Summary:
John Thornton and Margaret Hale's wedding day. A fairytale of flowers, families, friendships, and Love.
ooOoo
Mrs J. C. Thornton
requests your presence at the marriage
of her son John
to
Miss Margaret Hale
at
St Michael and All Angels Church, Milton
on
Sunday, 20 June, 1852 at 10 am
Reception at Milton City Hall
" No doubt, did I please, I could marry with ease
Where maidens are fair, many lovers will come
But he whom I wed must be North Country bred
And carry me back to my North Country home
– The Oak and the Ash, trad.
ooOoo
Mr John Thornton, darkly groomed and devilishly handsome, stood on a dais at one side of the room at his wedding dinner, hands on the rail, watching over all. Below, his new wife sat smiling with her friends around her, in her wedding gown of simple pearl satin, from which she did not need any help to be the most luminously beautiful woman in the room. Her shining hair, with its one exquisite pin (this he had had made for her; a dainty Helstone rose made from layers of fine beaten gold with a precious little oyster-pearl at the centre) was softly arranged up high to reveal her white neck and delicate earrings.
"A fine match for you, Thornton!" George Watson, banker, came to stand beside the groom. "Well, not in a financial sense perhaps – but in every other way..."
Thornton gave him a fierce little smile. "Thank you. I shall pay you the same compliment, Watson, on the day you marry my sister."
Watson, a good-hearted fellow, had not meant to be so rude, but Thornton had outplayed him anyway, so he quickly moved on, "I think the ladies would've liked a double wedding, but Fanny was certain she needed more time to get her trousseau together!" his eye rolled, and met Thornton's rolling in sympathy.
It was a good thing the Mill had picked up its profits, as Fanny had been emptying the Milton shops of every fine dress and ornament that took her fancy for weeks and assuring them grandly that 'Marlborough Mill can pay it all."
"I'd not thought of that. I assumed every young woman wanted her wedding day to be her own entirely. But in any case," Thornton added, "We'd some need not to delay... Mr Hale is not getting younger."
Mrs Thornton appeared at her son's elbow. "Well, John..."
He kissed her cheek.
"Are you happy now?" she asked him sardonically, following his gaze to where the new Mrs Thornton sat, holding court in her merry sweet way. To surprise and please her, he had arranged the musicians should play a set of her favourite folk songs, beginning with Scarborough Fair and ending with the Oak and the Ash, the song she had happily half-sung on the night he had asked her to marry him, and she had been so touched by the music and by him he had seen tears in her eyes. My Northern maid.
He chose to take that at face value, and merely smiled. "Yes, Mother. Very happy. And you wanted me to be happy, didn't you...? Thank you," he moved on, "It has been a wonderfully successful and happy occasion. You've pulled it off with the same skill as one of your dinner parties."
Pleased at his compliment, "I'll not have time to rest before Fanny's is upon us," she moaned.
"The Hall looks beautiful. Margaret wanted a country wedding, and you have brought the country to Milton."
Little Miss Hale, well known to be so sweet, had been every bit as sweetly difficult as Hannah Thornton had expected over the decorations. "Do you have any idea what it was like tryin' to find fresh yellow roses enough for the whole Town Hall, John?"
He was soft with fondness. "They are special to her... you did well to source them, Mother."
"Aye well, I sent off to London for them an' they sent to France. I'm not even going to tell you at what cost... She wanted just yellows and whites and greens, nothing else, but I would have pinks in there an all, as I thought it would suit Margaret, an' I think it works well." Hannah Thornton remembered Margaret's sincere and radiant joy on first sight of the arrangements she, John's mother, had made for her. It had made her feel a flicker of fondness for the girl, who was nothing but transparent, wearing her heart where all could see it, whether for Mrs Thornton's roses or for her son.
She looked around with some satisfaction at the glorious bowers they had created in the City Hall, dwelling on the one in which the bride was seated with her attendants. "She is a beauty, John, I'll give you that," she said with grudging approval.
John had hardly taken his eyes off Margaret. He looked all frowning wonder, as if he could scarcely believe this perfect angel belonged to him. Looking at oh-so-precious Miss Hale, delicate and fragile as an orchid, it crossed Mrs Thornton's less-dazzled mind to hope that Maria Hale had managed to impart to her daughter the knowledge of what would be expected of her on this, her wedding night. She had had to tackle this distasteful task herself with her own daughter a week ago... expecting Fanny to be horrified, and been surprised how equably Fanny took it after the first shock, but then Fanny was a shallow optimist for whom George Watson's wealth could sweeten every difficult thought.
Margaret was a different kettle of fish entirely. Well, Hannah thought, I am not going to be the one to break it to her, she'd take it wrong from me anyway.
"Your wife's a rare beauty, Thornton. Spirited, too, I know. I 'ope she doesn't give you trouble! You may find one such as her more difficult to 'andle than an 'ole factory of men."
John Thornton merely smiled. He wasn't in the mood for a fight with Slickson today, stirring challenge though it always was. The man began on some talk of cotton prices and transport, but Thornton stopped him. "No trade today... I'm takin' a day off."
The room was fragrant with flowers, fresh white roses and yellow roses and pale pink roses and twisted green stems and trailing ivy. Everyone was saying it was the prettiest wedding they had ever attended, a very fairy-tale, with a faerie queen and her dashing lord. And I, John Thornton mused, I have the prettiest wife. He had not been close to Margaret for hours.
Richard Hale was suddenly there beside him looking over the railing at his very beloved daughter. "I felt particularly moved that you chose a reading from Plato, John: Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back . It is a beautiful line, is it not, from a man who wed himself to philosophy, but who also understood Love."
Thornton smiled, and made his tutor a little bow. " The twin pillars of Platonism," and at Richard Hale's approving nod, "I have been well-taught, Sir. If a man neglects education, he walks lame to the end of his life. It was a happy day for Milton and for me when you moved your family here. You lead me daily towards a better mind; and you have entrusted me with your daughter who tends to my heart."
"Life is an odd thing, John is it not," mused Richard Hale, pushing up his spectacles, "I felt when I brought my wife and daughter to Milton that it had been a very cruel burden for me to lay upon them, even though I had reasoned myself into it being for the best. It was some time before I recovered from the guilt of it. And yet, if I had not, you and Margaret would not be here today. I am glad that I brought her to Milton, for both your sakes."
The two men's hands clasped warmly, in an emotional handshake. "And also for my own," Mr Hale added, his eyes dwelling fondly on John Thornton, his fine and loyal friend.
"Oh John," Fanny squealed, swishing up beside them, "Miss Hale – Margaret – looks very beautiful today. Don't you think so?"
Thornton turned to give his sister a kiss on her cheek. "I was just thinkin' the same thing. You look very well yourself, Fanny," and she did, she was lovely in her hooped satin skirt of palest blue, her blonde curls ringletted and swept up into a fancy style (Margaret's was much simpler, as suited her.)
"We make a fine-looking family, us Thorntons," Fanny smiled, very pleased with them today. Her brother was easily the most handsome man in the room, and as his pretty sister, she knew they were well-admired. "Did you notice my ring, John?" she flashed it under his nose and he approved it, but inattentively; he suddenly could wait no longer. "Excuse me, Fanny."
He crossed the room in several strides; people made way for him, he bowed to Margaret's frosty aunt and sparkly cousin, and seated himself beside his bride, taking her hand. She smiled at him with such sweet, uncomplicated pleasure his heart filled up.
May I make her this happy, this content, with that look on her face, every day of her life.
I am so lucky.
ooOoo
He had a moment with his mother in the drawing room at Marlborough House, before they retired for the night. Margaret and her maid had gone upstairs already. In his blood was already stirring the darkness of desire. They would be together soon now in a way they had never been before; the closeness and intimacy of it would surely enhance their love and seal it and make it whole.
His mother's mind was travelling the same path. She had decided to say just this one thing, in case he had not thought of it, she loved him enough to breach convention this much, she could not bear him to be unhappy on his wedding night or ever.
"John – be careful with Margaret, won't you?"
A high colour started in his neck and rose to stain his cheeks. He lifted his head high and turned away from her. "Mother. You hardly need to say."
"I wouldn't be surprised if... she's not given too much thought to marriage, and all it means. An' don't worry, that's all I'm going to say on the matter. In fact I shall go now, I can barely keep my eyes open," and she embraced him hard and quick and left him to handle the night however he would.
ooOoo