Author's Note: Yes, there will be an epilogue. This chapter wraps up this evening! Thank you, dearest readers!

Chapter 7

Hannah Thornton's patience with the festive atmosphere at Watson's Christmas celebration ran out sometime between the second round of carols and the decorating of the tree. Even though Fanny was delighted with a "fashionable Christmas," Mrs. Thornton could not bring herself to share in the merriment. She regretted leaving John alone. Though his work ethic was a source of pride for her, she worried that he was now overworking himself to save the mill, and worst of all, indulging in self-pity ever since that woman had rejected him. He insisted she accompany Fanny this evening, and Mrs. Thornton agreed, but now she worried she made the wrong decision.

Mrs. Thornton was not a sentimental woman. She marked the anniversary of her husband's death privately with solemn prayer and reflection. She had loved him fiercely, and it took her many years to forgive him, and in those years, she did not speak about her husband to her children. For a long time, she was angry on John's behalf and devastated that the weight of the family fell onto his young shoulders. A lesser man would not have been able to do it. But John was not any man. He raised himself out from the shadow of his father's shame to become the most respected man in Milton. And Mrs. Thornton had left him alone on this Christmas evening. She knew he would spend it at the mill in one of his moods, working too late, or thinking about his father, or pining after Miss Hale, or some awful combination of all three.

As it neared ten, she insisted to Fanny that it was time to leave, and they rode their carriage home. The house and mill were dark, and the only sound in the house was Fanny's excited commentary about the evening. John was not waiting for them. He usually stayed up to ensure they arrived home safely, but she also knew the long hours he was working recently and understood his need to retire early. It was good he was sleeping, and she did not begrudge him his rest. So Mrs. Thornton bid Fanny goodnight and readied herself for bed.

Mrs. Thornton laid in her bed and attempted to sleep. The clock in the hall ticked loudly. Something was not sitting right with her. She got up and put on a robe before venturing to John's room down the hall. She knocked.

No answer.

She knocked more loudly.

"John?" she called.

When he still did not answer, she turned the doorknob and peered in. An empty room with an undisturbed bed greeted her.

She searched the remainder of the house and looked out the window to the mill office. It was dark, but perhaps he had fallen asleep at his desk as he often did. Mrs. Thornton dressed enough to walk across the snowy courtyard to the mill office, her keyring in hand. But he was not there, though his coat and hat were. Confused and alarmed, she returned to the house and went rapidly upstairs to Fanny's room.

"Fanny," Mrs. Thornton whispered loudly. Fanny, who was already dreaming of her future Christmases as Mrs. Watson, rolled over.

"Fanny, wake up," Mrs. Thornton repeated loudly.

"Who's there?" Fanny woke with a gasp, startled.

"Fanny, be calm," Mrs. Thornton responded, annoyed.

"I thought you were a ghost!" Fanny said, clearly relieved she was not being haunted.

"Your brother is not home."

"And? Mother, I am sleeping." Fanny said, pulling the covers over her head.

"Did he mention to you what he was doing this evening?"

"What he does every evening. Work," Fanny responded. She flipped the covers off her head with a flourish and sat up, eager for the opportunity to air her grievances against John, "He is such a Scrooge. When I told him we should have a tree this year, do you know what he said? He said he was not interested in spending money on a tree just to watch it slowly die in the parlor!"

"Fanny, your brother is missing. He was not in the office," Mrs. Thornton said, ignoring her.

"John is not missing," Fanny replied as she laid back down and pulled the covers over her head once more. "He is surely in the old storage room. He and I used to go there on Christmas so he could tell me about papa without you hearing. He still goes, though he no longer invites me."

Mrs. Thornton stared at the bundle of blankets that was her daughter. She heard Fanny sigh, so touched Fanny's shoulder gently.

"I forgot all about that. I will go check there," Mrs. Thornton said softly.

She left Fanny's room and made her way out of the house and towards the mill, lamp in hand. She knew very little about the secret world John and Fanny created between themselves when they were younger. It was a pity, though perhaps inevitable, that they grew so far apart since John's adulthood. Once, when Fanny was a child, Fanny had excitedly revealed that John had shown her his secret storage room with their father's drawings. Mrs. Thornton had done her best, but she did regret how little she spoke about their father to Fanny and John. How could she when her own grief had been so overwhelming for so long?

She was lost in her own thoughts as she reached the room. When she tried to open the door, it did not budge. Annoyed, she took out her key ring and found the correct key. It took her multiple tries, but she successfully managed to unlock it and turn the reluctant doorknob.

When Mrs. Thornton opened the door to the old storage room, to say she was surprised would be an understatement. Her son certainly was in this room, but to her astonishment and immediate dismay, so was Margaret Hale.

The brightness of the gas lamp caused Margaret and John to squint their eyes as Margaret moved to disentangle herself from what was clearly an amorous embrace.

"John?" Mrs. Thornton said, unable to articulate much more in her shock.

"Mother. I am glad you are here. The door was stuck," John explained, and to Mrs. Thornton's annoyance, he sounded completely unconcerned, as if it was an everyday occurrence to be discovered embracing Margaret Hale in a dark room.

"Mrs. Thornton," Margaret greeted with a ridiculous proper bow of her head.

Margaret put her hat back on, and grabbed the basket, returning all their provisions to it with alacrity. The sooner she was out from Mrs. Thornton's murderous glare, the better. John stepped forward to ensure the door remained open as Margaret exited the room.

"John. An explanation," Mrs. Thornton said, unable to look at Margaret, though Margaret rushed to explain for herself.

"I was bringing a Christmas basket—"

"Miss Hale brought a basket—"

"And I found no one home, so I came to the mill—"

"I was in here, and when Miss Hale came in the door shut unexpectedly behind her—"

"The key broke, and we could not open it despite many attempts—"

"The lock has been troublesome for years, but it has never—"

"Enough." Mrs. Thornton said, her hand going up to silence their babble. "Do you have any idea what time it is? Miss Hale, your father must be sick with worry! You will return home at once. The sooner you are away from this mill, the better."

"Mother—" John said firmly.

"No, John. She has put you in this position before, then changed her mind, and now here we are again with a second attempt at trapping you. I will not have her toying with you in this manner," Mrs. Thornton said, her voice echoing in the empty mill. Margaret paused before she nodded in understanding.

"Mrs. Thornton, I know how it must appear to you. But if you knew me at all, you would know I have never and would never try to compromise your son," Margaret said evenly. John's heart fluttered with pride at her nerve.

"One minute you turn your nose up at him and the next you think he is good enough. When will your games end, Miss Hale?" Mrs. Thornton said, her voice dripping with derision as she finally looked at Margaret.

"Mother—" John cut in again, but Margaret smiled and responded first.

"Mrs. Thornton, I never planned for any of this to happen, but I am certainly glad it did. All I can say to you is I know my own heart better now. If your son considers me good enough for him, I would be quite happy indeed."

Mrs. Thornton had no response to that.

"Mother, I have much to explain to you, but first I must escort Miss Hale home," John said.

"John," Mrs. Thornton objected. "There is no need. If you insist on an escort, I will go with her—"

"You should be inside where it is warm. I will return as fast as I can, mother," John said, cutting her off. He made sure the door remained open and kissed Mrs. Thornton's cheek. This softened her, but she still sighed in exasperation. Margaret awkwardly handed Mrs. Thornton the basket, which she took without comment or eye contact. Battle Axe Thornton, indeed.

John walked quickly through the mill with Margaret directly behind him and neither spoke until they were outside.

The fresh night air on her face felt like heaven to Margaret. A sense of relief washed over her, and she smiled to herself, holding out her palm to catch one of the snowflakes that trickled down from the sky. John watched her. She stopped when she sensed his gaze and grew serious.

"Mr. Thornton, I can walk home alone. You should stay and speak to your mother," Margaret said.

"Nonsense. It is too late for you to walk alone. I will get my coat. Wait here," John said. The last came out more like an order than a request, and Margaret raised her eyebrows at him. "Please," he added, smiling warmly at her. Margaret nodded and hoped Mrs. Thornton did not come out of the mill in his absence.

John knew Christmas was a time for miracles, but this was too much for him to believe. The evening was blurring in his mind like a fever dream, so as he ran to his office to retrieve his coat, he inventoried all the things he learned over the course of the night. Margaret Hale uses dozens of pins in her hair. Margaret Hale has a brother. Margaret Hale likes oranges. Margaret Hale makes awful holiday cookies. Margaret Hale knows he likes chestnuts. Margaret Hale, who never does anything by halves, kisses like she needs it to live.

At the last thought, John grinned to himself. He had never considered himself lucky. It was determination and perseverance that led to all good things in his life so far. But this turn of events was entirely fortune smiling upon him. If Margaret had not visited, if she had not searched for him, if the door had not shut…For the first time in his life, he felt like the luckiest man in the world.

He put his gloves and hat on and headed back out while still shoving his arms into the sleeves of his coat, impatient to return to her side. Margaret was looking in the opposite direction, and when she heard the crunch of snow from his footsteps, she turned. Her face brightened immediately with the warmth from her smile, and John's heart flipped. Margaret Hale had never looked at him with such fondness. He watched as her cheeks started to color under his gaze, and he felt a sense of satisfaction from eliciting such a response. He was about to kiss her when he remembered his mother would surely come upon them again. Instead, he extended his arm to Margaret, and she took it. This was another first for them.

Margaret had grown to be quite the walker in her time in Milton, so she kept up easily with his strides. The snow crunched under their feet and slowed their progress, but she did not mind. The streets were empty at this late hour and most homes were dark, though a few still had a solitary candle lit in their window. Fresh garlands and tinsel hung in the windows of the shops they passed, and there were festive ribbons affixed to the streetlamps.

The road looked more pristine than usual, shining in the moonlight with fresh snow. In a few hours, the streets would be busy, and the white snow would turn to grey slush under the rush of carriages and people. Perfect things did not last. Margaret was suddenly apprehensive.

"Your mother is not happy," Margaret said, glancing up at him from beneath her hat.

"It is the shock. I will speak with her," John said.

"I would like her blessing, Mr. Thornton. The two of you are so close, and I know she does not care for me very much," Margaret said.

"She will be supportive, I am sure of it," John reassured. "Do not worry," he smiled down at her as they walked. "So, am I Mr. Thornton again? If you say you will only address me as John in that storage room, I am afraid we will need to return," he teased.

Margaret shook her head at him in response, "You must promise to fix the lock first," she responded with a smile.

John stopped in the middle of the snowy street and took both her hands in his.

"John," she said quietly, her eyes looking at their entwined hands before meeting his.

He smiled at the sound of his name and admired the sight of her flushed cheeks and brightened eyes. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever beheld. Would she really have him? His smile faltered for a moment as doubt crept in.

"Margaret, you can still change your mind," John said quickly. "About us. About this. I hold you to no obligation. Not even after everything that has passed between us."

It was a lifetime of insecurities, everything from his own self-worth being tied to the failing mill and the bruise of her own previous scorn, that ate at him, even now, when he stood beside her in the middle of a Milton street, having gained her heart and hand all in one evening. He could hardly believe it to be true. He had made this very walk, alone, countless times since the Hales arrived in Milton, in the cold, and the rain, in the heat of summer, and each time he was content that every step brought him closer to her, even when they were nothing more than antagonistic friends, even after she had wounded him. But the walk was so much better with her at his side, and he wanted her near him, always.

"Will you truly marry me, Margaret, even though I will, quite likely, no longer be master of Marlborough Mills?"

Margaret gazed up at him and marveled at the strength of the affection that swelled within her. Once Margaret loved, she loved fiercely. She considered Mr. Thornton the strongest, most respectable man of her acquaintance, and now he stood before her a man needing the reassurance only she could provide. She would convince him of her devotion to him, and how much he was deserving of it, even if it took her a lifetime.

"I choose you, John Thornton. Mill or no mill. Yes. Yes, I will marry you," she said firmly. She squeezed his hands tightly, and he smiled at her and kissed her hand. John thought they both smiled too little in general and much more together.

"You have made me the happiest of men."

"I am glad of it," Margaret replied earnestly.

John took off his hat to lower his face more easily to hers. Margaret's heart skipped a beat as he drew close, and she tightened her grip on his hand in encouragement. On this second time around, Margaret noticed how his nose grazed her cheek softly just before their lips met. She noticed how he seemed incapable of kissing her only once—instead, he kissed in abundance. It was lingering, even slower than the one earlier, deeper, one kiss blending into the next, and Margaret ached with delightful longing. It occurred to her that there were innumerable ways they could kiss, and innumerable ways he could make her feel, and this thought thrilled her.

John, encouraged by the understanding they reached, kissed her with more confidence than before. The rest of the world melted around them, and all he knew was her. He had always been keenly aware of everything about her when she was in his presence; the way she moved through a room or served tea or when she spoke to someone else. This awareness was magnified in her embrace. There was not a sound of hers he did not hear, nor a movement of her mouth that he did not feel deep within him. Their kiss naturally escalated in intensity, from soft to ardent, and he could feel the thunder of his heartbeat increase. Instead of alleviating the tension between them, their kiss only served to heightened it.

Margaret's soft eyes opened to look at him. Sensing her gaze, John pulled away.

"John," she whispered.

"Yes?" he murmured.

"You were right."

"What about?" he asked, bemused. Margaret reached into the pocket of her dress and returned the pocket watch into his gloved hand.

"We can go half-an-hour without quarrelling," she said, a bright smile appearing on her face. John smiled at her indulgently.

"We have found a better use of our time together, my dearest Margaret," John said. Though John was certain there would be disagreement and debate aplenty in their future, he certainly enjoyed the new way they could occupy their time. And as she looked up at him, he marveled at her loveliness and wondered again at his luck. He kissed her once more.

If anyone happened to look out their window or come upon them in the street, it would be unmistakable: John Thornton, master of Marlborough Mills, and Margaret Hale, the remarkably handsome lady from the south, were brazenly sharing a kiss in the middle of a Milton street. It would not come as a surprise to any onlooker, as many had noticed Mr. Thornton's attachment to the fiery Miss Hale, who, despite her airs, showed a marked preference and respect for him.

So when Nicholas Higgins turned the corner and approached the two figures in the street, he was more amused than surprised. When the young couple did not seem to have a mind to stop their activity, Higgins decided it best to interrupt.

"Miss Margaret!" he called out. If he was amused before, the startled way in which Thornton and Miss Margaret broke apart and looked like they were caught eating sweets before dinner was downright comical. Thornton almost dropped his hat as he attempted to return it to his head.

"Nicholas!" Margaret greeted, cheerful but embarrassed.

"I just came from your place. We been looking for you everywhere, lass. Are you all right?" he asked, eyeing John suspiciously. John was in too good a humor to be annoyed with the look Higgins was currently giving him.

"I am well, Nicholas. You see, after I left your home, I went to Marlborough Mills," Margaret began.

"Ay, that's what I told Dixon when she came looking for you. I went to Thornton's, but the whole place was empty, far as I could tell."

"Allow me to explain," Margaret said, and she relayed to him how they had been stuck in the storage room all evening, attempting to make the incident sound as dull as possible, though Margaret could feel her cheeks warm with embarrassment at the truth. Higgins looked concerned.

"I am thankful Mrs. Thornton found us when she did. Is my father doing all right?" Margaret finished.

"He is worried, but he is fine. Knows you can take care of yourself. Now, Miss Margaret, we can explain the situation to Mr. Hale, and if Thornton didn't cross too many lines…"

"Higgins," John said warningly, annoyed at the implication.

Margaret shook her head at them both. "Oh, no, of course Mr. Thornton was a gentleman. You are the first to share in our happy news, Nicholas. He asked for my hand, and this time I accepted," Margaret said, beaming.

Higgins looked to Thornton for confirmation. That's when he noticed Thornton looked…happy. Quite pleased, actually. There was a relaxed smile on Thornton's face that Higgins was certain he'd never seen before. Higgins always suspected there was something brewing between the two. Thornton was the only man in Milton Higgins would trust to treat Miss Margaret as she ought to be treated, and Miss Margaret could soften Thornton up a bit more. Yes, he approved a great deal.

"I told Mr. Hale; Thornton would know where you ran off to. But Hale didn't think you would have said anything to Thornton. Said you don't get along well enough for that. Seems he got that wrong," Higgins said, looking rather amused. "Congratulations then, Thornton, Miss Margaret."

"I need to accompany Miss Hale home, Higgins," John said, tipping his hat to him.

"I am so sorry for all the trouble," Margaret said to Higgins as she extended her hand to him. Higgins clasped her hand in return.

"No trouble at all, miss. Merry Christmas," Higgins responded. He made a mental note to ask Margaret what she meant when she said she accepted Thornton "this time." There was certainly a good story there.

"Merry Christmas," John and Margaret responded in unison. Higgins headed in the opposite direction towards the Princeton district, and John and Margaret continued down the street to the Hale residence, which was just on the next street down. John offered Margaret his arm again, which she gladly took.

"How fortunate for us to find a friend to share our news with," Margaret said, smiling and attempting to diffuse John's irritation, though she suspected he was mostly annoyed they had been interrupted. John still considered Higgins his worker more than anything else, though they had formed a tentative friendship in the last couple of months. Margaret's friendship with the workers would require some adjustment for John.

"There are certainly worse people to run into, who maybe would not share in our joy as much as Higgins," John agreed.

"Like who?" Margaret asked, curious. To her, it seemed like all the world would celebrate their union. Well, save Mrs. Thornton.

"Bell, Dixon, Miss Latimer, Henderson, Henry Lennox, to name a few."

"Oh, you are being unfair. Of course they will wish us well. Besides, what would any of them be doing out walking in Milton at this hour?" Margaret said laughing at his lengthy list of people.

"I haven't the slightest idea. What are you doing out walking in Milton at this hour?" John responded with a smile.

"Going on a stroll with a handsome gentleman. It is one of my favorite activities, as you and all of Milton know," Margaret teased.

"That reminds me. Since I am in no danger of misunderstanding you, I would like to know. What is your idea of a perfect wedding day?" John asked, recalling their conversation from earlier. He had never given the matter much thought until he met her, and even then, his thoughts were never about the ceremony. Margaret sighed wistfully at his question.

"I used to think I simply wanted to put on my best dress and walk to church on a sunny day."

"And now?" he asked, simultaneously charmed by her modest wishes and a little apprehensive that she now envisioned a grand event.

"Well now, being winter in the north, I would not mind if it is a cloudy day," she said with a wry smile. John laughed.

When they turned onto her street, she could see a light on in the window to her home. She inhaled deeply in anticipation.

"They must be worried sick," she said ruefully.

"I will come in with you."

"No, I think I should go by myself. I will explain what happened. Father will understand." They had reached the steps of the apartment. She let go of John's arm to walk up the steps, but he grabbed her hand to stop her.

"I feel that I miss you already," John said, desperate to keep her at his side longer.

"You will come tomorrow...later, I mean, to speak to my father?" Margaret asked.

"First thing. I promise," he replied, bringing her hand to his lips, where he placed a reverent kiss,

"Do you think your father will approve?" John asked.

"John, he thinks of you as a second son. He will be delighted," Margaret paused, and then after a moment, "Well, once he is over his surprise, he will be delighted, I am sure. I will have to explain my own change of heart," she said thoughtfully, now regretful of the strong words she used early in their acquaintance.

"No one can be more surprised than I am," John responded. He was still holding onto her hand.

"You really must go," she said, looking to the door of the apartment. "I need to face Dixon who is likely on the other side of that door waiting for an explanation."

"I will go, but I will be back in a few hours," John released her hand, "Though I fear that if I fall asleep, I will wake up, and it will all be a dream."

Margaret laughed, "This is not a dream. Now go," she said, shooing him away with her hand. John smiled at her and started on his path home. She watched him closely, and just as he was about to turn the corner, she leaned over the railing of the stairs.

"Mr. Thornton—" she called after him in a loud whisper. John turned swiftly, as if he had been waiting for her to beckon him back.

"I love you," Margaret said, smiling broadly at him, not caring if all of Milton heard her, "Merry Christmas!"

"And I love you, Miss Hale," John called back.

He waited and watched as she opened the door to the apartment. She looked back at him, smiling, and then disappeared inside.

"Merry Christmas," he whispered faintly into the night air.

~THE END~