POLES APART

A/N: Yes, Yes, I know! I should be publically flogged! It's taken me ages to update and there's no excuse, but I do hope that the contents of this chapter will make up for it!

Thank you again to everyone who has reviewed, followed and favorited this story! And an extra special thank you to all of those readers who have been so kind as to follow me as an author – I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment! LOL!

Enjoy!

Chapter 10:

"Oh Miss Hale, so it is true! I can hardly credit it. I have just this moment come from visiting Mama, and it was she that told me you had taken a position here at the dressmakers!" prattled Fanny.

The first part of her speech was uttered in loud scandalized accents only to conclude in a hushed whisper lest the proprietress of the establishment overhear her and take offence, after all it was not the type of shop that horrified Fanny but merely the fact that it was a shop.

Mrs. Pratley was an excellent dressmaker who had worked for a master dressmaker in London, and though by no means enamored of Fanny Watsons personal style, she was more than willing to take an exorbitant amount of money in exchange for creating, what to Fanny was the realization of her dream gowns! To insult the dear woman was to risk having to appear in one Mrs. Rowe's creations, which everyone in Milton knew were far inferior to the exquisite perfection that was a Mrs. Pratley masterpiece!

"Yes, Mrs. Watson, as you see," replied Margaret demurely though her cheeks did colour slightly knowing how Fanny Watson would look down on her now, (as if she hadn't before). "Is there anything that I may assist you with Mrs. Watson; only I'm not permitted to entertain friends while I am meant to be working?" Margaret hoped that the subtle hint may be enough to chivvy Fanny along, but sadly she had not been born under a lucky star.

"Well as I am already here, I may as well be measured up for a new frock, for with summer soon approaching I shall be in desperate need of a new one to wear out in the evenings," replied Fanny with a loud swish of her skirts. She gently moved past Margaret towards the back of the shop where Margaret would be able to take all of her measurements.

The humiliation and degradation which she suffered at Fanny's frank and mean discourse only got worse. Fanny stayed for full on an hour, being measured and examining cloth of varying eye-watering shades and prints, before taking her leave; but during the course of the whole visit she had continued to rattle on in shocked and disbelieving accents about Margaret's current lowly situation, changing the subject only to lament the wretched state in which she had found her mother that morning and how she had been so ill she could barely utter a syllable; save for recounting Margaret's sad tale it would seem. Though Margaret was sure that Mrs. Thornton wouldn't have had much chance to get a word in edgewise even had she not been suffering the effects of a sore throat.

Unfortunately for Margaret Mrs. Pratley, upon observing who the rather loquacious patron was that had entered her shop, had retreated to the furthest end of the shop and had begun a seemingly urgent and dire re-sorting of all the ribbon. It was days such as this that Mrs. Pratley was incredibly grateful for the whim that had caused her to hire an assistant. Though never one to turn away a paying customer, there were some customers which she was more than happy to pass on to Miss Hale.

The absence of Mrs. Pratley however meant that Fanny had no qualms about speaking her mind about Margaret's degrading and diminished circumstances at the top of her voice. Margaret tried to focus on the task at hand in order to block out most of what Fanny was saying. For all that her words stung Margaret, she was sure that Fanny didn't say them out of spite in order to cause pain or embarrassment but rather out of ignorance that she had the means at her disposal to cause pain in the first place. Margaret knew Fanny spoke whatever thought came into her head, as artless and undisguised as any child might talk, but not with any designed venom; however, that knowledge did nothing to lessen the sting.

Try as she may, the words still penetrated the haze of activity that Margaret had tried to lose herself in, and they burned. Not that Margaret was ashamed of her situation or her work but Fanny's abject horror at Margaret's circumstances reminded her of how alone she was; how her life had changed so drastically over the last year and it made her long to see her brother. His face always reminded her of happier times at home in Helston. She tried to keep his face in mind as the rest of the visit concluded, but found that upon Fanny's departure she still felt low and her heart still ached.

It had become an unconscious habit of hers that whenever she felt sad or lonely she would put her hand into her dress pocket and rub the soft leather of the two gentleman's gloves that resided within that intimate aperture. She carried them with her always. She had convinced herself that she only did it in the hopes that when the opportunity finally presented itself for her to return the gloves to Mr. Thornton, she would have the articles ready at hand. But in truth, they had become her comfort and solace; an old friend she could always turn to in times of need.

That evening, after a long day spent trying to rid herself of the empty feeling that pervaded her soul ever since Fanny's visit that morning, she felt exhausted and emotional. Dinner had been passed in almost total silence. Mrs. Thornton, still in too much discomfort to contribute much to the conversation, sat in stony silence; and Miss Hale who was afraid that she would start crying over her soup if she didn't try and maintain strict control over herself, did not offer any dialogue to disturb the hallowed hush that lay like a veil over the room.

Mr. Thornton could see that Margaret was unwell but even though their friendship had rekindled to a point of pleasant and unimpeded conversation he still didn't have the courage to intrude upon her privacy if she didn't wish it. Instead, he spent the whole of dinner examining the side of her face as her head was cast down staring at her plate, trying to persuade her to trust him with her confidences simply by staring at her.

After dinner, Mrs. Thornton drank the tea which Margaret had poured and offered to her, but was so ill she couldn't face having to sit in the cold sitting room for another few hours before Miss Hale eventually retired for the evening. It was therefore with great relief and immense gratitude, that she welcomed Margaret's proposal of heading to bed early. Margaret claimed a headache, and exhaustion after a long busy day, but Hannah didn't hear above two words. She only heard the words 'to bed' and was lost to all else.

Thornton didn't question or restrain her, but simply stated that he hoped she wasn't catching his mother's cold and that should she be feeling ill she should tell him how he may be of assistance to her. After an appropriately demure thank you and assurance that she was perfectly well all be it a little tired, she then wished him goodnight and followed in Mrs. Thornton's wake up the stairs.

Dixon fawned and faffed over her mistress in her usual manner as she prepared her for bed. She could sense something weighing on Margaret's chest and tried to cajole a confession out of her. She was a loyal servant and would never divulge any family secrets but she did long for a bit of gossip or drama. It was her meat and potatoes and she felt sorely deprived of late. Margaret, however; did not confess her woes. She thanked Dixon for her help, bid her good night and as soon as the door had closed on Dixon's retreating form had crawled gratefully into her bed.

But sleep would not come.

Her mind raced with sad memories and lonely thoughts. She needed a diversion. She scrambled in the darkness to relight her candle next to her bedside. As the light flickered through the darkness and her eyes adjusted, she saw the pair of leather gloves which Dixon had placed on her nightstand. She still believed them to belong to Margaret's father and removed them from Margaret's dress every night before bed and placed them near her pillow for comfort. Margaret of course didn't bother to correct her, as she found that though they may not belong to her father they still gave her comfort.

As she sat on the edge of her bed, her wan features awash with the flickering candle light, she decided that the best diversion to while away the dark interminable hours would be a book. She had been reading one of her father's old tomes in the sitting room before dinner. She had removed it from the study so that she may keep Mrs. Thornton company even though that lady was in no fit state to converse. She remembered laying it on of the one side tables when Mr. Thornton had entered the room, and knew that it would still be lying there. The one house maid that they still retained would only tidy in the morning.

She was also sure that Mr. Thornton would have either retreated to his study by now, after being left alone by the ladies, or he would in fact also have retired to the sanctuary of his bedchamber. So, somewhat brazenly, she pulled her night gown back on, which she had thrown haphazardly across the foot of her bed and almost absent-mindedly picked up the gloves beside her bed and jammed them into the rather small and dainty pocket of this silken article which her aunt had bought several years ago in Paris and bestowed upon Margaret on her return. She also slipped her small white feet into the intricately embroidered dove grey slippers that rested on the floor by her bedside. These too had been a gift, but infinitely dearer to her, as her mother's hands where the ones to place every careful and beautiful stich into the fabric that now adorned her toes. Thus attired and with candle in hand she quietly made her way down stairs.

The house was silent and drenched in darkness but for the warm golden glow surrounding Margaret as she gently padded down the stairs towards the sitting room. The thought didn't even enter her head that there may still be someone awake to observe her, and as such she turned the handle of the sitting room door without hesitation and walked in. Her shock and horror at observing Mr. Thornton still seated in the same chair he had been sitting in when she had declared her intention of retiring for the night was therefore to be expected.

"Mr. Thornton!" she gasped! It was so late, she hadn't imagined him to still be awake, or if he had been she imagined him to have taken retreat in his study.

He too was immeasurably shocked by the lacy vision that stood before him. He had felt his eyes becoming heavy before her entrance and was for a moment under the impression that he must have fallen asleep and that Margaret was just a perfect vision visiting him in his dream. That was until the fog in his brain cleared and he saw the look of utter astonishment writ across her beautiful pale face at being thus taken by surprise and in such intimate attire.

God knew, she had always decried him for his un-gentlemanly behavior, but he couldn't help himself from proving her right as she stood thus before him. His eyes raked over her beautifully soft and feminine form, adorned in pastel silk and lace, her dark curls cascaded in untidy ringlets down her back and over her shoulders, shimmering slightly in the soft candlelight. In his shock he had leapt up from his seat, and stood mere feet from her enchanting form. Desperate that she not leave him he stepped forward and took her dainty hand in his large rough grasp to try comfort her and put her at ease, though his eyes still devoured her hungrily.

"Miss Hale, please don't go," he said huskily, holding tight to her thin fingers as she attempted to retreat back up the stairs. With his other hand he gently removed the candlestick from her grasp and placed it on the dresser near the door. He didn't know where he found the courage or gumption to proceed as he did but he didn't hesitate. He pulled her into the room and closed the door behind her, conscious that there may still be a servant awake.

"I thought you to be in your study Mr. Thornton or your room…please, I shouldn't be here," she whispered, stricken; "I must go back." Yet, Thornton noticed that despite her protestations, she didn't pull her hand from his grasp.

"The house is asleep as so too would I have been, except that I have been sitting here ruminating over why you seemed so downcast this evening?" He baited the hook and hoped she would feel comfortable enough to bite.

"Oh," she stammered, "it was a long day, I am just tired," she finished somewhat lamely trying to look anywhere but into his searching gaze.

"If that is the case then why, four hours after you retired for bed, are you still awake?" he asked slyly, examining her downcast eyes and the dark rings that encircled them.

She had had such a trying day and had been holding on so tightly to her self-control that the shock of meeting him here was too much for her to bear and she burst into tears. This was not quite what he had expected though if he were honest, she had seemed to be on the verge of tears all evening.

He scoured his pockets in vain searching for a handkerchief, but came up empty handed. Thankfully the sudden outburst calmed as quickly as it had appeared and Margaret, regaining her self-control, sniffed, and then reached into her pocket to retrieve her lace handkerchief. She didn't even register the soft leather as her hand fumbled looking for the scrap of lace which she always kept there but when her fingers finally found what she was searching for and she attempted to extricate it from the confines of the cramped little pocket, the gloves which had been so unceremoniously jammed in there only moments before came cascading out and landed on the floor by her feet with a soft thump.

At first she didn't quite register what had fallen as her more pressing concern was trying to dab at her streaming eyes, but Thornton had been quick to react. He reached down in order to retrieve whatever had been dropped but only once picking them up in his hands did he realize what it was that had fallen.

At first he too, like Dixon, had supposed the obviously male gloves to have belonged to Mr. Hale and that Margaret must carry them as a keepsake, but only as he was about to hand them back to Margaret did his eyes rest on the gold thread glinting in the lamp light, just inside the wrist opening, in which his mother had hand stitched his initials in her small dainty stiches: 'J.T.'

How on earth had these come into Margaret's possession?

"These are mine," he stated as he pulled them back just as Margaret had held out her hand to take them from him.

Margaret stood frozen before him. He didn't look at her but continued to examine the gloves as if to be sure he hadn't imagined things. Her pale face had in the meantime turned bright scarlet, right up to the roots of her hair. She would have attempted to flee but for the fact that at that precise moment she seemed to have completely lost the power to move any of her limbs.

After what seemed like a torturous age to Margaret, he finally looked up from the traitorous items and into her eyes with a deep searching look. She noted with relief that his eyes were neither judging nor condemning, his look was simply one of confusion.

"They are," was the only reply that came to her lips in response to his questioning glare.

He didn't look away but continued to examine her face, urging her to expound.

"You left them in my father's study, the day after the riots…"

She couldn't finish the sentence that she had been about to utter. Pain and embarrassment halting her tongue.

He didn't need her to finish her sentence, the memory of that day seemed to be burned into his mind like a hot brand. The pain of it still seared his insides, but this time he would not recoil from it. He would not lash out at her, the maker of his torment and torture. There was more to her story, he could see it bubbling beneath the surface; he would wait patiently for her to elaborate.

"I wasn't able to return them to you at the time," she said awkwardly as her conscience pulled at her, "and then with my father's passing everything got packed away. I only came upon them again a couple of months ago after I moved here to the mill. Dixon unpacked them from my trunk and believing them to belong to my father had stored them by my bedside. When I saw them again I remembered that in your haste and your anger you had left them on the desk in my father's study. I had found them again that night of the snow storm; when I came to your office it had been with the purpose of returning them to you."

She had courage enough to utter these words, in one long hasty soliloquy, but could then go no further. The pain of his failed proposal, the hurt of his harsh words that night at the mill…everything flooded back into her mind's eye with such painful clarity that it stopped her breath.

"That was why you sought me out that night?" he asked, still wary and guarded but also curious.

She swallowed and tried to force a breath of air down into her constricting lungs. She then looked up from the carpet between her slippers and looked deep into his cobalt blue eyes as she attempted to regain her composure.

Hesitantly, she continued; "I felt I needed to apologize for so much. I had been so unjust and cruel to you. But even though I was mortified by my treatment of you there was one particular incident that filled me with bitter humiliation. That night at Outwood, you saw something which in your anger toward me, you imagined to be the worst possible indiscretion or vile act I could ever commit. But what you did not know, indeed could have had no way of knowing, was that the man you saw me embracing … was in fact my brother."

She still stared at him and he stared right back, utter astonishment masking his features. "Brother?" he exclaimed. "How is that possible? You have no brother!"

"My brother…Frederick," somehow she felt that naming him made him more substantial, almost as if he were in the room with her giving her courage, "had, in his youth, committed what the Crown recognized to be a capital offence. He was in the Navy and through no fault of his own - but rather in defense of someone weaker than himself, had committed what the Navy regarded as an act of mutiny and was subsequently sentenced to death should he ever be captured. In order to save his own life he fled, first to South America, and then later to Spain.

"When my mother had become so ill and the doctor warned us of her impending fate, I wrote to my brother, begging him to return to England, for my mother to say one last good-bye. Of course everything had to be arranged in secret. Should anyone discover his whereabouts and report him to the authorities he would be hanged. He arrived in the dead of night, stayed locked up inside the house during my mother's final days, and then before her funeral I had been tasked by my father to smuggle him back onto the train to London. We had just lost our mother and did not know if we would ever again see each other Mr. Thornton, which was why we clung to one another with such desperation – trying to convey a million unspoken feelings, regrets and memories.

"I wanted to explain everything, truly I did, but at my behest my brother remained in London for some weeks after leaving Milton, as my cousins brother-in-law, a lawyer, attempted to find some means of clearing his name. With him still in the country I daren't trust his secret to anyone outside of the family. He had already been recognized that night at the station by that man that was later found dead. I assure you Mr. Thornton that Frederick did not harm him! The man was intoxicated but clear minded enough to recognize Fred. He had tried to grab hold of Fred's lapels but Fred had stepped out of his way; he stumbled and fell forward down the flight of steps, but I swear on my life that I saw him get up again and walk away unscathed.

"However he met his end, it was not by my brother's hand. That of course is only one of the many things which I have to thank you for as well as humbly beg your forgiveness! I entrusted my secret to Mary and Nicholas, knowing them to be my friends who would never do anything to bring about harm to either myself or my family, but I was so blind that I couldn't see what was right in front of me. I have known for many weeks… nay months; that if there was one person in this whole world that I could trust with my very soul it would be you."

All the while as she had uttered her speech he had stood motionless, his mouth slightly agape with shock and astonishment. Still frozen as if in a trance, it was Margaret who finally broke the spell. With her last earnest entreaty, she stepped towards him and gently reached her hands out towards his. She reached for one of the gloves that he still held and removing it from his gentle grasp, she lightly brushed her fingers against the soft fabric.

"I told myself that I carried these in my pocket where ever I went in the hopes that just such an opportunity may one day present itself. That I would one day be able to explain myself, to tell you about my brother and to beg your forgiveness…but now that the moment has arisen I am loath to part with them. You see Mr. Thornton, the truth is that these two little articles have given me such comfort in some of my darkest days. They have been like carrying a faithful friend in my pocket, there to hold my hand or wipe away a stray tear."

She spoke, almost as if she had forgotten that he was standing before her; she was lost in thought. But Thornton didn't take his eyes from her. His heart was pounding and his head reeling with all she had just related to him, his pulse quickened and his blood seemed to pump in his ears at the thought that she was once again standing so close to him that he could smell the soft floral fragrance of her soap and could see the soft sheen which the candle light cast on her glorious locks. He hardly knew what he was about as his hand reached out and gently brushed her hair away from her face, sweeping it behind her shoulder.

"You carried my gloves in your pocket, when all along the friend that you sought was standing right in front of you."

She recognized the chastisement in his words but she also noted that it was uttered in soft kind accents. He was hurt that she hadn't recognized his friendship sooner but he was also cognizant of the fact that he had always been very sure of her loathing of him and yet here she stood, admitting to him that by holding something which had belonged to him she felt soothed and comforted.

At his touch she raised her eyes to his, both pairs of eyes brimming with heat and barely disguised emotion. His fingers gently brushed across her jawbone as he caressed the side of her face and she instinctively closed her eyes and nuzzled her cheek deeper into the palm of his hand. His heart soared! What for months had begun to feel like a wire cage constricting that vital organ now shattered apart like rotten twigs as it beat and pulsed with renewed life and vigour! His breathing was ragged with the intensity of the emotion now coursing through him but her response gave him the courage he needed. He reached out with his other hand and cradling her beautiful face in his hands slowly urged her to look up at him.

She was amazed by her own daring but now that she had finally spoken her heart and told him the truth she was no longer afraid of his rejection or anger. She saw the love in his eyes. She remembered seeing it several months prior, only then in her innocence and ignorance, she did not understand what it was. In her panic and fear she had thrown it back in his face. Now, however; she would grab hold of it and never let it go.

His eyes raked over her whole face, devouring every contour and curve, all the while their faces drifting ever closer to each other. She could feel the warmth of his breath against her neck as his hands slowly pushed her chin upwards and he gently brushed the rough stubble of his cheek against the satin softness of hers. Slowly, achingly, he slid his cheek across hers and then turning his face slightly – his lips across her jawbone until finally faced with the tantalizing aspect of her now red and pouting lips, he lent in towards her and kissed her.

It was slow and gentle, every nerve on fire, as their lips danced together; but slowly the fire began to rage, the hunger began to overwhelm, and before long what had started out as a chaste kiss had turned into a frenzied and passionate embrace. Their arms were wrapped around one another and their lips locked tightly together.

Their breathing was heavy and labored, Margaret's senses were flooded and overwhelmed with emotion and in the exquisite delirium of the moment she clung ever tighter to Mr. Thornton's form. Thornton was no less moved. His hands, which for months had ached with their emptiness were finally full. The one was wrapped securely around Margaret's luscious waist and the other had knotted itself into Margaret's dark curls, weaving them between his fingers as he cradled the back of her head. He was half in a trance but he forced his eyelids to open so that he may look upon Margret's face, to assure himself that this wasn't the same restless dream that had plagued him for months. The cerulean orbs, usually so cold, burned like coals in their sockets as they devoured the sight before them. Her skin close up, was so pale it was almost translucent. He could see the curl of her long dark lashes and the red flush of her soft downy cheeks. This was all he could discern before they snapped closed again, lost in the euphoria and the heady intoxication that her scent and taste provided.

He could feel the shape of her body as it curved itself against his; her soft form molding itself to fit against his rigid frame. There was no reluctance or resistance in her embrace, she gave herself to him fully.

Perhaps it was this realization, or perhaps the gentle trembling moans that she had begun to utter in response to his kisses, that awakened him from his trance. She trusted him so implicitly, the innocent beautiful creature that she was, and he could not break that trust. He would prove to her that he was every bit the gentleman, that upon the occasion of their first meeting, she had disbelieved.

Though every nerve and fiber of his body seemed to scream out in protest, he slowly and achingly pulled his face away from hers, (though still holding tight to her frame, not ready to relinquish his entire prize.) Her delicate lids gently fluttered open to stare at him in bewilderment. Their faces were still only a hairs breadth apart but when she looked at his eyes she saw the warmth and love reflected there. His whole face was aglow with passion and his mouth curved in the most becoming smile. It dawned on her how strange it was to see such happiness stretched across his face, she could only ever remember it reflecting anger, disappointment or melancholy. She was glad for the change, it suited him. She was even gladder that for a change she was responsible for bringing about such a welcome happy change to his visage rather than the usual dower one that resulted from one of their meetings.

She also couldn't hide the blush that stole to her cheeks as their faces parted. She knew he would not mind, but she had behaved so brazenly and unladylike this evening, that she could barely look him in the eye. Noticing her blushes and coyness, and fearing that her natural reserve might cause her to feel uncomfortable he gently took hold of her hand and led her over to the couch which he had recently vacated and then sat down beside her, (though retaining her delicate fingers in his steadfast grip.)

"Margaret," he uttered in a hoarse whisper; his voice still reverberating with suppressed passion.

She didn't answer except to stare back into his glowing eyes, as her chest still shuddered as she tried to regain control of her breathing.

"Margaret," he said again, a slight urgency in his tone this time. "Tell me this real! Tell me that I shan't awake in the morning to find that this has all been a dream; a figment of my besotted mind! For in truth, I have had this self-same dream on so many evenings that I have begun to question whether or not I am still in command of all my senses." He still held onto her hand, as his thumb traced gentle circles over the back of her hand, his eyes never once leaving her face, for fear that if they did the enchantment might be broken.

She still couldn't answer him for fear that her voice would crack with the emotion that was coursing through her. Instead, gripping his fingers tightly within both her hands she raised his hand up to her lips and gently kissed each knuckle in succession. His head was tilted oddly to one side as he watched her tender display, completely in awe of her beauty and sweetness. When she had finished, she lowered their hands back down to her lap and smiled back at him, the warmest most loving smile she had ever bestowed. What a turn this day had taken!

The same thought seemed to have occurred to him for he raised his one hand up to her face and wiped away the remnants of a stray tear from her cheek.

"You were crying My Margaret. Will you tell me why?" his tone was gentle and sweet, yet still coaxing and somewhat unsure whether or not she would trust him enough to tell him what weighed on her mind.

"It was nothing so very terrible. I have been missing Frederick of late which had brought my spirits low and added to that I had to endure an hour of your sisters company this morning after she decided to visit the shop upon hearing that I had taken employment there. It was a long trying morning that had just been too much for my spirits to bear."

"Well, at least we can put that behind us now," he said matter-of-factly.

"I can't imagine how. She was horrified by the thought of my working in a dressmaker shop and that was merely when I was staying here as a simple house guest; to consider that she will now have to recognize me as her sister…well, I'm not sure I have strength enough to be present the day you tell her that!"

"Peoples tongues will wag at first – they always do; but in time the hubbub will die down and eventually no one will even recall that you had once worked for the ever disagreeable Mrs. Pratley!"

Margaret suddenly realized that Mr. Thornton had no intention of allowing her to continue working if she was to become his bride. She really couldn't bear another turn-up with him, just when they had finally settled their differences, but she was also not prepared to allow him to rule her life when she had just started appreciating the value of her freedom!

"We shan't talk of it anymore for tonight Mr. Thornton; we can discuss the matter further in the morning."

"Call me John," he asked softly, not seeming to realize how unsteady the ground was upon which he treaded.

Margaret couldn't help but smile at his simple sweet request. She was loath to part from him but she knew she daren't linger as his eyes were still shouldering and she was far too weak to resist him. She slowly stood up and gently caressed the side of his face with her long outstretched fingers as she bent down and placed a chaste kiss on his stubbly cheek.

"Good night…John." She said the words like a caress as she kissed him.

"Good night my sweet Margaret," he whispered after her retreating form.

Oh yes, this woman was made to be his torture and his torment; but most importantly she was made to be his, and now that he knew how it felt to hold her tight to his breast – claiming her, he knew he could never let her go again.