FYI: It's a weird for me to write a New Years Party on the 4th of July as it is for you to read it probably. I should totally be writing my thesis but I get my exam results in just two hours (I'll probably have received them by the time this is published) and I need to distract my mind. Arfgh these are the last exams I'll have during my history degree, after this I only need to finish my thesis and I'll officially have my Master's Degree. I don't quite know what to do next, on the one hand I really want to doctorate but that's crazy and mentally challenging, I don't quite know if I'm up to it. I'm still doubting between doing that, getting my teacher's degree and starting a Master in Politics. However, I don't think I'll ever love something as much as History. So writing about history it is today!

Update: I got my grades back and it was great, I have to get a 16 out of 20 on my thesis to graduate summa cum laude which will be hard. But I'm almost guaranteed to at least get the "cum laude" part 😊

PS: I've only now noticed my links fell away during the publishing of the chapters. If anyone is interested just PM me 😊

Short shout-out to all my new readers and followers, I love you all!

Christmas morning was a lovely calm affair, the same as it had always been back home in Helstone.

They went to the early morning mass, after which they went home and had a lovely relaxing breakfast and their traditional oranges. Dixon didn't even complain, mope or mention anything that could dampen the holiday cheer.

There weren't many gifts, yet her mother had managed to get out unnoticed once, and had succeeded in buying a book for her father, one of Schiller called "On the Aesthetic Education of Man", and Margaret was gifted two beautiful gilded hair combs with pearls. Margaret and her father had gotten her mother a lovely warm shawl in a majestic purple, something Margaret had noticed in the Thornton warehouse on the day she went with Mrs Thornton. She had later on asked her father whether it made a good gift for Mrs Hale, who seemed to suffer from a never ending chill.

Her mother and father read books in their chairs, the fireplace was roaring, and the scent of boiled pine needles perfumed the room. After the gloomy autumn and winter months Margaret was happy to have the evergreens in their dining and drawing room, their bright colour and lovely scent had an instantaneous effect on her mood whenever her eye fell on them.

As her parents read, Margaret continued to work on her yellow dress, which was coming along nicely. She was however, still quite unsure about the sleeves. She knew the most fashionable ladies were starting to sport bigger mutton-styled sleeves which accentuated the hourglass shape of the female body. For now however, Margaret was focussed on the skirt, since it was broader than usual, it demanded much more stitching.

The week was spent indoors, with only small walks for their amusement. While Margaret had been bored by Helstone's lack of company after a couple of weeks, she had also become quite overwhelmed with finding a place for herself in this new Liverpool society with all its intrigues.

A week away from the unique characters that formed her new circle did Margaret good to reflect on how she felt about each of them, and how she should approach them from now on. She also had a week to mourn Bessy's death.

On the third day of Christmas, she had lured Nicholas away from his home and brought him to her father's office after coaxing him for some time that some talking would do him good. Anything to keep him away from the alehouse, really. Dixon had protested at the shabby dockworker who had invaded their house, though Margaret knew he'd done his best to clean up as much as possible. To her surprise, Nicholas stayed in her father's office for over three hours, and left with his shoulders a good deal lighter than before. Her father didn't tell her a lot about their talk, but remarked how interesting and "most educational" it had been. Later on, out of nowhere that evening, he exclaimed how it had really put things in perspective, but what things and how,, he didn't let on.

Then January 31st came around. It was Friday night, and with an even higher working pace the last couple of days, Margaret was relieved her dress was finished in time. She had decided on larger off shoulder sleeves, but not too large. She had decorated the sleeves with pearls. A bow was placed on the front side of the sleeves, and remaining fabric and lace was used to create panelling and texture on the front side of her bodice. A nice big sash encircled her waist and was tied in a bow on the backside of her dress, from which the two ends of the sashes flowed freely to the bottom of the skirt. The inches above the bottom of her skirt were decorated with cherry coloured roses and textured thick bands of yellow fabric.

During the week of rest her face had cleared up enough so she had recovered at least a bit of her confidence and beauty. Her hair was curled and left mostly loose with the pearl combs put carefully between the wavy tresses.

Her mother was particularly enraptured by the sight of her daughter. 'My my Margaret, how beautiful you look. I can't believe you made it all by yourself. My, I could hardly tell it apart from a dress made by a seamstress!'

'Oh mama, surely you can.'

'My dear, it looks lovely. If anything those hours of feeling idle in London have given you nimble fingers. That stitching, almost untraceable! Lovely, dear. If not every single lady in the room compliments you on your dress tonight, I shall personally haunt them.'

'Haunting is for ghosts mama, and you are just in the middle of your life!' Margaret laughed, but she couldn't shake the uncomfortable feeling. She felt more like she was pleading with her mother to not become a ghost at the age of forty-five.

'Are you certain you will not come with us mama? You could after all return immediately after dinner, you don't have to be up all night.'

'Oh, I'm an old woman, surely I would be in the way for you young people.'

'Mama, such nonsense, I know I would surely appreciate your presence. Besides, there are plenty of mothers and wives of about your age and even older present! Just take Mrs Thornton, she must be at least a decade older than you.'

'Well, her oldest boy is about a decade older than mine, it makes sense for her to be older. You're right of course, there are older women present.'

But her mind had slid away from worry about her age and health and the image she would send, and had transformed instead into melancholy at the thought of her eldest child.

'I miss having him around, especially during times like these when we are supposed to be together. Now he'll celebrate the coming of yet another year without us, all alone in Spain. On the one hand, my dear, I hate for him to be alone without a family, but on the other hand I can't quite stomach the idea of him finding a new family which doesn't include us.'

She was of course referring to his latest letter, in which he had mentioned a Spanish lady, a Christian, and he was to spend the holidays at her family home. Margaret and her mother didn't quite know how to take the news. She was a Christian, not a protestant. She was 21 years of age and very involved in charity, her father was a rich nobleman yet she taught classes in a primary school for village children, completely voluntarily.

He had met her father and her two brothers first. Since Frederick had set up a translating business and English translations were in high demand for reasons varying from trade, to personal correspondence, to letters of marque to prize papers from confiscated English ships from the colonies. Her father and brothers understood only a little English, but had frequent contact with English nobles who they'd befriended during their grand tours. And now Frederick found himself forming a friendship which struggled through the language barrier of his Spanish which was still mediocre after five years abroad, and their poor English. But now they were all together for the festive season and all were to learn each other's language!

The letter didn't mention any attachment between the lady and Margaret's brother, but the praising way in which he spoke of her beauty, kindness and selflessness showed an adoration that would not need more encouragement than simple proximity to turn into infatuation.

'I miss him too. But mama, we must be happy that he isn't alone tonight. It would only make us miserable to know that he is alone and friendless in this world. He's already lost any real physical closeness to us and his home country, he's had enough misfortune.'

'Yes dear, plenty of misfortune for such a young boy. Oh, it wasn't fair how they treated him. He had no choice but to revolt against his captain.'

Margaret grasped her mother's hand. 'Oh mama, please, do not be alone tonight and fret about Frederick. Come with us, drink some champagne at midnight, then let's go home. Fred's heart would break just as much if he heard you were alone tonight.'

Her mother gave her a long hard look.

'Fine. And I shall wear my new shawl!'

Margaret couldn't contain a wide toothy smile.

'A perfect idea. It will bring out the blue of your eyes perfectly.'

Dixon took her mother back to her room as she threw Margaret an amused glance which showed she couldn't quite believe she had been persuaded.

Two hours later her mother returned, her hair in a lovely pile of curls and dressed in a lilac dress. She was decorated with wonderful jewellery.

'Do I look passable? I know this dress is very much out of style.'

'Oh mama, fashion hasn't changed that much since '08. It's just the last two years or so the top elite have started dressing differently. You look splendid. The colour suits you, the dress looks expensive. And if they aren't convinced by you dress your jewellery surely will convince them you look pristine.'

One could easily wonder how a woman who looked as refined and elegant as a queen, could bring forth such a relatively plain daughter, Margaret wondered. She had such an abhorrent upper lip and upturned chin, she didn't look queenly in the slightest.

'My dear, are you coming with us?' Mr Hale asked in surprise when he entered the room.

'Margaret managed to change my mind', her mother smiled. Her husband gazed at her lovingly and pecked her cheek before looking at Margaret.

'You two look wonderful. Let's go, we mustn't insult our host by coming late.'

The Thornton household was magnificent and stately. If it stood in London, one could easily believe someone of importance lived there, instead of a merchant. Margaret started to wonder how many of her prejudices had any base in reality. How long could she maintain her dislike for merchants while living, talking and laughing with them and their families, and seeing how esteemed they were. He lived right across of a snow covered park.

Fanny and Mrs Thornton stood in the hall, welcoming the guests after they'd given their coats to the servants.

'Happy New Year's Eve, Miss Thornton and Mrs Thornton.'

'Thank you very much Mr Hale, Mrs Hale, Miss Hale. Mrs Hale, you were able to come after all?'

'I- Yes. I felt well enough to come. I hope you'll forgive me for leaving earlier though. I'm not yet in the best of health. I won't be able to make it long after midnight. I do hope that's alright?'

Mrs Thornton simply nodded and with that Fanny lead the women away to the drawing room while Mr Hale went to the sitting room reserved for the men.

Mary and Mrs Reeves remarked upon Margaret's dress and the brilliancy of its colour. Margaret thanked them and started asking them about their past week when she heard her mother talk with Mrs Thornton who had remained in the room after all guests had arrived, Mrs Gallagher and Mrs Latimer that Margaret had made the dress all by herself. Mary was just halfway past her description of her week when a gasp broke through Mary's talking.

'You didn't! Miss Hale, is it true, have you made that dress all by yourself?'

'I- Yes?

'Surely, then it is layered over an older dress?'

'No. It isn't.'

'It's a lovely silhouette though, very fashionable. Where did you get the pattern? I should pass it on to my seamstress', Mrs Latimer said. Anne Latimer bit her lip in frustration. The dress was wonderful yes, but she would much rather walk around in something less fashionable than let Miss Hale know she was the best dressed woman present. Of course, she knew her mother said those words to remind everyone that they could afford their own seamstress and could order dresses on a whim, but it wasn't worth it. Miss Hale got enough attention as it was, with her being a newcomer and all. She couldn't wait until the novelty wore off and Miss Hale was just one of the thousands of girls living in this city.

'I'm afraid I don't have any patterns. I made it myself with my own measurements. I was only ever certain of the bodice, I've changed my mind a great many times about the skirt and sleeves.'

Now Margaret had really said something, she even got the attention of Fanny.

'So you've designed and sewn the dress from scratch? With naught but the fabric? My, I believe that quite makes up for your 'mediocre' piano skills Miss Hale.'

'I've tried to make a dress once', Mary admitted as she carried the conversation away from Margaret and started telling a most amusing story which ended with stitching which closed the sleeves, many pricked fingers, bloodstains on fabric, tears of frustration and finally, an abandoned project. Then Mrs Reeves told a successful story of her making chemises and baby clothes, Fanny successfully attaching new lace and Mrs Gallagher successfully and unsuccessfully dying some of her dresses.

But how idle it was, discussions about making clothes to make them a la mode or trying to occupy their abundance of free time. Margaret dreamt away, imagining what kind of interesting conversations the men downstairs might have. She simply wanted to break free of women prattle to listen, even without understanding the men. Most of them were so honest, practical and plain, so unlike their women, who appeared to be very similar to the London women. Indeed, most of these had at least some knowledge of business, but when left in exclusively female company their topics never went beyond household things: dresses, fashion, music, theatre, art, new dishes, china, porcelain, books meant exclusively for a female readership, the education of the children. Dull conversations of prosperous women who had little to do in life but raise their children and manage their household. She thought of Bessy, who had taken an interest in pretty dresses but who she couldn't imagine talking about such things for more than ten minutes. She thought of the girl whose family Frederick was currently spending his evening with, who helped her community despite not having to, and she thought of herself skipping through Helstone and visiting her father's parishioners. At least they had the moral strength to rebel against the system which was locking them up in gilded cages, needing them not to be educated or knowledgeable but happy housewives who didn't ask difficult questions. Did these women not have a human interest? Or even an intellectual one? Did their concerns really not go beyond their own family and their direct acquaintances? Were they a subject to their fate?

Was Margaret to become like them?

She suddenly thought of Mr Thornton. Everything indicated his father was a gambling man while Mr Thornton was in school. He couldn't have possibly gotten a good moral example or a good education about how to live. Underneath the age of sixteen, all rich children were kept unaware and unknowing, just like women, about the business of their father and their duty. Just like they were kept unaware of poverty. They simply didn't understand work, or the working classes. Margaret had noticed that plenty of times in London. Society didn't take kindly to people trying to rise above their station. Not even when they were previously of a higher station. He had rebelled, he had risen above his station. And he'd come to care for the well-being of his employers, though he still had a long road ahead as far as Margaret was concerned.

He had done it. But she was no man. She didn't have the same options. Yet had these women not done it? She was educated. She was knowledgeable, and if she wanted to, she could try and use some of her connections. Whether it would be a way out of seemingly unavoidable traps of middle class womanhood she didn't know.

Dinner was called and passed in a breeze without a fight or argument. The men looked dashing, the women charming, and everyone's overall mood had advanced greatly now that they'd had a week to recuperate sleep after months of working.

The servants lead the ladies and gentlemen towards the ballroom. It wasn't overly large, but it had some nice painted panels with idyllic scenes on them, and the left side was decorated with large mirrors. It was much more than Margaret was expecting to find in Liverpool. Instruments had been placed in the room and many quadrilles were danced, other dances as well, of course. Margaret was passed on from person to person. From Mr Ball, to Sir Aldridge, to Mr Gallagher jr. , To Mr Reeves, Mr Ball again, and even Mr Thornton.

It was only when their hands connected that she realized they hadn't even exchanged words yet.

'Mr Thornton.'

'Miss Hale.'

'It's a lovely party', she managed to say before they were broken apart.

'Thank you, my mother has outdone herself.'

'She has.'

They split up again as Margaret and the woman to her left exchanged placed. She stepped towards the other male, circled around him and stepped back. Now Mr Thornton changed places with the man and they were reunited again.

'Did you have a good week?'

'Excellent, did you?'

'Yes.'

'Your mother is getting better?'

She was silent for a while, debating whether she should underplay her suspicions about her mother's illness, lie that she was getting better, or tell the truth and risk worrying him.

In the end she couldn't stomach a lie.

'No, but she felt well enough tonight. I convinced her to come. I didn't want her to be alone.'

He nodded gravely.

'I am glad she was well enough, and that you could convince her. No one should be alone, and we have plenty of food.'

'Incredibly so. I believe I'm going to be sick tomorrow. We've all eaten so much and meanwhile… No, I shan't start about it tonight. Or everyone will say: there is Miss Hale again. She can never manage to survive a night without insulting us.'

She'd hoped it would cause him to laugh, but she only got a faint pained smile.

'It is decadent, I won't deny it. And I know many aren't paying their men as much as they should right now. However, I can't tell another man how to conduct his business as that undermines their autonomy and freedom. I wouldn't want their advice unless asked either. You however, have made your stance more than clear, yet they didn't listen.'

'I'm a woman. Everything I say is useless.'

'A smart man knows the value of a woman's advice.'

Margaret's mouth fell open in surprise. What did he mean. Was he talking about himself and his mother? He must be. She offered him a smile before the song ended.

Servants came in with trays of champagne. Mr Thornton looked at his watch and Margaret instinctively leaned towards him to see the hour.

'Two minutes.'

She smiled at him and took a glass of champagne.

'To the hall!' Fanny yelled. The company of thirty people migrated towards the hall as the servants started counting. Margaret didn't understand what they were doing or where they were going so she followed Mr Thornton since he, as the master of the house, must surely know what to do.

"Ten, nine, …"

They came to a sudden standstill in front of the door. Margaret bumped against him and he spilled some of his champagne. He turned to look over his shoulder and she shot him an apologetic smile.

"Five, four."

Oh, he was going to open the door. Now she understood. There hadn't been a hall in her Hellstone home.

"Two, one."

Mr Thornton swung open the door as cheers erupted and everyone started smashing their glasses together and wishing each other a happy new year.

Looking around, everyone seemed busy and involved with someone else already.

The soft click of the door being shut took her attention back to the tall form in front of her. Standing tall in the dimly lit hall, Mr Thornton's intimidating presence had as much effect on her heart as ever, which beat rapidly. Yet, she knew she wasn't afraid of him. What was it about him that made her heart beat so?

'Happy New Year, Miss Hale, may your year bring joy and health to all in your family.'

The words were generic enough, but in the context of the current situation with her father's doubts, her mother's illness and her mixed feelings about the move to Liverpool, they warmed her heart.

She ticked her glass against his raised one.

'Happy New Year, Mr Thornton. May all your ventures be successful and you and your family happy.'

As much as she loathed certain aspects of trade, Mr Thornton was his business. His business was his money, his money was his means to provide comfort for his mother and sister, and his pride was directly connected to his business. And she couldn't possibly wish him ill, he'd fought too hard for what he had to have it stripped away from him.

As they walked back towards the ballroom, Mrs Thornton appeared on his other side.

'Happy Birthday, son-'

She was ready to say more when she noticed Margaret and decided to keep her wishes for a more private moment. His mother upped her pace and quickly entered the ballroom.

'It's your birthday?'

'Yes. Thirty-two years ago my mother spent the whole night suffering through childbirth while the rest of the world was celebrating.'

'Brave woman.'

'She is.'

'Normally large birthday parties are reserved for aristocracy but you managed to find a way to have one.'

'Yes, it's very much like my mother to time it thus. It's all been strategically planned for the purpose of me having a reason to drink on my birthday.'

'I have no doubt about it', Margaret laughed as she took another ship.

'Should I pass you another well wish or should I just grant you a wish you can fill in as you like in your head?'

Had she just asked that question out loud? Oh heavens, she really needed to start cutting down her alcohol usage during parties.

'I shall make note that you intended to wish me well but have left the particulars of that wish up to me. Now I shall be forced to succeed, enjoy and excel at whatever I do so that the wish will come true.'

'Ah, but that would indicate the wish is something you can bring to a good end yourself.'

'Most wishes are wishes the person can realize themselves. Let's take yours as an example: success in my ventures. That is up to me. They will be successful if I choose them well and work hard. Happiness is a mindset one has to have.'

'But it's not all up to you, there's other people and there's fate. If other people don't do their part in the arrangements you make, your organisation and planning alone won't bring you the result you want. Or what if one of the captains gets caught in a storm, you don't control the weather. Like you said, you can limit the amount of things that can go wrong, but you never control all variables. As for happiness? I don't belief an individual is able to achieve that without others, humans are social beings by nature. With my wish, I wished for fate to be kind to you and cooperate, and for humans to be friendly and honest.'

The starting notes of old lang syne and singing voices started coming from the ballroom.

'Thank you, I will grant it to you that you are correct this time. I shall see how I may best use your second wish.'

- "On the Aesthetic Education of Man" is a work by Schiller first published in 1794 on beauty, the sublime, art and nature. Personally I have a distaste for the format and find it incohesive and confusing, but in the 19th century letter-novels, letters and letterbooks were quite popular, and the writing will probably feel a whole lot more understandable for contemporary readers of that time. Mr Hale is an intellectual and I have no doubt that despite North and South's main focus on religion and roman classics, he would be interested in topics such as why we admire the things we admire.

- Since Mrs Hale is a lady she would have married young. And since it was clear that she and Mr Hale had a love match, they must have happily shared the bed. A young woman would have gotten pregnant quite quickly. So that's why I guess Mrs Hale married at 19, conceived Frederick at 20, and Margaret at 25. Frederick will turn 26, Margaret will turn 20 and Mrs Hale will/should turn 46 in 1825. There's 6 years between Thornton and Frederick. Thornton quit the navy in '15 but Frederick was only 16 back then, which would have been too early to join. He only entered the navy in '17

- The opening of the door was an old tradition to "let in the New Year".

So two ironic statements in this chapter knowing the fate of two of the main characters, but I couldn't let the opportunity pass to poke fun at the overall misery of North and South.