When I found him whom my soul loves, I held him, and would not let him go until I had brought him into my mother's house
Song of Solomon

-OO-

"My dear," her father said at breakfast, "I do not wish to pry, but... have you reason to suppose Mr Thornton has formed an attachment to you?"

"I... I'm not sure, Father," Margaret said, with a little anxious smile, looking away from him. She hesitated, then – "I believe at one time he may have had some feelings for me... but at the time I did not encourage them."

"Well, well... I knew nothing of this, Margaret!" not censorious, mildly curious.

"There was not much to tell," she excoriated the body of their tempestuous history down to the barest possible bone, "It came as a surprise to know he... liked me... and I had to make it known that I did not like him... not in that way." Or in any way at all. She winced at the memory, which hurt her so much, goodness knows what it must do to poor Mr Thornton!

"Poor John!" Mr Hale unconsciously echoed, musing. "Poor Margaret, too... I am glad you did not feel an obligation to declare you returned his feelings for the sake of a match, as some women would."

"You know I would not do that, Papa."

"But you like him a little better now, perhaps?"

"I like him better now," she agreed, and blushed, and looked down at her china plate, the glazed blue pattern on it, furiously examining it as if for the first time.

"I see," said her father, "Well, as you know, I myself am very taken with him. He has a fine mind and is decent in nature," and, dear man that he was, he took a piece of toast and began to spread it with marmalade and asked no more.

"Dixon! Oh Dixon, we will need special cakes for tea. We have a guest today," Margaret ran into the kitchen and confronted the doughty maid, who was bustling slowly around the tiny kitchen. She bustled more slowly when anyone entered so as to make it was clear she was put-upon, with far too much to do for one person, even if that one person was her very capable self.

"Special cakes, Miss Margaret? With everything I've got to do today?" grumbled Dixon, who was nonetheless quite intrigued. "Who on earth is she that I've to make special cakes?"

"It's not a 'she' at all... Mr Thornton, my father's pupil, is coming."

Dixon was not pleased to hear this. "Well, what does he need special cakes for - ? I seem to remember last time he came for tea he left in a temper, and left you in one too, Miss Margaret!"

"Well, that's it exactly," Margaret turned on Dixon a gay little smile which always charmed even though she did not realise it, "This time I shall sweeten him with cakes before he can get started on his scowls and snarls! I will make them myself – simply tell me how."

"Oh Miss Margaret," Dixon wailed, catching on, "Tell me you're not allowing him to court you... such a cold nasty man – a tradesman - !"

"He may be a tradesman, but is neither of those other things, Dixon, and I won't hear it again from you. Remember how good he was to dear Mama and how Papa likes him so, and help me with a recipe," which Dixon did, but not without many reminders to Miss Margaret how much nicer life in London was and how much pleasanter the suitors which might be found there, she could offer a few suggestions, that lovely Mr Lennox for example...

Margaret opened the door to Mr Thornton, and took a moment to look at him; he could be very well turned out at times, and he was today; not a speck of dust on his black coat, a fine blue-and-silver striped waistcoat so elegant it would not have been out of place in London society, and a snow-white cravat, which, though she did not know it, today he had not allowed his mother to straighten as it had not felt appropriate. He had taken such care for her. Butterflies began to dance in her stomach.

She was wearing a simple, pretty, butter-yellow gown sprigged with stems and she looked so luminously beautiful as she offered him her demure, sweet smile it took his breath away, it actually caught in his throat and prevented him speaking for a moment, and then he performed the routine courtesies faultlessly, without so much as a tremor in his voice.

"John! We are so glad you have come today, we have little company, do we Margaret? And yours is always especially welcome!" Richard Hale was, as always, warmly friendly, and Thornton saw Margaret seated and then took his own chair.

He had had much time to think over a sleepless night, and he knew that Margaret had not lied, he had badly wronged her. The brother, Frederick, had been in the house the time she had refused him admittance, and there was no way on earth that Mr Hale, straight to a fault, would have condoned immodest behaviour, either then or in allowing Thornton to court his daughter now if only a few days ago there had been another man in the picture. There was no other suitor, then, which required a thorough overhaul of his thinking and things had taken an interesting turn, though he still felt wary and unsure.

He should have believed her. But she had hurt him so much. He had taken months to get over it; he was not over it now.

He accepted a cup of tea and refused a slice of cake.

"I made it myself, Mr Thornton," Margaret said, and her doubtful little voice and expressive face made him instantly regret -

"In that case, Miss Hale," and he bent upon her a smile of such natural, tender charm that she felt quite unlike herself for a moment, and her hand trembled as she went to cut the cake.

He took pity on her, and took the knife from her – "Allow me? I have some skill with a knife, owing to so much whittlin' done as a boy." Not entirely by accident their fingers touched, and as her warm skin brushed across his he looked for her eyes, and found them waiting.

"Whittling, John? You too?" Mr Hale took this up happily, and they spoke for a while of making whistles, boyishly, from pieces of wood. Margaret listened, and paid careful attention to pouring tea when it was needed, and delighted that her father and John got on so well; she was also noticing the looks of the man with whom she had had such a stormy relationship, his imperious, long-nosed profile, the darkness at temples and brows, the pale skin, the expressive eyes which moved so quickly from thought to thought.

When tea was over, her father used his napkin fastidiously, then rose to his feet. "You must excuse me – I have some papers to tidy in my study – you will stay a little longer, John? call upon me when you must go – "

-OO-

When they were alone, Mr Thornton looked at her, head slightly tilted, and asked, "Did you sleep better, Miss Hale?"

She smiled, picking up on it. "No! It was no better than the night before. And you, Mr Thornton? Were you tossing and turning in sleepless anxiety after our awful argument?"

"Well," he replied, pensive, "Let's just say I'd not want another one any time soon."

"I am sorry," she said contritely. "It seems it is not just you who has a temper!"

He had told her of his temper on their second meeting, here in this very room, before another fiery clash of ideals.

"We seem to bring out the worst in one another," she sighed.

His brows tilted in a little frown. "Well, that would be a shame if it were true, wouldn't it? "

Bring out the worst in one another? Why had she said that? She wanted him to like her! She wanted him to think that time they might spend together would make him happy...

"I didn't mean - " her expressive face moved in anxious little patterns as she bit her lip and wondered how people went about this business when it was all so awkward and laid with traps into which one careless word could send one tumbling.

He gave her a little smile. "It's all right, Miss Hale. I'm not expectin' to always be my very worst in front of you."

"Oh dear. I don't think I'm very good at this, Mr Thornton," she confessed, and bit her lip again – now she sounded as if she was taking for granted that they were in a formal courtship!

"Well that'll make two of us, I'll likely not be very good at it either. "

"I feel I have already said all the wrong things," she said anxiously. She wanted to explain you make me nervous, which he should understand, after all he was a man who made many people nervous, but the truth was he had done nothing wrong. She was making herself nervous, trying too hard to say and be the right thing.

His little instinctive movement denied it. "You've not said anything wrong, Miss Hale. But you've no need to think on it too much. We are just two people, talkin' in a room; we will just be ourselves and see if we can get along."

She smiled at him, grateful for his graceful rescue. They sized one another up, in silence. He was not giving very much away in his look, but his eye seemed drawn to her; it would slide off as if he was afraid he was looking too much but then of its own will would come back to her, and show something of his appreciation in a tiny glance that was almost tender. The butterflies were back, fluttering inside her for nerves, or excitement. He was so very handsome, she had never seen a man before whose every feature came together so harmoniously. And though she only had a vague sense of this and would not have admitted it, that he was dangerous was also an intoxicating thing, if she was to be the one he would choose over all to take inside his circle of protection, his heart won.

She realised her was giving her a curious little look; her eyes had hazed over with her dreaming, she was sure of it. She blushed, looking down at her lap.

"That was very good cake; do you like to bake?"

Grateful for the change of subject, "I have never done it before," she replied, laughing. "I had never made so much as a biscuit. I had to get Dixon to show me how! But it did not turn out so badly, did it?"

His own mother, who could turn her hand to anything and often had, no longer did any work for which she now had the means to employ servants. He had felt unsure if a young lady such as this one would usually enjoy such a pursuit. He felt a little lurching inside that his visit had made her want to please him.

"It turned out very well. I thank you for the thought of making it – " he was about to say 'for me', but swerved – "for this tea, in particular."

"I shall give you some to take home with you. We had better call Dixon," Margaret looked at the wreckage of the tea-table, though this would waste minutes of the precious time they would have alone. "I warn you, Mr Thornton, she will be unwelcoming in her manner! It is just her way, to sniff and huff about her tasks."

One eyebrow rose – "And about your visitors, perhaps?"

Margaret smiled, looking askance; he had a point there! "On second thoughts, Mr Thornton, I will clear it myself." She began to pile cups and plates onto a tray. "I will be quicker and it will save our time..."

She made a few light quick trips up and down the stairs. When she came back in Mr Thornton had his back to her, standing, looking out of the window. He turned as she came back in, inscrutable.

"This is not such a pleasant view for you, Miss Hale, as you would have had at Helstone."

"It is very different," she said. "Helstone is much greener. I have learned to find much of interest in this view, however."

"Such as - ?" he looked at the grey street, the grimy, dilapidated buildings, the faded, painted signs of trade.

"The people, Mr Thornton. They are so busy all the time, hurrying from here to there, but they stop to talk with one another, sometimes bantering, sometimes in quarrel, but mostly good-natured, considering their lack of means. Their children run around and turn upside down and play and chatter. No-one cares what observers think of them. They may purchase food there – " she pointed, a woman in a tatty grey dress turned pies and hot potatoes on a griddle – "and eat it as they walk. Men walk out with a girl on their arm. They seem so ... free, compared to us, do you not think so?"

"I was once one of those people," Mr Thornton said shortly, "and did not feel particularly free. It is having more means than you need to survive which brings freedom, Miss Hale, never doubt that."

Apart from that one speech he had given at the first tea in Crampton, which felt so long ago, he had never said much of his past; but some things she had discovered about him had shocked her – so much hardship, such a grim, desperate struggle to haul himself and his family up towards a comfortable life - at one time she would have felt this demeaning, as indeed would her London relatives – now it had brought her to a state of admiration in which he appeared to her a hero of courage and industry.

Something of this showed in her eyes, which dwelt on him with a lingering warmth and a sweet glow.

"What have I done to deserve such a look, Miss Hale?" he wondered aloud, and found himself smiling a little at her.

"That you are...that I am proud of you, Mr Thornton."

"For - ?" his quizzical eyebrow invited her reply.

"For raising yourself and your family out of their hard times by sheer hard work and cleverness and determination. You have your own empire now, do you not?"

"But a manufacturer would not have been deserving of any of your approbation at one time, is that not so, Miss Hale?" he said, a little challengingly.

"I was..." the word tainted came to mind; she discarded it, for loyalty – "- influenced by my London family, Mr Thornton. I have come to understand that raising oneself to a comfortable life by hard work is a thing to admire, not look down upon. Those born to wealth have nothing so very much to praise themselves for, they really do not." Seeing his look, she said, "People do change, Mr Thornton... and I have changed, as I said yesterday."

She glanced down, smilingly. Her eyes sparkled appealingly behind her sweep of lashes.

He took in a breath at that. He thought she did not just mean she had changed in her appreciation of what was worthy in society and what was not. For safety, he picked up the conversation again,

"So, Miss Hale... you have not habitually spent your time in baking... you don't play an instrument, or so my sister tells me... how do you like to pass the time?"

"I like to read," she said, "though I am afraid I was not thinking of beginning on Plato just yet, if you had a fancy to discuss it..." she flicked him smiling eyes, "and take walks... and visit people... though not too often... I find too many people as displeasing as too few... I did get tired in London of parties and dinners and visits..."

"An' you like to help people, I think. You have a kindness in you..."

She knew she hadn't imagined the warmth in that look, and she returned it fully. She saw him draw in a sudden breath.

"I like to paint – "

"Walls?" he said blankly, having lost the thread of this conversation entirely in light of that glance which had just flown straight as an arrow right into his heart.

She burst into laughter. He tracked back quickly, caught himself up.

"Forgive me, Miss Hale, I was not mocking you. Being single-minded, I tend to frame everything entirely within a factory setting... but you mean landscapes, portraits, that sort of thing."

" I don't do it well, but I take great pleasure in it."

"You must show me your work." He had himself in hand again now.

"Someday perhaps... but I have not had much inspiration to paint since I came to Milton. Oh it is not that Milton doesn't have beauty!" she said quickly. "But there is not so much colour in Milton as in Helstone, and bold use of colour, I find, usefully draws the attention away from flaws of execution, of which I make many."

She was so delightful, happily admitting her failings and inviting him to laugh at them with her. Most young women he had found all too keen to present themselves as faultlessly accomplished in hopes of attracting a husband. In her, the joy was not to be found in what she could do but in her own self – and he found her entirely entrancing.

His mother would not be pleased. He very certainly and surely knew himself to be in danger from Miss Hale now.

"What about you, Mr Thornton? How do you spend your leisure time?" Now that was a silly question, Margaret, she admonished herself. The man spends twelve hours a day or more in that mill he runs, what time does he get for leisure?

"I read with your father, mostly," he was answering. "But so much work with only a little levity of reading has made me very dull, I am afraid. Fanny tells me so twice a day without fail, once in the morning and once at night. If she ever misses it, Mother makes her take a tonic."

Although she smiled as he had meant her to, she felt a moment of irritation with Fanny; Fanny who shopped while her brother worked himself into the ground to provide the money for her to spend without ever counting a coin.

She answered, "Fanny is wrong. I do not find you dull, Mr Thornton. I have never met anyone who deserved the word less."

That seemed to set off a little silence which neither could find a way out of. But in any case, their time was at an end.

"Well, have you two had a nice talk?" Mr Hale said as he was invisibly nearly at the door, and then came through it, "You must take some of Margaret's excellent cake with you, John!"

They both jumped as if they had been moving closer together. Mr Thornton gathered himself. "I should go..." casting around for his gloves, which he had removed in the room. Margaret handed them to him, a smiley little crease lending her cheeks a happy, demure aspect.

-OO-

Thornton shouldered his way down the street, threading his way between the grey and brown people Margaret liked so much to watch. He was walking fast, hard eyes trained in front of him – then the urge came to him to look back, to look up at her window. For a moment he hesitated – he had left it so many strides it would be obvious to her that he was still thinking about her – then, unable to stop himself, he stood where he was in the street and turned his head to find her.

Yes- she was watching him from her window, the small pale disc of her face too far-off for him to read. He raised a hand, then strode on, people parting ways for the Master of Marlborough Mill as he split the town in two on his straight, commanding path.

-OO-