunt Shaw's reply was matter of fact and Margaret groaned internally.
"He is with his nanny at the moment, of course." Edith continued her stream about Sholto as if the conversation had never diverted, taking Margaret's hand in hers so as to command her attention entirely. "Captain Lennox is still in Greece working so I had to leave him with her. When Mamma received your reply to her letter to say the funeral would be tomorrow, in Milton, I knew I needed to come but could not bear to bring Sholto to a funeral! He would cry so!" Edith had grasped her hand harder as she spoke and squeezed it and Margaret squeezed hers back, smiling a little at Edith's assumption that a one year old would realise that he was attending a funeral.
"It will be excellent practice for you to play with Sholto, Margaret. For when you have your own children, I mean." Henry joined in; it was the first thing he had said directly to her since arriving and Margaret flushed from embarrassment at his pointed look in her direction. She knew she should break the news of her arrangement with Mr Thornton to her aunt as soon as possible, but Henry's presence had prevented her. It had been over a year since his untimely proposal in Helstone, but she still felt it would be bad form to inform her aunt of her engagement to another man in front of him, especially as they had been good friends and she did care for him in that way. However, his comment derailed her and it seemed dishonest to withhold the news any longer.
"Henry, Dixon, would you mind excusing, Aunt Shaw, my cousin and I for a moment? I must speak with them." It was a question but left no room for disagreement, or so she thought.
"Oh, there's no need to excuse, Henry and Dixon, Margaret. You can say anything in front of them." Her aunt waved her arm in Henry's direction affectionately and Margaret's discomfort grew.
"I am sure, Aunt Shaw, but I really think…"
"Come, now, Margaret, Henry has escorted us all the way here and he has been so excited to hear you will be returning to London with us." Henry coloured slightly but did not deny it. "He even wished for us to hold a party in your honour when the grieving period is over."
"Oh yes, Margaret, you can say anything in front of Henry and Dixon I am sure." Edith unwittingly hammered the final nail into the coffin leaving Margaret with no choice.
"Well, Aunt Shaw, thank you so much for coming to Milton and for offering to take me back to London but I will be staying in Milton."
Three reactions came at once, bombarding her.
"What are you talking about, Margaret?"
"Don't be ridiculous!"
"I've tried speaking to her Mam." Dixon positively shouted her response, looking between Margaret and Aunt Shaw rapidly. All three turned to Margaret for her answer but she kept them waiting, thinking of how to formulate her explanation.
"Do not tease your Aunt so, Margaret; it is not becoming." Henry broke the expectant silence, his voice laced with judgement and patronising as if she was a naughty child that needed correcting and all thought of cushioning the blow fled her mind.
"I must tell you that I am engaged to be married and will be staying in Milton."
Four gasps greeted her. Dixon brought her hand to her mouth as if hearing it for the first time and Margaret felt the absurd urge to laugh at them all as she viewed their varying degrees of horror.
Aunt Shaw recovered first, exclaiming: "Impossible! Why would you want to be married to someone who is from here? What kind of man can he be? What can he offer you?"
"Everything I want, Aunt Shaw." Her response shocked even herself, but it was true. She wanted to be respected, her opinion to be listened to and she wanted to help others and Mr Thornton was offering her all of that.
"How much money does he have to live on a year? It cannot be a lot if he chooses to live in this grimy place!"
"I do not mean money Aunt Shaw, what care I for fortune?"
Edith was opening and closing her mouth over and over like a fish and Margaret tried hard not to look at her.
"How much can he care for you if he will not move to London?" Henry questioned, his eyes hard and unbelieving.
"He cannot move to London because his mill is here. He is the master of one of the mills in Milton."
"A tradesman!" Aunt Shaw picked up a book from the small table beside the chair and began to fan herself frantically with it.
"You cannot mean Mr Thornton of Marlborough Mills, Margaret! The one you wrote to me of, that you cannot abide?" Edith's voice was shaken but she was interested, Margaret could tell. She had forgotten she had written that to her cousin and instantly regretted her words. They were untrue now, and in truth, probably were then.
"Things have changed since then, Edith." She assured her cousin, taking her hand again. "I would have written to tell you but my parents… I could not find the time or inclination to…" She was choosing her words carefully, trying to avoid lying to Edith most of all.
"Oh Margaret, do not apologise- did you mistake true love at first sight for hatred?"
Margaret very nearly laughed out loud at that. Edith read too many romance novels and of course she would assume that if Margaret accepted a tradesman it must have been as a result of some epic love tale.
"I was wrong, certainly." She smiled kindly at her cousin, thankful for her sudden acceptance, aware of Henry's beady eyes fixed unrelentingly to her face, but she did not allow herself to be intimidated.
"Oh Mama, if Margaret is in love with her mill owner you must give your blessing to the marriage!" she exclaimed excitedly, appealing to her mother and Margaret's heart sank as she realised she could never tell Edith the true nature of her agreement with Mr Thornton. She had been a fool to think her cousin might understand and it saddened her to realise Edith was exactly like so many other contradictory girls who thought true love and money were entwined and marriage without either unacceptable.
A glance at her aunt told her that still the fanning continued.
"Oh Mama, don't be so old fashioned. Margaret's in love! And we would get to plan a wedding."
The cogs in Aunt Shaw's brain seemed to be slowly turning and the fanning paused.
"Mr Thornton, as a mill owner, has a very high status in this town, Aunt Shaw. He is a magistrate also so he has many responsibilities and he is certainly not poor! He will provide for me and any children that follow." She swallowed loudly on the last part, all too aware that no children would follow from a marriage like theirs, unsure why she had added it at all.
"This does rather ruin my plans, Margaret. I had hoped you and…" her cousin glanced at Henry but trailed off upon the realisation of how he would feel if she continued. "Well, love really does conquer all, Mama." She finished, determined to end on a positive note.
Finally, Aunt Shaw spoke. "Well, I cannot stop you Margaret but I urge you to think carefully, whether this is what you really want. Don't be like your mother and clouded by silly romantic notions. Love cannot provide a home."
What she really meant was don't be like Margaret's mother and marry someone without an acceptable amount of wealth like her father, a lowly clergyman with a healthy living but not extravagant.
"Believe me aunt, I want to marry him." She tried to sound confident and felt she had succeeded when she saw Henry's face drop. Guilt coursed through her as she thought of how tough this conversation must be for him but comforted by the knowledge that it was only his pride being hurt, not his heart. He did not love her, not really, not like Mr Thornton had.
"Well, I had better meet him then!" She conceded, doubt still evident in her voice but not defiant. "Let us speak no more of upsetting things tonight. There will be plenty of time tomorrow at the funeral for that."
Quickly directing the conversation back to Sholto and the many toys Edith and Captain Lennox had found for him in Greece, Margaret tried her best to include Henry in the conversation, hoping to ease his suffering and to his credit he obliged her by displaying no resentment. Dixon had the good grace not to look at Margaret or speak to her for the rest of the evening, even after the visitors had headed for their hotel and Margaret did the same, taking herself to her bedroom the moment they were gone, without a word.