Dear readers,
Once again, I apologise for the long hiatus. I always struggle with the last few chapters of stories and this one was a killer. I know it might be hard to believe since I seem to be writing a lot of it, but I hate writing dialogue and this chapter is rather driven by it. I just couldn't make myself write even though I knew where the story was going.
I think there is one more chapter to come after this which will hopefully not take me too long.
I have another North and South story in the works, but to avoid keeping people waiting I am writing the first few chapters before posting so that I might stand a chance of keeping on top of it, so look out for that!
Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter and please do keep reviewing. It does encourage me to keep going.
Keep safe.
Elle x
...
John took a deep, shuddering sigh as he pushed his misgivings to one side and signed his name at the bottom of the carefully written letter. It had taken him weeks of deliberation, countless discussions with his mother and a disturbingly apathetic Margaret, but he had finally been forced to concede that he truly believed the best option for his family was to walk away from the potentially unstable investments he had been able to secure in London and start again. It had seriously dented his pride to pen the communication before him informing Adam Bell that he would be ending his lease of the mill, but his decision was made. It was time the matter was done with.
A purposeful knock at the door broke his concentration and he hurriedly added the letter to the pile of envelopes waiting to be posted by his foreman at the end of the day.
"Come in," he called.
It was not unusual for his mother to frequent his office so it was no great surprise to see her there, but John could not quite stifle the disappointment he felt upon realizing it was not the person he most hoped to see- the person who had not chosen to be present at the mill since his return, and who he had a strong suspicion was once again avoiding being alone with him. It was not that she was rude or ignored the conversations he initiated. No- not once had she fled his presence as such. It was more that the moments when they were alone were so few these days that he could count on one hand how many times it had occurred since he had arrived home from London. Still, her voice had appeared bright enough in their exchanges and her smile as disarming as ever, though he had never known her to spend so much time in the company of his mother in the evenings rather than the solitude of their bed chamber. He could only assume that they had somehow bonded in his absence. Or perhaps she was simply lonely. He had been forced to spend nearly every waking hour at the mill and thus she must have spent much time alone.
"I am off to Fanny's for dinner, John," his mother declared, walking straight towards the pile of letters to be posted and placing them into a bag. "I will take these to the post office along the way."
"Of course, give Fanny and Watson my best wishes." He replied. With a glance at the threateningly grey clouds dominating the sky through the large window he added, "take the carriage. It is wicked weather out there."
His mother waved her hand dismissively, a silent chastisement for worrying about her, but he knew she would take his advice.
"I believe I will be staying there until fairly late. Fanny is feeling some pain and is rather hopeful it will not be long now. I fear it is a vain hope…"
"Then for Fanny's sake, I hope she is right," he commented with a wry smile. For some time now Fanny had been hoping her time carrying was coming to an end despite Doctor Donaldson's confident assertions that the child would not be making an appearance for a few more weeks.
He received no smile or joking comment in response. Instead, his mother watched him for a moment and self-consciously, John squirmed under her scrutiny.
"Can I help you with something, Mother?" He asked with a flicker of annoyance.
"No." She raised an eyebrow at him unperturbed and turned to take her leave.
"Oh, John?" She turned back towards him. "Make sure you go home at a reasonable time tonight rather than loitering here. Capable as she is, Margaret should not be left alone in the house so late. Particularly in the absence of maids or other assistance."
John felt a prickle of shame that his mother felt the need to remind him not to leave his wife alone but could not deny that he had intended to continue working late into the night as usual and had not spared a thought for the fact that his wife would be completely unaccompanied in the house.
"Of course, mother," he agreed and pulled a pile of papers from his desk towards him.
With a smile of encouragement, his mother left him to his thoughts. He should have told her of his decision and his letter to Mr. Bell, but for some reason he had not. Would she think less of him? No, he knew she would not and yet he knew his duty was to inform his wife first, however, since that would require Margaret to remain in a room alone with him for more than five minutes, he was not sure how he would ever manage it in a natural manner rather than some constructed meeting. Perhaps it was a small blessing that his mother was to be away from the house tonight so that they might talk openly.
Pushing all thoughts of Margaret and his mother to once side, John resumed another task he had been putting off for too long- the matter of penning a letter to his agent with the tasks of seeking out any suitable small property further out of town for he and his family to acquire once the lease for the mill and accompanying house would expire at the end of the notice period he had given Mr Bell. Then there were the letters that were waiting to be written to the gentlemen in London, informing them of his decision not to accept investments at this time.
The sound of the large mill doors screeching harshly into the wind and rain that raged outside, alerted him to the lateness of the hour. He had barely noticed the darkness drawing in and with a sigh, John checked his watch. It was finishing time and he knew before long the men would have vacated the work floor and retired for the night. Robotically, he made his way to see them out as had become his custom, tipping his hat to one of the Boucher boys who had recently taken to waiting for his new guardian in the courtyard and receiving a small smile in return. As usual, Nicholas was the last to leave, bidding him good night and asking him to pass his thanks to his wife for the basket she had left for the children earlier in the week. Previously, the thought of Margaret visiting somewhere as unsavory as the Princeton District would have filed him with horror, but now it only brought him a small smile.
Then, John was alone in his vast industrial kingdom. He often looked over the floor once the workers had left, but never before had the emptiness seemed so peaceful. There was some relief in having made his decision and as much as it would pain him to walk away from all he had built, John was able to find some comfort in the thought that this would not be the end. He would start again and it what he achieved would be his alone and not beholden to southern gentlemen who would constantly hold a noose around his neck.
With a last look around him, John closed the protesting doors and moved to lock the gates for the night.
When he entered the house, it was dark and silent. The only light allowing his to find his way, came seeping through the edges of his bed chamber door.
"Margaret?" He called up to the light. "Have you eaten?"
When he received no response, he made his way up the creaking stairs and knocked to announce his presence.
"Margaret?" He called again twisting the knob to enter. To his surprise the door was locked, and he could not enter.
Finally, a small voice called from some distance on the other side of the door, "I am feeling a little nauseous, I am afraid. I asked Martha to leave a plate for you in the kitchen but please do not wait for me."
"Margaret, if you are unwell you must let me help you," he tried twisting the knob again.
"Really, I am fine", she answered more confidently, unlocking the door and opening it a jar so that he could see her face. "It is nothing. I am sorry for leaving you to eat alone, but I think I might lie down for a while."
For a moment, John considered insisting on entering and assessing her properly, but hearing his mother's words from his return from London about giving his wife space return to his recollection, he stopped himself. He supposed she would come to him if she needed him.
With a redundant nod of assent and an urge to seek his help if needed, John retreated. He could not help but feel a little disappointed. Based on their recent interactions, he held more than a little suspicion that her illness might more honestly be surmised as a desire to avoid his company, but he tried not to let those thoughts take over. He could hardly blame her since the smallness of her voice did imply that perhaps there was truth to her words and her cheeks did seem a little pale, so without complaint he accepted he would be spending the evening alone and with a call to inform her of his whereabouts, John took the plate to his office and continued with his work.
…
Somehow, John had known she would seek his company at some point, and he had been right. The knock had come after an hour or so and there on the other side of the door she stood, with her chin raised almost defiantly as she had so often done when he had first known her.
For a moment, they simply stared at each other curiously. Her brown hair was unpinned and flowed freely down her back and the rare sight stole his attention as his eyes followed it down the dark tresses to where it fell at her waist. The soft sound of his wife clearing her throat brought him back to reality, but he did not feel the embarrassment he might have once felt at being caught blatantly watching her and shamelessly simply transferred his study to her face. She did not look too unwell now that he could see her properly, just a little pale and wide eyed.
"Truly, don't feel obliged to talk to me just because my mother is not here to keep me company," he commented to break the awkward silence. "You are more than welcome to do your own thing, as usual."
He didn't intend to be dismissive, especially since this was the first time she had sought out his company of her own accord since he had left for London, but her face fell a little at his words.
"I need to talk to you," she stated bluntly, before proceeding to breeze past him into his office without waiting for an invitation.
Her tone and easy manner of entering without permission reminded him so much of the Margaret he had been used to when they clashed in the past and disarmed him a little.
"You are of course welcome to come in then…" He offered lamely. He had meant it teasingly, since she had already done so, regardless of whether she was welcome or not, though his own hurt at having been arguably ignored for the past hour bled through into his tone if not his words. He had spent an inordinate amount of time alone in his office recently and it had not escaped his notice that until this very moment she had only entered it to select a book from his shelves when he was present and had not once chosen to join him for company.
John warily turned to watch her, confused as she took a seat, then stood again and begun to pace the short distance between the couch and his desk. He watched the baffling display, regarding her untrustingly for a moment, unsure what to do. Finally he closed the door she had left open in her wake to give himself something to do and waited for her to speak.
"I am sorry if I am disturbing you, but I couldn't go on like this any longer." She elaborated formally, some pain or confliction crossing her beautiful face.
He had been wrong in his assessment of her, he could see that in the brighter lamp light. Now she not only looked pale but also as though she was about to be sick and her eyes were roaming the office rather erratically, her cheeks flushed.
"Are you truly ill?" he asked, his earlier confusion instantly replaced by concern as she shook her head feebly.
"I will call for Doctor Donaldson." He declared without waiting for her to comment and turned from his position to do so. A small hand grasped his wrist prevented him.
"No, I do not need Doctor Donaldson." She declared.
As he shamelessly scrutinized her appearance and demeanor further, John remained unconvinced. Was her hand trembling against his wrist? Certainly, her grip was weak, and her hand worryingly cold.
"Hmm, you do look extremely pale." He brought the palm of his hand up to her head as though she were a child. "You feel a little warm, but I don't think you have a fever. Perhaps we should get him to check anyway?"
"Really, I am fine…" she tried to assure him as her cheeks coloured further.
"Perhaps," he conceded to mollify her, "but I think I will fetch him." He escaped from her grasp grabbing his coat from where he had hung it over the back of his chair and moved towards the door.
"John, I am not ill!" she yelled, and he jumped a little from shock. He had never heard her shout so before and he turned to her mystified.
Her face crumpled under his scrutiny and her eyes were wide and glassy.
"Oh, John…" She whispered suddenly, with a heartbreaking crack in her voice that made his chest ache.
"Margaret, what…" even more dismayed, he stared at her in alarm, noting the lost look in her eyes, which he could now see were already red rimmed. Instantly repentant for his harsh tone and the way he had dismissed her, he withdrew his handkerchief from his pocket and passed it to her.
"I hardly know how to tell you…" she took his offering; her voice faltering and John had the distinct impression she was fighting to suppress her tears.
"Tell me what?" He asked urgently, all number of horrid illnesses she could have contracted racing through his mind. Even as he had comforted her after her father's funeral, he had not seen her overcome with such despondency.
"Margaret, what is it?" he asked her again, softly, coming to her side and drawing her up to him. She did not resist him wrapping his arms around her and nestled her head into his chest where she stayed trembling against him, her cheeks warm against his shirt. As tenderly as he could, he brought his lips to her hair and breathed in the soft scent of lavender that he had used to be so familiar with. He liked the honey scent she had traded it for, but he had not realised until that moment that he had missed her lavender scent so and hoped it was back to stay.
"Whatever it is, please tell me," he begged, pressing soft kisses against her temple.
"I have been such a fool…" she spoke into his chest and he shivered as the whisper of her breath tingled his skin through his shirt. "I have wanted to tell you for so long but did not know what to say."
Confused at her words, he waited for what seemed like hours, whilst she breathed against him, clearly attempting to find the words she needed. He knew things had been difficult since his return, but he could not understand what could possibly be so distressing to her. It was she who had pushed him away every time he had tried to get close to her, yet now he felt he must have done something terrible for her to have reached her state of such despair and his heart hammered as his mind raced to search for some reason to explain such an emotional response. What could she possibly have to tell him? He could think of nothing good. Perhaps she truly was truly drastically ill, and he had been oblivious to her suffering? Or the stress of his financial doom had become too much, and she wished to leave him and join her family in London?
It took him a moment to register that she had shifted and was kissing along his jaw and John gulped as he felt his pulse quicken and his hands move instinctively to hold her waist. Disappointingly, she flinched at his touch and moved his hands away from her body but did not pull away or stop her journey of kisses. As she reached his neck, he couldn't keep in the small moan he had been suppressing and fought to keep his hands at his side, rather than returning them to her waist, where they longed to be.
What was she doing? He knew the way he wanted this to end yet simultaneously knew his heart could not take it if they were to go there together again under the current circumstances. He needed to stop her, but he just did not seem to be able to step aware or push her from him. The kisses continued just below his ear and John closed his eyes, focusing on the feelings he had missed over the last few months and the shaking of her voice as she whispered against his skin, "I love you…"
John stilled and his eyes flew open. His heart might have stopped as he realised what she had said, and he pushed her from him so that her eyes were a foot or so from his own and he could search their depths for her meaning.
Her own glassy eyes were wide with shock, and he suspected she hadn't meant to say it, if that was indeed what she had said.
"Did you mean that?" He asked, his own deep voice, demanding. "If you didn't, then don't say it, Margaret."
He held his breath as her cheeks flushed and she nodded slightly, her red eyes, not once leaving his. Shakily, he released it and blinked in disbelief. Did she understand what she was saying to him? What it meant?
"John," she whispered pleadingly, and pulled him back to her. One hand raked through his hair and her lips resumed their place just below his ear and he was lost.
"Say it again." He implored her, emotion cracking him voice. The desperation to know he wasn't imagining it was unbearable. "If you meant it, please, say it again."
A small sob escaped her before her words caressed his skin: "I love you."
The sound of those words on her lips made him pull her lips to his and start kissing her rather passionately, all thought of what she was trying to tell him momentarily forgotten. John thought his heart would burst with the happiness that was coursing through him. Margaret Hale loved him! After years of pining for her, rejection, pretending he didn't love her, then crushing his feelings down, always controlling himself, finally, she loved him back. He knew he hadn't felt a rush of happiness like this in as long as he could remember and suddenly everything else didn't matter at all. His Margaret loved him.
"I thought you would never say it." He confessed, his voice still thick with emotion. Finally, she loved him back!
"I hadn't meant to tell you like this…" she sniffed, "if only things could be different…"
He cut her words off with a kiss, followed by another and another, not wanting anything to be different.
"John, I…"
Urgently his hands made their way to the small buttons on the back of her dress and determinedly, he began unfastening them as he moved her towards the couch. She put up no resistance as he guided her to lie back against it and bringing his weight to settle over her. Their legs were tangled, and his hands gripped the tops of her thighs through the soft cotton skirts as she continued to kiss him as desperately as he had her, until he had begun to pull the fabric up out of the way and returned his hands to grip her waist.
She gasped at the contact and pulled away from him sharply.
"John, we can't… we mustn't…" She stuttered, grasping at her skirts to push them back down as her eyes filled with moisture once again.
"I don't understand…" he chocked out, trying to steady his breathing.
Finally, the tears that had been waiting to fall, escaped her eyes and John floundered.
"Please don't cry; we can stop…" he tried to reassure her, even as he struggled to make his mind stop racing. Guilt that perhaps he was forcing her into intimacy she did not wish for made him doubt him actions and he pulled himself off her in the hope that it might calm her. She had just told him she loved him. She had initiated it hadn't she?
"Do you want me to leave you?" He asked, running a hand through his hair, at a loss for what else to do as he watched his wife wipe her eyes on her sleeve and put right her clothing.
"I am going to have a baby."
It came out in a flurry. John heard the words, but they didn't make any sense. His eyes dropped to her abdomen and its very slight curve beneath the fabric and he froze. As understanding coursed through him, he felt the colour drain from his face and he slumped inelegantly back into the couch beside her.
"Oh, God" he muttered involuntarily, bringing his hand to cover his gaping mouth.
A baby. She was going to have a baby. They were going to have a baby. His heart wanted to soar with joy but could not, due to the immovable weight of their troubles pressing down on his chest, trapping it. His mind tried desperately to calculate how far along she would be, how long he would have to do what he could, but it kept becoming muddled and unclear.
"When?" He asked eventually, trying to keep the tremor in his voice hidden.
"November." She replied quietly.
Slowly, his mind started to process the information putting him through one emotion after the other. Happiness, terror, despair, hope and longing and he tried to steady the racing of his heart. He had known, of course, that this was a possible outcome of the change in their physical relationship, but in the moment, he had not thought to be careful. Still, it had only happened twice! His mother had told him Fanny and Watson had been trying since they were married, which was well over a year before they had been successful. Yet, he was going to be a father in November.
"Oh, John. I am so very sorry." She stammered, bringing a hand to rest tentatively on his thigh. "I promise I did not mean for it to happen, but the guilt has been crushing."
Now that she had started explaining, Margaret didn't seem to be able to stop but John could not hear a word. Instead, his mind ran through the events of the past few months trying to make sense of it all. November. So, she was roughly four months along. He took her hand in his as the pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place. Now, he understood why she had hidden from him since his return from London. Why she had flinched when he had taken her waist, which now he saw now was beginning to reveal the evidence that her words were true.
"These past few months have been torture. I didn't want to hide it from you so, but I have been so ashamed and scared and I couldn't bear to tell you…"
"Why would you be ashamed?" He asked quietly, pulled from his thoughts by her wording.
In truth, he was panicked, terrified even and shocked definitely, but ashamed? Shame hadn't crossed his mind.
"I…" Confusion clouded her pretty face, "Well, because I... that night when you told me about the mill, it was me who..."
That night. Something had shifted irrevocably that night between them. His wife might have initiated what they had done but he had almost certainly encouraged her when he had assured her there was a way for them to be together without the outcome, they currently found themselves facing. So, she had blamed herself, when in reality John knew it was he who had failed to control himself as he should have. It was he who should feel ashamed, if either of them should.
If he had only know sooner he could have never-would have never- have written those letters this afternoon.
"Oh, God," he breathed again, raking a hand through his hair as the thought through what he needed to do to reverse what he had done. It was too late for the letter to Mr Bell, but it was unlikely the older gentleman would find a new tenant in the time it would take him to pen a new letter imploring him to ignore the previous letter and renew the tenancy, despite his main source of funds being various different southern parties.
Upon realising that he was in all likelihood going to lose the mill, he had felt powerless as he had broken in front of Margaret as he confessed his failings, but not since his father's death had he felt so lost and so completely helpless as he did now.
"John?" a small voice asked quietly, snapping him out of his daze.
She was watching him with her large watery eyes and chewing her lip in agitation and John realised he hadn't yet managed to formulate any words of use.
"I am sorry, I just need a minute to think."
Running his fingers frantically through his hair he started to make sense of his thoughts.
"I'm so sorry it has been distressing you so..." he felt like failure for not realising something was wrong ad pushing the issue with her but he had truly thought he was doing the right thing by giving her space. "I wish you had not been too afraid to share it with me when you suspected..." he whispered sadly.
"I was not afraid, in the way you think, John. I just could not face adding more of a burden to you," she countered him quickly, her sad eyes earnest. "And I didn't want you to think I had done it on purpose behind your back, somehow..."
John chuckled internally at her naivety in thinking she could have managed it purposefully behind his back when he had been more than a willing participant.
"I could never think that, and I am happy." Underneath his panic lurked joy that he had inadvertently been granted all he had wanted for the past two years.
"God, I am so happy, but I- I just... I've already written to Mr Bell to end our tenancy at the mill. I had decided to cut our losses and start again. I have bee a fool Margaret. I also wrote to the investors but those will not be posted until tomorrow morning so they are easy enough to rectify..."
Margaret shook her head defiantly, her eyes welling with tears.
"I don't want you to take it back. I know what you have decided and why you had decided it. You must continue with what you felt was best before, John."
Her voice shook but her tone was firm and John watched her incredulously.
"Margaret, if I do that, I do not know how long it will take us to recover. It could be years before we are able to open a fully functioning mill and with a baby."
"I know that. But I could not bear it if you were to move forwards with the investors when the idea makes you so uncomfortable. I will not have you resent me one day."
John stared at her as though she had sprouted a second head. How could she think that he could ever resent her? He was as responsible for this as she was.
"How could you ever think that I would resent you?" he asked incredulous.
"John. You once promised me that we were a team. Will you not let me be a part of this now? We both know you made the right choice, regardless of our change in circumstances. I knew you would say this and this is why I could not bear to tell you until I was sure you had made the choice based on what you think is best and not born out of some misguided sense of duty..."
She gulped heavily, as small smile passed across her face, "My parents had very little money and it never did me or Fred any harm. Could you not find work as an overseer in another mill?"
John's heart skipped a beat as her eye brows creased in earnestness. He should have known that she would be stubborn about this. It was one of the qualities that had made him so attracted to her in the first place.
Could they manage if they were to start afresh? He was so much older than before and so much wearier. But he knew the answer. He would have to do whatever it took to look after his family. As John watched his wife jut out her chin determinedly, moving her arms to cross them across her abdomen self-consciously as she saw his eyes drop to there, he did not think it was possible to love someone more. Regardless of the circumstances through which it had transpired, if someone had only told him that day when he had stood nervously in her sitting room, knowing he was going to propose to her for the first time, that one day she would love him back and give him children he would have happily have walked away and waited decades.
"I will do everything I can to look after you." He promised. "Both of you. I will forget my pride and beg Watson or Hamper for a job. I… I will go back to working for a Draper. I will sweep the streets or do whatever it takes, I promise you."
"I know you will."
There was so much trust in her glittering eyes that John knew he was going to have to work hard to bear the weight of his responsibilities. Softly, he picked up his handkerchief from where it lay discarded beside them and wiped her tears away, pleased when she took his hands and placed them on her waist. This time she did not flinch.
John took a deep breath to steady the nervousness he knew he would carry with him at least until the baby arrived and studied his wife. She looked so much happier now that she had shared what had troubled her so and John had an overwhelming sense that everything would be alright as long as he had her by his side.
"I am truly sorry, John," she said sinking back into the plushness of the couch, still holding his hand and he sank back with her.
"What for?" he asked tenderly, his brow creased in confusion.
"For everything," she said with a sigh.
He had no idea what she was talking about and waited for her to elaborate as he pondered what else there could be for her to wish to apologise for.
She must have noticed his confusion as she continued with another deep sigh, "I have been fighting with myself for months. Perhaps even years..." she closed her eyes for a moment as though some memory was causing her pain, "I don't truly know why I was so adamant not to love you..."
She fiddled with the sapphire which sat proudly sparkling in the lamplight on her left hand as she spoke, pausing to watch the light glitter.
"When you asked me to marry you after my father's death, I just..."
John's heart ached as he though back to how desperate he had been to hear her say yes, so desperate he had in affect offered her a business proposal, rather than a marriage.
"If I had only admitted it then, or on the train to Oxford or in the carriage after our wedding or any of the times I felt it afterwards, it might have saved us both months of anguish."
Her head had dropped lower and lower as she was talking, until she finally brought her head to rest in her hands.
John listened, knowing deep down what she was trying to tell him, but hardly daring to believe it.
"Margaret," he said tenderly, leaning down to take her hand back in his and trying to draw her up to look at him. She raised her head with his encouragement but focused her eyes firmly on their joined hands.
"When my father died, the first person I thought of was you. I knew what that letter was going to ask of you and I selfishly gave it to you anyway, hoping you would ask me not only out of duty and when you told me you were in love with me still, I think I knew I was in love with you too yet I was a fool and still I denied it..."
All thoughts of the trouble and strife that lay ahead were forgotten as John pulled his wife into an embrace that he hoped conveyed that he understood and that none of it mattered as long as she loved him. Carefully, he stroked his fingers through her hair, relishing the softness of her ling curls and enjoying the feel of her against him.
The sudden howl of the wind, thud of the front door shutting and footsteps in the hallway, brought them both back to reality.
"Can I tell her?" he asked hopefully. At least if his mother knew, she might be able to reassure him that he was doing the right thing and alleviate some of the guilt and worry he felt. I nothing else, he was also concerned what her reaction might be since the last time they had spoken on the subject of his marriage his mother had not been particularly understanding, though, of course, recent developments made that previous conversation rather redundant.
"Yes, but John, she..." Margaret started but was interrupted by the inevitable knock on the office door. Her face creased in discomfort, but she nodded, her apprehension clear.
"Mother," he greeted her, pulling the door open wide. "How is Fanny?" he asked, not wishing to appear unfeeling towards his sister.
"Not in labour," was the reply with an edge of exasperation. "the poor girl is so desperate for it but it simply isn't time yet."
He nodded with sympathy. He knew how Fanny could be when she was forced to wait for something she wanted. His mother busied herself with a broach on her dress, not pausing to take a seat and John debated how to begin with an unsure look towards Margaret, whose face was still creased with concern.
"Mother..." he started, swallowing deeply as she turned to look at him. "Margaret and I are expecting a baby...in November."
He was not sure what reaction he had been expecting but was surprised to see his mother place a hand on Margaret's shoulder with a squeeze he supposed was meant to be comforting before she came towards him and placed a kiss on his temple.
"Congratulations, both of you." She told them and John released a breath he had not realised he had been holding.
"We know it is not exactly ideal timing," he started to explain, but was cut off.
"Who is to say what timing is ideal? If it has happened now, it has happened for a reason. We are not to know God's reasoning. Be thankful and things will be well," she advised with fondness, patting his shoulder as she had his wife's.
"I shall get my knitting needles and wool out. Since Fanny dismissed my offer instantly, I shall be pleased to have a use for the wools I have been hoarding."
"Oh, please do use that white one you had out the other afternoon," Margaret said, looking brighter than she had all evening.
"Thank you, mother." John offered sincerely.
"I expect Edith will have somethings she can lend us since she is due any day now and already had plenty from Sholto, yet has been brought more. I could write to her and see?" Margaret asked, looking from he to his mother as though seeking the approval of both of them."
"Did Doctor Donaldson say whether it would be alright to tell other people at this stage?" he asked her.
"I did not think to ask..." she replied, her words laced with disappointment.
"Whilst there is always a chance things can go wrong, you are over the worst of it and should now be fine to tell your family, though it would be best not to shout it around to everyone at four months along, as Fanny did." His mother offered with a wry smile and the brightness in Margaret's eyes returned at her words.
"Fanny has asked me to return to her first thing tomorrow morning so I must retire. Goodnight."
With a quick gesture to Margaret who nodded without question and rose to dim the lamps, John accompanied his mother up the stairs. She had remained unfailingly calm and supportive and he knew she must have more to say, she always had more to say when it came to Margaret. He might as well hear it away from his wife's ears, without delay lest it fester.
"Thank you for being encouraging, Mother." He began, feeling like a fifteen-year-old who had done something wrong and knew his mother had discovered it.
"Are you happy?" she asked him, without acknowledging his words. Her lined eyes watched him carefully and he knew she only worried for his welfare as she always had.
"I am scared but I am happy." He admitted quietly. Patiently she waited, expecting more from him. Somehow she knew. "She loves me, mother," he added, remembering that night after Margaret had rejected him when his mother had been so angry that she could not love her son.
"I told you she would. Even Miss High and Mightly could not refuse to love you forever," she replied matter of factly as though it was no surprise to her. "She has grown up a lot. I feel I could almost like her."
John felt his eyes widen in genuine surprise.
"Do not look at me like that, John and do not make comment." She chastised sternly before, turning towards her chamber and bidding him good night.
It felt as though the day had lasted a year; so much of what he thought he knew had changed in such a short time. As his wife joined him in their chamber, John pushed the worries and pressures of life aside and just enjoyed the happiness beneath it, refusing to let the negative take away from the fact that Margaret Hale loved him, was his wife and was expecting his child. It did not occur to him until the early hours of the morning as he lay awake pondering, with his wife in his arms for the first time in months, how odd it was that his mother had known how far along in the pregnancy Margaret was without being told. It did not matter of course, but it was odd nonetheless.
Once the dawn broke, all thought of anything other than putting his affairs into order was lost and so the hard work of fulfilling the final order and closing the mill in as dignified a manner as possible began.