Margaret awoke from a loud thunder which reverberated through her room and managed to shake even her heartbeat. The day was dark, the clouds only gleaming with yellow, the tell-tale sign of an approaching storm. The thunder crackled again, and lightning blinded a bleary eyed Margaret.

All the icicles on her window had transformed into melancholy drips of rain.

Looking down she saw the snow making place for soaking wet pavement on the little courtyard. Why on the day of Christmas Eve did the magical winter snow trade places with dreary rain? Did the heavens not know their Lord was to be born this night? As the winds turned and rain started beating down against her window, she returned back to bed with a candle and read another chapter of Dante before heading down.

'Are you going to see your friend today Margaret?' Mrs Hale asked over breakfast of Margaret.

'She was so ill yesterday, I quite forgot to ask when would be a right time to visit them again' said Margaret, dolefully.

'Dear! Everybody is ill now, I think,' said Mrs. Hale. 'But it must be very sad to be ill in one of those
little back streets, and around Christmas! It's bad enough here. What could you do for her, Margaret? Mr. Thornton has sent me some of his old port wine since you went out with papa yesterday. Would a bottle of that do her good, think you?'

Mr. Thornton had thought of her yesterday? Margaret's thoughts went back to just a few days earlier. To the splendid food, Mr. Thornton's piercing eyes as he sung with her. She pushed the memory away. He hadn't told her about it!

'No, mamma! I don't believe they are very poor, at least, they don't speak as if they were below the average income. At any rate, Bessy's illness is consumption. Wine won't do her any good. Perhaps, I might take her a little preserve, made of our dear Helstone fruit. No! there's another family to whom I should like to give. Especially since Christmas is the time to give to the less fortunate. We always try our hardest but these days we must pay even more attention to the less fortunate. Oh mamma, mamma! How am I to dress up in my finery, and go off and away to smart parties, while I know of the sorrow that goes on beyond the doors of those little houses?' exclaimed Margaret, bursting the bounds she had preordained for herself as she told her mother of what she had seen and heard at Higgins's cottage.

It distressed Mrs. Hale excessively. It made her restlessly irritated till she could do something. She directed Margaret to pack up a basket in the very drawing-room, to be sent there and
then to the family. But Dixon wouldn't have it. 'In this weather? On the day of Christmas Eve? I've got the living rooms to clean for tomorrow morning, and the laundry to do. No I'm busy enough, we're unfortunate too! And at my age going outside in this weather won't do me any good.'

So without telling her mother, she swept outside and walked quickly to the cottage of the Higgins's. It wasn't raining when she left the house, the downpour having stopped an hour before, but by the time she turned the corner of her street, the first drop landed on her nose. Outside, she did hear the rumbling far away. And the clouds lit up with faint light every now and then, but she couldn't distinguish a lightning bolt. Surely, the storm wouldn't catch on aogain the first thirty minutes or so. A louder thunder resonated two streets down the road. Margaret hurried on. She'd planned on staying a little while, but it was clear she would have to make a run for it.

A knock on the door went unanswered. Just like the next one. Were they not at home? She couldn't simply leave it out here, could she? She decided to try a last time. The door was opened by an angery and red eyed Nicholas Higgins.

'Oh you is it! But too late! Too late indeed! It will do you no well to visit. Those foods won't make her better, no they won't. A waste.'

Fear crept into Margaret's heart. Her brain refused to understand as she simply watched Nicholas throw open the door and walk back inside. She daren't talk anymore. She daren't think.

After the party she had been unable to drop by, caught up in household chores since they had allowed Mary a couple of days off for the Holidays.

'My girl, my sweet girl, my first born! Gone before me! It ain't right. It's wrong. So wrong. If I'd known what woul've happened I woul've never let her an hoo's mother go! Hoo was still here when I went to bed, cold when I woke up! Not even able to say good-bye before hoo dove into an eternal slumber. At least hoo had no fear, no, that fantasy man oop there comforted her. You helped fill hoo's head with silly tales but at least hoo took comfort in 'em.'

Bessy was lying limp in the couch by the fire. Never before had Margaret seen death. She'd read about it, just this morning in Dante, but this had no poetic loveliness. Her lips were pale, her cheeks hollow. If anything she frightened Margaret; it divided her between wanting to cry and throw her arms around the lithe figure, and run away as far as possible. The frail girl who had been so weak, yet had that little amused smile tugging at the edge of her mouth as she talked to Margaret, had been replaced by a soulless body.

And now Nicholas was alone, without the daughter he loved so much! And gone was Bessy, who never got to say goodbye, hold a baby or take a husband. A life unlived! A life thrown away by some manufacturer who was cheap on care for his labour forces just so he could live in more splendour. It made her sick to her stomach. She decided she hated the man who caused this. She could just imagine the tears on the faces of women and children who received the announcements their husbands and fathers had died in Slickson's company.

In Helstone this would not have happened!

'Mr Higgins! Where are you going?'

'To fetch an undertaker before they close. I love hoo a great deal but I can't just let her lay here. We have but two rooms in this house. And then to Ali Baba's Treasure House.'

'What is that place?'

'A gin house', Mary whispered, who Margaret only now noticed was sitting in an opposite corner of the room. Her face was red from crying.

'Mr Higgins don't go. It will do you no good. And it costs money, money you could use for the funeral. Money you'll need if the ice doesn't melt soon enough. Some owners are talking about cutting the wages or letting off some people because of the weather.'

'Of course they do, sly foxes', he growled as he started pacing.

'I have no business in your affairs. But I beg you to think of her. Would Bessy have wanted this for you? You've always been a proud good man, don't drown your sorrows.'

'Yes, hoo's wise Mary, you've found a good mistress. I reckon you is right as well about the wages. It isn't easy miss, to lose your daughter and your wife and never see your life improve. Can we be blamed for grabbing the bottle? But I won't, there, I won't do it.'

'Please Mr Higgins, I'm- I'm very sorry for B-Bessy. I'm very saddened by- by her passing. It's sad too lose someone, especially this time of the year. I'm so sorry. But please, my basket is still for you, if you'll have it.'

Margaret practically ran from the home, and only noticed the rain when she was already three streets down the road. What a rotten world! Bessy had often remarked her death was near, but to have her die was still shocking. Her mind had detached herself from her body, it was only when she arrived back home and Dixon cried out and wrapped a towel around her that she realized she was soaked and crying.

By night time Dixon had made sure Margaret was nice and docile after having put her in a herbal bath with more than enough Turkish opium in her system. For once Dixon encouraged Margaret to read and relax while drops of laudanum had been present in every cup of tea she drank. Margaret had been oblivious of the latter as Dixon always prepared quite a strong tea and Margaret shared the tea pot with her mother. She didn't yet know her mother had been consuming laudanum on a daily basis for the past two months. Her thoughts still went to Bessy at regular intervals, but the melancholy and intense conflicted feelings had been washed away. By five in the evening Margaret had been put in a pale cornflower dress, her hair in tight curls from being in curlers all day, and she didn't protest as her mother decorated her with more jewels than she liked.

Her mother wished them enjoyment and remained at home with Dixon.

The party was lively and energetic. Everywhere Margaret looked there was green to be seen, servants only played joyful songs and young children ran through the house. A happy giddiness took place as the calmth from the laudanum slowly transformed into euphoria thanks to the mirth of the party.

She found herself standing with Mrs Thornton, her father, and Miss Galagher and Mrs Gallagher. A little girl ran and stood behind Margaret's skirt. Margaret looked down, and the girl threw an insecure look up at the lady.
'It's alright', Margaret whispered conspiratorially. The girl smiled and took her skirt, pressing against Margaret's legs to hide from whoever was looking for her. Looking up, Margaret suddenly found herself in the midst of a conversation she had been paying no attention to whatsoever.

'To hold and maintain a high, honourable place among the merchants of his country and the men of his city. Such a place my son has earned for himself. Go where you will, I don't say in England only, but in Europe, the name of John Thornton of Liverpool is known and respected amongst all men of business. Of course, it is unknown in the fashionable circles,' she explained, clearly as an answer to something which had been previously remarked.

'Idle gentlemen and ladies are not likely to know much of a Liverpool trade company owner, unless he gets into parliament, or marries a lord's daughter.'

Margaret shared an uneasy look with her father as they had never heard of this great name, until Mr. Bell had written them word that Mr. Thornton would be a good friend to have in Liverpool. Margaret took a great pride in the amount of people she'd gotten to know and hear about in London, an she felt quite put off by Mrs Thornton insinuating she was idle and unknowing, but for some odd reason, she felt the need to laugh.

The proud mother's world was not their world of Harley Street gentilities on the one hand, or country clergymen and Hampshire squires on the other. Margaret's face, in spite of all her endeavours to keep it simply listening in its expression told the sensitive Mrs. Thornton this feeling of hers, but luckily, she managed not to laugh.

'You think you never heard of this wonderful son of mine, Miss Hale. You think I'm an old woman whose ideas are bounded by Liverpool, and whose own crow is the whitest ever seen.'

'No,' said Margaret, with some spirit. 'It may be true, that I was thinking I had hardly heard Mr. Thornton's name before I came to Liverpool. But since I have come here, I have heard enough to
make me respect and admire him, and to feel how much justice and truth there is in what you have said of him.'

'Who spoke to you of him?' asked Mrs. Thornton, a little mollified, yet sceptical. She prayed that whoever had talked of her boy had done him full justice. Margaret hesitated before she replied. She
did not like this authoritative questioning, even though she knew it was Mrs Thornton's habbit. She felt disinclined to answer a question asked with such a tone, yet wished to answer it to see what kind of effect it would have on Mrs Thornton. Mr. Hale came in, as he thought, to the rescue.

'It was what Mr. Thornton said himself, that made us know the kind of man he was. Was it not, Margaret?'

Mrs. Thornton drew herself up, and said: 'My son is not the one to tell of his own doings. May I again ask you, Miss Hale, from whose account you formed your favourable opinion of him? A mother is curious and greedy of commendation of her children, you know.'

As Mrs Thornton was now implying her father had lied, she took the opportunity to both defend her father and silence Mrs Thornton who was once again making assumptions about Margaret. 'It was as much from what Mr. Thornton withheld of that which we had been told of his previous life by Mr.
Bell. It is what he refrained from telling that made us all feel what reason you have to be proud of him. And, in case you feel inclined to say that Mr Bell is exactly the type of man with the idle life you described, I've heard good things from harbour employees, I won't say of which company, as well', Margaret smiled.

'Mr. Bell! What can he know of John? He, living a lazy life in a drowsy college, but you knew I was going to say that. But I'm obliged to you, Miss Hale. Many a missy young lady would have shrunk from giving an old woman the pleasure of hearing that her son was well spoken of.'

'Why?' asked Margaret, in an attempt to guess whether she had done right by pleasing Mrs Thornton by giving an answer, or had ignored a rule of Liverpool society by answering.

'Why! because I suppose they might have consciences that told them how surely they were making the old mother into an advocate for them, in case they had any plans on the son's heart.'

She smiled a grim smile, for she had been pleased by Margaret's frankness; and perhaps she felt that she had been asking questions too much as if she had a right to catechise.

This time Margaret couldn't help laughing. This was not the answer she had expected! And now she thought of her mother and Bessy, who had asked about Mr Thornton. Did everyone believe there was nothing in the world to do but find a husband? And why was everyone convinced Mr Thornton was such an amazing choice for her? She was equally relieved that by asking why answering Mrs Thornton was special, she had simultaneously shown that she hadn't given an answer to flatter Mrs Thornton.

Margaret laughed so merrily that it grated on Mrs Thornton's ear, as if the words that called forth that laugh, must have been utterly and entirely ludicrous. Margaret stopped her merriment as soon as she saw Mrs Thornton's annoyed look.

'I beg your pardon, madam. But I really am very much obliged to you for exonerating me from making any plans on Mr. Thornton's heart.'

'Young ladies have, before now,' said Mrs. Thornton, stiffly. Miss Gallagher looked uncomfortably at Anne Latimer across the room. Did Mrs Thornton know of her attempts? Did she approve of them?

'Oh I didn't wish to imply that your son would make a bad husband, not at all. I was simply relieved that you didn't suspect me of making plans just because I answered your question truthfully. I'm sorry if my reaction is a bit off, I'm not feeling quite myself tonight.' The girl slowly let go of Margaret's skirt and went to stand on her other side. Margaret looked at the child's movement, amused by the game, and looked up to find the conversation again continued.

'I cannot answer for my son's engagements. There is some uncomfortable work going on in the town; a threatening of a raid somewhere in the harbour. If so, his experience and judgment will make him much consulted by his friends. But I should think he could come on Thursday. At any rate, I am sure he will let you know if he cannot.'

'A raid!' asked Margaret. 'What for? What are they going to raid? Why?'

'It's winter, the people can go hungry. Our warehouses and storages are well guarded, but we need to be vigilant. There are those who would dishonestly take what they have not earned.'

'Oh how dreadful, I pity their circumstances but stealing cannot be the solution', Margaret sighed.

As Mrs Gallagher asked Mrs Thornton a question about how Mr Thornton went about protecting his storage and warehouse, Miss Gallagher took Margaret aside.

'Margaret, are you well, you seem – I apologise if I'm being impolite – out of sorts?'

'Oh no, it's fine. I suppose the effects of the laudanum are yet to wear off.'

'Oh, are you unwell?'

'I've heard quite some bad news this morning, that is all. You needn't worry.'

'Oh, is it personal?'

'No, an acquaintance of mine has died just today', Margaret smiled as she bent down to pet a cat that walked by and rubbed against her skirts.

Since they couldn't talk on the topic of death in a delicate or proper manner, least of all in public on Christmas Eve, they dropped the topic. Dinner began and discussions arose, as usual.

Margaret wondered if they would ever manage to have a dinner party with only polite and philosophical conversation like in London. She found it difficult to school her expressions, and found herself unable to contain her emotions.

Sir Aldridge and Mr Thornton were having a conversation about importing products come spring, and then turned towards the women, asking them what would sell well and what they would like to see.

'And you, miss Hale, what do your London tastes enjoy as far as exotic products are concerned?'

'Oh I don't care for exotic products. I enjoy them but I have no need for exotic tea and the newest dye for my dress. Nay, I think we should sometimes be happier with less.'

'What do you mean Miss Margaret?'

'Well, take all this global scale trade, and the industrial level on which clothes are produced. Have we really a need for it? We managed without it fine up until now. Yet now those with capital deem it necessary, but why? When is the human cost of this economy taken into account? No, I shall not say what I would like to be important. What I would like is for all of us to be happier with less, and for investment in the care of the employees.'

'You think because I am a tradesman I only think in terms of buying and selling?' Mr Thornton asked, not understanding what brought forth Margaret's rising agony and agitation.

'No,' she said while lowering her voice, 'I know you don't. But it's very clear that many people involved in the economy in ways that require them to have people in their employment, make plenty of immoral decisions only taking profit into account and I have a great dislike for it. I cannot and refuse to reconcile it with my upbringing and Christianity.'

'Yes, and it is something that needs to be changed. Though we have been over the topic of why profit needs to be taken into account.'

'We have, and I agreed until a point but-'

The image of Bessy's dead body appeared in front of her and she bit her lip. She couldn't push it away.

Sir Aldridge broke the uncomfortable tension Margaret had yet again caused with her opinion, though their discussion luckily hadn't been overheard by the rest of the table. 'But I have a feeling this isn't about our question as to what you would like, Miss Hale. Is something the matter?'

It was only when Sir Aldridge spoke his words that Mr Thornton indeed realized that Miss Hale, though he had started calling her Margaret in his head, didn't seem as defensive or determined. No, now her trembling lip and glassy eyes created an image of a woman close to tears instead of a woman determined to fight the beast of capitalism.

Her eyes cleared up, and her shoulders straightened as she looked at them. The stiff upper lip appearing once more as she turned into a queen once more.

'Today I lost my friend, Bessy Higgins. She and her mother went to work in a factory in Milton since the family was quite poor at the time. Her mother died soon, and Bessy took ill. Her father immediately retrieved her but the damage had been done. She suffered for years from the fluff on her lungs before she passed away this morning. I've heard this isn't even an uncommon occurrence. People who go to mills get paid quite well, but die before they ever reach old age. Such is the price we pay, and I find it very hard to live with it, knowing that we pay for the clothes we wear in human lives.'

John knew of the mills. Had he been any younger than he had been when his father died, he would have probably been sent to the mills as well, to crawl under the machines. He knew of the deaths and casualties. There were some factories, like the ones he worked with, who were quite careful and shared his ethics on investing in good employees instead of continuously looking for new ones, but there was nothing to do about the small particles floating through the factories yet.

'You are friends with a factory girl?' Miss Galagher asked surprised.

John gazed at Margaret. She, who had been so privileged in her upbringing and had been so prideful, had made friends with a poor factory girl. She with dignified airs, grace and knowledge beyond that of any woman he'd seen before, had been on first name basis with a girl who probably didn't even know how to read and must have surely been quite coarse. He always felt like she looked down on him and his sort, yet apparently she had no issue with those who were of lower social circles! Yet at the same time it made sense that a clergyman's daughter would care so much for the poor and the less fortunate. In her eyes the merchants had no need for her sympathy, while this girl clearly did. She rose in his regard now that he finally understood that she was neither arrogant nor too proud to deal with them.

She did not look down on them because they were of inferior birth, she simply had a dislike for those who were in a position to exploit those who had her natural sympathy. And suddenly he wondered how life would have been if he had not been John Thornton, the merchant of Thornton & co., stakeholder in the EIC, but John Thornton, crewmember on one of the ships of the other company owners. Would she have visited his home with baskets for his delicate sister and bestowed them with her kindness?

He imagined her listening with undivided attention to his tale of woe as she offered him her prayers. It endeared her to him, to know her haughtiness and coldness was not because she looked down on him because of his birth like so many fine ladies would.

'I was friends with a factory girl', she said. She poked her food but drank more from her elder wine than she actually ate. No doubt the loss of today ruined her appetite.

'I agree, the economy has as many benefits as it has downsides. I admire your heart and care, Miss Hale. I don't want to lose hope, however. I believe they are the inevitable teething troubles of a new system, and I have no doubt the situation will become better in time', Sir Aldridge said.

Margaret smiled at Sir Aldridge.

'Yes, I hope so too. I am sorry for misdirecting my feelings. I meant no offense', she said while directing the last sentence to Mr Thornton. 'I know not everyone is the same. Unfortunately there is a large group who deserves the critique I vocalize. I don't agree with everything you say or do, but this wasn't directed towards you.'

As much an insult as a means to make up to him. He nodded and continued eating. He doubted Margaret had ever agreed with someone on everything, she was too opinionated, and her opinions a good deal too uncommon, for that to be possible.

'Come, let's go play some games', decided Miss Latimer after dinner. And thus a game was started. Miss Thornton had made cards with historical duo's on them. She was planning on giving everyone their card, but Mr Gallagher jr. decided that it would be sad if Miss Thornton couldn't participate because of her role as distributor. Thus, Miss Latimer's plan to make Fanny give her and Mr Thornton matching cards was ruined when all cards were thrown into a bowl and everyone picked a random card.

'Are the duo's logical? Or are they intended to be funny?' asked Sir Aldridge.

'Sometimes they are a legit couple. Sometimes they are not. An example which isn't included is King Arthur and Excalibur as a pairing. So you may be looking for an inanimate object as a match', Miss Thornton laughed.

Everyone who had wanted to participate was sat down at a table with drinks and chocolate, as those who wanted to talk went to a separate room.

'Miss Thornton: are you a human being?' Asked Mr Reeves who had decided to join the youngsters.

'Yes. Are you, Mr Reeves?'

'I am. Mr Thornton, are you a man?' asked Mr Reeves.

The room erupted in laughter, with Sir Aldridge laughter the loudest of them all.

'I am not', Mr Thornton answered with an amused smile.

'Sir Aldridge, are you a woman?'

'I am most certainly not. Miss Latimer, are you a human being?'

'I am', she sighed.

'Miss Gallagher, are you a human being?' she asked.

'I am not', decided Miss Gallagher after some consideration.

'Brother, are you a human being?'

'No sister, I'm not a human being either. Miss Hale, are you a woman?'

'I am', Margaret smiled. 'Sir Aldridge, are you a person that has been born on this planet in real life?'

'Yes I am! Mr Thornton, are you a real life person?'

'I am', admitted Mr Thornton. 'Miss Gallagher, are you an inanimate object?'

'I am not', said Miss Gallagher now unable to contain her laughter.

'Miss Latimer, are you a woman?'

'Yes I am. Mr Gallagher, are you an animal?'

'I am not. Miss Hale, since you asked whether Sir Aldridge was a real life person I simply have to ask: are you a real person?'

'I am not', laughed Margaret. 'Miss Gallagher, since you are not a human being or an inanimate object: are you an animal?'

Miss Gallagher shook her head. 'Miss Latimer, are you well known for an accomplishment?'

'It depends on what one considers an accomplishment, but I assume not', she admitted with a smile. 'Mr Thornton; are you royalty?'

'Yes I am. Sister, are you a woman?'

'I am. Mr Gallagher, are you an inanimate object?'

'Yes I am. Hmm, Miss Hale, if you are fictional: are you from a book written by a male author? Please say you aren't, if you are that will not make our search easier.'

Margaret laughed. 'Fortunately for you I am from a novel written by a woman! Mr Reeves, are you a man?'

The conversation continued onward, and within five rounds Miss Thornton and Mr Reeves were matched as Cleopatra and Marc Anthony.

But everyone remained curious about what Mr Gallagher and Miss Gallagher were until Margaret suddenly realized what could be possible if she was Mrs Bennet. There were no fictional men present, therefore, there was no Mr Bennet so either Mr Gallagher or Miss Gallagher had to be a joke. What fit Mrs Bennet? Her daughters? Nerves? Or suitors for her daughters?

'Miss Gallagher, do you happen to be multiple persons?'

'Yes! Finally, oh my god!'

The rest looked curiously at Margaret, except Fanny who had made the cards.

The game continued and now Margaret couldn't wait until the next round.

But Mr Gallagher, afraid that Margaret was too close to guessing someone's identity, claimed the question about Miss Gallagher's identity. However, that was no problem for Margaret.

'Mr Thornton, are you the wife of a Hanoverian king?'

'Yes.' Well that narrowed it down.

Now the game had really begun.

Miss Gallagher guessed that Miss Latimer was a mistress.

Mr Thornton guessed that Sir Aldridge was a king.

Miss Latimer then declared: 'I know who you are! You are George the Fourth!'

At that moment it clicked in Sir Aldridge's head. 'I am. And if you are a mistress, that means you are hmm, Lady Francis Villiers? I'm sorry, I had quite a few', he laughed.

Margaret finally managed to ask another question of Miss Gallagher. 'Miss Gallagher, are you a bunch of good suitors or rich potential husbands?'

'I- Rich Husbands. Yes! Why but I- I don't know who you are.'

It took Miss Gallagher three more tries to guess that Margaret was Mrs Bennet, as she had never read Jane Austen, only heard of her, and had thought her to be a male author. Apparently the public secret wasn't that well known.

But the saddest and longest game was between Mr Gallagher and Mr Thornton, who turned out to be a pair of closed doors, and poor queen Caroline.

They left the table to get refreshments and talk with other people. Margaret's head had finally started to clear up from the opiates and she was chasing after a girl who had ticked her. She finally managed to tick the girl back, and remained breathless as the girl started chasing after another one.

'Don't exert yourself too much Miss Hale', remarked Sir Aldridge with a smile.

'Oh, no. I love children. I miss having them around from time to time. Many of my acquaintances in London had some already.' Children were the only reason she had thought of marriage before this year.

'Thornton, come on chap!'

Margaret and Sir Aldridge sought for the figure of Mr Thornton in the room.

Mr Gallagher pointed towards the ceiling, from which a bunch of mistletoe hung, right where Mr Thornton had been standing and Miss Latimer now stood as well.

Mrs Latimer laughed. 'Oh I do it for scenes like these.'

Kissing underneath the mistletoe would guarantee a couple good luck and a good marriage. But they were no couple. Yet to not kiss would be disastrous. An unmarried woman not kissed under the mistletoe would remain single for another year. If Mr Thornton walked away, that meant he cursed Miss Latimer.

He took her hand and Miss Latimer watched with a smile as he lifted her hand.

'I presume Mrs Thornton had no one in particular in mind when she said there have been those who tried before. She's quite subtle', remarked Margaret silently so that only Sir Aldridge and Mary could hear. Their giggling went unnoticed with the piano playing, and the men who were still conversing loudly over their cards game.

Miss Latimer couldn't be more pleased with the scheme she and her mother had devised. In her eyes, it was a definite success on her side. As she rose to pluck one of the berries from the mistletoe, she didn't notice how Mr Thornton's eyes instinctively searched for Margaret to gauge her reaction; would she be unfazed or even the slightest bit perturbed? Or would she not have seen it at all?

But his wondering was cut short when he saw her laughing happily while looking at Sir Aldridge, of course she'd pay him no mind if the kind rich London society man with whom she shared such similar experiences was here.

How foolish to think she would care for him, despite last night.

'Miss Hale, shall we sing again?' asked Sir Aldridge after they were done laughing.

'On my own? Oh no, I've had quite enough attention yesterday. Thank you.'

'Perhaps the three of us? Or more? The more the merrier. Since we're still not dancing we must sing! It is Christmas Eve after all and you, Miss Hale, are in a dire need of merriment.'

'Maestro! Music!' Declared Sir Aldridge as he stepped towards the piano.

Margaret and Mary exchanged a glance, and after an awkward smile followed the baronet.

Carols were sung, and with the antics and over exaggerations of the men who had so clearly been enjoying their drinks Margaret managed to laugh a great deal that the time she went home, the rain had abated and turned into small slowflakes again, which fell ever so subtly from the sky.

The Christmas Magic had not forsaken them after all

From now on my chapters will be shorter 😊

- Christmas & New Year Traditions:
a-regency-primer-on-christmastide-new-years/
2006/12/28/new-years-eve-traditions-some-old-some-new/
- I've noticed I changed the spelling from Hallagher to Gallagher a couple of times, I'm sorry for it. But since the damage has been done I'll stick to Gallagher from now on. I hope you can forgive me.
- Elder Wine: which is wine made with elderberries, was made after the harvest and the first batches would be ready by Christmas. It was quite a popular drink and Jane Austen is believed to have made it herself.

-Reactions:

-Chapter 6: Sari18: Thank you! Yes Mrs Thornton finds it a bit harder to judge Margaret. I've always found it odd how Margaret has no qualms arguing with men but allows Mrs Thornton to accuse her of all kinds of things.

- Chapter 6 anon from May 31st: Thank you, I hope I don't disappoint

-Chapter 6 anon from June 1st: Thank you, I hope you keep following. I've got lots of drama in store to pull you in even more

- Chapter 7 anon from June 8th: They're very much equals, though still very different. Between Margaret who needs to learn to deal with her emotions in a mature manner and John's road ahead, they're still far from admitting that out loud I'm afraid.

- Chapter 7: anon from June 11th: Thank you!