AN: I'm back! (Cadiz)

The night before her wedding Margaret could not sleep. She tossed and threw off her blankets, half awake and half dreaming. She was standing over a deep well, and inside she could see her old life, the Helstone life, with her mother and father, but when she looked up she saw a bleak drawing room, one filled with books and cobwebbed with dust and cotton fluff.

She tried to look back into the well, to search for that better time, but found that the water had turned black, and she could no longer see her parents. Desperate, she cried out, and called into the deep, but she could only hear her voice echo. She called again, and again but there was no reply. Sobbing, she fell to her knees and prayed. She prayed that they would come back, and that they would deliver her from the wretched place her heart was prisoner to, but nothing happened. She began to lose hope, terrified to be trapped in that grey-black darkness forever, when she felt a familiar arm around her waist and was pressed against John's chest. He was silent and held her to him while she cried those tears that had not been shed; that she had not allowed herself to shed.

He did not ask for an answer as she sobbed into his shirt, nor did he provoke her to any action. Instead, he stayed still and held her in his arms, one hand on her back and the other holding her to him like a child.

"I will take care of you," he whispered in his northern brogue, "and I will never leave."

Margaret awoke then, blinking back the tears she had already shed onto her pillow and stared at the ceiling. She was wearing her mother's old crucifix, for her something old, and it clung to her as she fought to regain her breath.

The dream felt so real, so intense, and she was forced to consider what it meant, but all she could see and smell was him. He promised he would never leave her, and the dream seemed to cement that unspoken worry that nagged at the back of her mind. After all, she had been left by Fred, then by her mother, and after by her father, so her heart, as broken as it was, still wished some protection against the relentless onslaught of life. This thought, the one that John cared so, caused her to cry again, and she found she could not stop the waves that crashed over her like the sea against the shore.

She sobbed until her nose was red and eyes raw, but when her crying finally quieted she stood up and splashed water on her face, worried that the signs of her midnight break-apart would be noticed, and she wished nothing more that to be the bride John wanted; to be her best and more, for her dream had confirmed it. He loved her dreadfully and she could not but help loving him for it.

The morning did come, and she finally slept soundly, but was awoken rather too soon by a smiling Edith and large-eyed Fanny. At first she thought the looks they gave her were because of her face, no doubt puffy from crying, but found, once she stood and stared at herself in the mirror, that it was not her face that made them look so, but her hair. Somehow in her midnight tryst she had done a fabulous job on her hair. It stood up at impossible angles around her face and she looked positively medieval. With a laugh she patted it down with her hands, only to be pulled by Fanny into the chair by her vanity.

"Now," Fanny declared, "We must make you presentable."

After this royal proclamation, Margaret was subject to all of Fanny's hidden charms, namely the torture of innocent girls. She combed and raked, powdered and chocked, pinned and stabbed, and by the time she helped Margaret into her wedding dress the poor victim felt rather sore. She touched her curls, pinned behind her to her bun, and found that the hair was springy, and her scalp tender.

Without a word of protest her dress was adjusted and the stays tightened so she could hardly breathe. Next, Edith arranged Margaret's veil, and the two women stood back to admire their handiwork. Edith began to cry, and Fanny gave a look of triumphant pleasure, making one glance at her clock.

"You look like an angel, Maggie," Edith said, using her cousin's old nickname. Margaret blushed, sure she had outgrown such childish words, but they gave her comfort, and she swivelled in her seat to get the first real glimpse of herself as a bride. She was dazzled by the effect. No only was she plain, dark Margaret, but an entirely different creature, long white neck topped with pearls and her mother's necklace, veil covering her face that made her look young and pretty, and eyes that were surprisingly calm in her reflection.

"Now," Fanny said, "have you all your items in order? What is your something old?"

"My mothers crucifix," Margaret replied, fingering it lovingly and sadly.

"Your something new?"

"My veil," she replied.

"Borrowed? Blue?" Fanny quizzed, much to the amusement of Edith, who stood back, surprised at the assertiveness the little woman was demonstrating.

"Edith's gloves," Margaret replied, "and my wedding ring."

She felt herself stand, unaccustomed to such luxury, and spoke as if though a haze. Edith asked about the sapphire in the ring, and how John's mother had managed to save it, and the women left the room, Fanny watching Margaret's train as she made her way down the hall and towards the carriage which awaited her, again forgetting to eat. In the cab Fanny sat opposite her, and, as if remembering this triviality, plucked an apple from her purse.

"Have this," she urged, "it will help keep up your strength."

Margaret gratefully took it, and, not long after Fanny had tucked the core into one of her fancy handkerchiefs, did the carriage slow to a stop, and the footman hop down to let out the bride.

Her heart began hammering then, and the reality of what she was doing almost overwhelmed her. She looked about and saw her friends, some from the mills dressed in their best, others from Helstone, noses red but smiling, and was calmed when Edith laced her hand in her cousin's gloved fingers, leading her towards the alter. Fredrick was not available to give her away, so she had chosen Nicholas, whom she had grown to love and respect.

With a little awkward bow he took her from Edith, and the cannon march began. At first Margaret could not clearly see her soon-to-be husband, but when she did her face broke into a radiant smile and she had to force herself to walk in the controlled, ritualistic manner required of her. John's eyes were bluer than ever in the morning light, and he looked the image of perfection. His black suit contrasted well with his skin, and his hair was combed neatly, with only one rakish lock cast over his forehead, giving him that devil-may-care look he had when times were not so severe.

He was giving her a look of pure happiness, and his mouth curved slightly, an indicator of his joy. His gaze was not so intense today, but was softer, more vulnerable, and as Nicholas delivered her to him with a pat on John's shoulder, John took Margaret's hand reverently, as if holding a sacred object he was afraid to break.

They spoke their vows in hushed, private voices, and when they were declared husband and wife John lifting her veil gently and gave her a long but chaste kiss on the lips. The crowd applauded and wolf whistled, and they were walking back down the aisle that they had only just come up, not bound to each other as they were now.

Margaret held John's hand tightly, and when they were in the carriage she burst out laughing.

She smiled and laughed and kissed her husband's hands the way she had done at the station so many months back. He returned the grin and spoke formally, for effect.

"So, Mrs Margaret Thornton, what shall we do before dinner?"

"Do we have enough time for anything?" Margaret asked, mentally considering the guests that would be arriving in their new home shortly after their own arrival.

"Oh I don't know," John's eyes glittered in the dark of the coach and they pulled up at their new residence. Once safely on the ground the new Mrs and Mr Thornton made their way upstairs to their new bedroom, not separate, like the London ones, and took off her veil, resting it gently on the new dresser that stood by the door.

She took off her gloves, and noticed that her husband had removed his heavy waistcoat. With her heart beating wildly she looked at him, really seeing what she had not allowed herself to before. His white starched shirt was loose against his stomach, promising fitness, and his shoulders were broad and strong, leading to the sturdy column of his neck.

Noticing her unabashed staring, John walked quietly over and covered her mouth with his. This kiss was different than the others, however. This one was deeper, and she felt a surprised shiver when his tongue grazed her bottom lip. He paused, just long enough for her to adjust to the new sensation, then kissed her again, his hands on her back, holding her. He let out a breath when her teeth accidentally grazed his lips, and, encouraged, she attempted to match him in his actions towards her. Only when she was thoroughly breathless did they break apart, and even then they stared into each others considerable darker eyes with something new. Something that they had not known. Margaret was not the fool to believe John had never been with someone before her, but could see seriously that the sensations were new to them both.

There was a noise downstairs. The guests had arrived.

"Margaret," John said hoarsely,

"Call me Maggie, John," Margaret said taking his offered arm, "and we will meet our family."

AN: So?! I was so pleased to finish this chapter! They are married at last! (dances around room like a mental patient) I guess this is the part I was mentioning about the M rating. Teen or make life interesting? P.S, the rating would be for some other things too, not just the inclusion of lemons to all those closet pervs much like myself ;P*