POLES APART

A/N: To all those loyal enough to have stuck with this story, thank you so much for your patience and beautiful kind words in your reviews! Life unfortunately does not always allow us to prioritize our life according to our passions and pleasures – but this story is not forgotten and continues to form and morph in my brain and when responsibilities lessen and I am finally able to focus on me again, it will continue to spew forth – albeit it a rather fragmented fashion.

Enjoy!

Chapter 11:

John had hardly slept a wink that night! He had remained behind in the sitting room lost in his own euphoric daydreams.

The room had grown cold but his blood still surged through his body, hot and thick and vital! His mind was awash with unbidden images of his beautiful Margaret; her silken hair tangled through his fingers, the heady sensation of her sensuous skin against his face and her soft delicate lips pressed against his own urgent ones. The hunger he felt for her had not abated after her departure but knowing her to be safely ensconced in her own chambers he did not try to restrain it. He allowed it to run unabated, unfettered by moralities or righteousness. He lost himself in the wild imaginings of his heart and mind as he lay stretched back against the hard back of the sofa, there in the cold sitting room of the Mill house.

It was only when some of the candles which he had left burning on the table guttered and spluttered their last dying rays across the room that he finally retired to his room. Once there the full realization of what had occurred below hit him. The passion and the fire were still devouring his heart but his mind became clearer. His disbelief as he looked about him, at all his carefully arranged possessions and furniture; at how this room and this house which he recognized as his home for so many years was now somehow transformed; how this one night had altered his whole view of his life and his world as he had once known it.

His heightened clarity of mind also caused to remind him of the one person in his life to which he owed all; who at this moment lay asleep in her warm bed, ignorant of the metamorphosis which had taken place around her, and to whom he knew the news of his betrothal to his sweet beloved would not be as welcome as it was to him.

He knew that despite their being thrown together in recent months and despite her assistance with, and acceptance of, Margaret's guardianship in the absence of her family; his mother was still not fond of Ms. Hale. She had once consented to his decision to offer his hand to his dear Margaret but he knew she had consented against her better judgment and then only to stem the possible onset of public ruination after Margaret's shocking and inappropriate actions at the mill the day of the riot.

But so much had changed since that fateful day. So many changes, so many hardships and deaths, had occurred to blot that one stain from people's memories. The Hales were dead and gone. His own business and subsequently his standing within the community were dashed to ruins. Margaret's seemingly fragile reputation had survived far worse and was no longer in any danger – or at least not in any danger from him. But due to this fact it was unlikely that, as before, his mother would countenance his betrothal as an evil necessity, but would in fact probably rather try and prevent his aligning himself with someone whom she had once decried to him as having lowered herself to such depths as to become nothing more than the fodder for the gossip mill in Milton.

However pertinent these arguments may be, at this moment, it mattered not to him. He loved his mother dearly, truly more than he loved any human being alive, save for his Margaret. He could not love her more than that. Indeed he loved them both equally though in different ways; and yet he owed his mother so much. But he had been waiting for Margaret for so long; even before his heart knew that a part of it was missing, and he could not – WOULD NOT – relinquish her now, not even for his mother.

After these tumultuous and sobering thoughts had won out over the passions in his brain, he tried to close his eyes and catch a couple of hours of restless sleep before daybreak. His half wakeful dreams were still full of his Margaret and their blissful moments together that night. He would leave the stress and worry about how he would tell his mother for the morning.

Margaret had returned to her room after their passionate interlude, also lost in a euphoric haze. She had climbed back under her warm covers, her mind a fog of kisses and words and touches and looks...

She, however; lost in a fantastic dream and happy and content for the first time in months, had quickly drifted off to a blissfully peaceful sleep. When Dixon entered her chamber early the next morning she struggled to shake the mists from her mind. Everything seemed so hazy she was petrified that it had all been a figment of her tired and overwrought mind. As she tried to sit up in her bed she realized that one of Mr. Thornton's gloves was still clutched in her hand. She remembered that in all the heat and excitement of their exchange she had never actually given the glove back. She let out a soft giggle when she realized that her sole mission for the past several weeks, which had been to return the gloves to Mr. Thornton, had been frustrated right at the very moment of it finally being realized. She recalled that instead of allowing John to keep them after he had picked them up off the carpet, she had in fact reclaimed one from his grasp, and clasping it firmly in her own hand had walked back to her room lost in a trance. Or at least that is what had happened in her dream….could it really be real?

The pain that seemed to course through her entire body at the prospect nearly drove the breath out of her lungs and she tried to shake her head to rid herself of the depressing prospect.

"Now do sit up straight Ms. Margaret!" admonished Dixon as she fluffed pillows and straightened sheets around Margaret on the bed. "Whatever were you about last night? Your hair is in such a tangle! Lord knows how I will brush out these knots!"

These words caused Margaret to blush scarlet as she remembered how John's strong hands had caressed her face and his fingers had slowly laced themselves through her loose tresses as they had cascaded down her back. 'It had to be real,' she thought, 'I could never imagine such lurid details.'

Almost as if Dixon had been able read the dubious thoughts now swirling in Margaret's mind; after straightening herself and her starched apron, she suddenly produced a small folded and sealed letter from the pocket of this stiff garment, and with a slight derisive sniff handed the missive to Margaret.

"Mr. Thornton was about to slip this under your door when I happened upon him in the passage. He, of course, had some excuse about not realizing I was already with the mistress. He said he hadn't wanted to disturb you Miss Margaret, but that he needed to relate some urgent information to you." All of this was spoken in an icy tone which clearly demonstrated that she hadn't believed a word of it!

She still held the letter out for Margaret, but wasn't yet ready to relinquish it. "As if any decent gentleman would be prowling around outside the bed chamber of a delicately bred female in order to push unsolicited mail beneath her chamber door!" With this scandalous pronouncement she took another loud sniff and curled her nose as she looked down the length of this rather protuberant organ at the indecent scrap of paper still clutched in her calloused fingers.

Margaret was desperate to read the note. She tried to pull it out of Dixons vice like grip but with all of Dixons sermonizing and contemptuous sniffing she eventually lost all patience.

"Thank you Dixon. I don't believe a man of Mr. Thornton's standing in the world is in any way required to explain himself to the likes of you. Please hand me the note and leave me be. I shall ready myself this morning. I do not require your assistance today."

Dixons lips pressed firmly together, puckering the thin wrinkled skin around them, causing her face to crease and pull and reminding Margaret of an old crone from a fairytale she had read when just a small girl. Finally, after much grappling with her emotions, Dixon released the letter and without a further word she spun around on her heel and stalked out of the door, slamming it with deliberate ferocity behind her retreating form.

Margaret rolled her eyes, knowing that she would have to bear the fruits of her outburst later in the evening; but for now all she wanted was to rip open the letter now finally in her grasp.

This she swiftly did, but as she was about to unfold it she was gripped by the sudden fear that perhaps he was writing to apologize for his hasty actions and decry from their engagement. She swallowed hard to regain her courage and then with a steadfast resolve, (and if truth be told - rather trembling hands), she unfolded the square of paper in her lap.

Her fears however, were unfounded, but so were her hopes. The letter was curt and perfunctory, nothing of the lover displayed on the paper. He addressed her by her Christian name, but there was no lingering endearment, none of the passionate possessive heat that had seemed to consume him the previous night.

'Margaret'…that was all.

The body served only to instruct her not talk to anyone about what had transpired as he would set everything to rights that evening when he returned home and they could discuss matters further together.

Now it was Margaret's turn to sniff derisively. She was in such desperate need of some sort of confirmation that what had transpired between them had not been only a figment of her weary and feverish imagination; she yearned for something tender and loving. But as her eyes raked over the missive for the umpteenth time she could barely credit the empty words scrawled across the page.

After several frustrating minutes she eventually tossed the paper to the floor, fed up with herself for being so mawkish as to expect some gushy love letter but also hurt that he had no words of comfort or of tenderness for her. Perhaps, though not entirely a dream, she had imagined the soft loving lilt in his voice as he spoke her name last night. Perhaps her passions had blinded her to his reactions, imagining him to be as lost as she had been.

The more she thought on the preceding evenings happenings the more she began to doubt her recollections. As she dressed and readied for the day these doubts and fears persisted. She was lost in her own thoughts and plagued with uncertainty. She had almost left the house when she remembered the letter still lying on the floor beside her bed and hurried back up the stairs to dispose of it. Margaret had only just stuffed the letter in her reticule when Dixon re-entered the room behind her. The atmosphere between them was frosty and Margaret was still in no state of mind to indulge Dixons fit of the sullens. She merely bid her good day and walked out the door.

Her brisk walk to the dress shop was a muddle of fear and hope and sadness and joy. She couldn't seem to make sense of her riotous thoughts. The air was crisp and biting and stung her hands and face but she hadn't even noticed. She barely heard a syllable uttered by any of their clientele or even by her employer all day as she set about her work. This fine lady, not being of a very loquacious disposition didn't seem to mind the silence. She was more accustomed to listening to the inane chatter and gossip of her customers than reciprocating, and realized early on in her career that more could be gained from listening than from talking.

And thus the day came and went.

Before Margaret looked again it was time to go home. She pulled her shawl back across her shoulders and after bidding Mrs. Pratley a polite though aloof adieu, she opened the glass shop door and exited the shop with a tinkling of the little bell that hung over this aperture.

As she shut the door behind her and turned back toward the street to begin her wayward journey back to Marlborough Mills, (or home as she had thus regarded it for many weeks now), she almost collided with John Thornton who had evidently been lying in wait for her outside of the dress shop.

"John!" she gasped as she stepped back in shock.

"I do so enjoy the sound of my name on your sweet lips," he said liltingly and with a brilliant smile which seemed to engulf his whole face. "I didn't mean to frighten you my love. Where you daydreaming?"

"I didn't expect to find you loitering out here. Have you…are you waiting…for me?" she stammered out hesitantly, hardly daring to look him in the eyes, for after her letter and a day spent in confused contemplation she could no longer be sure of anything which may or may not have transpired between them; (although had he not just called her 'my love'?).

This, however; would never suit the ardent lover, who had indeed been loitering outside in the freezing winter wind for nothing more than to be able to look his dear sweet Margaret in the eyes and be able to intertwine her arm in his as he escorted her home. In his confident and forward manner he reached his hand out and gently lifted her chin with one crooked finger, until she was forced to look at his face.

There was no doubt as she examined those eyes that they were the same fiery orbs which burned for her the previous night. The same rugged face which was still bathed in his fervent love and admiration of the woman before him. She felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders at the sight of his eyes and face and could not stop the smile that spread over her face in response to his silent entreaty.

"Of course I have been standing out here waiting for you my Love. Indeed, who else should I be waiting to ambush?" he sniggered. "If decorum would only permit it, I would kiss those beautiful lips and drive away the worries from this brow". As he spoke he gently rubbed his thumb over her temple and down her cheek. She naturally rubbed her cheek against the palm of his hand as he cradled her face.

"I have missed you," she said almost breathlessly as she glanced nervously up at him.

"And I, you, my love." He was so moved by her honest confession, he nearly forgot all precepts of decorum and nearly lifted her up in the air in order to pull her closer to him. Instead he just smiled at her, and gently took her hand in order to place her delicate arm within the crook of his strong masculine one.

"Why did you look so sad and severe as you stepped out of the shop Margaret?" he asked gently as they began walking down the pavement.

"It was a wearying day. I so wished to see you again after last night, but I didn't know when I would." Feeling a little braver after being able to see his love for her reflected so openly in his soft blue eyes, she decided to tease him. "After that letter you left for me this morning, I had begun to imagine that either I had imagined the whole, or perhaps you had had a change of heart and no longer wished to see me…"

She daren't look at him as she couldn't help the smile that twisted her mouth, but he had stopped dead at her words, shock and sadness etched across his face.

"I had scribbled that missive in such haste this morning before I left the house, I had no idea that I had written anything that would cause you pain."

She could see the distress in his face. It was a look lined with anguish and uncertainty which had become all too familiar to her. She hated seeing it again, especially knowing that she was once again the cause.

"I was unsure and sad and scared. You had no words of endearment for me in your note, no sweet greeting or loving farewell….it was foolish of me to doubt you, but when I awoke this morning I was so sure that I had imagined the whole that when I received your letter I had felt so sure that your words would give me such comfort and would confirm that it had been real and not just a dream. But instead they had been so cold and so limited in number that I wasn't sure of anything; until I saw your face just now, saw the love in your eyes which I remember now so vividly from last night, that I now know with complete certainty that I did not dream it."

As she said these words she looked deep into his bottomless eyes and smiled. The dark embers in these orbs seemed to blaze and he squeezed her arm tighter against his body as he stared down at her. She truly was the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld.

As they walked arm in arm all the way back to Marlborough mills they didn't talk much. Margaret could feel the heat and tension that seemed to roil in the small space between their two bodies. She couldn't keep the blush from her cheeks and had indeed become rather flushed as they meandered their way through the streets. She wasn't even sure where they were or how they got there, she merely clung to his arm lost in her own thoughts.

John was in an agony of pleasure and deprivation. He loved this woman so very much but having her so near, feeling the heat of her skin, smelling the fragrance of her soap and her delicate perfume which seemed to intertwine itself in her hair, lusciously teasing him with its sweetness, was a true torture! He desired her like nothing he had ever experienced heretofore. The attraction he felt towards her seemed to pull at his insides. His heart was racing and his breath felt forced and shallow. It took every ounce of his self-control not to crush her to his breast and kiss her as he had done the night before.

Every so often she would glance sideways up at him as they walked along. There was such warmth and such trust in her glowing eyes that he knew he could never destroy that and so clung on ever harder to his willpower and instead tried to increase the speed of their pace. Though loathed to part with his sweet Margaret sooner than was strictly necessary he also knew that the sooner he got her back to the safety and sanctity of home the safer she would be from him. His senses, completely intoxicated and flooded by her presence, would be forced to restrain themselves in the presence of his mother.

He knew that that hurdle still awaited them too but knew that nothing would change him from his course.

"I have not yet had a chance to speak with my mother," he said somewhat lamely as they walked through the streets of Milton.

"You are afraid she will be unhappy?" enquired Margaret, nervously staring at the ground as they strode on.

"I am not afraid of anything anymore my love!" he said smiling. "I have all I need right here beside me. My mother has known of my attachment to you for much longer than you have my dear Margaret, and though she has tried to caution me it was only because she was afraid that I would get hurt. She will soon see and share in our joy, I promise you.

"You will not mind having her for a mother in law, will you Margret?" he asked anxiously, lest the realization of this fact may cause her to rescind her acquiescence.

Margaret was nervous to answer this question as she knew it was less about her reservations as it was about his mother's reservations.

"It is true, that Mrs. Thornton and I have not always understood one another very well. I know that as an outsider to Milton and with a degree of stigma attached to my family on our arrival here, that she did not look kindly upon me. She is proud and strong but I think at times she believed me to be beyond pleasing. This was as much my fault as hers. When we arrived here I behaved very improperly. I was not used to the manners and ways of Milton and the foreignness of my surroundings made me nervous and uncomfortable. I think she saw this as me trying to be above my station, which was after all, nothing compared to your standing in the community. And of course after the rumours about the man that I was seen with at Outwood station started to circulate I know she thought me devoid of all principles and morality. Of course I should very much wish to disabuse her of this misconception of my character and therefore beg that you explain to her all about Frederick and the reason for the subterfuge. I am sure it will go a long way towards reconciling her to your choice of bride," she smiled as she said these last words as the idea of being his bride filled her with such joy. "And as for the rest I hope you are right and that once your mother can see how happy we can be together she will grow used to the idea. She has been most kind to me since my father's passing, and now that I have no parents living I should dearly wish to be able to have a mother that I can call on in times of need"

He had been looking down at her as she spoke, not wishing to interrupt her. Her voice was always so sweet to his ears but there was nothing he loved more than being invited to share her thoughts and emotions, and he wished to savour every morsel.

She of course, was concerned that the manner in which his mother and herself had somehow always disagreed, would cause him pain. She had paused to look up at him, to see if her words had hurt him again. She saw no sign of pain however, just his warm eyes and a rare smile stretched across his face.

Feeling thus encouraged she continued: "It was unfortunate that your mother and I grew to know one another based on our initial observations and misconceptions of one other. However it has been a few years since we first met. We have both changed as have our circumstances. I am hopeful that you will not find her as intractable as you imagine."

John hadn't meant to, but when she said this he couldn't help but let out a rather cynical snort. He didn't believe his mother had really warmed to Margaret, but rather that she was trying to do the right thing by Margaret. He believed she pitied Margaret's circumstances and was impressed by her strength of character, but he knew that to his mother Margaret would always be the woman that claimed his affection, and would therefore always be the one thing that stood between her and her son. His mother was supportive and loving but had grown too accustomed to being the only love in his life.

"That was rather unkind!" said Margret in response to his snigger.

"Oh indeed my darling you mistake me. My mother is not disingenuous, she is strong and she is proud and yes, compared to what she first thought of you when you and your family arrived in Milton you have certainly grown in her estimation as is evidenced by the care and time she has taken with you. But you do not know my mother Margaret. She has led a hard lonely life. It was wrong of her to become so much attached to me in the absence of my father, but this she did. It has very little to do with you, or your behavior or your social standing. It has to do with the fact that my mother knows me better than anyone, and she knew within a few moments of looking at my face after I had first made your acquaintance that I was besotted by you.

"She knew my heart before even I did. It was from that first moment of seeing that love etched across my face that she was determined to hate you. My mother is not cruel or vindictive. She would never have attempted to ruin you or your family, but deep in her heart her jealousy of my love for you blackened your name in her good books forever." He loved his mother so very much but he could not hide the sadness from his voice as he laid his mother's faults so bare.

"So she will forbid our marriage?" asked Margaret, halting their progress across the cobbled street in order to look properly up into Johns eyes to see the truth of his answer there for herself.

"No my sweet Margaret," he said, attempting to caress her face with nothing but the warmth of his eyes and voice, as he couldn't caress her face and kiss her as he so wanted to do. "She would not forbid it and more than that, she hasn't the power to forbid it. I love you, and there is naught or no one that will prevent me from making you my wife, not even my mother. I love her too but I will not live one more day without the world knowing the extent of my regard for you now that you have consented to be my bride!"

She smiled coyly at these words. The sound of them, though strange was also exhilarating. On the occasion of the previous two marriage proposals which she had received she had felt awkward and embarrassed, but upon hearing John refer to her as his bride her heart swelled with joy and with pride. She had no idea why this strong amiable man before her had chosen her out of the many beautiful and eminently more suitable ladies of his acquaintance but she felt such joy in knowing that she was the one to secure his affections.

But she did now fear what his mother's reaction would be to their news. She also feared her Aunt's reaction. Though this lady had not written in a while and Margaret wasn't sure of when she may have the pleasure of seeing her Aunt, she felt sure that the news of her betrothal to Mr. John Thornton of Milton, with no property or title, would be a sever shock at best and at worst may cause her Aunt to demand Margaret's immediate removal from Milton back to her own London home.

Aunt Shaw was not draconian but she was snobbish and Mr. Thornton would not suit her highbrow notions. Were he wealthy, she felt sure that all would be forgiven; his being a tradesman would not be something generally mentioned in conversation but she would overlook this fact if he had riches enough to compensate. As it was, the mill was gone and any potential riches with it. Margaret knew that John would be determined to get it back again but this may take many years and that in the interim her life with him would mean a meagre existence. She was not afraid of this, and had indeed grown accustomed to the hardships she had faced since moving to Milton, but to her Aunt these privations would be too much to bear. Indeed, she equally dreaded her Aunts reaction to discovering that she had found employment at a dressmakers shop.

Mr. Bell had been less than pleased. He had not stayed in Milton long on his previous visit. He had business matters to discuss with John but he had returned the following morning to have a few words with Margaret.

Margaret had been on the point of setting off to Mrs. Pratley's shop when she had seen him walking towards her. Upon spying her leaving the mill yard he had fallen into step beside her, cradling her arm in his as they went.

"I need hardly ask where you are off to so early on this chilly morning," he said rather dryly, but Margaret could discern the ever so slight note of annoyance in his voice. "You may think me old fashioned, but I cannot think this scheme of yours to be very wise Margaret. Admirable, certainly, but not the wisest course my dear." Seeing her cast her eyes down at the pavement with this admonishment, he ventured to press his luck a little further.

"Of course, I have absolutely no intention of dictating to you my dear girl! I have absolutely no right and I shouldn't dream of it; but your father bade me promise to care for you in his absence and I should be very remiss in my care if I didn't even attempt to point out the evils of this course of action my dear Margaret."

Margaret had no intention of giving up her work, but she bore Mr. Bell no ill will. He was good and kind and only had her best interests at heart – but he couldn't possibly understand how such a small accomplishment had lead her back to herself again. She had made no argument, nor indeed did she say anything at all. She merely gave his arm a small squeeze and smiled sweetly at him. He didn't press his point, the sight of her smiling again was enough to make him smile in return.

But now, as Margaret walked arm in arm with John across the yard of the old mill, towards the house and into what was to become her new life, she wondered how Mr. Bell would take the news of her engagement and if her Aunt could be prevailed upon to see the merits of such a union. If only she could get Mr. Bell on her side, she felt sure that her Aunt could also be persuaded. But first there was the initial and more immediate hurdle of 'the dragon' to be overcome…