People, its not really an update. Its a teaser and a beta-bait. I have not been posting for so long that I do not dear to approach my old long suffering and already way-too patient with me betas. Though of course I am terribly grateful for all they have already done for me and I wish I had any moral right to ask them again, but as it is now – well, I have to appeal to the public. People, please. If you dont feel sorry for me, feel for the readers, they should not suffer.

Just as an example of what you guys would have to put up with without a wonderful touch of beta – a rough draught of newest chapter. Read if you dear, weep and if possible, offer a helping hand to a struggling author in dear need.

Are yu sure? Then go on.

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Chapter 9.

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Servant and Aunt

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Thornton woke up with a strange feeling of floating above the bed. He could feel the touch of the sheets on his skin, but the body felt weightless and timeless. He was sharply aware that he was experiencing something for the first time in his life, waking up with his wife. Soft, warm pressure of Margaret's body against his was new and wonderful. She was still asleep, her light, even breath was so soothing and peaceful he could stay like that forever. The morning light was only beginning to seep between the curtains; it outlined the old familiar things in his room and the things that were new: the clothes hanging over the back of the chair that were not his, the new exciting smell in the air, the white fragile shoulder peaking from under the covers, the young sleepy face right there, next to his. A mere three days ago he did not dear to imagine waking up and seeing it resting on his shoulder, for all the mornings of the rest of his life.

Her lips were relaxed in their usual rich, serene curve; yet he remembered them opened in passion and bitten savagely to keep a moan of pleasure from escaping. He, too, now had his reward to treasure. He always imagined that she would be passionate and responsive, he always felt the hidden fires within; and he took his time last night to unlock what was there, to learn how to please his new wife, held back his own need until he knew he had the power to bring her there with him.

She was so close, it took the slightest bent of the head to reach and kiss her. The rhythm of her breath changed, and in a moment the large eyes still full of sleep opened to meet his own. She blinked, caressing his cheek with her eyelashes; there was a brief moment of uncertainty in her eyes while the reality displaced the dreams, and she blinked once again as if trying to make sure that what she sees is solid and real. Seemed satisfied on that account she kissed him back contentedly. In another moment she moved her head back a little, watching his face in wonder, as if she had never seen him before.

He pulled her back to him, stroking her tangled hair gently. there were no words they could say in this morning light, no reference to the wondrous unity of body and soul, the miracle that happened last night and stayed with them forever, a secret below the facade they could show to the world during the day. Pity they could not stay like that for hours, even days or weeks. The idea of a honeymoon perhaps was wiser than he thought before. To have Margaret all to himself, for days and days, with no worry would be a happiness too magnificent to happen to a mere mortal man. Perhaps that was the reason why was impossible for them. As it was, they could not spare time or afford carefree indulgence. The work was allotted for them for many days ahead. He had to get up and leave her and face the toils of the day and whatever new troubles it would bring.

He kissed her lightly one more time, fighting the temptation to submit to the rising passion that the proximity of her sweet body was so readily awakening, and carefully began to rise. Margaret almost reached to pull him back, but checked herself shyly.

'Sleep, my love, it is still early.'

'Are you going to the mill already.'

'Yes, but there is no need for you to get up. You had a cruel time. You need your rest.'

'No. There is much to do.' she said, the awareness of the reality of their storm-beaten life was replacing sleepy serenity in her face. Her slight frown of determination for so long was both dear and disquieting for him.

"Are you going back to Crampton?"

"I must. Dixon is returning today, what would she think! Oh, how will I tell her about papa!"

Though already half out of the bed, Thornton leaned back to hold her for a moment longer. Secretly he hoped that Dixon would come before Margaret would reach Crampton today. This way Martha would have time to break the news about their master's passing, sparing her young mistress the worst of the pain. But if Margaret was determined to be there this early, there was no avoiding of painful explanations, and he knew his wife well enough to know that she would wish to do it herself.

The new life they were starting together did not negate the obligations she had in the old one. Her things needed to be packed, her household servants informed in the change of the circumstances and at least one of them dismissed, her father's things needed to be prepared for a move or sale. On top of all that, and probably most importantly, she needed to reflect on her grief and simply be alone for a while. Poor girl had not had much time for quiet reflection on her loss. He did hid best to comfort her during the worst of her sorrow, but he knew that she needed to face it alone sooner or later. Therefore he did not argue with her plan to walk back to Crampton as early as possible, and with the last kiss helped her up.

This time her dress was carefully hang on the chair, but Margaret laughed softly when she saw his hat on the dressing table. It was true, Martha used way too many pins. Last night he was too preoccupied to look for a better place for them, and blindly stuck them in the first suitable surface, the top of his own hat. In fact, he thought it was rather clever of him at the moment. And now there was a semblance of a silvery cloud hovering above the crown of the tall black hat. Perhaps not the rage of London fashion, but it did get the job done and now it earned a laugh from Margaret, therefore it could be considered a double success.

The movement downstairs and the muted clinking of dishes told him that the servants were already busy making his early tea. Apparently, the household did not expect him to neglect his morning work on his wedding morning. Indeed, they were right, he could not afford the luxury of staying in bed for many days yet. He finished dressing and to his surprise found that Margaret was nearly ready too. He had a vague impression that the ladies took a long time to get ready in the morning, probably from the habits of his sister.

'I shall need to speak to the landlord,' she mused 'the lease is until the end of summer, but with Father gone...' her voice stumbled a little.

'I will speak with him today' John said quickly.

'Thank you. You are kind, but you do not need to...'

'Margaret, I will see him today in any case. You will have plenty things to do, I expect'

'True. I should start right away'

'Would you at least have a cup of tea before you go?

They ended up having a longer tea together than either of them expected, and recalled the duties of the day only when the elder Mrs. Thornton entered the room. Margaret refused the cab again, to the silent approval of Mrs Thornton and mocked despair of John, but looked pleased when he promised to join her in Crampton in the early afternoon as soon as his work would permit.

Thornton headed for the mill without much expectations for the successful day. Yet there was much to be done. The price for cotton went up again, and he needed to find additional funds to keep the mill going. The wheel in the carding room was showing signs of wear, the gears would need to be replaced soon or the workers would have to choke on the dust again. He learned another hard lesson from the strike, that caring for the workers paid in more than just moral values, the trained employees were more efficient than the hands he imported from Ireland even though their pay was higher. He had incurred almost as many losses from poor quality of fabric the incompetent workers have produced as from the strike itself. No, the other masters were doubly wrong. Trained hands were the valued asset of the business. Keeping them healthy and happy increased his own earnings.

Not all news were bad, though. They were definitely going to complete the order due on Monday, and ship it on time. Thornton also found an error a clerk made in the ledger, which would have upset him more if not for the fact that after correcting it he saw that he has some money left over.

He was so busy he missed his lunch time. When he returned home to change it was well into the afternoon. Mother was waiting for him in her usual chair, and told him in her usual brisk way that she saved him some cold meat when he was late for lunch.

The table was set for one. He felt that his mother was not happy. There were signs of a mute distress in her face as the sudden changes in their family life made her position in her own home uncertain and the love of her own son divided. Thornton could see her discomfort in the rigidity of her posture and curter than usual address. She did not deserve to feel abandoned in the wake of his happiness.

He ignored the cup on the table and went to get another one and poor tea for himself and his mother.

She accepted with a prim smile that indicated that she understood his motives, but he saw a genuine gratitude under it and that made him feel a little guilty. He made sure he had leisurely tea with her, stifling his impatience to see how Margaret fared against formidable opposition of Dixon.

Treading the familiar path Thornton was marvelling at the difference two days made. For the first time he had certainty, the woman he was hurrying to see was his wife and there was nothing that could change that. He did not need an excuse of lesson or social visit, his purpose was, for the first time, fully acknowledged. He went to help his wife and bring her home. He was repeating these word in his mind, revelling in the simple, mundane sound that conveyed such incredible happiness.

The day was not as clear as yesterday, scattered clouds giving some relief from the worst of the early afternoon heat. The spring was early this year. As Thornton crossed the little treed area near the cemetery he saw that the early crocuses were already wilted and daffodils were now peeking though the wispy, uncared for grass by his path. He stopped at the crest of the little hill, feeling the breeze on his face. When was the last time he had time to notice the spring time?

Crampton was spread before him now. He could distinguish the dark roof that he was for so long associated with 'Margaret', and felt a little tingle of regret that very soon that roof will once again become just one of many. A small price for having now Margaret by his side, and yet – a mark of maddening, exciting, challenging part of his life passing away forever.

Just as he came to the house the saw a hired carriage pulling away. Certainly Dixon would have walked from the station, would not she? Then who would be calling at such time? The visitor, he assumed with some dismay, could be only the aunt, who apparently arrived with afternoon train. Mrs. Shaw, was it? Well, it was only to be expected. He needed to face Margaret's side of the family sooner or later.

When he knocked, the door was opened only a crack by soggy and sobbing Dixon. She was clearly surprised and not at all pleased to see him. True to herself, she she ponderously gathered herself up and begun to tell him that Miss Hale was not receiving visitors but she can take his card. Apparently, Margaret yet not have informed Dixon about the change in her status or her last name. Thornton did not see any reason for secrecy, but he could sympathize; receiving the news about the sudden death of her master was difficult enough for the poor woman. Yet, he was in no mood to be turned away. As Dixon released the door for a moment to accept a card from him, he gently but firmly pushed the door open and deftly stepped around her large form. Poor Dixon was outraged by such disregard of propriety, but it was too late to stop him from going upstairs.

'Mr Thornton, do not disturb her, please,' she cried after him. 'Miss is too bereaved, why can not you respect her loss! her only remaining family, her aunt from London, just arrived...' her voice was trailing after him, but he did not listen. His business was not with Dixon, and if Margaret yet did not choose to tell her, she might have had her reasons.

He ascended the rickety stairs in few long strides and entered the familiar drawing room unannounced, to the great surprise of the two ladies within. With some pleasure he noticed that Margaret's start clearly had a good deal of relief in it. It was evident that both Margaret and the Aunt were in the middle of an emotional turmoil, both their faces stained with tears. As Thornton came in, Margaret unconsciously got up and moved to his side, already used to seek support from him in her grief. The aunt, however, was quite put out by that intrusion, and if she did not directly reprimanded him for his behaviour, she showed her displeasure clearly.

Thornton looked at her with some astonishment, too. She looked nothing like a fashionable dragon he had imagined. Well, she was fashionable, all right, but if anything she looked like a fussy, good-natured hen with her short sharp nose and painstakingly curled little ringlets all around her face.

The heavy creaking on the stairs and loud laboured breath announced the arrival of Dixon. Her first concern was to assure the ladies that Thornton did not listen to her when she tried to stop him.

'It is all right, Dixon,' said Margaret quietly.

'Margaret!' clucked her aunt, quite scandalized. 'I have never seen any such behaviour in London. Barging in in such way, during this time of grief! Margaret, you are too lax with these Milton manners.'

'Aunt, let me introduce Mr. Thornton to you. Mr. Thornton is a prominent master of a mill in Milton, and is well respected. Mr. Thornton, my aunt Mrs. Shaw. Please, Aunt, Mr. Thornton was a very good friend to my father, and uncommonly kind to Mother when she was ill. He is always welcome here.'

Thornton bowed to the older lady and moved back to stand by Margaret's side, expecting her to continue and explain the news about their marriage. But before Margaret had any chance to say anything Mrs. Shaw took interrupted once again.

'I am sure we are all very grateful for Mr. Thornton kindness to your poor parents; however, Mr Thornton would understand how very busy at this unfortunate time. Dearest Margaret, I can not imagine what your father was thinking, bringing you to this horrible place! If I only knew how it was, I would have never let you stay here! My poor sister, what must she have suffered! I must take you back to London as soon as possible, and Dixon would take care of all the things that need to be sold.'

That went quite far enough for Thornton. He could no longer remain silent.

'Take away? Impossible. Margaret?' Surely it would be better if his wife would explain things to her family herself, but he was ready to support her if she needed him.

'Aunt, I am sorry, I should have told you sooner. I will stay in Milton. I will not go back to London...' Margaret started hesitantly, looking for a way to tell her aunt gently, but Mrs. Shaw was not expecting any opposition, however mildly posed.

'Child, what are you talking about? How can you possibly stay here? What for? How can you live here?'

'Aunt, I will stay here. I am truly grateful that you came so quickly...'

'It is all nonsense, child. We will return with the next train. Poor thing, it is all the shock, I am sure it is. When dear General passed away I was just as distraught. But you will feel much better in London.'

Thornton took Margaret's hand to give her strength for the upcoming difficult explanation. The gesture did not escape Mrs. Shaw attention and incensed her greatly. For the first time she suspected that something might be between Thornton and her niece and she stepped in to interfere instantly.

'Whatever ideas you might have, Mr. Thornton, or whatever this silly child might have imagined, I am her nearest relation and I will not stand for this.'

'No.' said Thornton, beginning to lose his patience.

'Excuse me, sir?'

'You are not Margaret's nearest relation, Mrs. Shaw.'

'Pray, what do you mean, sir?' cried Mrs. Shaw, with ruffled feathers. Thornton raked his brain how to start.

'Mrs. Shaw, since we have been introduced already, let me introduce this lady to you. Mrs. Shaw – Mrs. Thornton. Mrs. Thornton – Mrs. Shaw.'

'John, please, it is not the time for levity,' murmured Margaret.

'No.' said Thornton. 'Nor is it the time for games. Your aunt deserves to know the truth.'

Mrs. Shaw was still gaping at them, unable to say a word while Dixon huffed and left the room with every sign of disapprobation.

'Mrs Thornton? Margaret! Speak to me! What does he mean?' she finally clucked.

Margaret disengaged her hand from his and walked to her aunt.

'Aunt, forgive me. I have written to you yesterday, but I suppose the letter have arrived after you have already left for Milton. I have married Mr. Thornton, and I am sorry I did not tell you right away.'

'When did you marry?' croaked the older lady.

'Yesterday, aunt. It was a quiet wedding.'

'Yesterday!' Mrs. Shaw was outraged. "Yesterday, over the fresh grave of your father! No respect for the dead, no mourning as such. That man! He must have used your grief to his end.'

Discomforted with how close it hits to the truth, Thornton fell silent, while Mrs. Shaw rattled on about how ridiculous the whole idea of wedding to a Milton trader was and wither there was a possibility of annulment. Surely the silly child was out of her mind to through herself away in such a way. But now Margaret could not remain silent. She declared firmly that she had loved her new husband for many months, and that she had married him willingly. Thornton come back to her side and pressed her hand reassuringly.

'But to marry so soon after your poor father's death!' cried Mrs. Shaw, though in a voice a little less certain.

'It is not an impediment for marriage, as you well know,' said Thornton. 'precisely because she was left so alone, I could not possibly part with Margaret or leave her unprotected.'

'She has family!' bit Mrs, Shaw angrily.

'Yes. Where she would live as a dependent, with no means of supporting herself.'

Mrs. Shaw was clearly offended by such blunt statement and Margaret looked at her husband with reproof. He really should have been more delicate on this topic, but he could not recall his hasty words. However, it appeared that Mrs. Shaw did not expect any breeding from a man from Milton in any case and he merely convinced her that she was right all along. She looked at him down her little bony beak and continued her interrogation:

'Pray, tell me, sir, can you support a wife?'

'Yes, madam. I can not guarantee the affluence, but she will never be in need.'

'You have sufficient means to your name?'

'It is largely invested in the industry. At the moment it suffered some set backs and it is hard to evaluate the real worth. However, my income is not entirely dependant on dividends, but rather on what I can earn with my labour.'

'Margaret, what were you thinking!' cried Mrs. Shaw. 'A trader, without fortune, education or connections! Child, you could do so much better in London!'

The older lady hanged protectively over her niece and threw displeased glances at Thornton, apparently trying to find more faults in him. Thornton tried to overcome his anger at her presumption and to reflect calmly on her treatment of him. She certainly was very attached to Margaret, and did rush to Milton, away from the side of her own daughter, who, he understood, was in a delicate state of health at the moment. Her feelings upon finding that Margaret had secured a protection for herself in such an unexpected and almost scandalous way were quite understandable. More so since she found her position now a little awkward: she was no longer needed as a saviour of her niece, her benevolence was unwanted, her kind intentions were disregarded. A greater mind would be shaken by such turn of events, and Mrs. Shaw's ability to still be kind to Margaret was to be admired as a sign of a steady and forgiving affection. She was nonetheless offended, of course. She declared that if Margaret was so determined to persist in her foolishness and stay in Milton, her duty was to return to her daughter in London with the very next train and leave her niece to her folly. It took her quite some time to express her feelings, mixed with expressions of condolences to Margaret, regrets that she did not know how terrible the life in Milton was, or she would surely have taken her sister and niece away from this terrible place and prevent so many unfortunate events (Thornton felt an accusing glance on his person when this last bit was delivered). Yet Margaret did her best to soften her aunt with mild entreats and professions of attachment and regard until Mrs Shaw was mollified somewhat and was fully convinced of her importance as a matriarch. Further distraction was provided as the tea was brought up by red-eyed Dixon. The humbleness of the serving betrayed the privations of Hales' Milton life which caused more grief to the refined London aunt; she switched her attentions from her own injured pride to the sorrow over the suffering of her sister and niece at the hands of her erring late brother-in-law.

Meanwhile Thornton had time to send a note to his mother, informing her about appearance of the Aunt, and receive a replay from Mrs Thornton with remarkable dispatch. In her curt and direct way she issued an invitation for a dinner later that evening for the new relative. Aunt Shaw was taken aback by the speed her relationship with unexpected family was developed, but thought she could hardly refuse to wait on Margaret's mother in law. Of cause that meant that she would miss an evening train that she declared she intended to take, but the sad, mild imploring from Margaret were already testing her determination. The poor child needed her, even if she did threw herself away on Milton trader. Reluctantly Mrs. Shaw accepted an invitation to the Marlborough house and agreed to travel back in the morning.

As the afternoon progressed, Thornton found out that he underestimated the old lady. Though she appeared to be a fashionable but weak and not particularly clever (and in all probabilitygentle , indeed, was exactly that) she somehow managed to get entire little household under her fussy but firm command. Before he knew it, he was charged with sorting through the books and documents, Martha was tasked with final cleaning of the kitchens, while Margaret and Dixon were going through every closet and cupboard under the watchful eye of the Aunt. Yet the lady was truly kind to Margaret, and her fretting sympathy was given freely and with maternal affection. Thornton found some satisfaction in the fact that Margaret was at last a subject of gentle feminine care and compassion.

The conversation quickly turned to the unresolved subjects on hand, and the biggest, in every sense of the word, was poor old Dixon. She was clearly attached to both aunt and niece and was offered a choice to either follow her young mistress to her new home or return to the familiarity and comforts of the London house where she spent so many years. Apparently she served the family long before either Berethford sister was married, and now her loyalties were thorn between the daughter and sister of her beloved late mistress.

Thornton found himself acutely interested in the plans that concerned her. The woman was... intimidating, and it was some relief to him to realize that she really preferred finery of London to the smokes of Milton, and only sense of propriety restrained her from agreeing to Mrs. Shaw proposal too fast. There was a lot of attachment between Margaret and the servant; Dixon almost a family member and a friend to her mother. But their natures were too different, they never saw eye to eye, and, besides, Dixon had her other loyalties.

From the discussion that was unfolding in front of him, fascinated Thornton learned more about his wife's family than he could ever decipher before. The mystery of the proud bearing of the mother, who was never rich, or strong-willed, or ever had a high position in society was explained by small hints in Dixon and Mrs Shaw reminiscences. Two sisters, without fortune or eminence, brought up in a rich and grand house of an uncle, taught to be proud of the position they could not truly share, with fine sensibilities and without cleverness or money to support them. They made their way in the world as well as they could, and each had to surrender something to get by. One surrendered her lofty ideas and married old rich general, forever regretting her loveless marriage. The other married a man with a very small fortune for love and faced the hardships she never knew existed in the world. Likely both sisters in secret always imagined that the other one made a better choice. And Dixon was, apparently, serving them from the times they lived in Beresford's place, and loyal to the both sisters. She had been once already forced to chose between them when Mrs. Hale got married; she served Margaret now in the memory of her mother, but when the choice was again between the sister and the daughter, the sister had a greater claim on Dixon's loyalty both in the length of attachment and the purity of Beresford's blood in her veins. Margaret inherited too much from her father, whom Dixon never learned to appreciate. In the end, her choice was obvious.

And in addition to the calls of loyalty, there was a call of vanity. Dixon would never be able to command the household in Marlborough Mills where her haughty ways would be unwelcome, and she would not be offered the place of a housekeeper she was accustomed to with Hales'. At Lennox'es that position was hers by general accent. If Thornton suspected that the temptation of greater honour and luxury was a weighty consideration, he surely was not going to say it aloud.

The issue was eventually settled, with many expressions of concern from the old servant, who was not trusting Martha as Margaret's maid, or Margaret's comfort in the new place without Dixon's supervision, though of course the young lady made her own bed with this hasty marriage, what would her poor mother would say if she was here. Thornton was getting quite impatient with her mutterings by the time they were ready to go to Marlborough Mills, and went to get a cab with no small relief.

The return home to Marlborough Mills had not offered a repose from the days struggles. A formidable introduction took place in the stately dining room of the house. In the presence of the London guest he saw his own home as a it would appear to someone from refined society: a cold, over-formal room, probably betraying too much effort to be truly elegant and yet well appointed and clearly prosperous. Though Mrs Shaw was too well bred to be ether impressed by wealth or to show disdain by lack of refining, she did shudder a little as if she was cold.

The two proud old ladies were not disposed too kindly toward each other at first, and Thornton did not expect much pleasure from the meeting. But to his surprise they found some common ground quickly enough. They both were mildly disapproving of the hasty unequal marriages, and of the ill-minded people who do not act as they should. Thornton doubted very much that they had the same set of ill-minded people in mind, but was happy enough that they agree on some points at least.

By the time dinner was served an inevitable addition of Funny completed the dinner party. Of course she could not miss a chance to be introduced to her new London family. She smirked and chatted and was as silly and noisy as she always was in company, but she warmed up the old ladies as no one else probably could. Thornton had an impression that Fanny was probably more similar to Mrs Shaw own daughter that Margaret could ever be, and both matriarchs petted and indulged her so much that Margaret and himself were almost fully forgotten. Though common civility would not permit them leave the guests, this exclusion was like a little private shelter for two of them in the crowded room.

Thornton moved a little closer to his wife, enjoying a quiet moment together they could not afford all day. The look of dutiful attention with which Margaret was listening to lively exchange about London fashions between her aunt and sister in law did not change, but the corners of her lips tugged in appreciative smile at his approach. Pleased, but not completely satisfied, he took her hand and threaded it through the crook of his arm. She did not resist, and pressed his hand warmly, but did not take her proper and civil attention from the guests. Mischief pushed him to test her dedication to propriety. He hovered his hand over hers, not letting it touch, but warming the delicate tapered fingers under it. That got him a sidelong glance and a tiny smile. Persistent, he slowly caressed her long fingers with lightest of strokes and was rewarded by a slight blush, but she did not look at him again, dedicated to her duty as a young hostess. But now he knew he was winning. He brushed her index and middle fingers again, insistently, from the base down, and then up again, applying a slightest of pressures to pray them apart. For a moment, there was a small resistance, but then she yielded, opening to his caress, her lips slightly parted and her beautiful eyelids drooped a little. He softly stroked the inner surface of the fingers, opening them wider, as if in an intimate caress, and then gently, daringly, touched the tender sensitive webbing between them. Her gasp was both his prize and the end of his little game, as his mother turned her censorious eye toward them. He clamped his hand over Margaret's and arranged his face into expression off polite interest, but he never could fool Mrs. Thornton so far and apparently that was not the day for him to finally succeed. She did not say anything, satisfied with a pointed look, and got up with her proud air to offer Mrs Shaw, who by now was showing some fatigue, to show her the guest room.

Mrs. Shaw was all gratitude. She found much to the credit of elder Mrs Thornton, certainly. The solid worth, the steady character and honest opinions could not be faulted neither in Milton nor in London. But the lady's direct and not very polished way of expressing herself, and definite lack of appreciation of the delicate refinement of London was rather trying for her already exhausted guest.