~Chapter 2~
The wedding took place four weeks later, as soon as the banns had been properly read. John's heart thudded at the sight of Margaret in her favorite blue dress, but heard the guests whisper about the lack of white in none too guarded tones. Besides that, the wedding seemed something between a dream and a nightmare to John, as he stood at the altar with Margaret Hale, soon to be Margaret Thornton, but she seemed resigned and would not meet his eyes. When the time came, they kissed chastely. 'Our first kiss,' John thought. Margaret looked away immediately, but John's lips burnt for hours where hers had touched them. After, they walked together under a shower of rice and he helped her into the carriage.
"Margaret," John said, both to break the silence and to feel her intimate name cross his lips. She brought her head slowly up and met his eyes. "You look so beautiful," he breathed, unable to stop the words.
She blushed from shame, knowing he felt obligated to make the remark. "Thank you," she responded, looking out the window at the dirty streets and soot-stained houses in anticipation of reaching their destination, Marlboro Mills. John watched her hands twist nervously in her lap. He knew at once her fear but could not address it when the coachman might hear. They arrived, and John helped Margaret from the carriage, then scooped her into his arms to carry her over the threshold. She gasped, not expecting it. The closeness, which John had craved for months, was ruined by the feel of Margaret shying away from his touch and the way she bit her lip as though to keep from crying.
Exhausted and knowing his wife to be the same, John led Margaret to their bedroom, which he had straightened that morning in anticipation of this moment. She hesitated in the doorway for an instant, but was unwilling to show her weakness, and entered. She took in the strange room, with its dark blue décor and walnut furniture. In the dimming evening light, it felt like a cave with a large bed directly in the center of the far wall.
"Margaret," John said, now that they were alone. "I know this marriage is not what you wanted." He made himself continue rather than pausing to force her denial. "I do not expect anything of you. The house is full of guests or I would remove myself to another room for you. As it stands, we must share a room for the night, but we need not share the bed. It is yours."
Margaret so wanted to take him up on his offer, but dutifully responded, "We are married now. We will share a bed."
He nodded. "Your things are laid out on the bed. I will call a maid to attend you."
"No," she responded, bringing up her chin and trying to seem brave and in control, "They are all long in bed. I can care for myself."
John nodded again, removed his jacket and untied his cravat. Margaret watched, surprised that he would be so shameless before her. He slipped his shirt over his head and his undershirt after it. She turned away then, fearful that the half naked man would notice her watching, but the image of his broad shoulders and strong arms would not disappear.
"I will leave if you would rather," John suggested. Margaret realized with a start that he had finished changing and stood before her in a thin white nightshirt.
"No," she answered, meaning to sound strong, but it came out as a whisper. John turned away to offer her privacy. Margaret began unbuttoning the back of her gown, from bottom to top. She soon found that she could not reach the very highest buttons. She bit her lip and turned. Mr. Thornton stood with his back to her, offering Margaret a measure of privacy.
"Mr. Thorton," Margaret called, hesitantly.
"John," he corrected, smiling as he glanced over his shoulder at her.
"John," she began again. "I fear I will need the help of a maid. I cannot reach the buttons on this gown."
He nodded and then offered, "I could reach them for you." Immediately, John regretted his offer, for he saw from the pressing of her lips and the way her deep brown eyes dipped away from his for a moment that she was not comfortable with the idea.
Unable to name a plausible reason to refuse him, Margaret nodded. She counted his footsteps across the carpeted floor. One, two, three, four, five. He was beside her and his fingers gently began releasing the buttons that kept her captive in the dress. The silky blue dress had always been Margaret's favorite, but she felt betrayed by it now as it made her come into such close contact with Mr. Thornton.
John tried to conceal his reaction to the job of undressing Margaret. Each tiny button revealed a bit more of the undergarments beneath and the smooth white skin of his new wife. He fought the urge to brush a fingertip over her exposed shoulders. Finally, she was free. John stepped away and again averted his gaze, releasing a breath that he had not known he held.
Margaret quickly slipped out of her dress and undergarments and into the nightdress that she found laid out on the bed. "Finished," she stated. Mr. Thornton turned. Anxious to avoid entering the bed that she had foolishly insisted they share, Margaret sat at the vanity and began to unfasten and then brush out her hair.
Tired from the long day, John climbed into bed, a bed he had never before shared, and watched with pleasure Margaret sitting at the vanity as if she belonged, her long brown curls spilling over her back. He relaxed, dozing slightly until he realized that she no longer prepared for bed but avoided it.
"Margaret," Mr. Thornton called, interrupting her from the frenzied thoughts and fears that consumed her. "Will you come to bed or shall I sleep on the floor?"
"I am coming," she replied, resolutely returning the hairbrush to the vanity, extinguishing the candle and rising. She made her own way to the bed. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Even short steps reached the large bed fairly quickly. Steeling herself, Margaret blew out the candle, climbed into bed, pulled the covers over herself, and turned so that her back faced Mr. Thornton.
"Good night, Margaret," he whispered.
"Good night," she replied.
Both lay awake in the darkness, adjusting themselves to the strange situation. Husband and wife lay utterly still, trying desperately not to accidentally touch the other. Eventually, however, the exhaustion of the day's events forced both into uneasy slumber.
John woke in the middle of the night to find that no-man's-land had been breached. Margaret in her sleep had snuggled against his warmth. Her gentle breath and unconscious abandon tempted him to fall back to sleep with her beside him. However, he remembered her reluctance to even occupy his bed and, not able to stomach the thought of her horror at waking this way, softly pushed her away. Then, consumed with longing for what might never be his, he rolled over and fell back to sleep. Margaret woke to the feeling of Mr. Thornton moving her and realized what had happened. She was relieved not to have woken in his arms in the morning, but also was surprised to realize her hurt at his rejection.
The next morning Margaret woke to an empty bed. She dressed quickly, fearful that she had overslept, but when she reached the bottom of the carpeted steps, the clock in the hall read only quarter past seven. After searching the parlours, sitting rooms, and library, Margaret determined that Mr. Thornton – John – must have gone to the mill. She felt somewhat relieved at not having to face him, but quickly changed her mind when Mrs. Hannah Thornton descended the stair.
"Have you quite exhausted yourself in exploration of the house?" Mrs. Thornton asked. "I suppose you will want it all redone in the cheap, bright papers to which you are accustomed."
Margaret's temper stirred to life. "You give me no credit, madam," she managed to reply calmly, "Had you asked me how I liked the house I might have mentioned some details that I admired. Instead you insult me and I can think of nothing but those items I found in poor taste." She turned and walked away.
However, Margaret could not long escape her new mother-in-law. As the guests woke, rose, ate, and left, Margaret was summoned a dozen times to wish the strangers well on their journey and to hear them wish her well in her new position. Finally free after the last guest, an over enthusiastic woman who insisted on being called "Aunt Sherman", wrapped her in a tight and unexpected embrace and then climbed into her carriage, Margaret fled to the library. She was browsing over the book titles when a maid entered the room. "Tea, mistress," she called, bobbing a curtsey.
Margaret forced a smile, set down the book she had just selected, and followed the maid down an unfamiliar series of halls and into another sitting room. Mrs. Thornton sat serving herself. Mr. Thornton was nowhere in sight. Margaret seated herself on the yellow settee opposite Mrs. Thornton's chair and waited to serve herself, more than willing to pass the time in silence.
"My son is at the mill," Mrs. Thornton stated, having seen Margaret's eyes sweep the room. "Unlike the gentlemen to whom you are accustomed, my boy works hard for his money. You would do well not to expect him to change his lifestyle for yours. Yours did very little to raise your parents in the world."
Margaret pressed her lips together at the beginning of the speech, her mind racing for the perfect response, but the jab against her parents left her speechless. Only a year ago they had been so happy together, now Margaret was trapped with Mrs. Hannah Thornton's sharp tongue and absentee son. She rose, fighting tears, and fled the room.
Unsure where else to find solace, or at least silence, Margaret returned to the library and absorbed herself in the book she had selected, a history of the West Indies, until the fading light and the same maid informed her of the nearness of the supper hour. Margaret wandered about until she found the room she and Mr. Thornton had shared the night before. There, she selected a new gown, a burgundy one that her mother had always said brought out the auburn tones in her hair. The maid, whose name she thought was Julia, helped Margaret to dress. Margaret found herself eagerly anticipating a meal with her new husband. Any change would be welcome after an entire day with Hannah Thornton. She swept down the stairs and through the hall, congratulating herself internally for learning the pathways of the house. A smile stretched across her face and for the first time today creased the corners of her eyes. "How kind of you to keep me waiting," Mrs. Thornton remarked, dryly. Margaret took in the room, noticing at once the two place settings at the table, with Mrs. Thornton sitting at one.
"Does Mr. Thornton not dine here?" she asked, forcing herself to keep her chin high and her eyes free of tears of disappointment.
"He often works too late to eat with me," Mrs. Thornton explained. "You did not think your presence would change our daily routine?"
Margaret mutely seated herself across from Mrs. Thornton. She half heartedly helped herself to a slice of roasted beef and some boiled potatoes.
"I am sorry to be late," John Thornton stated, hurrying into the dining room. "I did try to get away earlier but one of the looms broke and it took an hour for Williams and I to coax it back into working order. Good evening, mother." John stooped and kissed his mother on the cheek, then turned to Margaret. He hesitated, then nodded at her. "Margaret." He seated himself and Edward, the butler, brought out another table setting. John set about filling his plate, heaping it high with meat, potatoes, and vegetables. Finished, he returned to conversation. "How was your day?" he asked Margaret.
"Miss H- Margaret believes we should redecorate the house," Mrs. Thornton declared, coldly.
"Indeed," John responded, pleased that Margaret would take such an active role in the household immediately. "We will have to wait until the next few shipments are in, but I would enjoy hearing your ideas."
Margaret flushed and could not look up from her plate whose contents she stirred but did not eat. "Your mother is mistaken," she finally offered, "I do not seek to cause ripples in the house management." She rose stiffly, mumbled some excuse about a headache, and again sought comfort in surrounding herself with the written word. This time, though, when she browsed the shelves she found herself face to face with her father's copy of Plato. She pulled it from its place and pressed it to her chest. Without warning, sobs began to shake her violently. Margaret threw herself down on the settee and cried herself out.
Back in the dining room, John listened silently as his mother recounted and critiqued Margaret's every action. Finally, he sighed. "Mother, we both know this match was not her plan. She is an orphan who finds herself newly married to a man she does not love and in a household that she does not know. Margaret surely never meant to suggest that your décor is unfashionable or that I am ungentlemanly. As for my hours, you yourself have complained that too often I forget or dismiss the time and inconvenience you." He placed his hand over hers on the table. "You must try to welcome her and to soften your words and actions. Not everyone knows they are meant to guide growth in character."
John rose and went to find Margaret. He headed first to the library and smiled in triumph when he found her there reading. His smile died, though, at the sight of her red-rimmed eyes. "Margaret, are you well?" he asked in concern.
"Yes, thank you," she replied. She looked up as she spoke but immediately went back to reading, dissuading him from elongating the conversation. John understood the silent hint, but did not want to leave his wife alone when she was obviously upset. He chose his own book and settled down in a chair across the room. After a long day of work, however, John could not concentrate on the book. His eyes drifted closed and his chin tilted down. He shook his head, sitting up straighter and glancing over to see if Margaret had noticed. But again he dozed and this time the book slipped from its place in his hands and landed on the wood floor with a loud thud.
"Excuse me," he apologized, mortally embarrassed. "It appears time for me to retire." He returned the book to its shelf and headed towards the stairs.
Just as he quit the library, Margaret offered, "Good night, John."
Preoccupied with the sound of his name on her lips, John forgot to discuss sleeping arrangements with his new wife. As a result, when Margaret grew tired she did not know of any place other than the master bedroom that might be available. The thought of accidentally happening upon Mrs. Thornton in her nightdress was enough to drive Margaret to the relative safety of the master bedroom. She entered the room quietly, hearing with relief John's slow, even breathing. Slipping off her dress and undergarments, and pulling on a nightdress, Margaret hurried through the motions of the night before, jerking a brush through her hair and taking three giant steps to reach the bed, fearful of her husband waking to find her up. She slid between the covers and closed her eyes with a sigh.
John woke early, as he did every day. This morning, though, his view was different. For the second morning in a row he opened his eyes to a mass of brown curls on the pillow beside his. He realized with hope that Margaret had chosen to sleep in his bed. John then remembered that he had offered her no other options. Still, she had not found an empty room herself. Yet, her belongings still sat in his room. Back and forth John's brain flew from hope to reality. Stop, he censured himself. You are a fool for believing she would so quickly change her affections. Stepping out of bed, he splashed his face and arms with water, shaved, and dressed. As he tied his cravat, he caught his breath at the sight of Margaret in the mirror. Her lovely face was serene in sleep, one hand tucked beneath her head, and the covers were pushed back enough that John could not help but notice her gentle curves. He cleared his throat and quit the room.