I would like to thank wonderful betas: incredibly dedicated, patient Kayran and unbelievably thorough LittleBeth with her refined sense of English, and grammar wiz soccer4fc – all three more than just beta, but true editors – for their selfless labour. Lets have a round of applause… People, I said applause, not standing ovation, if you would embarrass them and they would run away, and where would I be then?

Anyway, thank you, Kayran, soccer4fc and LittleBeth, thank you very much indeed.

Err… Yes. Where have I been? Right. I will try to be good this time. No suggestive sentence structure anymore, no racy punctuation, I will be a good girl from now on. Well, probably a playful semicolon or provocative ellipsis now and then, but that's it. Yes, sir.

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Part four.

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Five and Eighty Pounds

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The rattle of carriage wheels behind the window brought him slowly back from the golden daze. For a few more moments he was simply savouring the perfect respite, mindlessly watching the movement of the light window curtain in the gentle spring breeze, but gradually the reality began to intrude. It was real! She was there, warm and soft, leaning trustingly in his arms. What had he done! He had betrayed every trust, every decency. He selfishly used a helpless, distraught person for satisfaction of his basest desires! Cold terror and disgust at himself were creeping through his mind. And yet, and yet he could not repent, could not interpret what happened with remorse. Beyond everything that made him a civilized being and a gentleman, his most inner soul was still treasuring the moments he lived through.

At least he would never let it hurt her. He would do all he could to make any possible amends. In any respect concerning society, he would make absolutely sure that she would not suffer for his crime.

He was struck by a sudden thought that the responsibility that society expected of him to carry out of honour was the very same prize he had been seeking in vain for so long. It was as if the punishment for eating the Forbidden Fruit was to accept the deed for Garden of Eden.

He rose on his elbow to see her face. Her eyes were closed but he knew she was not asleep. The large, translucent lids hiding her beautiful eyes trembled slightly under his gaze. How could he comfort her, reassure her? How could he even begin to ask her forgiveness? He lowered his head and kissed her temple, barely touching the warm skin.

She opened her eyes, and he was entranced by the expression. There was no blame, no guilt, no regret, only sad, shy tenderness. He cupped her face in his free hand and kissed the corner of her mouth lovingly, trying to convey his promise to protect her. She leaned into his hand, rubbing her soft cheek against his palm.

He hesitated, realizing that they have not spoken a word since he brought her to this room. It seemed sacrilegious to break the silence that united them. Yet there were words that needed to be spoken.

'Margaret' he whispered finally.

She looked at him.

'Margaret, what I did to you is unforgivable; I have betrayed Mr. Bell's trust and your father's friendship, I used your despair and weakness. I have claimed you without any right, but it was an error of judgement, not a crime of the heart. The guilt is mine; you will not suffer for my wrongs.'

She looked at him sadly.

'You regret...'

'No! I know that I broke every moral law, and my greatest remorse is over the great injury I have caused you; I am prepared to pay any penalty for it, but, guilty as I am, I cannot claim to feel regret.'

'You have done nothing that you would need to feel remorse over. I appreciate your noble intent of taking the fault on yourself, but I cannot accept it. You know as well as I do that it was my doing and my responsibility. I do not want any excuses of distress for myself. You did what you could to save me from myself. I did not want to be saved. Do not blame yourself, I beg you.'

'Margaret, you can not absolve me by taking the blame. I cannot let you have all the credit. Do you truly believe that you seduced my innocence without my active and willing participation?'

'Mr. Thornton, ...'

'Margaret, my parents were considerate enough to give me a Christian name.'

She stumbled, abashed, and dropped her eyes. She was speaking to his bare chest now, her fingers tracing his collar bone, unaware of the effect it was having on him. He was obliged to trap her hand under his to be able to listen to her.

She blushed; not lifting her eyes, and went on:

'I lost so much... I could not face this last loss. You were sending me away. I would never see you again! I could not let go. It was never your fault. I had sinned long in my heart. What happened here did not change much, only gave me a brief happiness that I did not deserve. I have no family to disgrace. The loss of my honour and character will not touch anyone aside from myself. My family... I am a true Hale, after all. My brother followed his heart in the mutiny, against the naval laws. My father followed his heard into dissent, against his church. Now I followed my heart into your arms, against all the morals of the society. Like my brother and my father, I am prepared to pay the full price for it. You need not to worry about me. I shall go to my aunt, as you wished, if she will still have me.'

'I never wished it. I hated sending that letter…' he swallowed. 'that would take you away.'

She looked in his face sad and longingly.

'I learned to value and admire you when you despised me. I know I deserved it, not for what I was censured, but for the lie that I told.'

'Would you ever be able to forgive me for suspecting you? I never stopped loving you, though in my foolishness I once declared that I did.' he pleaded. She blinked and went on dreamily, as if she had not heard him.

'Your face has haunted me for so long. I would notice it on the crowded street from anywhere, always stern, frowning at me in displeasure. But now I have another image of your face... ' - he almost blushed himself in realization of what moment - his face was contorted in rapture, - she named so innocently ... 'For one brief moment I had a power to extort it from you. I will treasure it and will be proud of it to my dying day, even if you will cast me off in disgust in the next, as you must.'

'Cast you off?!'

He was struggling to grasp the enormity of it. She loved him in a way he never hoped she would. Yet she spoke of it simply, as if some obvious thing of common knowledge. Yes, he hoped to win her affections with time, and he knew that her affections were warm and enduring when bestowed. He had not even dreamed of this. He felt awed and unworthy of such precious feelings. He hated the thought of her suffering – when one word, one glance would have brought him to her feet!

'Margaret. Marrying you would not be a punishment for a sin. It is a prize I have wanted to win for a very long time. Punishment would be to send me away from your side. No matter what the demands are of society on my honour, I will not use it to force you do what you do not want. If you wish, I will live my life from now on knowing that no honour can belong to me, that the one I love is forbidden to me. All you need is say is "John Thornton,"' he stressed the first word slightly, '"I am disgusted with you, I do not forgive you, I will not have you, leave my side forever"'

Her eyes were opening wider as he spoke, as if in disbelief. When he fell silent, she took a shaking breath, and opened her lips in a silent movement, as if trying to articulate something with effort. Finally, she frowned in determination, looked him in the eye and said:

'John Thornton.' Her voice broke, but she continued: 'You are not responsible for what I have done. I will answer for my own actions. I do not wish you to sacrifice anything for the sake of my reputation or fine notions of honour; I want you to be free.'

He rolled over on his back, still holding her, so that she ended on top of him. Her hair, usually arranged in a complicated coif, came loose, spilling over her shoulders. Only one single pin still bravely held up a dark lock over her temple, giving her somewhat rakish look. He adored her.

'Free? Free to do what I want?'

'Yes, unshackled of any obligations.'

'Even if I wish to walk away.'

'Yes.'

'But what if I do not wish any such thing? Am I equally free to be with the one I have loved for so long, with whom I am now joined before God? Am I free to have you by my side for the rest of my life? Margaret, do not punish us both in the name of your pride. You claim responsibility. And so we both should. But you will not claim it in full. Nothing so easy as rejection and feeling miserable. I expect more courage from you. Take also full responsibility for your own happiness and future.'

He was awed at the exquisite, abominable pride of this woman, who looked so childlike and fragile with her soft lips, and narrow naked shoulders. That thought led to another idea. She seemed unaware of their state of nakedness, something that his own body, pressed to the full length of hers, could not allow him to forget. It was only a matter of minutes until she would notice that in his madness he had not left a stitch on them.

He was not inexperienced; he had seen women in various state of undress, shifts, and nightgowns, but not this Eden-like bareness. In her complete innocence she accepted everything he in his passion wished to do with guileless trust, without knowledge or care for what was considered appropriate. Women of any stature, even the poor deprived creatures who sold their bodies on the streets expected some pretense of propriety. But he had neglected that too.

He steeled himself for her anger and mortification at his blatant disregard for her modesty, and in another moment realized that it would not come. She did not know, did she? It was not supposed to happen like that. Not before whispers of mothers and aunts would poison a new bride's mind against intimacy and desires of husbands. She was, indeed, his Eve before the Original Sin. He needed more than anything to make sure that this woman in his arms would stay in his arms forever.

A knocking sound came from below the window, and Margaret jolted like a startled bird. Though it was only horse hooves of some rider on the street, the magic of the moment was lost. Margaret shifted and muttered something about Martha returning soon.

'Are you afraid of a servant's disapproval now?' he asked, smiling. She coloured so furiously, that he could not resist pulling her head to him, hiding her hot face in the hollow between his neck and shoulder, until the heat of her blush dissipated into his skin. Yet, she was right. There was no point causing any more tittle-tattle than was absolutely necessary.

Their clothes were in a pile on the floor, black on black, his mourning mixed with hers. He untangled his coat and breeches from her dress, and placed the dress carefully on the bed, smoothing out the creases.

Shame about the corset. He doubted it was mendable now. He did not quite recollect how it happened, he only remembered dimly tearing at the hooks while small hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

The house was so tiny that there was no such luxury as a dressing room. He gathered his clothes and walked to the washstand. He could feel her eyes on his back and turned; she did not realize that she was staring at him awe-struck. Out of mischief he permitted himself the pleasure of sliding his gaze lazily over her uncovered body until she blushed and dove for her shift. He finished dressing and went to the next room, to give her some privacy and to have a few minutes of freedom to arrange his own thoughts.

He was back in the room he knew well. He could feel the deep, sucking emptiness in his chest at the thought that he would never again sit here with his mentor. There would never be another quiet, intelligent discussion of Plato or Aristotle. The soft, delicately nuanced voice would never again correct his pronunciation, and he would never be rewarded for an idea or an effort with a mild, approving look in Mr. Hale's eyes. The book on the table, bound in fine white vellum was the very same volume of Plato they had studied. He stroked its spine fondly, and once again firmly embraced his guilt. He placed his hand flat on the book in his resolve to protect his teacher's child, as if swearing on the Holy Scripture.

He would be as patient as it would take. She loved him. Only her pride was standing between them now, and he knew that her heart was greater than her pride. His love and care would support her; they would live through the grief and would find new happiness on the other shore of this strait. He saw a pale light of hope in her eyes, amongst damp, cold walls of grief and loneliness. He would nurture that weak flame with all he had.

Unconsciously he was listening to the small sounds coming from the room he had left, his mind supplying images to every splash of water and rustle of clothes. When it all went silent he strained in anticipation. It seemed like the meeting after this brief separation would decide his fate from now.

The silence stretched until his nerves were tingling. Finally, the door opened, and she came out, fully and to all appearances impeccably dressed in black that had nothing to hide from him now; only her hair was twisted in a simple low knot instead of its usual arrangement.

She glanced at him briefly and dropped her eyes again, as he stepped closer and took her hand. In another moment she pulled it away, blinking away a tear. She strove once again to assume casual, civil behavior, though did not yet trust herself to speak. She checked the tea urn, and finding that it was quite cold, took it to the kitchen. Thornton trailed after her without thinking.

The fire was nearly dead in the grate and he occupied himself by rebuilding it, while Margaret filled the kettle. In another moment he was caught in a charm of unintended - and probably unnoticed by Margaret - domesticity. His old gift of always knowing without looking where she was and what she was doing was apparently shared by her, too, and together they were weaving a simple dance of preparing the tea in perfect accord.

He caught her hand after she passed him the filled kettle.

'Margaret. Is your pride the only thing that stands between us?'

'Mr. Thornton... John,' she said, finally. He felt his heart swelling. 'I... I still fear that you are…' she shook her head at his attempt to interrupt her. 'I do not beg to be cajoled. I know your integrity and your honour and do not wish to tax them to flatter my vanity. However, if I am to retain any right for integrity myself, I can not accept you being pressured by some idea of duty into doing something you would not want to do otherwise,'

'Margaret, look.' He pulled out his pocket book, showing her pressed yellow roses there, and watched her lips part in surprise.

'These are from Helstone! I would recognize them anywhere! Where did you get them?'

'I went to Helstone last Friday, on my way from Havre. When I could not hope to ever call you mine, I wanted some share in your life, even something as remote as seeing the place where you were happy. See, they are not quite dry yet. Do you still think I do not want to be with you?'

Her eyes, round in wonder, blinked at him incredulously 'You went to Helstone because of me?'

'If I knew this would help my case, I would have been going there weekly'

She did not smile, but he could see the gleam of hope growing stronger in her eyes.

The kettle was boiling; glad to have an occupation, they filled the urn and gathered the tea things. There was the milk and bread that Mary brought, and after a moment of consideration Margaret dug out of the depth of the cupboard a small clay jar still half-full with jam. Thornton suddenly felt ravenous; he enjoyed this very inadequate repast more than any feast in his life. He was gratified to see that Margaret was eating now, too.

'Margaret, what other objections do you have against us?'

She smiled wanly. 'I am running out of objections. The disparity of fortune, maybe?'

He covered her hand with his. There was a bond between them; he could feel it stronger than ever. He pulled on it, willing her to look at him. Obedient to the unsaid command, she raised her eyes. He spoke to her then, honestly, ruthlessly laying the real state of his affairs to her. He admitted that his fortune suffered heavy blows lately, business having never recovered from the strike, that he had barely enough funds to cover the payroll, and that he was struggling to keep the doors of the mill open from day to day.

'Margaret, as it is now I depend on the money I have borrowed from Latimer. He extended my debt several times already, but it cannot continue indefinitely. If at any time the banker would take a fancy to call the debt, I would have to close the mill and surrender the house. There is no property difference between us now. I stand on the brink of failure. I have no opulence to offer you, I am as penniless as you are. All I offer to you is myself, my devotion and my love. I do not want to buy you as my possession, I could not do it now if I wanted.'

'I am sorry to hear it. Poor Mrs. Thornton!'

'I assure you that it will never come to the actual need. I am certain to find a good position in town, if not as master, then as an employee of another, and eventually as a partner. With you by my side I am prepared to start over again. I have experience and reputation that will help me on my way. I will be able to support my family... including children... in reasonable comfort.'

'Children...' she blinked at the new idea.

'Margaret, you might be already...' he struggled for the words. Her eyes rounded, and the weak light of hope he tended so carefully all this time trembled precariously, and then flashed forward like a bright sunlight.

'And you still want me for your wife? After all that has happened?'

'Yes. Emphatically. With all my heart.'

'And your financial state is indeed as bad as you are saying?'

'Yes. I owe the bank almost four hundred pounds and the mills hardly makes enough to cover the rent, cotton purchases and payroll.'

She frowned and threw her head back proudly, but the light still danced in her eyes.

'All right. Then I want to buy you for my possession. With the dilapidated state of your affairs I should be able to afford it.' He was so shocked by this unexpected declaration that he almost choked on his tea.

'Margaret, this morning you had four small pieces of sugar and two ounces of cheese in your cupboard. You were doing your own ironing!'

She looked even more proudly at him, something he did not think possible.

'I did not wish to waste money without need. It has saved me funds for that acquisition I have mentioned.'

'And how do you wish to purchase me for your own?' he asked, smiling softly down at her, his chest tightening in profound affection.

A cloud of sadness passed over her face for a moment, but she continued in the same business like tone.

'I will have some money. My parents...' she stumbled again. 'My parents had a small independent income of some hundred seventy pounds. At least half of it, about five and eighty pounds a year, was settled on my mother, to become my future portion. The rest would belong to my brother...'

'Can he claim his inheritance without risking his life?'

'It would be too much risk for him to come, and I doubt he would want to, but it is my duty to send him his part.'

'He does not need it?'

'He has some financial independence now. He had a good position before, but now he has been accepted as junior partner to the company since he had married Miss Barbour, the only child of the owner.'

'Barbour. As in Barbour & Co. of Cadiz?'

'You know of them? I am sure that I can pass money through one of their offices in England...'

'I buy fabric dye from them. So, you expect a partner and heir of one of the largest trading companies on the Continent to accept five and eighty pounds from you, while you iron your clothes yourself?'

'It is his money. If he refuses, I will be glad of it, but I must offer him his fair share. And I usually don't iron, it was only today that Martha had to leave.'

'Of course. And with the rest your great fortune you intend to buy out Marlborough mills from the debt I accumulated? Does it remind you of something? Λέων και μυς*...'

'Aesop has nothing to do with this!' she said, annoyed, and perfectly at home with his reference.

'Certainly not. He was a sensible man, who wrote sensible, reasonably believable fables. Oh, there were talking animals with all kinds of lofty ideas, but he would never have thought of writing about a tiny mouse who offered to save two lions at once. Now, that would be ridiculous, he would have been laughed out of Athens.'

'You might laugh, but it is enough to cover the debt and keep the mills open, and the families of the workers fed.'

'Margaret, five and eighty pounds a year would not cover house rent and two servants.'

'I am not proposing to waste my money on that! You said that your debt is less than four hundred pounds. The income of my parents is dividends from what little they had, bringing four percent interest. You once said that if a good buyer would come to you, you would wait with your hat in hand at any time.' He gloried that she had remembered his words from so long ago. 'I am making you a business proposition that you would take this money and reinvest in the mills. Eighty five pounds a year is more than two thousand pounds capital. It will cover the debt and clear you completely.'

Then a small part of him that did the ledgers and could think in pounds and percentages woke up and attested to the truth of her words.

'You offer all you have to me?' He looked at her in wonder, deeply touched. Everything in him, his pride, his desire to protect her, rebelled violently against the very idea. But at the edge of his consciousness the John-who-did-the-ledgers who had not quite faded out yet, snidely supplied: "fool, look at the whole bargain". He gazed intently down at her face, as she continued:

'I do not want the mills to close, for people to lose their livelihood and you... you not being a Master. If you take it, will it help?'

'Yes, it would help.' Now he could see it. John-who-did-the-ledgers was right. In her selfless care for others she overlooked what her proposal entailed. And he would be a fool to let it pass. He extended his hand to her, as to a business partner.

'Do we have a bargain?'

She took it and shook solemnly. 'Yes, we do.'

'You probably did not notice it, but you just agreed to marry me,' he said, grinning. He did not release her hand, holding it warmly.

'I suppose I did,' she pursed her lips thoughtfully. 'It was probably the most prosaic agreement ever. Why, we only talked about money, and marriage stipulation came as a legal detail.'

'I am sure there is no more mercenary couple in the world,' he said, his voice breaking with tenderness.

'Trader' she said with a small smile.

'Trader's wife.' he teased her back.

'And you are sure you want to marry me? You could do better than eighty five pounds.'

He reached with his free hand and traced the underline of her jaw with the back of his forefinger until he reached the point just under her proud chin. There he stopped and gently raised her head to look directly into her eyes.

'No man could do better.' He said quietly.

'So you agree to be bought off for this measly price?'

'To you it's a bargain even for a tuppence. You've held the clear title for many months now. But now I too have what I have wanted for so long.'

'You have had it for many months, too.' she lowered her head shyly, brushing her cheek against the back of his hand.

'Margaret... when? Is it too bold of me to ask you when you will give me your hand?'

'You are holding it right now,' she smiled down at their joined hands. 'It is yours whenever you wish it. If we are joined before God, we cannot be joined before people too soon.'

'Beware, Love. For I wish it today, right now, before we say another word.'

'I only wish it was possible. It takes many weeks.'

'Only the poor are married by banns these days'

'Are you so extravagant to request a special license?'

'No. We are not so poor as to be married by banns, but I am not sure we can afford one and twenty pounds for a special license. It is a quarter of your annual income.' He stole a quick kiss from her lips. 'We both live here, a standard license would do for us.'

'Still it will take time to obtain it. Milton cannot boast on higher clergy.' It was true. Wait. He was suddenly struck with an idea. Of course, St. Catherine. Why didn't he think of it before?

'Do you believe in my abilities?'

'Completely.'

'And I have your agreement to marry me as soon as I can set up a priest?'

'I would like at least half an hour notice.'

"I think I can promise you that much, but do not try my patience further.'

The kitchen door was opened by someone with a key. John and Margaret looked at each other.

'Martha' she said, a little guiltily.

He got up before she had any chance to and went to have a few words with the girl. Martha was surprised to see him, but her habitual loyalty to the Thorntons was unwavering. He briefly informed her of the death of her master, and waited out her effusions of sorrow. When her grief subsided, he explained what help he expected her to give Miss Hale. On the afterthought he pulled a note from his pocketbook and instructed Martha to get some items from the grocer, probably more suitable for a hearty Christmas dinner than a dainty supper on a warm spring day, but he could not get the emptiness of that cupboard out of his mind.

Now that Martha was at hand, he knew that he needed to make haste if he was to implement the idea that hit him a few moments ago. He should just bow and go, as propriety required. And he would, if only he had not looked once again at her pale face, where the lips he had bruised glowed pink and translucent in the oblique ray of the setting sun.

When he finally tore himself away, her eyes were closed and she reached for the door post for the support. His own head reeling, he resolutely turned away and walked out, removing himself from further temptation.

To be continued…

* Thornton is referring to the Aesop's fable "The Lion and The mouse". If you don't recall it, it goes like this: A Lion trapped a Mouse under his paw; Mouse begged for mercy, promising to help the Lion in the future. Much amused, Lion let it go. But later, when hunters caught the Lion and tied him to the ground, grateful Mouse chewed through the ropes and released him.

Stay with me, people. Just a couple more chapters to go.