Sorry guys- same chapter re-posted as a kind user pointed out I had made a rather significant typo! I apologise.

Dear readers, I am so sorry for the longer delay. I can't believe it has been so long. For those of you who have asked, I will without a doubt make sure I complete this story, but updates will be further apart than they have previously been. The wait was so long as I got distracted by summer for a few weeks and then I became ill and was in hospital for ages without a laptop! I'm out and getting back to normal now so hopefully life will get back on track asap and I will update quicker than this last time.

Thank you for continuing to read and review. Your words are so encouraging to read and make me focus on writing when I can.

Happy reading!

Elle. X

…

The steady ticking of the clock was a constant reminder that he would need to be awake in a few hours to begin work at the mill, and yet, John had remained unable to sleep. Instead of giving in to the will of his aching eyes, his is mind raced, unrelenting. His head thundered from tiredness and his neck ached from laying still for so long, but there was nothing he could do to rectify his discomfort without the risk that he would likely wake the woman resting beside him. He wondered, wearily, whether sleep was to become a distant friend-missed-but increasingly absent.

For hours he had lain still, eyes open as he tried not to think about the faint scent of lavender that seemed to radiate from the opposite side of his bed. He had told himself, that he should place his hand beside Margaret's, caressing hers with the barest touch to comfort her, but the truth was, it was entirely for selfish reasons. The longing to turn and absorb the image of her sleeping form was unbearable, but the innocent touch was the only acknowledgement of their closeness that he would allow himself. It was all he dared. Thus far, any attempt to comfort her in other ways had not ended well and he could not afford to take liberties with her, or with his heart, again.

Interestingly, his new wife had not wanted the maids to know that they had not consummated their marriage. It was a fair wish; he was not thrilled about the idea either, but the fact that she had thought it through and considered asking him to undress her to be the preferable option of the two had surprised him. He had tried so hard to remain unaffected by her request and all that it did to his nerves, but he was unsure whether she had been fooled or not. Women's clothes were not something he was adept at working and he had soon discovered that undoing such buttons and strings without touching any skin was practically impossible. Surely, she could not help but notice how his hands had shaken so, heedless to his wish for them to still? They did not shake now, and his heart had slowed to a steady rhythm despite his growing annoyance at his inability to find sleep.

As his mind raced in circles over and over, John readjusted his head on the pillow for the hundredth time and screwed his eyes shut, yet he it appeared this was one battle that he could not win. If he opened his eyes, the darkness beckoned him, promising to lead him into sleep and yet the outline of the thicker darkness to his left reminded him how close he was to what he desired more than anything, shattering any hope he had in its power to help him as the responsibility he had invited threatened to crush him. Closing them, however was equally distracting, as images of her giggling as she twirled in his arms and the paleness of her flawless shoulders and back, exposed as he battled with her corset laces, swam before his eyes. The delicate softness of her skin beneath his hands as he fumbled foolishly with the buttons on the back of her dress, still caressed his fingers instead of the cool cotton bedding beneath them.

This was what his life was to be like now. He was to see her every night and morning, to undress her touch her platonically, never asking for more and wish for her under the cover of darkness, whilst she slept beside him, completely unaware of his inner turmoil. He had realised numerous times since the morning she had appeared in his office, windswept and distressed, that it was going to be difficult, but it appeared he had previously had no understanding of the pain the torture he was going to be inflicting on himself, until he had seen her in a state no other had and lain next to her as he now did.

He had hoped, wished that her invitation to him to change her mind about dancing had been a glimmer of hope for something more between them, more than just polite friendship and yet he had scared her with something as simple as revealing his favourite moment of a surprisingly happy day to be holding her close against him as he smelled the floral tones of her hair and felt her small body shudder against his. It had made sense for her to be overwhelmed; he was overwhelmed by the magnitude of what they had done himself. Indeed, he had spoken the truth when he had said he knew not what two people who had married so that one of them could remain in the north of England and escape her families interference, and the other in a last ditch attempt to keep the only woman he had ever loved near him (even if it meant she would never love him back), were supposed to do on their wedding night. At least if it was a true marriage, he would have known what they were expected to do, even if she would have still been overwhelmed.

He hoped he had assured her with a confidence he had not felt that they would figure out the logistics of their marriage together and she had sounded so desperate, so afraid as she had admitted, so unbelievably young, as she had begged him to promise her that he had felt as though he had taken advantage of a child and had scared her. She had denied it, of course, but of what else did she have to be afraid? Only her future and he was that very future. He wished he could just hate her for all the times she had hurt him- for making him feel this way. Why did he have to love her so? John's stomach flipped as he thought of the mill and how much work he had still to do in an attempt to claw back the losses of the strike. Without a doubt, he could fix it, he had to- now more than ever- but how he was to orchestrate it and how long it would take eluded him.

Still, there was no point overthinking everything. She had agreed to all he proposed and now he must simply battle against his desires and yearn for her in silence. He would keep his distance in the day, focussing all his attention on the mill, forbidding himself from indulging in distractions from his task and only allow himself to be close to her at night. Closing his eyes, he pushed out the doubt and worry and allowed himself to picture her tantalising skin beneath the patterned lace and her eyes shining as he danced with her.

…

The sky was dark and thunderous, and Margaret's skirts felt heavy as she lifted them to avoid tripping as she ran. The thick trees surrounding her loomed threateningly as she weaved in and out, barely escaping the determined clutches of each branch. From what so ardently she ran, she did not know, but the need to keep moving was overwhelming.

In the distance a figure stood, nearly indistinguishable in the gloom but she knew he was there, dark and foreboding but her only chance of escape from this place. Desperate, she struggled towards him. Her heart pounded, and her lungs screamed for release from exertion, but she could not stop. Her vision swam and the horrifying realisation that he was not going to help her settled in her stomach. She was not able to discern the expression on the figures face, but knew he watched her as she ran, desperate to reach him but something was wrong.

Screaming, her voice was shrill and thin as her plea for help echoed around the forest, but it was to no avail. She was no closer to her chance of escape- still fifty yards away and unmoving. The figure did not even flinch- making no sign that he had heard her pleas- he only watched her. Her limbs hurt from exhaustion and yet no matter now far she ran, stumbling blindly over roots and stones, the figure only watched. Collapsing in despair, tears streaming down her face, Margaret sobbed on the cold floor as finally the figure moved, turning from her and walking away without a backwards glance.

…

Sunlight filtered through the edges of the still drawn curtains and Margaret rapidly blinked before tearing her protesting eyes fully open. They were wet, as were her cheeks, and she gasped for air, letting it flood into her lungs. The forest was long gone but the fear that had felt so real remained. Somehow her mind had remembered that she could not permit herself to move and her arms still lay rigid at her side. The room was dominated by darkness, but the slithers of light leaking through the gap in the curtains allowed her to be able to read the time on the clock beside the bed. It was a little after five thirty. She had little idea of what time Mr Thornton rose to attend the mill but the gentle weight barely resting on the edge of her hand told her he was still beside her.

Trying ardently to take a glance at his dark figure without waking him, she tilted her head a little to the side. His eyes appeared to still be tightly scrunched shut and the blanket covering them both softly rose and fell with each deep breath. It was surprisingly comforting to find he kept that small contact between them and her breathing began to slow but the feeling of unease persisted. Being so close to someone, especially a man, with so few barriers of clothing between them felt wrong, yet he looked so completely vulnerable sleeping beside her and for some reason that made it seem so much more overwhelming.

It was indecent of her, but in the semi-darkness she could not help but turn her head carefully to watch him, knowing that there was no-one there to realise what she was doing. As the clock ticked by Margaret studied his face, the strong jaw and his lips slightly parted as he exhaled. A blush rose to her cheeks as she recalled the way he had held her to him as they danced the night before, his scent intoxicating her. His brow was creased a little, as if he dreamed of something troubling and, if she had been a different type of woman, she may have been tempted to trace the furrowed brow up to his dark dishevelled hair. Seeing him like this made her previous fear as he had held her against his chest and declared that their soft and sensual dance was his favourite part of a surprisingly happy day, seem completely irrational. What did she have to fear? Only the awkwardness of their lack of privacy. If she felt uncomfortable dancing, she could simply refuse to do so in future, yet that feeling of adrenaline as he had twirled her around the room for the second time in one day had been intoxicating. He had taken her challenge and until she had stopped him, he had been well on the way to changing her opinion of dancing for the better.

Without warning, his eyes flickered open and Margaret gulped audibly as her head snapped back to face the ceiling. For a moment, neither of them moved, their fingers still touching beneath the blanket as they stared steadfastly above them. An uncomfortable silence stretched on and Margaret knew she needed to break it before it settled in for good. Tentatively, she turned her head back towards him to find him looking at her, those blue orbs staring into her soul. She wanted to talk to him, to bring back some of the ease they had started to adopt after the wedding, but for the first time in weeks, her mind was empty. Perhaps, he felt it- the silence closing in, because finally, after hours of restraint, he moved his hand to take hers, his eyes never faltering in intensity. It caught Margaret off guard and she involuntarily gasped and flinched her hand away from his. Pain flashed across his face, though she could tell he had tried to keep it from showing and she knew she needed to explain that he had simply caught her off guard.

"Mr Thornton- John, I…" but as he turned his head back to the ceiling, her chance was gone.

It was too late- the silence had won.

Disinterestedly, he turned from her, pulling the blankets back and Margaret sat up on the bed, folding her arms protectively across her as if that would in some way shield the fact that she was wearing a nightgown in front of a man (who was not her father or brother and who she had managed to offend without saying anything) for the first time, and fixed her eyes firmly on the ceiling, not wanting to invade his privacy.

"How did you sleep?" His voice was cold, and she shivered in response, wishing he had not asked at all.

"Adequately, thank you." She replied with an equal lack of feeling. Margaret felt as though she should ask him the same question but the tired circles around his eyes had given his answer, without words.

"How long have you been awake?" He asked quieter, the splashes of water following suggested he was washing on the other side of the room and she firmly studied the pattern on the ceiling to keep her eyes focussed away.

"A while." She admitted. "I couldn't get back to sleep."

"I am sorry to hear that."

He didn't sound particularly sorry.

The sound of material being pulled onto skin told her he had started dressing but she could not help but let her eyes drop to the mirror to chance a look at him. He was nearly dressed and turned away from her as he fastened the buttons on the front of his shirt and cuffs. He finished and reached for his cravat.

Margaret wished she could turn from him and do the same, but it was not so simple for her. She would need help with dressing and the idea of asking Mr Thornton for help this morning seemed unthinkable. There was only one thing for it. She cleared her throat a little before, speaking properly: "I may need a maid's assistance today. Do you think I could ask Martha to help me? Or one of the others?"

"I will get Martha for you." He declared, sitting on the other side of the bed with his back to her to pull on his socks. Her heart dropped a little, at his easy answer. A small part of her had been hoping he would offer to help her.

"I will come back around midday today to say goodbye to your family, but I must return afterwards. I was hoping not to, but we have fallen a little behind with an order."

"Oh." She replied disappointed, both with his words and that he appeared to be speaking to his shoes rather than her. How had they fallen behind with an order? What were they doing to rectify it? He was lucky that she had found out about this in her night gown, grasping a blanket to cover herself, when she was feeling too exposed to take on the task of grilling him on this revelation. Under normal circumstance he would not have got away with it so easily. There were so many questions she wanted to ask but she bit them back.

Unpleasantly, it was starting to dawn on Margaret that she was likely to end up with a lot of free time alone with his mother and the thought did not thrill her. She had been hoping that since it was only the day after the wedding he might not have needed to work the whole day so that she would have an allay at least for the afternoon. Still, now that they had returned to barely talking, she supposed she might be better off alone.

He quickly finished getting ready and awkwardly left to ask Martha to assist her with dressing. Free from his presence Margaret made the most of analysing his chamber. In the light of day, it appeared more functional than homely and as she gazed at the chest at the end of the bed, that they had so clumsily avoided in their dance, her nerves flickered at the memory.

Thankfully she did not have time to consider the implications further as Martha arrived to help her dress. The girl was certainly softer and quicker than Dixon at tying a corset and fixing her hair, but Margaret could feel that she was assessing her as if to see whether the rumours she had doubtless heard were true.

As soon as she was dressed in her mourning clothes, Margaret dismissed the maid and began her search for where whoever unpacked her luggage would have placed her father's Plato, another of his books she had kept as it contained his writing in the cover, and her notebook containing the letters she had received. Thankfully, she found it with little effort, tucked neatly at the back of the wardrobe, and selected two blank pages. Her bouquet of yellow roses still lay one the small stand beside the bed, still vibrant but now slightly wilted and the petals crinkled at the edges. Her eyes watered slightly at the sentiment behind them that seemed now to be so distant and she sighed sadly.

Within the pages of her notebook she placed a single rose, which had best survived the night without water, and pressed it tightly. She had meant it when she told him her bouquet was the best present she had ever been given and she wished she could keep the beautiful buds forever, but pressing one was the next best thing. The idea to do so had struck her last night as she had lain awake, but she could not bear the thought of him knowing that that was her intention. It was too embarrassing and personal. Quickly, she hid the book back at the bottom of the wardrobe and took a glance around the room before she left. The small white envelope still sat on his desk, calling her to it but she turned from it before it could take hold of her. Summoning her restraint, she took a deep breath and headed down stairs to join her husband.

…

Both John and his mother were already seated when she entered, though John wordlessly stood and pulled her chair out for her to take.

Breakfast had been fairly painless: pleasantries having been exchanged with Mrs Thornton, who apparently rose in time to eat breakfast with her son every morning, and not a hint of criticism had been uttered, but Margaret was not fooled. She knew it was coming; it was just a matter of when.

Mr Thornton seemed keen to be away from the house as quickly as possible and rose as soon as he had eaten and wished his mother a good day. To Margaret's dismay, he had barely acknowledged her presence since he had helped her to her seat, focussing on his mother and thanking the maid but making no reference to her at all, other than to inform her that he would return around lunchtime before heading for the door. With one hand on the dining room door handle, he seemed to be debating something, comically turning to leave and then returning twice, before he strode towards her with conviction and kissed her cheek abruptly before striding from the room. Baffled, Margaret watched him silently, before returning to her breakfast, aware that her cheek had coloured a little and her mother-in-law's eyes were on her.

The moment John, closed the door of the dining room, the atmosphere became sharp, piercing through Margaret like a knife and she regarded his mother, who had returned to eating, with trepidation. There was something she wanted to say, and Margaret knew her well enough to be assured that she was going to say it, whether Margaret wanted to hear it or not.

"Thank you for everything you did to help with the wedding, Mrs Thornton. I am immensely grateful." She was the one to try and break the ice, deciding she might as well try and ease them into conversation and do so pleasantly before the older woman hit her with the blow that was destined to come.

"I did not do it for you."

Margaret did not doubt that and was not insulted by the blunt words, even if that was what Mrs Thornton had intended.

"Of course you didn't- you did it for your son- but I am thankful nonetheless."

His mother, studied her for a moment, her expression intrigued but not openly critical.

"There is no point in hiding behind empty pleasantries this morning, Miss Hale. I shall speak plainly and thank you for not informing my son of what I am about to say."

Her eyes met Margaret's and held them there, mercilessly as she spoke.

"I would not dream of it. I admire nothing more than bluntness when speaking on an unpleasant subject matter." She countered. It was the truth that she had no intention of telling John of any of the conversation she knew was about to occur.

Mrs Thornton gave her a long hard look. She inhaled deeply, blinking once before she spoke.

"When my son told me you had accepted him, I was not particularly thrilled. In fact, I was angry, Miss Hale. You rejected him once, despite practically throwing yourself at him and yet you now accepted him when you have no other options left. It seemed to me that your feelings still were not as he wished. After bereavement we all act rashly, and I believed he should have waited before asking you to marry him again."

Margaret regarded the woman interestedly. So, she did doubt Margaret's intentions. She might not be privy to the details of her arrangement with John, but she knew something was wrong. Margaret was sure of it. She did not like the scrutinous look she was being afforded and raised her chin in defiance at the accusation laid before her. What would his mother know of either of their intentions? It had also not escaped her attention that the woman had called her Miss Hale- a name that no longer defined her and she knew that very well since she was the one who had repeatedly pointed out to her that they could stop using such formality in private.

"I would rather you called me Margaret, 'Hannah', but if you insist on using more formal titles, then I must insist that you remember to call me by the correct name. It is Mrs Thornton now, not Miss Hale. How ironic that despite your clear disapproval of my character, we must now share a name."

Mrs Thornton's eyebrows raised, but she did not speak. It was a petty retort and she was not proud of the purposeful swipe at her mother in law but it necessary in Margaret's opinion. To the woman's credit, she did not utter a sarcastic reply but instead waited for Margaret to say her piece.

"I may have not understood what I was turning down the first time your son asked me to marry him, but I am not the sort of person to play with something as serious as marriage. Rest assured that I knew what I was doing when I accepted. Had John waited as you advised, my answer would have remained the same."

To her surprise, rather than her frown deepening, the corners of Hannah Thornton's mouth raised just a little for a moment before the usual impassive repose returned.

"You are a head strong, foolish and naïve girl but I am not so filled with dislike for you that I believe you would marry my son to be malicious. I do believe you have realised what you missed out on through your pride, but you have hurt him innumerably. It pains me to see that still he believes himself to not be good enough for you, despite your behaviour and declining reputation. You must know that your virtue has now been called into question on more than one occasion…"

"What occasions?" Margaret interrupted angrily, her voice rising in volume. She could feel her anger flex at the accusation and her eyes flared at her new mother- in-law.

Now they were getting to the crux of the matter. Margaret was fully aware that she had not handled John's first proposal well and probably deserved everything his mother had said until that point, but it still hurt to hear it criticised again. Her last comment, however, was too much.

Mrs Thornton's voice, annoyingly, remained level. "You have dragged my son into your antics, first by practically throwing yourself on him on the day of the riots…"

She had kept quiet the first time she had been accused of this but could do so no longer, protesting vehemently before being silenced by Mrs Thornton raising her hand to quiet her.

"… and then doing so again at your own father's funeral! Oh, I am not saying that my son was blameless on that occasion, but it was an inappropriate stance for two unmarried people. John has not expressly said so but for him to have been as concerned for your reputation as he was that night, more happened than that which was witnessed by the Latimers. It was surely not a mere misunderstanding!"

An inexplicable urge to stand, as if the difference in height would give her the response she had as yet not formed more gravity, coursed through Margaret and she was forced to grip the seat of the chair with both hands to remain sitting.

Tears stung the corners of Margaret's eyes at the sheer unfairness of it all. So that was what people were saying about her yet again- that she had thrown herself at Mr Thornton at her mother's funeral, when it was he that he comforted her! She could feel her anger pounding in her ears and she wanted to scream at the injustice, but she did not- instead clutching onto the chair so tightly that her nails threatened to leave marks in the wood.

Beneath the anger, the woman's other comments started to seep through. Did John really think he was not good enough for her? There had certainly been a time when she had thought herself above him, above anyone associated with trade really, but now she saw how entirely mistaken she had been. Had she not made up for it by marrying him? He had assured her he did not see it as a sacrifice but perhaps he had simply said all she wished to hear.

"Mrs Thornton."

She closed her eyes and took a shuddering breath.

"I know you have judged me for my previous behaviour. Much of the time I fear I deserved it, but I want you to know that I have not lowered or compromised myself in the way clearly thought on the night you came to speak to me following mother's death, despite what anyone may say- and your son knows that. There are things I have told him that I cannot tell you, that I believe for him have made all the difference in how he judges my character."

Her mother-in-law's eyebrows were raised again but her usual calm judgemental demeanour remained.

"I would rather you did not think so poorly of me, but I do not feel the need to justify myself further than I have already. All I will say is that I have done nothing to deserve your comments and do not wish to hear them repeated."

Heat was rising to her cheeks as she spoke and her voice waivered despite her determination.

"I know I am not 'too good' for John."

It was the first time she had called her husband by his Christian name in his mother's presence and the woman's eyes narrowed just a little as if she had been stung.

"You think he deserves better than me and I am fully aware that you are probably right, but I am trying to make up for my previous treatment of him now. I misjudged your son, but you have so completely misjudged me also, and offended me equally as deeply."

Mrs Thornton's lips were tightly pressed but her eyes no longer met Margaret's, who got the distinct impression that her words had touched a nerve.

For the second time that morning, silenced reigned, and Margaret could practically see the cogs tick in the older woman's brain. There came a point when the silence became uncomfortable and intrusive and Margaret began to squirm under its power when finally, Hannah Thornton spoke.

"Then we must agree that we will put our differences aside for John. I trust him implicitly and therefore will trust his choice, despite my misgivings." she concluded.

"Then that will have to be enough." Margaret replied, feeling there was nothing more to say. She was not about to profusely thank her mother in law for agreeing to be civil and give her a chance and thankfully his mother did not add anymore, simply looking her once over and calling for Marta to remove the dishes from the table.

Margaret excused herself from the room as soon as possible, keen to be away from the judgement and expectations of Hannah Thornton and was relieved when the older woman made no attempt to stop her or engage her in conversation again.

Was Edith's mother-in-law, Mrs Lennox, as stern and knowing as Mrs Thornton? She doubted any mother- in-law would be judgemental of Edith, who never offered an opinion on anything of substance and therefore held no risk of being seen as foolish and head-strong.

As she fled it occurred to her that those four people, Edith, her aunt, Henry Lennox and Dixon were her only ties to her family, her old life and, indeed, the south of England, and they were leaving her alone with a man who was once again ignoring her and a woman who tolerated her but wished she did not have to. Of course, she could visit them in London and they could visit her, but she knew that it was extremely likely that they would not. Seeing them leave would be difficult and she was dreading it more with each passing second. Stubbornly, she continued to feel the echoes of annoyance for Dixon, but it was over-ridden by her sadness that she would no longer have the company of one who had been so important to her mother in particular, but her father also, and even her in the previous few months.

Lonely but unwilling to spend longer in Mrs Thornton's company, she returned to John's bedchamber. Her bedchamber. The remaining wilting yellow blooms John had given her still rested on her bedside table and she sat on the edge of the bed, taking hold of them and smoothing a slightly wrinkled petal between her finger and thumb. If she hadn't married him, she would be leaving with her family now and returning to that familiar house in Harley Street, rather than this daunting and unfamiliar one. Without the fire from last night, the room seemed dark and cold and she wished Dixon was there with her after all so that she might not feel so lonely and overwhelmed at the enormity of her new life.

John had told her he would return at midday to say goodbye to her family and she found herself wishing for the hour to arrive so that she might have her goodbyes over and done with. Still stroking the softness of the wilting petals, she lay back onto the middle of the bed and stared at the ceiling as if it might offer her words of comfort. Martha must have come back into the room since she had left for breakfast and made the bed but if when she turned her head and buried it into the softness of the blankets, she could smell the soap and the sandalwood scent she had begun to associate specifically with him. It was faint, but surprisingly comforting and she pulled his pillow towards her to breathe him in deeper. Resting against it, she closed her eyes and lay there. How she wished she could have Fred here, just to talk to him for an hour, so that she might have someone to confide in! She would write to him that evening and tell him all that had happened. She had put pen to paper to inform him of her father's death but had been unable to finish it. It was too sad.

Feeling the cruel sting of tears, she shut her eyes and forced herself to put her sadness from her mind and focus on the happiness she had felt yesterday as she had talked with her friends and family and danced with her husband. With her eyes screwed shut and his smell around her she could succeed him her task but as she dared to open her eyes, her harsh reality came crashing down on her and robbing her of breath. Fred deserved to know about their father at least and it was unfair to keep it from him any longer. She must also tell him of her marriage or he was likely to try and return once more to see her and she could not bear for that to happen, especially after Papa had asked her to prevent it. They had been lucky last time but could not afford to take that chance again.

Drying her eyes on her sleeve, Margaret took a few steadying breaths and returned the pillow and flowers. On a small side table by the door lay a pen covered in notes, about orders and covered in numbers and beneath it blank sheets. She selected a single unstained sheet and penned a few words, simply relaying that Papa had died peacefully whilst visiting Mr Bell and that she was taken care of, having married a man she now claimed to have been courting long before he had visited. The ink suggested she had not told him earlier as she had not wanted to detract from their mother's needs in her final days. Indeed, she truly had not told him many things she would have liked to for that very reason, so it did not feel like lying. Almost.

After checking her face in the mirror for signs she had been crying, she retrieved her father's book from the back of the wardrobe and returned downstairs. Begrudgingly, she settled herself in a chair by the window in the large sitting room. Hannah was sat sewing in the corner and continued to do so after Margaret entered, without making any acknowledgement of Margaret's presence. Neither of them spoke more than strictly necessary for the rest of the morning, which wasn't difficult as Fanny arrived to visit soon after and did quite enough talking for three people on her own.

…

He hadn't remembered her family were coming to say goodbye. They had arrived at midday, as arranged, and Mrs Thornton had dutifully invited them in and asked Martha to serve tea. Henry had had not accompanied them and instead went to take care of some 'business' before leaving.

"Where is John?" Edith asked, craning her neck to peer around as though he was likely to appear at any moment. It was the first time Margaret and her cousin had been able to talk as Edith had instantly been monopolised by an eager Fanny, who seemed intent on informing Edith of the details of her new winter wardrobe, freshly ordered by Watson. Thankfully, Fanny had dropped Edith when Aunt Shaw mentioned the possibility of Fanny and Watson paying them a visit in London and had been eagerly engaged in arranging the details of such a visit since.

"He is working at the mill." Margaret replied, aware that her disappointment had leaked into her words.

"Oh. I suppose he must be very busy? Will you not be lonely," Edith asked, genuinely curious.

"Yes, he is." Margaret confirmed. She did not add that she was worried about the same thing.

Unperturbed, Edith exclaimed, "I cannot believe you are a married woman and yet you have not even met Sholto yet!" The childish pout that accompanied it made Margaret giggle at her cousin. In honesty, she was a little sad she had not yet met her little nephew. Margaret loved children and had no doubt she would love Sholto dearly.

"It is upsetting Edith, but you simply, must come and stay with us when you have time and bring Sholto with you. You can bring his nanny too if you wish!"

"I would love to. I shall ask the captain as soon as I see him."

Both ladies took the seats beside the window and Aunt Shaw seated herself with Fanny and Mrs Thornton. The former now appeared to be earnestly attempting to impress Aunt Shaw with vivid descriptions of her plans for decorating the walls of her new home with lavish papers and adornments. The latter, was serving tea gracefully, but the crease in her forehead gave away her annoyance with her daughter.

"How was it? Was it awful?" Edith whispered, grasping Margaret's elbow, her voice adopting a tone of conspiracy. She leaned into Margaret so that they may not be overheard, and Margaret got the distinct impression, she was missing something important as she had no idea what her cousin was talking about.

"Was what awful? The wedding?" She quietly questioned, confusion crossing her brow.

"No, silly." Edith chirped incredulous. "Last night! Did it hurt awfully when he did it?"

Did what? Why on earth would she get hurt? For a moment, she searched her cousin's face for a clue as to what on earth she could mean, completely baffled. Oh. Realisation flooded through her as suddenly, Margaret understood. Edith's words of advice to lie still and try to relax, ran through her memory. Her mouth gaping slightly, she wracked her brains pondering how to answer without blatantly lying. It seemed impossible. Edith had implied that it hurt when a man enacted his rights as a husband, so she supposed she should say that it was awful, but it seemed unfair to have her cousin think that about her husband when nothing about the reality of last night was awful. Unsettling perhaps, but not awful. This morning was a different matter but for entirely different reasons!

"No… No. It was… fine," she whispered back ineffectively, hoping that was an acceptable answer, and knowing it would not be.

"Fine? That's all?" Edith's disappointment was clear, and she waited with raised eyebrows for more information. Margaret floundered, not knowing what else to say on the matter.

"Does the Captain hurt you?" She asked, to try and distract her cousin from her own experience, or rather lack of. She could not deny that she was curious about how much it was really supposed to hurt. Margaret had assumed that one day she would get married and have children but had not considered what that would actually involve, and her mother would never have spoken to her about that sort of thing. Edith had told her all she knew before she was married, so she had a good idea of the logistics, but Margaret would never have thought to bring the subject up or ask anything further about it.

"The first time hurt a lot." She replied. "I cried, even though I tried so hard not to as Mama said I must bare it without complaint… but he's very gentle and now I have Sholto… so of course it is worth it and sometimes it is really quite pleasant."

Margaret nodded. A million more questions came to her mind in exchange for the one answer she had received. Still, the answers made no difference. It was irrelevant in her marriage.

"Are you ready to leave, Edith? The carriage will return for us at any moment!" Aunt Shaw's voice, called from across the room, where she was exchanging pleasantries with Mrs Thornton.

"In a moment, Mama." Edith returned.

Turning back to Margaret, she lowered her voice once more, "Of course, you do have to let him do it quite a lot to get a baby…"

Before she could give much thought to that information, the front door to the house opened, and heavy footfall in the hallway caught her attention. He was flustered, and his cheeks were a little red from the cold outside, and before Margaret had really thought about it she had left Edith sitting alone and practically ran across the room to him.

"John!" she exclaimed, her genuine excitement evident in her voice as she bobbed in her heels in front of him in a manner that was quite unlike her, a smile spreading across her face.

"Margaret," he nodded, his expression blank before looking past her to Aunt Shaw. "I'm sorry I was not here to greet you, Madam. There was an incident at the mill."

"Does that happen often, Mr Thornton!" Aunt Shaw asked, doubt evident in her voice.

"I am afraid so." He did not elaborate but strode past Margaret towards her Aunt, whose heart plummeted at his rejection.

"I cannot stay but wanted to wish you well and thank you for being such a comfort to Margaret at this time."

Her Aunt replied but Margaret did not hear it, turning her back on him and returning to Edith who seemed to have noticed nothing.

"I do hope you and Mr Thornton will have your own baby soon, so that Sholto may have someone to play with!" she declared happily, taking Margaret's hand in her own.

Margaret could picture it, Sholto, a toddler, playing with a smaller child with John's eyes. It made her chest feel oddly empty as she remembered that it could never be.

"Perhaps. You'll be the first to know, Edith!" she promised, knowing her words were empty.

"First to know what?" a deep voice joined the conversation and Margaret looked up to see him stood before her, his face still expressionless.

"When you are expecting a baby, of course!" Edith whispered, as if it was a great secret. Margaret watched his face as his eyes flicked to hers and held them for a moment.

"I must return to the mill. I will see you tonight." He declared, without acknowledging Edith's comment.

"Goodbye, Edith. I appreciate all you have done for Margaret and we would love to have you visit with us soon." John bowed his head to her, offering her the echo of a small smile and tentatively accepting her offer of a visit to Harley Street, before striding from the room.

As soon as he had left, Aunt Shaw had declared that it was time to go and she and Edith had hugged her tightly and wished her well before they left.

…

He hadn't returned for dinner. Thankfully Fanny had stayed for the afternoon, providing endless piano solos and gossip about various families in Milton. She had decided to dine with them as Watson was meeting some of the other mill owners and she did not care to dine alone, thus, the pressure to engage in a conversation with her mother-in-law that neither of them wanted was lifted. Fanny talked non-stop about the plans she had made with Aunt Shaw to visit London and her mother's lips had pursed more and more with each additional detail but Margaret, for once, was glad and encouraged Fanny to keep talking, despite the look of annoyance Hannah Thornton directed in her direction each time. Her anger at John for his rude treatment of her prevented her from caring about increasing the woman's dislike of her.

After Fanny had left, Margaret had returned to her bed chamber alone as quickly as was polite. Someone had lit the fire already and her nightgown had been returned to its place on her pillow. To her dismay, her roses were gone, no doubt disposed of by one of the maids. She had known they would not last long of course and she felt less disposed to disappointment given her anger for the person who had given her them, but she still missed the last link to Helston that the sight of them provided.

When Martha, knocked to help her prepare to retire, she debated on asking Martha why she had taken them without permission, but her anger increased with each passing moment that her husband was absent, and she remained silent, only speaking to thank the maid for helping her undress.

Without the pressure of John watching her, she removed her hair pins brushed through her hair before climbing into bed with a book and waiting.

By the time he arrived home it was close to midnight and the fire had long since gone out. The only light was the small flame of a candle she had lit beside her best and Margaret had given up on reading to pass the time. She wished she could ignore him completely and go to sleep but she knew in her frame of mind it would be pointless.

Finally, the door opened, and he walked in, rubbing his face with his hand as he did so. He looked quite dishevelled, with his cravat undone and hair sticking up where he had clearly run his fingers through it. She did not sit up, instead half watching him from her position in bed.

"I thought you would have gone to sleep." He stated, without looking at her and walking around to his side of the room. Apparently, that was all the communication she was to receive as he promptly walked to his desk, where the letter in her father's hand still lay, and began writing something on a piece of unmarked parchment there.

"Why have you been rude to me all day?" she accused quietly, unable to remain silent any longer.

He sighed but did not look up. "I haven't, I have just been busy at the mill, Margaret."

She knew he was busy, had he not told her so this morning? She did not see why that should account for his actions towards her.

"That is no excuse for your treatment of me!"

"I am sorry, I was just busy and did not really have time to leave the mill at that moment."

He sighed again, distractedly and left the desk to sit on the edge of the bed facing from her as he started to undress. Margaret's eyes shot to the ceiling to give him privacy as was now becoming the routine, despite her wish to see his reaction to her anger.

"You acted as though I wasn't even there!"

"I didn't mean to do that, Margaret. I was distracted."

"Then why did you?" She pressed, realising that arguing with someone you couldn't look at was much harder than she would have anticipated. She made a note not to start an argument when such a thing was necessary if at all possible.

"As, I said, it was unintentional."

That blank unaffected voice that annoyed her so, had returned and Margaret gritted her teeth in annoyance to his disinterest. The ceiling was doing little to help her in voicing her anger and Margaret was pleased to finally hear the rustle of blankets as he climbed into bed with her.

"How was that unintentional? I was pleased you had managed to get away to see my family and you completely ignored me!" She blurted out, chancing a look in his direction to see the effect of her words. He was next to her, staring at the distorted shadows the candle was casting onto ceiling as intently as she had been a few seconds ago.

"Why did you lie to your cousin?" he asked the ceiling.

"What?"

"Why did you lie to Edith?"

"I didn't!"

"You allowed her to think something might happen that never will." The sharp edge of accusation had crept into his words.

"What would you have had me say?" She asked. Baffled as to how this could have been turned around against her. "Should I have told Edith that Sholto will never have a cousin from us and explained the rest of our situation as well?"

He did not reply but blinked and Margaret knew that he knew this was a pointless stance to take.

"John?" She turned her body towards him, lying on her side as she tried to get his attention. He was ignoring her again.

"John!" It came out more pleading than she wanted but had the desired effect as he turned his body towards her. The proximity shocked her a little as they now faced each other, closer than she would comfortably stand to look at him.

He must have seen her hurt in her eyes and way they betrayed her as they started to brim with tears, and she could not doubt his sincerity as his blue ones held hers for a few moments before he whispered: "Margaret, I am sorry to have upset you. Believe me, that was not my intention."

His eyes seemed to be searching into her very soul as he held her gaze then, and Margaret's heart began to quicken from something other than anger.

"Please forgive me?" he asked, never once looking from her in contrast to his earlier avoidance. She did not reply, straight away, narrowing her eyes as she debated, but never breaking his gaze.

"Margaret?" If her voice had been pleading earlier, it was nothing compared to his, which seemed to seep desperation. Unable to deny him any longer, she nodded her forgiveness, but her brow remained furrowed, a trace of her annoyance.

Margaret finally blinked her unshed tears away as she swallowed thickly, her mouth suddenly dry. As if he knew, his eyes flickered to her lips, which had become equally dry and lingered there for a moment as she moistened them before returning to her eyes with more intensity than before and Margaret's heart skipped at the fire she saw burning there. Perhaps he had, felt some of the anger she had!

She directed her gaze lower to his throat and watched mesmerised as his Adam's Apple bobbed when he swallowed.

Despite nodding her forgiveness, her breathing seemed to have not realised that the fight was over, and her heart continued to race as she realised she was so close to him that she could smell his soft scent of soap. It threatened to beat right out of her chest as he brought a hand up to a long curl that had escaped from her plait and hung across her face and gently stroked it between his thumb and fingers. His gaze flickered to her lips once again and she knew, like she had that afternoon after Papa's funeral, that he wanted to kiss her. Heat flooded to her face and she knew she should probably move away to stop him yet suddenly her limbs felt tense and heavy and she did not want to move away from his smell. It was hard to breathe when so close to him and her breathing was deep and fast now that she was so acutely aware of their closeness and worried about what he might be about to do. It didn't help that she could see how deeply he too was breathing and she refused to look away from his penetrating gaze.

His hand moved to her neck, slightly cupping it as he traced along her jaw and Margaret forgot to breathe completely, aware that her eyes had widened to such an extent that she must look truly comical. Now was the time to move away but still she did not- frozen to the spot.

Then, without warning he sprang away from her as if burnt.

"Goodnight."

With no further explanation or apology, he turned from her, his gaze firmly back on the ceiling and his chest still heaving.

At first Margaret was relieved; without him so close, her breathing was less erratic, and the heat was leaving her cheeks. She had wanted their argument to be over- for her body to realise this- and yet she felt the cold slap of annoyance.

"Is that it?" She asked coldly, not knowing whether she was really talking about the argument.

"Do you want to argue further?" He asked, his voice equally as cold and eyes unmoving from their point of focus above him; his blasé attitude had returned with full force, which made Margaret's skin crawl and she clenched the cotton bed sheet beneath her hands in annoyance.

"I'm sorry. I will strive not to ignore you in future when you greet me from work." He added, some warmth creeping back into his tone despite his deliberate refusal to look at her.

"Don't worry. I will not do so again." She declared, exasperated. With that, she turned onto her side, blowing the candle out as she did so and facing away from him in the darkness. She drew the covers up around her neck, not caring that she was in very real danger of falling out of the bed at some point in the night, or that she had taken the majority of the blanket with her as she had turned.