The future must be met, however stern and iron it be

by elanne

Margaret receives a letter from Mr Bell that throws her into despair. She is forced make a choice that wasn't meant to be hers, but the consequences are not hers alone to deal with.

8. Chapter 8

Hello readers. Thank you once again for reading and your reviews. As always, I have enjoyed reading them. I know it was a bit of a longer wait for this one and I am sorry. I wanted to say so much in this chapter but just didn't have time to do so. It ended up being a rather long chapter but I really couldn't make it any shorter. I do appreciate that as she was still in grieving Margaret would have had to marry in black (we studied some periodicals from the mid-1800s in lessons and read about the wedding dresses worn by those still in mourning- they were basically plain black dresses with no jewellery), but I couldn't bear to have her wear black so you will have to indulge me in letting her wear something prettier for one day. 😊

Hope you enjoy it and please do keep reviewing.

Elle. X

…

Aunt Shaw's prattle turned to anger, erupting as soon as they had exited through the gates of Marlborough mills. "Of all the nerve! They do not at all possess the sensibilities of Londoners, that much is clear. Did you see the way his mother commands everyone as if she is the queen?"

"They certainly have more money than I expected, Mama." Edith added with a concerned look at Margaret, who got the distinct impression she was trying to be diplomatic.

"I do believe Mrs Thornton meant to suggest that she knew more about your relationship with her son than I do, Margaret!" Her Aunt shook her head as if in disbelief.

"In fairness, Aunt Shaw, she probably does, purely because she has been here to watch our interactions for more than a year now. I am sure she was just trying to be helpful." Margaret tried to mollify the situation. She had no doubt that Mrs Thornton meant to imply exactly that, but she could not blame her since it was the truth.

"And what on earth could the woman mean to suggest that you are so in love you must be married quickly? I know myself and the dear captain were a society match rather than for love, but I do believe I know what is socially acceptable. A period of six months to think and grieve would be most appropriate and yet she acted as though I was a pariah for suggesting such a thing."

Margaret bit her lip self-consciously and buried her hands into the pockets of her coat. Something soft was concealed in the depths of one and she stroked the now familiar stitching of his initials between her forefinger and thumb. She had honestly intended to return his handkerchief but here it lay still, and its softness served to make her bold.

If it were not for Mr Latimer and his daughter seeing her and Mr Thornton's scandalous embrace this morning, she would have had no objections in delaying the marriage, except for the prolonged need for her to act as though she were in love with Mr Thornton. As it was, there could be no question. They must marry quickly and, in a way, Margaret was thankful for Mrs Thornton's harsh manner and insistence that the wedding be within the next couple of weeks. Still, perhaps the formidable matriarch had not been as transparent with Aunt Shaw as was needed.

"Aunt Shaw, the reason Mrs Thornton is so keen for us to marry quickly is to protect my reputation, I fear."

Aunt Shaw took a sharp intake of breath, stilled and grabbed hold of Margaret's forearm with an iron grip.

Margaret steeled herself and continued.

"As it is, Mr Thornton and I have been seen in public in a completely innocent but misinterpreted embrace. He was merely comforting me in my grief, but I do feel a short engagement would be most appropriate in light of the circumstances."

Aunt Shaw's scandalised expression was mirrored perfectly by Edith and Margaret shoulders sagged a little.

"When was this 'embrace'? Where was it?"

"Today, after they had buried Father, in the grave yard."

Aunt Shaw dropped Margaret's arm from her grip and Margaret rubbed her wrist to bring the circulation back. When she looked later, she was sure would find marks from the tightness of her aunt's grip. One hand was now balanced on her aunt's hip and the other rubbing her temples as she turned from Margaret, who could almost see the cogs in her brain whirring.

She was pleased to have the burden of their indiscretion off her chest, but hurt by her families' apparent horror at what was yet again a completely innocent action. Almost completely innocent. It was true that she had known she should have stepped away from him as soon as her tears had stopped but she hadn't. If only her aunt or Edith would speak and end this awkward frost that had settled over them. After all, if her Aunt and Edith had only accompanied her to the funeral, she wouldn't have found herself in her current predicament! All their scheming to force her to spend time with Henry had simply driven her and Mr Thornton into a situation where they were closer together.

Finally, Edith shattered the silence, entreating her mother to keep walking as it was becoming colder and the sun retreating for the night.

"Then I will object no further, Margaret. No- marrying quickly will be best. When Lady Ashby's daughter danced too closely with the Frobisher boy, they simply married quickly and although people still gossiped, it soon died down. By the time they had that delightful baby a year or so later, it was all but forgotten and everyone was singing their praises. Though how anyone from this dirty place could dare to judge you- a young lady is beyond me. Yes- his mother is correct-that is the way forward, but you will have no contact with Mr Thornton until the day of the wedding. You cannot afford to court anymore scandal."

Margaret didn't think that was particularly fair. She wasn't and never had been courting anything- not even the man she was to be married to. Now, she understood why Mr Thornton had looked so troubled earlier. Apparently, she had underestimated the damage that could be caused by something that had happened for no longer than a few minutes and suddenly felt like a fool for not understanding how disgusted he has seemed at having seen her embracing her what he thought was another man and not simply her brother. Every fibre of her being screamed at her to explain everything to her aunt: that there was no need to worry about any impropriety because she did not feel that way for him, that is was a partnership of convenience and that his misunderstanding of her embracing Fred had stopped any feelings he may have believed he had for her, but she kept silent.

"Margaret, we can and will control the damage. You need a chaperone. You cannot spend anymore nights alone in that house. It is freezing apart from anything, and you and Dixon have done so much packing that there is barely anything left to make the place homely. No, you will come to the hotel with us. You can share Edith's room and Dixon will help me. "

Margaret thought it best not to argue and nodded, following behind her aunt for the rest of the way like a chastised child, Edith casting worried looks in her direction every few seconds.

…

"Margaret, I simply cannot believe that you have kept so much from me!" Edith barely waited for Dixon to exit and close the door to their shared room before her shock and indignation erupted from her. Annoyance was laced into her words and Margaret waited to be told off again for her actions.

"You did not tell me that he is so handsome!" she exclaimed before hurtling over to Margaret's bed excitedly, all annoyance leaving her tone as quickly as it had come. She jumped on top of the covers and curled her legs under as she sat eagerly awaiting the girlish chats they had often shared when Margaret lived with them in London. Margaret sighed with relief at the changeable nature of her cousin and having escaped her wrath.

"Do you think so?" Margaret asked, surprised by the small delight she found herself taking in Edith's approval of Mr Thornton's looks. Before he had proposed the first time, Margaret had not considered his looks at all but since she had found herself pondering on various aspects and had decided that his height had definite advantages. For instance, when providing her with a comforting embrace. His dark blue eyes were quite nice to look at also and sometimes seemed to have the capacity to speak more than a thousand words. And hide more than a thousand words.

"Of course, he is so dark and complicated. I could not live with a man such as he, I have no doubt of that. Captain Lennox is straight forward and focusses mainly on being an excellent captain and making his uniform look perfect- that is why we get on so well." Edith prattled on in her assessment and Margaret had to stifle a giggle at her summary of Captain Lennon so as not to offend Edith.

In some ways, she supposed Edith was right. Margaret loved her brother in law dearly but knew she would never be satisfied with someone as he. She needed scintillating conversation and someone who would value her opinion in debate on matters of moral conscience and someone like Edith's husband could not provide that. At first, Mr Thornton's inability to see the hypocrisy and unfairness in his treatment of his workers had annoyed her and each conversation seemed a battle that he would not let her win, but he had changed a little already and hired Nicholas. She had helped to do that and she was proud of having such an effect in improving the lot of another simply because she had dared to tell a man he was wrong. That sort of conversation would never need to be said between she and a London gentleman. Right or wrong, she had matured enough to know that she would pick that over romantic affection any day. She had picked that over romantic affection.

"Your mill owner has hidden secrets, I am sure of it, cousin! Why, I thought he may do something rash when mama mentioned Henry!"

Something rash. Margaret did not know what to say to that. Still, despite her lack of verbal response, her stomach responded in the most disturbing manner, by fluttering as she recalled the way he had looked at her earlier on the steps of her house, as if he was about to do something rash- as if he was about to damn all propriety and their agreement and kiss her then and there. It had scared her and yet she had not moved away. Although, even now some of the hatred he had shown for her after knowing she had lied about her whereabouts on the night of Fred's departure lingered still. There behind his eyes, it lurked; she could sense the fog of resentment veiling his thoughts and bringing about that impassivity earlier that evening as her aunt tried to make her return to London. Part of him wanted her to go, she was sure of it. If she had only been able to tell him about Fred, perhaps this unsettled atmosphere between them would dissipate.

Edith was waiting expectantly and Margaret desperately grappled for the correct response, eventually settling for, "Yes, he does seem rather concerned by him."

Edith eyes her wearily for a moment before continuing: "He's jealous, I could see that as soon as mother mentioned Henry's name. His face clouded over. I think it is most romantic."

"Yes, I suppose it is." She answered, floundering at the turn of the conversation. Knowing Mr Thornton, his reaction probably had nothing to do with jealousy and everything to do with his anger at her for having arrived at her father's funeral with her arm linked in Henry's, whist engaged to him. Oh dear, it did seem a little silly to her now, but at the time she had just wanted to rebuff Henry without hurting him further.

"Oh Margaret, did you really turn down Henry? And a year ago? Why did you not tell me?" she sulked. When Edith was hurt, her voice always took on a child-like quality and it had done so now. Her bottom lip stuck out a little like a toddler sulking and Margaret squirmed uncomfortably. She was not sure she had an answer for that but wanted to placate her cousin. Certainly, not so long ago she would have told Edith everything.

"You were in Greece at the time and I did not want to disturb you. Besides, I found the whole thing thoroughly embarrassing…" she began and it was the truth. The whole concept that Henry would want to marry her was humiliating, but it did not matter, for Edith did not let her finish.

"…I can hardly believe you turned down poor Henry! Are you really sure, you could not find it in your heart to give him another chance?"

Margaret rolled her eyes but felt slightly ashamed at the dismissive action when there was so much hope shining in her cousin's face.

Sadly, she shook her head. "I do not specifically have anything against Henry, Edith, but I just cannot make myself feel for him what he wishes me to feel."

Edith's face dropped a little but the happiness shining in her voice did not fade: "Well, then I suppose given today's turn of events, it is for the best. I must be content to see you marry your Mr Thornton. You can make it up to me by allowing me to help choose your wedding gown!"

"Of course, Edith, I could not bear to pick one without you!" she declared hoping to make her cousin feel needed. It appeared to have worked as Edith leaned over and affectionately kissed the top of Margaret's head before springing from the bed and heading towards her own.

Both girls chatted as they helped undo each other's corsets and changed into their nightgowns, before bidding each other goodnight and climbing into bed.

In the darkness, Margaret laid there, pondering all that had happened over the last week. If only her papa were still here, none of this would have happened. There was no doubt in her mind that he had written that blasted letter with good intentions to give her a choice over her future but now, lying alone in the darkness, images of Mr Thornton's disapproval infiltrating her mind, it felt as though he had instead condemned her. It was unfair of her to think that. Now finally, with Edith breathing heavily in her sleep next to her, she could admit it. Her father would have thought no less of her for choosing to refuse Mr Thornton and return to London and her father's thoughts was not why she had accepted- not really. Of course, she longed for what he offered, respect and no expectations of returning love but there was something else. For some unexplainable reason, she was drawn to him and the power he held over so many people but more than anything she desperately craved his approval- of her actions, her thoughts and ideas and now of how she looked on her wedding day. She had been willing to marry him if only to have his approval rather than his silent hatred.

Oh, how she longed to be able to speak to Fred, to have him here with her and not feel so alone in the world. He wouldn't understand at all but he would listen and not judge her actions as she knew Edith would if she were to disclose the true nature of her engagement. She had finally received a short note from Spain, reassuring her of his safe return but it was not enough. As soon as she was married and had told Mr Thornton, she would write to him and tell him everything.

Lying there in dark solitude Margaret Hale came to a startling realisation. She would have accepted John Thornton if he had offered her a traditional marriage. She would have told him she did not love him but she would marry him and be loyal to him. Perhaps even more startling was that she could finally admit that she might even have said yes without the existence of her father's letter. The irony, of course, was that without her father's letter he never would have asked her.

…

It had been both the longest and shortest two weeks of John Thornton's life since he had said goodbye to Margaret Hale on the steps of his house. As usual the mill had kept him occupied and he had barely had any time away from the mill in which he could have visited Miss Hale, even if her Aunt had not insisted that the pair of them be separated. The woman had made such a production of it that even he himself had for the briefest of moments he had believed that Miss Hale may care for him in the same way he did for her and there was real reason for them to need to stay apart before the wedding, but that moment had passed and reality came crashing in.

In honesty, from what he had heard from Fanny, who was all too happy to report the gossip circulating around Milton (he often suspected it was in fact his sister who kept much of it circulating) it had been made to sound as though Miss Hale was the one who had behaved most scandalously and he was saving her from a ruined reputation. How Miss and Mr Latimer's observations had been twisted in such a matter he was unsure and luckily it appeared as though it had not spread anywhere near as far as he had suspected it would, it was still better that any future gossip be halted.

Even his mother had, which as much tact as she could usually muster, advised him that he should not make Margaret pregnant for a few months so that any further gossip generated by a questionably small amount of time passing before the birth of a child could be avoided. John had blushed profusely before agreeing and fleeing the room as quickly as possible. At least that would not be a problem in their marriage.

Since she had left his house with her aunt and cousin, he had missed her, his mind returning over and over to the image of her flushed cheeks and glistening eyes as she had stood on the doorstep to the house in Crampton and told him she appreciated what he had done in comforting her after her father's funeral. It had taken every ounce of self-control in him to walk away from her without claiming her in some presumptuous way, she would undoubtedly hate him for. He had never considered himself to be a foolish man but now he realised that he was. How easy it would have been to delude himself into thinking she might have welcomed such actions. How easy it would have believed that behind those words there was a deeper meaning, but he had made that mistake before and he would not do it to himself again.

At first, his time had been completely take up by work but after he had kept his promise and written to her. The letter was short but reassured her of his intentions to keep the promises he had made to her about their union, but he was never to receive a reply from its recipient. Instead, he had found one from her aunt, advising him that she would not allow her niece any contact for fear of damaging her reputation. He had been disappointed but thankfully the demands of the mill had kept him distracted.

On the day before the wedding, his landlord Mr Bell had arrived at the mill asking to speak to him. Instantly, he had known it would be about Margaret. After all, in all the years he had rented the mill and house, not once had Mr Bell arrive to speak to him about them- as long as he paid the rent, he was happy.

After the usual social pleasantries, he had bid the man to sit and waited for him to make his real intentions for the visit clear.

"Thornton, she knows what her father asked of you in his letter." Bell sat back, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair and his hands linked together in front of him as if he always visited his office and was completely at ease. His landlord did not mess around and sat waiting for John to react before continuing.

John stilled. Miss Hale knew her father had written to him?

"I'm sorry, Mr Bell, but I really have no idea what you mean." He tried to appear as nonchalant as possible, whilst really longing to hear more.

"Margaret. She knows her father wrote to you to encourage you to offer marriage to her."

He had not been expecting that. Part of him had been waiting for his landlord to implore him to delay the wedding and let Miss Hale think for six months as her aunt had or to tell him that he could no longer rent the mill, but he had not been expecting that.

So, she knew. He must have imagined her reaction to his second proposal have been one of surprise, for she had known it was going to come all along. For how long had she known? Had she known as she had taken his hand on the train and again in Oxford? Was she aware that morning in his office? The memory of how she felt pressed against his body in the cemetery after the funeral, how her hands had felt against his back as she moved to press him closer to her and how she had looked as he had been unable to resist smoothing the stray strands of her hair back filled his view. He was too old and wise to let himself believe she might one day feel for him as he so desired, was beginning to already but he had so wanted to. Now, the reality that his wish was futile came crashing down and he felt a little of the resentment he had been overcome with when he had seen her embracing her unknown man late at night. Was it too much to wish that when he had asked her why she said yes, she had just told him the truth- that she had accepted because her father wished her too- rather than because she wanted to help with the mill. He was being unfair. He knew she had not lied, just withheld part of the truth but he would not have blamed her. At least his heart would have known.

What business was it of Mr Bell. John looked at the man before him and his anger grew. It was irrational anger and misplaced, he knew, but the relaxed stance of the man before him and the knowing look in his eyes was irritating.

"Mr Bell, you seem to think that Miss Hale has told me nothing of…"

"From my conversations with her, I believe she thinks that you know that Richard also wrote to her, informing her of his wishes." Mr Bell added, cutting John off and John paused. So, she probably thought he had only proposed their partnership because her father had asked him too. Perhaps that was better, it hurt his pride less.

"I sent her the letter so that she might decide whether to pass it onto you or not."

That he had not known. John's mind had raced as the pieces of the puzzle started to come together. Miss Hale had known her father would ask him to make her an offer and had decided to pass the letter onto him anyway. Why? She could not have known he would offer her a partnership as he had done. What if he had offered her a traditional marriage- would she still have accepted him then? Governing all the self-control he had, John stopped, afraid of the direction his thoughts were heading and made himself cease these pointless wonderings. It made no difference to his feelings towards her and he had already decided that he did not need to know her motives. Self- doubt threatened to take over his being, but he pushed it down. Had she not promised him over and over that she knew what she was agreeing to and was choosing him (or rather what he could offer her) over her lover and her family and that should be enough for him?

"Of course, it is none of my business…" Mr Bell shocked him. He had quite forgotten the man was there.

"No." he said coolly. "It isn't."

"…but I believed you deserved to know. And Margaret deserves to know that you had not read it too. I believe it may change things a little."

All it would change was that she would think he had offered out of selfishness rather than loyalty to her father. How much did her godfather know? He seemed to think he knew rather a lot but she had promised that she had not disclosed the nature of their union to anyone. He felt a smug contentment in the knowledge that he and Margaret shared something that Mr Bell could not know. Still, the man was astute, perhaps he noticed more than he was told and Margaret's attempts to convince him with hand holding in Oxford were in vain.

"I think you have said all you can have to say, Mr Bell. I thank you for your time." He rose to try and politely convey his wish for the man to leave so that he might return to his work and be left alone with his thoughts. Luckily, Mr Bell obliged him and he stood to leave, taking his hand as he spoke his parting words: "You must do what you wish, of course, Thornton, but remember my advice."

The man departed quickly and did not look back but the odd chill his words had brought about lingered long after. For the rest of the day, he had pondered Mr Bell's words, unable to focus on anything other than tomorrow, Miss Hale's motives and the feel of her hands against his back. The latter, he knew, he would never stop thinking about for as long as he lived.

As he locked up the mill and returned to the house, he quickly and quietly retreated to his room. From the sitting room, he could hear the voices of his mother and Fanny, who had spent much time with his mother making plans for the wedding, still filled with the excitement of her own recent matrimony. He had left much of the organising to them, other than the flowers. Those he had chosen, contrary to his sister's advice. The image of Miss Hale's face, lit up and shining with so much happiness as she recognised the flowers on their trip to Oxford, drove him to order them without any thought for the extra cost of the florist having to acquire them from further away. She had said they reminded her of her mother and he hoped fervently that she would understand he was trying to bring her mother to the day despite her absence.

Only once he had reached his room, did he stop and look around. For the first time, it dawned on him that tomorrow night he would be sharing this space with Miss Hale, sharing a bed with Miss Hale, sharing his life with Miss Hale. John sat on the edge of the bed and sighed as he considered how everything was going to change tomorrow. He had not considered this aspect of their union. As a platonic partnership, Miss Hale really should have had her own room but how could he possibly make that happen without telling his mother of the circumstances and alerting several house staff as well? She was going to be angry with him tomorrow, he was sure of that but she would simply have to share his chamber. Well, let her be angry. Based on Mr Bell's visit he had just as much right to feel the same way. Resigned, he prepared for bed and tried to sleep alone for the last time.

…

Over the passing weeks, Margaret did not have time to really considerer Mr Thornton at all, let alone think further on their parting words that they would miss each other or her real reasons for accepting his second proposal. Her time was too entirely filled with overseeing the packing of the rest of her parent's belongings and managing the daunting task of keeping her interactions with her relations at an equilibrium. Henry had remained in Milton, but Margaret had only seen him once at the auction of her parent's belongings. Mr Bell's words in Oxford as he had asked her how she would cover the costs of moving her father's funeral to Milton had stayed with her and she had been insistent that Dixon sell as much of her parent's belongings as possible so that she might repay Mr Bell and Mr Thornton might have some money to inherit when they married. As it was, nearly everything had sold for a tidy sum and Margaret had only kept a broach and portrait of her mother and her father's tweed hat and Plato. No portrait of her father was to be found and Margaret felt an immense sadness that she would never see a likeness of her father again. The temptation to keep his hat with her always, and breathe in his familiar smell was strong but the more she sought to keep that scent as a tie to him, the less she could notice it. Even that was fading as her recollection of her details of his appearance dimmed with each day.

Aunt Shaw had been unrelenting over her decree that Margaret was not to see Mr Thornton until the wedding and this had included writing to one another. As he had promised, he had written to her a few days after the funeral but Aunt Shaw had seen to it that the letter be returned unopened, with a note explaining her decision and he had not tried to write again.

Margaret's hands trembled a little as she took the small bouquet of flowers Dixon was offering her and surveyed herself in the long mirror. Mr Thornton and his mother had sorted the flowers, just a small bouquet for her and a couple of small arrangements for the church. Those she now carried had been delivered to them that morning and Margaret had paid very little interest to them, not pausing to see what variety they had chosen. Catching sight of the blooms in the mirror she looked down quickly with a small gasp. She was clutching a collection of yellow roses; the sort Dixon had pointed out to her in Oxford; the sort she had so loved in Helstone and reminded her of her mother. For a moment she had gaped at them, baffled at how he could have acquired such roses when she had never seen any in Milton. She had never seen any such flowers in the north at all in fact. He had remembered that she liked them! He must have ordered them to be sent up from the south. Her heart fluttered a little at the realisation but she pushed the feeling away, dismissing her ridiculous over sentimentality as nervousness.

Her gown was ivory in colour and had long sleeves made of thick but intricate lace that showed just a hint of her creamy skin below, leading to a point at her hands and fastened at the cuff with two small silk covered buttons. The lace continued up across her chest and shoulders to a high neckline, cut at the base of her neck. A satin sash was fastened around her small waist and the satin skirt, overlaid with a thinner version of the same lace pattern and fastened all the way down her back by numerous tiny satin covered buttons that had taken her aunt and Edith half an hour to do up.

Picking it had been even more of a production, taking what seemed to Margaret to be an obscene length of time. She had taken Edith and Fanny to the tailors in an attempt to recruit her soon to be sister-in-law as an ally and ended up entirely outnumbered in every decision. In her mind, she had planned to order a simple gown, in a darker colour to remain respectful of her mourning but both her companions had absolutely insisted that white was all the rage and her mourning could be put on hold for one joyous day. It was when Edith mentioned that she had read in a magazine for young ladies that white was to symbolise the purity and innocence of the bride that she was persuaded. Margaret was under no doubt that rumours of her scandalous behaviour had begun circulating and the raided eyebrows of the assistant at the tailors as she chose the ivory lace confirmed her suspicions that she was about to cause more gossip. She had to admit that as she stared at the various samples of white and cream fabrics she had felt a ripple of excitement and compromised without too much cajoling by picking a darker ivory.

Veils had always seemed to her a complete waste of time. After all, they were delicate and likely to get ripped and only worn over the face for a few minutes until they were removed, yet there she found herself with a thin, lace edged veil that fell at her feet behind her and just reached her waist at the front. Fanny had complained that both were too plain but Margaret liked them. She had to admit that it was by far the nicest gown she had ever owned and probably the prettiest she had ever looked. Certainly, it was the nicest she had worn in months, since the death of her mother. Even her dark hair seemed to have decided to follow her wishes today, and was pinned perfectly in place around her head with her veil pinned into it at the back.

Margaret's stomach flipped as she looked down at the flowers once again, bright and beautiful and she took a deep breath.

"I am ready Aunt Shaw" she declared, gathering her skirt a little as she made to leave the sitting room. A carriage and Mr Bell were waiting for her outside the front door of the house in Crampton. Her aunt had tried to insist that she again stay with them in the hotel in Milton as she had been since her father's funeral but Margaret had put her foot down. She needed one more night in that house where she had last had her parents before she embarked on her new life in someone else's house- a house that included Mrs Thornton, who would undoubtedly make her life difficult. No- she needed one last night of freedom. Begrudgingly, Dixon had remained with her.

Mr Bell exclaimed appreciatively as he saw her and took her hand to help her down the two small steps to the house and guide her into the carriage. The ride was short and neither spoke much as they rode the small distance to the same church they had visited barely two weeks before, only simple pleasantries.

The ominous clouds above them blocked out much of the feeble light the sun was trying to offer up and Margaret was relieved to not linger outside the church this time. Clutching her lace skirts in one hand and the yellow roses in the other, she made her way down the cobbled path to the church before linking her arm in Mr Bell's. Together they walked into the church and Margaret's heart quickened as she heard the swell of the organ begin to echo around her.

He was standing at the bottom of the aisle, waiting for her, and Margaret needed only walk to the end of the aisle, say some simple words and it would all be done with. For a moment, she could not get her legs to move and she stayed rooted to the spot, trying desperately to remember to breathe.

As she clung tightly to Mr Bell's arm, he guided her forward, which was good as she may have remained there forever otherwise. With every step she watched him carefully, observing that his eyes swept over her from her head down to the laced edge of her skirt and back again as if judging every inch of her, before turning is back to her and waiting at the alter facing from her.

Gulping thickly, she continued to allow Mr Bell to guide her past the filled rows of people, some of whom she did not recognise and some of whom she knew had been gossiping about her days before, now here as if they were firm friends. Ann Latimer and her father's judgement was apparent in their vulture like glances and Margaret looked quickly away from them. And there at the end of the aisle were her aunt, Dixon and Edith, who was looking so inordinately pretty that Margaret felt the prick of jealousy, despite her own beautiful dress and obliging hair. Henry was beside them and looking sadly at her as she passed, seeming to avoid her gaze as much as she avoided his. Finally, on the opposite of the church was Mrs Thornton, her eyes penetrating through her skin and into her very soul. Her look was unforgiving and Margaret had to breathe deeply to resist turning on her heel and running away from all of them.

Finally, as they reached the front of the church, the music ended, and Mr Bell removed her arm from his to place it in Mr Thornton's, who guided her to sit beside him on the first pew. To her dismay and annoyance, he seemed to be avoiding looking at her again, as if the very sight of her was abhorrent to him which Margaret felt, as though it was the cold stab of rejection.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…" the priest began addressing the congregation.

She tried not to mind and stay focussed forward on whatever the priest was saying but she did not hear a word. Through the lace of her dress, she could sense the hundreds of pairs of eyes boring into her back and she could not stand it combined with his silence and hostility. His posture beside her was rigid and his face stony, making Margaret start to panic. This was not how she had imagined it would be. Surely his behaviour implied a change of heart, or rather mind, on his part? He had promised her that he knew what he was doing and would not waver but his reaction was not what she had expected. She felt as fool for wanting him to like her dress and appear at least a little happy. Oh, how could she condemn him to fulfil a promise he would regret? What would all these people say if they didn't marry? She would be ruined but she would rather that than have him marry her if he had changed his mind. It was inappropriate to whisper over the priest in church, her father had been very firm about that, but under the circumstances, how could she not check?

"Mr Thornton, if you've changed your mind…" She tried to whisper as quietly as she could without making it apparent to anyone sat behind that she was talking.

"I have not" he snapped back in a more forceful whisper and Margaret regretted asking, suddenly feeling like she was going to cry. If not, then why was he acting as though he could not stand to be near her? Fine. If he would not talk to her, then she would not talk to him. Stubbornly, she shifted a little away from him, wanting to move to the end of the aisle, as far away as she could reasonably get but stopping as she realised the foolishness and impracticality of that desire.

"Have you?" he whispered in a softer voice, his face contorting as though it caused him physical pain to ask. Margaret shook her head ever so slightly, assured by his responding nod that he had understood her. Again, she tried to focus on the priest. For a second she was successful until he moved just a little, closing the gap between them that she had just created. In his lap, he was folding and unfolding his hands over and over agitatedly and Margaret watched transfixed.

"Are you nervous?" she asked, this time shifting her slightly moist eyes to look at him as she finally understood a reason for his cold demeanour.

"No." He replied in a manner she suspected was supposed to convey confidence, but Margaret was not fooled. She could feel the uneven rise and fall of his shoulders as his arm was pressed up against hers, and see the heightened colour in his cheeks that did not appear to stem from embarrassment this time. Perhaps that was all it was- he was as nervous as she.

For her part, Margaret's nerves were on edge and every few seconds she was having to remind herself to keep breathing. Every fibre of her being was wishing her to run, away from Mr Thornton's icy countenance, away from the situation and away from the judgemental eyes of those who had unfairly judged her and now gathered here to view the spectacle. Still, Mr Thornton was here and he was marrying her and offering her his friendship, despite his coldness and disapproval of her actions and that spoke louder than the words he was refusing to say.

"Will you hold my hand?" She whispered, leaning a little closer to his ear, hoping no-one would hear her child-like plea. It was barely audible to herself and an absolute miracle that he heard it at all, but sure enough his hand moved cautiously to take her own into it, his fingers linking through hers as they had done before, resting gently against the lace of her dress covering her thighs. It surprised her to find that his hand was shaking more than hers was and she gripped it tighter, hoping to still it a little. Finally, he looked at her then, his shaking hand seemed to still as did her own. The feeling of reassurance that simple connection between them brought was astounding and suddenly she didn't care about the judgement of those sat behind her. They didn't matter. Her mother and father were the only people whose opinions she would have cared about and they would have been proud of her, she was sure of it.

Finally, the priest finished talking and she and Mr Thornton rose to repeat their vows. Margaret could tell that he too was less nervous now, but his brow was still creased as if troubled and she wished to have the ceremony over with so that they might discuss whatever his problem was.

As the priest finished his final words and Mr Thornton carefully pulled back her veil and bent to chastely kissed her cheek, Margaret shivered at the contact. Then it was over and the pair exited the church. Due to Margaret's grieving, there was to be a very small gathering at the Thornton household where only her family and his would be present along with Mr Bell. A carriage waited for them outside and Margaret was heading towards it when Edith accosted her, Henry standing at her side.

"Margaret, you look every inch the blushing bride!" she proclaimed happily, throwing her arms around her cousin. "Do you not think she looks beautiful, Mr Thornton?"

"I think she is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen or ever will, Mrs Lennox" he replied, seriously, his brown still creased, seemingly in annoyance and Margaret blushed prettily at the compliment anyway.

"As you walked down the aisle you could tell from a mile away how much you are in love with him, Margaret! I am so happy for you both!"

How funny that Edith should think Margaret's look was one of love. How like Edith to confuse respect for something so entirely different! Margaret could not help but giggle before remembering Mr Thornton had heard that too and quickly, leading him to the waiting carriage, biding Edith farewell until later as she did so and awkwardly thanking Henry for coming.

Beside the carriage, they were alone and she could finally talk to him properly.

"Why are you acting like I have done something wrong, Mr Thornton?" she questioned, curiously. He did not respond at first, simply offering his hand to help her into the carriage and gathering her trailing veil and skirt. As soon as he had helped her into the carriage and taken his place opposite her, he spoke.

"Why did you agree to marry me?" It was blunt and caught Margaret off guard.

Confused, she replied, "I told you on the train to Oxford."

"No, you didn't, Miss Hale," he replied bluntly. It was a statement of fact and Margaret felt her heckles rise in retaliation.

"Are you suggesting I lied?" Her voice had become cold and unfeeling, expressing her displeasure.

"No, I am suggesting you told me some of your reasons but not all. I am suggesting your father writing to you before his death has something to do with it."

Margaret's blood ran cold. So, he did know. That was why he had been so distant with her. Well, how could he blame her for not mentioning it? She had intended to but she did not want to seem as though she were seeking for him to offer to her again. After all, he had never mentioned anything about it either and therefore was just as bad as she!

"My father told me he had written you a letter and a little of what it contained. I passed on the letter because, if I had not, I would have been unjustly silencing my father. Since you, apparently, were the last person he thought to write to, he must have felt strongly about whatever he said. I did not read it to know for sure. You cannot blame me as you did not mention it to me either."

The last sentence was dripping with malice she did not know she felt and Margaret cringed a little, ashamed of how much she begrudged her father's final actions.

"Did you know I would offer again?" he demanded, forcefully.

"Yes, I knew." She replied with equal force.

"And I suppose it was convenient that I offered such an agreeable arrangement instead of the proposal you were expecting."

What was the use in lying? He seemed to be intent on twisting her reasons into something ugly anyway so what did it matter?

"Yes, it was."

Silence shifted through the carriage and an awkward atmosphere pervaded the air as they studied each other intently.

"So, your main reason for accepting my offer was to make your father happy?" He had adopted the tone of voice he used with his disobedient workers, cold and superior and Margaret did not reply, silently seething at the accusatory nature.

"If so, I will not judge you for that, but I think I made my wish for us to speak the truth plain to you."

"Do you not know me at all?" She questioned, raising her voice in her frustration and he raised his eyebrows at her a little.

"Despite my love for my father and my wishes to make him happy, I would not have even considered marrying you purely for his sake. I have told you some of my reasons already but since you seem adamant that you must know, I would have said yes, regardless of what my father may have disclosed of his hopes, and regardless of what he may have asked of you in that wretched letter."

Finally, he knew what she had known since the night she had left his house with her aunt and Edith. In all honesty she had probably known it since the moment she made the decision to visit his office and deliver the letter.

"You would have agreed to a marriage with me and all that comes with that if I had asked with no mention of such an agreement?" His words were laced with disbelief and his eyebrows raised as if talking to a child who had been caught lying. Well, she would not let him intimidate her.

"Yes."

"Why?"

How was she to answer that? Was she to admit what she could not understand? Was she to admit that despite owing him nothing and disagreeing with him on so many matters, she so desperately craved his approval, that his hatred following her lie for Fred was enough to show her that? Was she to admit that for some incomprehensible reason she trusted him more than any other living person currently in England and wanted to stay with him- someone who challenged her rather than patronising her?

"I would have said yes because your offer of friendship would have been implied anyway. You may not have voiced the words but the same promise would have been there, unspoken."

It was the most frankly they had ever spoken to each other- probably the most frankly she had spoken to anyone, more so even than the day of the riots when she had commanded him to face the men-and despite the sharp uncensored edge in both their responses there was something oddly satisfying about saying what she truly meant for once. It was liberating to be too annoyed to care about the consequences. They were married and it was too late to undo it.

"Yes, I would not have forced myself on you, if that is what you mean." The look he gave her was penetrating and relentless and lacking the flush of embarrassment that crept to her own cheeks at his implied meaning.

Of course, she had been relieved when he has spoken of a partnership, without all the rights and promises of marriage but she hadn't needed to hear it. He would not have forced her into anything anyway, because of who he was. That was what she had meant when she had stated that Henry would not have offered. Henry would have expected something back, regardless of whether she was willing to give it. She and Mr Thornton may have clashed over many things and he may have hated her but he would always respect her opinions and her feelings.

Instead of replying to his half-question, Margaret took a deep breath and finally did what she should have done weeks ago.

"At the station that night, you saw me with a man and you know that I lied for him."

His expression was overcome with confusion at the change of topic, but he did not interrupt.

"You thought he was my lover, your mother thought that too- probably wanted to believe that, but he was not. The man you saw me with is my brother."

Mr Thornton jerked his head as if he had been slapped and his eyes snapped to meet hers, searching into her very soul to decipher whether she was speaking the truth.

"He is your brother?" Mr Thornton repeated, blinking repeatedly as if trying to decipher whether she'd gone mad.

"Yes- my brother- Fred."

"But your father- your mother- they never mentioned him once…" His voice was quiet now and his speech broken as his obvious disbelief showed through.

"He is in trouble with the law for a mutiny that happened years ago, whilst he was serving under the direction of a tyrannical captain. If it was known he was here he would have been arrested and tried for treason."

His body slumped back against the seat of the carriage and he rubbed his hand against his eyes repeating once more, "he is your brother."

"Yes. I am sorry I could not tell you but I needed to know he had returned to Spain safely- that is where he is living. No-one could know he was here, not even the police and so I lied to save him. I couldn't tell a soul what had happened, not even you. Especially not you as a magistrate, I couldn't ask you to keep his secret too when it might hurt your reputation also…"

"I am sorry, Miss Hale, I had no idea." Suddenly, Mr Thornton's demeanour had entirely changed, and he looked ashamed of himself.

"I really did want to tell you," She added.

Silence settled over the carriage again and for a moment no sound could be heard other than the wheels turning outside of the cobbled roads and the horse hooves tapping.

"Did my father ask you to make me an offer such as you have laid out or was that of your choice completely? Why would you do it when there is so little in it for you?" She asked, sure that he had not been entirely truthful in the train carriage. "Last time, you did not answer me at all, just proclaimed that I already know but I do not!"

"That is because you will not like the answer." It was not an accusation this time, just a declaration.

"Can I not decide that?"

He sighed and seemed to be facing some internal struggle as he regarded her wearily.

"Margaret, I did not have time to read the letter from your father that day. I read it the night we stayed in the hotel in Oxford."

He did not wait for her response, quickly opening the carriage door and exiting without a backwards glance. Margaret remained rooted to the spot, her mind turning over. What did his answer have to do with the question? Something in her brain shifted and the significance hit her. He had proposed before reading the letter. So, his offer could not have been influenced by her father's letter at all! Her heartbeat quickened at that thought and she suddenly felt her annoyance dissipate as abruptly as the conversation had ended and be replaced with an entirely different emotion.

Just outside the carriage he stood waiting, his hand held out to help her step down and she took it, relief crossing his face as she did so, the tension from earlier eradicated from his stance.

She wanted to press him further, to find out more of how his mind worked, but she would not press him now.

As they made their way across the mill yard, both she and Mr Thornton stopped as they heard the threatening roll of thunder in the distance. Both raised their eyes to the dark and foreboding heavens just as the first drops of rain began to fall onto their clothing. Margaret closed her eyes for a moment as she let the rain fall onto her upturned face. That silly conversation with Henry in her cousin's drawing room drifted again into her recollection. She had spoken of walking to church to a wedding on a sunny day in Helstone, yet she had been greeted with a carriage ride to a church in Milton in the rain! Part of her was glad; it was not at all what she had spoken of but much more what she wanted. As the rain gained in ferocity, a smile broke across her face and she laughed, raising her hands up to feel the rain, cleansing away all the ill feeling she had released in the carriage.

"What is amusing, Miss Hale?" Mr Thornton asked, smiling with her, as she twirled once in the rain.

"I am just happy." She answered honestly, smiling up at him. "Our conversation seems to have displeased the weather, Mr Thornton!" she declared over the sound of the rain falling onto the ground.

"Do you usually find the disapproval of others amusing?" He asked teasingly.

"Not your disapproval." She replied seriously, her smile dimming just a little and she averted them to her bouquet of yellow roses.

"Do you like them?" he asked her, changing the subject.

"I don't think I have ever loved anything someone has given me more." She decreed as she ran a finger along the silky-smooth petal of one of the roses.

"I hope one day you will." He whispered and Margaret looked to him intently, unsure what he meant. As he had done on the steps of his house, he raised a hand to her face and ever so softly wiped a rain drop from her cheek that had settled there, his hand lingering on her cheek and she tilted her head just a little to lean into his touch.

"You are so beautiful." He leaned forward and whispered into her ear as his other hand came to rest on the lace of her sleeve, his thumb caressing the skin beneath through the patterned material, and Margaret's breath caught in her throat and the heat it created at the point of contact.

A crash of thunder rippled above them and he jumped back, dropping his hands abruptly to his side. The trickle of rain, promptly turned to a down pour, each droplet hammering onto the cobbles and leaping off sporadically.

He cleared his throat, "Come, Miss Hale. You must pretend to be in love with me for the next few hours for the benefit of our families, to make up for my foul mood earlier."

She nodded mutely and side by side, they walked across the remainder of the mill yard and into the house, as she tried not to dwell on the implications of his final admission and the feel of his hand on her arm and face and instead focus on putting on a show for her aunt and Edith.

…