AN: thank you all for the story alert subscriptions and the reviews! It makes a novice at writing such tales very happy. Anyway, for the time being I think the rating with stay T, but in future (or upon request, depending on the material this may change. Any objection, please review)
So, without further adieu...
Margaret awoke the next morning stiff and hungry. She had all but forgotten her declined meal the night before, and sat beside Fanny, who was home from a tour of the continent with Watson, and now took it upon herself to render her services to her soon-to-be-sister-in-law on account of her being more experienced and more apt to plan "such social things."
Truly Margaret did not mind, for the time not spent drowning in lace was appreciated, though when Fanny insisted that she wear Honiton lace, like Queen Victoria, and also be clothed in white, Margaret shook her head and dismissed the notion. White wedding gowns were cumbersome, and in Milton, so apt to be damaged. She would not have a word of it and instead chose a simple yet elegantly adorned creme linen gown that swept off her shoulders and revealed her thin, but strong shoulders—almost mannish, if Fanny was to be believed.
Her veil she had chosen herself, all lace but not done in Fanny's style, and she had had chosen her shoes, respectable and practical things worthy of the occasion. Conscious that it was Margaret's money that paid for the affair, Fanny had done considerably less shopping for the wedding, and had thus resorted to sitting with her future sister-in-law and, Margaret was surprised—entertaining her with tales of the continent stories from her youth. She was not so bad as once pictured, and her exuberance grew as the days counting down to the nuptials approached. Only then did she broach the subject that, like spiders in her tea, Margaret had been studiously avoiding.
The afternoon started out like any ordinary one, with Fanny grinning and playing with her new pug, Napoleon, a gift from her husband, and Margaret, staring absentmindedly into the pages of Yates, thinking not of the poetry and the creative language, but of her fiance, and when he would return, so when Fanny cleared her throat Margaret looked up innocently, unaware of the jar she had opened.
"Dear Margaret, let me tell you," Fanny began, stroking Napoleon behind the ears, "as a woman married, it is my duty to inform you on certain—," she coughed meaningfully, "delicacies between a lady and her husband."
Margaret could see the direction of the conversation, and, feigning resigned acceptance, looked up and pointedly replied,
"I must lay back and think of England, Fanny."
"Oh no!" Fanny cried, horrified at that idea, "No, no, no, dear sister, you must not! Certainly not!" Margaret could not help but laugh at this proclamation, and, realizing her folly, Fanny reached over and swatted Margaret on the knee. "Oh, you can be cruel!"
"We do not need to discuss this," Margaret replied more soberly, "I am a woman grown, not some child thrust into marriage. I do believe I will be more than capable of dealing with my matrimonial duties."
"That is what I thought," Fanny continued relentlessly, "but dear sister, you must know it is not like what you think. It is a woman's duty to be pleasing to her husband, so she must not lie limp like some rag doll cast aside. You must engage him, Margaret, and let him know how he hurts you."
"Hurts me?" Margaret's eyes widened with alarm, "he would never do such a thing."
Fanny pursed her lips and gave a self-satisfied nod.
"Oh yes, dear sister," she continued ruthlessly. "The first time you'll want to cry, but it gets better. Soon you will not mind so much, and you might even be with child. My marriage is too young to tell, but I am hoping I will be a mother soon."
"Mother?" Margaret did not know how to process that. She loved John more than her own life, but she could not imagine herself with children, especially after she had so nearly resigned her life to the realms of singledom.
"Yes," Fanny smiled, "How I long to be a mother. Dear husband and I try every night." She gave Margaret a conspiratorial wink, and Margaret felt her face drain of color. She knew, as most women of her age, the expectations of a wife, and then a mother, but felt woefully unprepared. No one told her there would be pain involved, especially not before a child was born, and so she hugged her book to her chest and sat listening to Fanny play with her puppy a little longer. They were only interrupted by John, who came to the sitting room covered in cotton. It clung to his hair and his shoulders and Margaret had to stifle a laugh. As nervous as she was she could not contain her joy at seeing him, nor her amusement at his state.
"What has happened?" she asked, standing to greet him.
He opened his mouth to reply, but then slowly closed it, as if not sure what response would be appreciated in the current company. That, or he simply did not know what exactly had happened to him.
"Oh you," Margaret swept to his side, picking fluff off his fine black jacket, and rolling it into a ball in her palms, "was it the fans again?"
"No, not the fans," John looked down his nose at his lovely fiancee, now so decidedly picking the remnants of... what he decided he didn't know.
"Then what?" she insisted, cocking her head like she had seen Napoleon do.
"At the end of the shift I was leaving the mill, and suddenly," he gestured to his clothing, "I was taken upon by some of those mill children. I don't quite understand after that, but they told me that since the snow was melting and no good for throwing, they would wage war against me with the cotton balls!"
"Outrageous," Fanny exclaimed from the sofa, "really, John, you must stop eliminating those boundaries between you and your workers. They are your employees."
John turned to his sister with some of his old harshness.
"Yes, and they are also children. Those men and woman have given their lives for me, and I intend not to punish their children for wishing a little joy in their lives."
"Oh," was all Fanny said, and with that she ignored her brother completely, going back her dog who curled up docilely in her arms.
"So," Margaret looked up at John, sure Fanny did not care what she said, "I hope other than that all went well."
"Yes," John nodded, "those children were the highlight, I think though. You know I always disliked them?"
"Children?" Margaret was taken aback, "but everyone loves children."
"I did not," John returned candidly, "for you see, when I was one myself I found their company rather less varied than the adults, and when I was older, I could abide their constant whining."
"That's what they do," Margaret smiled, unsure, and a little relieved at this revelation. At least bearing an heir was optional.
"Yes, I see that now," John looked distant, then fixed his eyes again on his young love, "but that matters not at the moment. I believe I have a gift for you."
Margaret was so pleased with his announcement about children that she did not notice the bright look in her fiancee's eyes or the conspiratorial glance he cast his sister.
AN: how am I doing so far? I have a plan for this, promise, if you are willing to read on!