A/N- Sorry to make you wait so long for this chapter. I have a busy life, but I've found that carving out some time for this can help clear my mind a bit. From now on I'll try to post an update every Sunday. I know where I want this story to go, but I'm not really sure how long it will take to get there.

Ch.4- Consideration

Mr. Thornton could feel her hand like a hot iron burning through his sleeve, straight into the skin of his arm. A rush of warmth, hope and fear washed over him with turbulent force. With Mr. Bell's exit from the room Thornton willed himself to step away from her touch and claim a defensive position behind his desk. The stir that moment had created within him prevented him from sitting down. He began to pace the small office, but stopped suddenly realizing that the nervous habit might betray his emotion. He turned sharply toward Margaret but her eyes burned into him so deeply that he felt she must be able to sense his unspoken passion as if he had just yelled it at her like that day after the riot. He leaned over his desk and steadied himself by placing his palms on the hard wood surface. With one deep breath he collected his strength and looked up at her expectantly.

All of this was not lost on Margaret. She interpreted his fidgeting and pacing as an earnest desire to be relieved from her presence as soon as possible. He leaned over his desk menacingly, daring her to speak her mind, ready at any moment to crush her spirits like she was nothing more than another striking mill worker. A lesser woman might have shrunk under the pressure, invented some pitiful excuse for detaining him and then left in a flurry of scrambled nerves and wrinkled petticoats. But Margaret was no blushing London lady. She closed her eyes briefly and reminded herself of why she was there. She had known that Mr. Thornton would reject her, that she would be sent to Spain within a fortnight, but she could not leave things as they were. She had to explain her behavior. She would leave the country knowing at least that if Mr. Thornton retained his poor opinion of her it was not because she had carried her lies with her across the ocean.

Margaret thought she had the strength to tell him, but she could not bring herself to simply blurt it all out. She thought she might put him at ease with a bit of small talk. Had only she chosen to ask him about the Classics or the Milton weather she might have achieved the desired affect. Unfortunately Margaret chose a more sensitive issue. She could not have asked a worse question without mentioning his failed proposal or a preferred lover.

"I just heard from Mary that the mill has closed Mr. Thornton. What will your next venture be?"

In was an honest question, born out of her natural curiosity, but she immediately felt the mistake of it. Mr. Thornton heard the cheerful tone of her voice and mistook it for mocking. He responded in kind.

"You mean to tell me you were not aware that you were only brought you here to take advantage of a man in reduced circumstances." His lips tightened and his eyes grew black as he dwelt on the details of their conversation. He recalled the harsh words she had used in rejecting his proposal month ago.

"I...I mean...I didn't..." Margaret floundered. She was shocked to be so accused, uncertain of how to respond.

He had her on the defensive. Mr. Thornton felt suddenly powerful, in contrast to how her presence always made him feel in the past. He rallied all the hurt she had caused him deep into his chest and built a wall against her further influence.

"I supposed I should expect as much because you are rich," he continued, "that you are only capable of thinking in terms of buying and selling."

Margaret's face grew white. She recognized the words. What could she expect but that he would punish her for her misguided rejection? But she could not leave it here. She must say what she came to.

"Mr. Thornton I know how you must regard my behavior..."

"Do not imagine that I have any particular regard for you," he interrupted in a fit of rage that rivaled his commanding yells at the rioters so many months ago. He had told them he would never send home the Irish, as he told her now that he would never fall victim to her bewitching demeanor again.

It was a lie.

In one moment he saw the pain wash over her face. He stepped away from the desk and began to walk toward her. In another moment he might have fallen to his knees repenting of any sin that clouded the countenance of his goddess, but there was not another moment. As quickly as the flash of pain appeared it went away and left Mr. Thornton wondering if he had imagined it. The instant reminder of how intensely he did regard her humbled him. He returned to his desk and sat down, ready to hear what she had to say.

Margaret watched him with suspicion for a few seconds. She could not understand what had affected his sudden change of behavior. It was so unsettling that she almost wished he would return to his former hostility.

"Mr. Thornton if you believe that I rejoice in your unfortunate circumstances, or that I do not feel keenly the misfortune of this empty place then you don't know me at all," she said with a nervous tremor in her voice.

"Still" she continued, "You are right to be angry about my impudent proposal."

Mr. Thornton's throat tightened. Her proposal. She had called it her own. Not her guardian's. Margaret took no notice and continued her explanation.

"Mr. Thornton I never thought...that is I knew...I told Mr. Bell you would not have me," she began. "I have not come to Milton with the belief that some loving marriage awaited for me...that is...I knew you have no regard for me...in that way." She looked down at her hands and fumbled with her handkerchief, trying to find the words to explain herself. She swallowed back some of the emotion in her voice before continuing.

Thornton was captivated. He took in every word, every gesture with a studied gaze.

"I just...I admit...I may have thought. That is, when Mary told me...I have always loved the mill" Margaret's thoughts were jumbled and confused. She couldn't seem to pull apart the difference between what she was thinking and what she wanted to say.

"Always?" Thornton asked, puzzled not only by the meaning of such a comment, but also by the idea itself-that Margaret loved the mill.

Margaret was nervous. She attempted to explain. "Well, I mean, the mill...everything I miss about Milton revolves around this place. I have often thought about it...while I was in London."

"You have?" asked Thornton, growing more curious with her every word.

"Well yes. And when Mr. Bell told me that I was to marry one of the gentleman or leave the country...well as I said I knew you would not have me...and I was fully prepared to leave the country...but when Mary told me."

Mr. Thornton tried to control his curiosity but it was as if she was speaking in riddles for all the sense it made to him. One thing did stick out in his mind though and that was the thought of Margaret leaving.

"Why would you leave the country?" Mr. Thornton asked, interrupting her somewhat clouded train of thought.

"Please, Mr. Thornton. I have to get this right" she looked at him sternly to indicate that he needed to hold his questions and let her explain.

"I had rather hoped. Well, when Mr. Bell told me how much it would take to save the mill...please forgive me for talking of money...I just thought maybe you might accept me...as a friend...that perhaps we could be brought together...by this thing that we both love...even though we do not love each other...I just hoped that you might consider me...Forgive me it was a silly notion, but I have something else..."

"Why would you not marry one of the other gentlemen?" Thornton asked.

Another man might have rivaled in his good fortune. She had explained to Mr. Bell that he would not accept her, not the other way around. What's more she was here now, having chosen him over that man at the station. But Thornton could not understand it.

Margaret blushed. "Well, that is just it. I mean, well Mr. Lennox...we were friends but he was so cruel putting me in this situation...there was nothing between us. He was angry when I rejected his proposal and he...invented a scene. It was a horrible trick. And the other gentleman. Well...he was my brother Frederick."

"Your brother? I'm sure...Mr. Hale never mentioned..."

Here Margaret picked up speed. She began to stammer out the words more quickly than Mr. Thornton could take them in being so consumed with the gravity of the last truth. "We never speak of him. He got into some trouble with the navy. You have to believe me that it is a terrible misunderstanding...but he had to leave England none the less, or he would surely be executed after an unfair trial. That is why I had to lie to the police inspector, you see Fred was still in the country and I was terrified that he might be discovered. I know it must not excuse my behavior in your eyes but you must believe that I have not compromised my virtue as all of England seems to have suggested."

Mr. Thornton did not respond, he simply stared at her blankly. Margaret was about to lose all composure but she wanted to say something more. She hoped, despite everything that had passed between them she still continued to hope, that something could be salvaged between them.

"Mr. Thornton please do not take offense at what has passed between us. I came here today only to let you know that I was troubled by the loss of your good opinion and despite my previous lies I have nothing but the deepest trust and respect for you."

With that she scurried out the room, leaving him bewildered and uncertain. His mind seemed to sing out to him It was her brother, the man was her brother. As if that shocking revelation were not enough to compel a man towards some foolish repetition of a rejected proposal there was something else. There was something more in the way she had acted. Something about the mill, and something about a marriage. Only now did Mr. Thornton really hear the words.

I just thought maybe you might accept me...as a friend...that perhaps we could be brought together...by this thing that we both love...even though we do not love each other.

Mr. Bell had suspected that only heartbreak awaited Margaret in that mill office and his worst fears were confirmed when he saw her rushing from the place. She nearly fell to her death in the haste with which she leapt down the stairs. As they walked away from the mill the girl who had walked in with her head high and her look of confidence was a mess. She had to steady herself on Mr. Bell as silent tears tumbled down her face.

Mr. Bell was completely flummoxed by Margaret's state of duress as they stumbled away from Marlborough Mills. His repeated attempts to comfort her with a symathetic touch of her shoulder, numerous offers to call for a carriage, and several attempts to return to the inn all had no effect. She only reiterated time and again her wish to visit her friends the Higgins'. Mr. Bell hardly believed her to be in a proper state of mind for a social call but he could not pretend to be astute about such things as the proper rules of behavior among Milton mill workers. He bowed to the only request that seemed to give her peace and followed her into the dirty Milton neighborhood.

When they arrived at the Higgins' residence Mr. Bell entereted it with the same charm and grace as if it were the finest estate in London. While the Higgins family weren't accustomed to such fine visitors, Mary did jump up from her seat to take Mr. Bell's hat and coat. She draped them delicately over a chair and smiled warmly as Margaret stumbled over her introctions.

Margaret sniffed loudly and wiped the tears from her eyes before beginning.

"Mr. Bell these are my dear friends Mary and Nicholas Higgins. The little ones are a new addition but no less loved."

Margaret went on to name each of the children as they beamed with pride expect for the eldest, Tom Boucher, who was quietly reading a book in the corner.

Margaret did not try to conceal the distress in her eyes among these, her friends in Milton. Mr. Bell was glad to see her among companions who could share in her emotions without the discomfort of her family at Harley Street. They did not speak of what ailed her but there was an invitation in their eyes, a sympathy that told him they cared for her and would be there for her the moment she needed them.

Mr. Bell wished to give her a moment with her friends to unburden herself. He took a seat near Tom Boucher and asked about his reading material. The attention awoke Tom from his private world and soon Mr. Bell was entertaining all of the Boucher children with stories of Oxford and South America. The scene brought a smile to Margaret's face, although it could not erase the redness of her tear-strained eyes. After a few wistful looks she turned her attention to the conversation at hand.

"So Nicholas, I take it your presence here means you are yet to find work?"

"Aye lass," Nicholas replied, "Not a master in town wants to hire a union rouser-exceptin' your Thornton o'course...I mean..." Nicholas fumbled, realizing his mistake immediately. If he were her Thornton she might look less distressed in the moment. Mary had rushed to the house hours ago and told her what she expected Miss Margaret was here for. They had both imagined their friend would visit with joyful news.

"Oh don't trouble yourself Nicholas. Mr. Thornton was a great friend to my father, but I can't pretend to have the same familiarity with him."

Margaret was not ready to share the details of what had passed in the mill with anyone. She decided to change the subject hastily.

"Well I know the mill has closed but I must be sure that you are not going hungry before I can leave this town with a clear conscious."

"We need no charity," said Nicholas defensively. In truth he could not reject her offer of help if only for the sake of the children.

At the talk of food Mary chimed into the conversation. "I'm quite capable of seeing to it that all of Thornton's workers are fed. I did just fine with it in the mill kitchen."

Mary was proud of her work as cook at Marlborough Mills. She received no shortage of praise for her stew, and had always found the position very satisfying. Her greatest regret when the mill closed was that she would return to idleness.

Nicholas was prepared for Margaret to protest their refusal of help but instead of glowering disapprovingly she looked at them with bewildered curiosity.

"What kitchen?" Margaret asked.

"Oh well the mill kitchen," Mary began, excited to describe the venture in which she had held such an important role. "Mr. Thornton opened a kitchen at the mill some time ago. He paid to have one of the old buildings converted to a dining hall. All the men chip in for the materials and I make a meal to serve many. The food is much better than what can be made to serve a few."

"A tasty meal it was" Nicholas added with a smile at his daughter.

Margaret felt a warmth rush over her at this touching story. Even when she saw Mr. Thornton at his worst he always seemed to surprise her with his softer qualities.

Mary smiled for a moment in the compliment from her father, but then lowered her head in disappointment. "It is closed now though. He lost the property with the mill."

"Well who do you think he lost it to?" Margaret asked, an idea forming in her head. "I'm sure Mr. Bell would lend it to us tomorrow. He has quite a weakness for good cooking and that stew sounds like a dream. If I forward you the money for the ingredients do you think we could serve all of the out of work men by noon tomorrow?" Margaret turned to Mary for a response.

"And their families." she replied proudly.