They say there is a war
Between the man and the woman
I've never felt like this before
My heart knew that I couldn't
And then you take me in
And everything in me begins to feel like I belong
Like everybody needs a home
And when I take your hand
Like the world has never held a man

AURORA – Exist for love

'I have a proposition.'

John Thornton swirled the bourbon around in the low crystal glass.

The lively conversation about some new upcoming author at the dinner party that had been thrown to celebrate the return of the now married Mr. and Mrs. Kearney and Sir and Lady Aldridge was no more than mere background noise to him, but since Sir Edward had demanded everyone's attention, the babbling had ceased. The heavy voice entered his ears, but he did not listen.

Instead he focussed on the coolness of the glass against his fingertips as he soaked in the warmth of the roaring fireplace behind him. August had its chilly rainy days, especially up North, and he wasn't in the habit of warming his own rooms anymore. His back was stiff from days spent behind his desk in the cold brick warehouse.

He'd cut out every expense he could, and was glad Fanny was no longer his burden, meaning he could still offer his mother the comforts she deserved for the time being.

'Now that all weddings are out of the way, and we have nothing but dreary business to look forward to, I suggest we all reserve the last week of August for a birthday party.'

John inhaled the bourbon in one go, a butler subtly filling his glass for the third time. He would still not consider himself a drinker, he didn't wish to spend his earnings on bottles every night, but as he'd given up the luxury of reading and learning once more, and rarely stayed long at parties after dinner, his only relief was the night cap he enjoyed every night to burn away the bitter taste his bills left on his tongue. Now that he was here though, he had a mind to drink enough to grant himself a dreamless night. All his dreams did was remind him of what he'd lost, and make him wake up cursing the life he was living.

'A week for one birthday party?' Miss De Vere asked.

'A week, or maybe even two! Since this person, who is so dear to all of us, lives quite far away. I have contacted her relatives in utmost secrecy, and have received their reply three days ago. My friends, what say you, shall we see the wonders of Spain for ourselves and visit our dear Margaret in Cadíz?'

The mention of Spain sparked an immediate reaction in Mr. Thornton, he now fervently wished he had paid more attention.

Unfortunately, Sir Edward did not feel the need to repeat himself as the whole table exploded with enquiries and discussions.

Since her departure, he'd inhaled sorrow with every breath. Absence had made his heart grow even fonder, but it sure made him feel even more alone. She tormented his dreams as she appeared in memories, or sometimes fantasies of his own fabrication, in which she was still in Liverpool attending dinner parties, jumping at occasions to critique him. Sometimes his mind was even more cruel, blurring the line between memory and fantasy, as he dreamt of kissing her after catching her, or her running back towards him on the docks on the day of her departure. Mr Thornton was still in love with Margaret, despite all his efforts not to be. He had tried hard not to see her, but in his dreams she came dancing towards him with open arms.

What he'd give to see her once more, and meet her as he was, before having to leave his life and all dreams of what they could have been behind to enter a life of service once more.

'Since married life has made me soppy, and I was already too piano to begin with, and I love you all dearly, I insist that no one refuses on the account of the costs. I shall take care of them.'

There was little left for John to do in Liverpool at present, there were quite some orders at present but nothing that demanded his attention, and business was doing fine, which made it all the more heart-wrenching that no amount of good business could make up for the losses of the past winter, and he would have to close although business was doing well. In some of his dreams, he had chased her across the sea, and she had been waiting for him, but these had been dreams, he had no right to visit her. To add insult to injury, news had reached him of Mr. Bell's death and will. When he went bankrupt, he would have to report to Margaret, the irrefutable proof that he was an unworthy failure.

'Thornton, you are joining of course?' Sir Aldridge asked with a smile while the others were still excitedly talking. It made no sense for him to go, he knew. Margaret wrote to Mrs. Kearney, to Sir Edward and his sister and to Miss De Vere. But Mr. Ball and him had no family members writing to her. No one would deny that they had moved in the same circles a lot, but they had never been friends.

'I doubt Miss Hale will be expecting me.'

'She won't be expecting any of us, my dear fellow.'

'You know what I mean.'

'I do, and I assure you, I am certain Miss Hale will be delighted by your presence', Sir Aldridge declared with an amused smile.

John did not understand Sir Aldridge's smile, or the meaning of his words, but accepted that he was to come along. He nodded slowly, lips stretching into a wry accepting smile. Images of green eyes and slim hands filling his mind, absorbing him so wholly he barely managed to catch a thing of what was being said.

Before he walked home, it was decided that in a week's time, they would leave for Spain, and arrive just in time for Margaret's birthday, with Sir Edward promising to arrange the transport and accommodations.

••••••

x.X.x

••••••

'Mr. Thornton, have you read any books of Lea Ret Graham?' asked Mrs. Kearney.

John Thornton looked aside to see the younger woman had come to join him at the rear of the ship. His gaze returned to the sea splitting behind the boat, sloshing angrily.

'I'm afraid I have had little time for leisure these past months, Mrs. Kearney', he answered.

'But you are on a holiday now, are you not? She's a real up and coming wonder. Published at the firm our dear Margaret's cousin works at', she answered. Her voice rose, as if she hoped this piece of information would draw his attention. It did.

'You have been quiet as of late', she noted.

'I find that there is little need for my attributions. All that needs to be said is said by others. I don't waste my breath on useless talk.'

Men of Liverpool weren't known for their many or pretty words. They were straight to the point, business-like of mind and spirit.

'Perhaps you could deliver a real contribution if you read one of her books. We do love discussing them. I'm curious what your opinion is on the themes she tackles.'

John was too tired to argue, two days they had been at sea, and he still felt weighed down by business. Sleep did not come to him easily, nor did conversation, yet he had no excuse for the dark circles underneath his eyes or his silence. Perhaps reading would offer him an excuse to be by himself and withdrawn, and an excuse to stay up long.

'I do not presume you have them with you, do you, Mrs. Kearney?'

'You presumed wrong', she smiled victoriously, but Mr. Thornton was too tired and uninterested to take notice. He was oblivious to her joy and her intentions.

'I have her three books. She has written all of them this year. Is that not miraculous? Not even Miss Austen writes at such a pace?'

'I heard of her', John admitted with a smile in a feeble attempt of humour.

'Of course you have, you are not a savage', Mrs. Kearney laughed.

'I shall fetch them for you.'

'All?' he brought out. 'Had I not better start with the one?'

'I only wished to give you a choice.'

'Tell me, then you only need to carry the one.'

'Oh dear', Mrs. Kearney brought out.

'There's one about a sailor who stood up against his captain during the year '08, and follows his life after he is declared a traitor by the English crown and flees to the United States. The second one is about a young woman of colour from the colonies navigating through English society as she and her father fight for her rights as his lawful daughter. And the last one is about this young southern lady who arrives in a manufacturing town called Milton and tries to adjust to a life there. They're all a lot deeper than that, they tackle all kinds of social issues, and there's a lot of societal critique and moral lessons in them.'

'The first one sounds like it has the least amount of romance.'

'I'm afraid you're wrong, sir. The story moves back and forth through time, he finds love in the states.'

'Of course he does', Mr. Thornton noted. A female writer, what could he expect?

Admittedly, he was drawn towards the first novel nonetheless, having been a sailor himself he was attracted towards the premise, however he loathed the idea the protagonist was a traitor who disrespected his superiors. The riot was too fresh in his mind, his heart still too angry.

'Which one do you suggest, I trust your taste.'

'You flatter me, sir. I believe you will enjoy the last one best.'

Mr. Thornton nodded in agreement and the last book was fetched.

'North and South', it was called.

'I'm afraid you shall have to put up with my silence a while longer, Mrs. Kearney', he smiled as he observed the length of the novel.

'It is quite all right, Mr. Thornton', she answered sweetly.

He excused himself, sitting down on one of the seats on deck. Married couples passed him by as they promenaded the deck. He was not one to remain inside, and was glad he had somewhere else than the sea to focus his gaze in an attempt to avoid looking at the couples.

He had read a great many books as a youth, as long as he had the possibility, but they had always been of the serious kind: philosophers, politicians, economists, scientists! He knew little of novels, and had only read one or two novels before. Therefore, he had not been prepared to be thrown into the mind of nineteen year old Elinor Rose, a girl from a town not far removed from Bath. He had never claimed to understand the female sex, and found himself amazed by the inner world which was revealed to him.

Such turmoil! Such philosophising! The constraints of society had never seemed as tangible and hindering as they did in this novel. He had always believed man was free to decide his fate, and this book showed just how little this was the case for women, and just how much critique they could count on if they went against the wishes of society and the expectations of men and other women.

This was a smart woman, he thought to himself, who knew her classics and understood her society, whose spirit was one of utter devotion to family, God and society, yet the men of the cotton manufacturing firms pushed her into a corner, the women in the streets were cold and mean-spirited, and she was left isolated with no-one but lowly workers as her friends. And those friends died!

His mind could not help but think of one other such creature, who was clever and educated and gentle.

Did Margaret read fiction, he couldn't help but wonder. She did not strike him as a novel reader. She was probably quite satisfied with Plato or Aristotle. But these books were published by her distant cousin, perhaps she had read these books months before him, out of loyalty for the family member who took her in.

He did not expect himself to be so invested, although he did not agree with all that was written. She had the spirit of a rebel and the mind of a mule. She resisted understanding the opinions of the mill owners. She rejected all reasons why they led their companies the way they did. He understood them, as a company owner himself. She even thought poorly of the best mill owner of them all, who was almost too good to his employers to be true.

He could not help but admire the man who was a real force of will, with a spirit of determination and a self-made man.

I was like him once, John mourned, but now I am old.

He violently wished the novel would show a glimpse inside his head, but this was not to be. It was limited only to Elinor Rose's perspective.

Days flew by as he devoured the novel.

By the time it did turn romantic, he was wholly invested in the mill owner and the merchant's daughter.

He was shocked when they arrived in Spain, as he had lost track of the days.

The weather was as Spanish at it could he, John concluded as the harbour neared, the sun stood right above them, drenching them in her scorching heat. Their location on top of the sea allowed a breeze to lessen its effects temperature wise, but already the ladies had crawled underneath umbrella's, covered until their fingertips in lace and linen to shield their porcelain skins.

It was but a temporary solution, as thirty minutes later the ship docked and they were thrown onto land. Even he, who was used to spending time at sea, struggled to regain his footing at first, it had been months since he had last set foot on a ship after all. But the ladies and Sir Aldridge struggled. Meanwhile the men were only inconvenienced for a minute, but their heavy woollen and cotton fabrics and heavy layers made them victims of the merciless temperature.

The Spanish are devout Catholics, perhaps they had felt the heat of hell all their lives, John Thornton mused.

'We heard you were talking English, does anyone of you happen to go by the name Sir Edward Aldridge?' a cultured southern English voice asked.

Mr. Thornton turned around from where he'd just placed his suitcase.

In front of him were three gentlemen, one blond man with sharp green eyes, and two black haired gentlemen with dark eyes. The one was taller, the other more muscled, but each fine looking.

'I am, with whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?'

'I am Richard Ford, Margaret's cousin, and these are my brother-in-laws, Jaime and Manuel, oldest and youngest. The height difference remained throughout their lives', the handsome man laughed. The brothers were laughing too, all easy manners. He remembered the conversation about handsome dark Spaniards, and immediately he was irked. These were the men Margaret saw frequently and although darker of hair, eyes and complexion, they looked quite refined and easy-going, exactly the kind of men that had an easy time getting women.

Not like I stand a chance, I'm going bankrupt, I can't drag her into it. In fact, I'm her tenant now.

There was something about him that struck John as familiar. Something in the eyes and cheekbones. He put it away as a family trait, no matter how far removed they were.

'All three of us have come, one to pick up the luggage, and two to drive our business break and one our landeau. You are with eight, yes? It should work out, unless you all carry a lot of luggage. In which case some of the men need to join the drivers or sit atop the horses', the shorter one laughed. He had an accent but his English was impeccable.

Of course it was, Thornton thought bitterly. You should be glad, fool, would you have Margaret here without anyone she could talk to? He critiqued himself no minute later.

'We left very early this morning, pretending like we had a busy day at work, they would have become suspicious if they saw all of us leaving in a separate vehicle', the older one grinned.

'So she does not suspect anything!' Sir Aldridge cried with satisfaction as they all followed the men to the carriages.

'She is a very smart woman, and a curious one. We do not know. She can have found out by now. But we may hope, yes?' the older one laughed.

All carriages were loaded and so their last leg of the journey had begun. Soon he would be reunited with her! He wished to prepare, but how did anyone prepare such a reunion? His heart was beating violently, and it had in no small part to do with Margaret, although the heat sure worsened his condition. He was sweating and hatless. He could feel his black hair heating up, and his shirt sticking to his skin. He dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. They would not be looking comely unless they had the chance to freshen up first, which he doubted. A company of eight could hardly enter a house quietly.

The youngest brother dropped their suitcases and trunks off at their residence.

He took off his coat, and the other gentlemen followed quickly.

'It is hot, yes?' the Spaniard laughed.

'Even my new brother is not used to it. He has been here for years! Margaret feels it too. New land, new lighter wardrobe! No wool. No problem for a woman, of course. They love clothes', he continued.

John felt the hairs rise when he called her Margaret with such familiarity and fondness. He was her brother, but as far as he knew both were single and not engaged to one another. It should be Miss. And then he thought of Margaret in light fabrics every day. His mind went back to that day in the Strabolgi gardens.

'We did not come prepared, I see!' Sir Aldridge laughed.

'Ah no, but it is fine in our home. We do not care for coats, you may even leave your shiny sleeveless coats off. No practical use.'

This did get a reaction out of the others as well. No coat and no doublet, such a state of undress! On a rational level he knew it was probably nothing to them. The temperature was hot and they were amongst their own family. Yet, to know these handsome men could walk around Margaret in only their… it was unheard of!

Spanish charm, was it, or was it the pure temptation of the flesh that started their reputation, he wondered. But no, Margaret would not judge people for their clothes, and she would probably be above falling for men based on their looks.

They were driven past bright blue green water and lines of palm trees. Gulls could be heard anywhere, and the beaches looked nice and inviting. There were people in the sea, swimming without a care or a bathing machine around.

They halted at a large white house overlooking the bay. It looked elegant, and was drawn up in a decidedly Spanish style, yet it was not overly stately. It looked like a home, one he could easily imagine Margaret to live in.

The door was opened, and a pregnant lady ran out in a blue dress with short sleeves.

'You have arrived!' she cried with a sweet smile and a heavy accent. The blond man jumped down and swept her up in his embrace.

'Does she suspect?' Mr. Ford asked.

'No, completely not', the woman answered.

'Great!'

The man halted on his way to the house.

'Perhaps, we should await the women', he reasoned with an embarrassed smile.

'We could get to know each other as we wait?'

'I am Sir Edward Aldridge. Baronet and not really doing much except for being that', explained the man, who was pulling at his magnificent but stifling cravat.

'Mr. Kearney', answered the youth. 'I work as an attorney and am married to Mrs. Mary Kearney, she is the daughter of Mr. Ball's business partner.'

'James Ball, of Ball& Gallagher Company', the following man explained with a smile.

'John Thornton, of Thornton & company.'

If he knew more about any of the men standing before him, he didn't let it on and merely nodded during the introduction.

By that time the carriage with the woman had arrived, and all were quietly ushered inside. Still, there was no trace of Margaret.

The company was too excited to sit, and all stood in the living room, the ladies covering up their mouths to hush their laughter while the men wrung their hands.

'I get her. She has been busy', Mrs. Ford told her husband.

He could hear voices upstairs in Spanish, and could easily distinguish the hesitant pronunciation but determined tone of his Margaret.

Now he heard her on the stairs.

They were under the same roof again after months of separation!

He was struck anew with nerves. How did his outfit look? Was his face still flushed with heat? Had he changed much these past few months?

He could hear slippers on the stone floor. He could see the ladies almost jumping with excitement, but his eyes remained focussed on the door until, with only the softest of ruffles, Margaret brushed inside the room.

As he looked, he was struck anew with her great beauty. He had never seen her in such dress before and yet now it appeared as if such attire had been made for the purpose of showcasing her noble figure and the lofty serenity of countenance. Mr. Thornton sighed as he took in all this with one of his sudden comprehensive glances.

He thought back of their first introduction. She had waltzed into the room with the same amount of easy grace and confidence, a confidence he realized had been missing in her during the last months of their acquaintance. Her face had become pale and withdrawn during their time together, but was now tan and freckled, her cheeks flushed from having rushed downstairs quickly. She looked healthy and glowing, her shoulders relaxed and eyes bright.

His eyes had been on them and he pinpoint the second they widened in shock.

'Oh my!'

The company let go of their laughter and tension. Margaret stumbled back into the arms of the pregnant woman.

'You like Richard his present for you? A birthday surprise.'

And then broke the majestic appearance, and suddenly she was running into the arms of Mrs. Kearney and Miss Gallagher. After cries of amazement, tears and explanations by Lady and Sir Aldridge, Margaret recovered and greeted all, starting with those who stood closest to the two ladies who had been her constant companions in Liverpool.

Mr. Ford invited everyone into the garden for drinks, and all those who were ready with conveying their wishes followed him.

He was too stunned, too frozen, to do anything. He gazed at her in wonder as she moved from person to person, smiling easily and bestowing a short conversation upon each. This had not been the Margaret who had left. This was the Margaret who had first arrived in Liverpool, before all the hurt and agony, only somehow even more confident. But there was also a lightness, a happiness and a warmth that hadn't been there before.

The sun had defrosted the ice empress, and the Spanish cultured had made her manner more open.

But perhaps, he reasoned, he had simply never been able to see how Margaret was with her friends behind closed doors. He knew Mrs. Kearney, Miss Aldridge and Sir Aldridge knew her better, and she had always treated them with more warmth, even in larger companies.

'Mr. Thornton', she smiled.

He had been so lost in thought he had not noticed how close she'd gotten. Looking over her shoulder, he noticed everyone had gone.

'Miss Hale.'

She offered her hand and he took it quickly, pressing his lips to it. He could feel her fingers curling around his for the briefest couple of seconds, or so he imagined.

'How do you do?'

'How I do? No Miss Hale, how are you? This is your birthday, the day is about you.'

'I am well, I think', and she said it with such earnestness and such a soft smile he immediately believed it.

'Then I am happy today', he answered.

'It was… Exceedingly kind of all of you to come. I cannot imagine how inconvenient it must have been for all of you to clear your schedules.'

'We gladly make time for you, Miss Hale. Your presence is much missed in Liverpool.'

The full lips of her wide mouth formed a lovely o.

'I was only there for a short while.'

'Yet you managed to make an impact on many lives, our presence attests to that.'

'You flatter me.'

'I only speak truth, Miss Hale, plain and simple.'

'I know, Mr. Thornton. I always valued that', she answered, her eyes aimed at the ground before she looked up again hesitantly.

'Spain appears to have done you well.'

'It has', she answered with a smile while looking at her surroundings.

'Not that I found Liverpool to be a bad place.'

'It would be fine if you did, the place holds many bad memories to you probably.'

'And many good ones too. Bad memories and good memories can be created anywhere. I came to like Liverpool, although it took some adjusting. I admired its people, I liked my friends there, and it was where I last lived with my parents. I treasure those months for those exact reasons. Mr. Bell died only days after we arrived, yet the climate agreed with me, I was reunited with my family, and found peace and meaningful occupation. I've come to believe I can live anywhere, as long as I am with the people I love.'

Something about the way her emerald eyes looked at him made his heart beat wildly. He felt agitated, tense. Here she stood so calmly, talking of such passionate feelings, while looking at him with a gaze he could not understand. He was too rough, not made for moderation and temperance, and his emotions ruled his body.

'A home's made by people.'

'Exactly', she smiled.

He felt awkward and lost for words as he fell deeper into her bottomless eyes.

'Happy birthday, Miss Hale.'

'It feels like many years have passed instead of just the one', she laughed, diverting her eyes.

He was thrown off by her comment. Margaret had not been one to laugh.

'Some years feel like that', he agreed.

'My wish for you shall be that all the years you shall live from now on shall feel quick because they are filled with joy and pleasant occasions.'

His years had ticked by fast when his business had been growing. He'd felt strong and young. Now, in just half a year, he felt as if a dozen years had passed.

'Thank you, Mr. Thornton. I feel you are much better at coming up with birthday wishes than I am. Come, let us join the others in the gardens. Spanish wine is truly something else. Although you probably know, you have travelled a lot.'

'I have rarely taken the time to sit down and enjoy the local cultures of the places I visited.'

'Ah, the Spanish know very well how to do that.'

It's been a long time, so I had to ease back into it I apologize. I never intended to leave this project hanging for such a long time. Hope you're all keeping well and are taking all necessary precautions to stay safe. Much love!

1) Lea Ret Graham is an anagram of Margaret Hale, a little 'I see what you did there' hehe.

2) Margaret wrote her own version of North&South in which she got her happy ending with Mr. Thornton. She changed a few things compared to Gaskell to avoid anyone from realizing it is about her. Elinor Rose refers to her love for Hellstone roses, but Elinor is from another village. Thornton's perspective is excluded. Frederick is left out of this novel. Thornton is a manufacturer (like in the original). And Margaret is a merchant's daughter (a nod to the fact that she does not mind being associated to merchants now). Her mother dies in a carriage accident and her father dies of heartbreak in the book, but only after Margaret is married, because she always wished to have her father present at her marriage and this book is her wish fulfilment. Bessie dies of fluff, like in the original, but Higgins dies in a mill accident of a rivalling mill because she wants to showcase the danger of mill life. In real cautionary-tale fashion the mill of her version of Mr. Slickson burns down due to negligence and overworked employers. This takes out her book Thornton's biggest rival and makes him the most important manufacturer in town.

3) Frederick realized that his normal name could have been found out if he went by the name of Hale or his mother's surname combined with his original first name, so he combined his father's name Richard with part of his mother's surname: Beresford. Margaret is unfazed and quickly uses the name Richard Ford since she assumed it would be weird to talk of some distant cousin without ever giving him a name.

Reactions

nqlb: He got a normal burial in Spain. The changes that brings forth will slowly be unveiled :)

leilalolale: We got a winner! That's almost exactly what happened.