Owen was a year and three months old when his baby brother was born. Robert John Thornton was smaller than Owen had been, with a patch of fuzzy black-brown hair and pudgy features. He had been born a month early, according to Dr. Smithson, and therefore required much greater care than with the first. He recommended Dixon's constant care, as well as that Margaret stay with him almost constantly, watching over him and being careful not to stress the wee little thing.

His brother was not to see him until he was at least a month old, and neither John nor Margaret were allowed to spend too long holding the infant, for fear that their constant worrying, (as a dog worries a hedgehog,) Margaret thought wryly, would cause him unnatural distress and delay his development.

Due to this, therefore, the duty of caring for the young Owen was put largely up to Margaret, when she had time, Dixon, when she was not involved watching Robert, and John, who, though he had a hectic work schedule, still took to swinging the giggling toddler onto his shoulders and strolling about town, sometimes taking him to work, but mostly just to the sweet shop or on errands mentioned by Margaret as she hovered over her new baby, her eyes tender but concerned.

It was then that John taught Owen to walk. Every day when he arrived home from work (barring illness or time,) he would find the little boy who would cry out in delight and wave his arms to be picked up. Doing so, John brought him to the parlor and encouraged him to walk, at first holding him up, showing him how, and then watching in absolute pride as his son took his first stuttered step and promptly fell.

It was alright, John thought, and each day Owen grew stronger and more confident until one day when he came home he was surprised to feel a pudgy little body stumble into his leg and a high, little voice say,

"Dadda, Dadda, Dadda!"

Standing behind him Margaret beamed, Robert in her arms. John picked up his eldest child, ruffled his hair, (which Owen tolerated but made a face to,) and brought him to his mother and little brother.

"You did it!" Cried John, jogging Owen in his arms, "you are so brave!" Then, with a look to Margaret, Don't you think he's brave, my dear?"

"Oh yes," Margaret agreed, making her son blush, "I think he's lovely!" John shifted Owen in his arms and leaned towards his wife.

"Dadda, Dadda," agreed Owen.

"How are you my dear?" John asked, giving his wife a little peck. Owen hid his face and Margaret peered at him over the bundle that was Robert.

"Well enough, we're installing new fans in the mill. These are supposed to be higher power, and Slickson isn't happy. He claims that our soup kitchen and fans have the workers deserting him and coming to me; he equates it to robbery."

"Well you never liked him anyways," Margaret huffed, "besides, it is the people's choice who they work for, and if our conditions are better than they can hang on their choices."

"Mamma, amma," giggled Owen. His vocabulary consisted of two words, and a myriad of baby talk, and he loved to join in whenever his parents spoke. Margaret adjusted his coat, and looked back at John.

"I don't know Maggie," he said quietly, "I do not like having the others in poor spirits. These are dangerous men, and they don't take kindly to power being stripped away. They view the migration of workers as a threat, and me the one threatening. If this continues, we'll either buy one of them out and expand, or they'll plot some way to see us fail. I don't like it Maggie, I really don't."

Margaret did not know what to say to this, and John went to the study where he put his baby son on the desk and looked at the youngster.

"I am doing what's right for my men," he mused, as if talking to the boy, "but if I put in the fans, then the other Master's will take it as an act of aggression."

Owen burbled and found John's inkpot, almost upending it. John came to the rescue just in time, and he handed the boy a ball from his pocket. He had meant to give it to Louis, but it was still clean and so he gave it to Owen first. Owen pressed it between his little hands, and laughed when he dropped it and it bounced back into his lap.

"I know we need more space to expand because of the trip to America," he said, "and it would really be a relief to get a new clean facility that we can put in all the new fire safety implements in. Besides, now with our new advancements there is a waiting list to work at Marlborough Mills, so buying a new place with fifty or so machines would actually work…"

"Dadda," Owen agreed. The baby gave up on the ball, and reached for John's penknife. At this, John scooped up his son and took him to his mother, his mind still unsettled. He had the money, and some saved, enough to purchase a new business, but if he did this, how would the other Masters respond? No one had more than one mill…but then again no one operated as he did. It was a conundrum, one which he was still mulling over when he took a tour of a newly built warehouse for sale, just the size and composition he was after. This new building was made primarily of concrete and brick, so that in the case of fire or disaster it would be less likely to burn and it housed an outdoor well and office complex just off the main property. There was a large yard that would be ideal for cotton shipments, and a high wooden fence around, its wood yellow with newness.

The price was reasonable, and the location pleasant, so John put an offer on it, going home to consult his wife and let her make the final decision. She had excellent financial sense, and he would not proceed without her.

When he told her she was initially skeptical, for she was concerned about the reaction of the other Masters and was secretly against his business, not for the thing itself, but for the stain it put upon him. She believed that two mills might be more than they could handle, and compared the riots and the strikes that could happen to their future, wisely cautioning him that if those things were to happen again, it would not only be one mill in destitution, but two. It was true that the market had hit a boom, and that this would be the moment to capitalise on the peace time and prosperity, perhaps even to turn a handsome profit, but it had to be considered carefully.

Machines would have to be bought, cotton would have to be transferred, and there were men to be hired… could they afford this?

John assured her that yes, they could, and she agreed to visit the facility with him the next day. To their surprise, however, they found the Hampers, wife and husband, already there, on tour of the offices. Apparently Slickson had gotten wise to John's plan, and had warned the Hampers, who, believing that if the infamously chintzy John Thornton was buying new property, it would be high time for them as well. In their minds, if he was purchasing a new factory, then he was becoming richer, and if that was the case, he knew something that they did not. They had heard stories of the market entering an upswing, but they had not believed it until Slickson told them.

"Good afternoon, John," Hamper doffed his hat. John did the same and he looked about the great empty place. "Its well-built," he commented, "and sturdy. I daresay cotton fires would have trouble starting here."

"Yes, if there is no cotton in the air," John returned, Margaret at his elbow.

"Well, still. It would be a lot safer, and the missus doesn't like it when I come home coughing from the dust."

"No!" Mrs. Hamper said, "I daresay not! He positively reeks of it! Our daughter won't even go near him if he has not changed!"

"How is Violet?" Margaret asked politely, sure that the only daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Hamper was mentioned for a reason.

"She just started primary school," Mrs. Hamper beamed, "and she is already at the top of her class! We aren't as rich as you Southerners are, and education is very important, whether they take it with a governess or in a school house."

"I always thought governesses were the way to educate the young in all the particular manners of gentry?" Margaret asked. She herself remembered her own governess, all those years ago, in fond nostalgia.

"A governess is fine when they're young," Mrs. Hampers said, "but children need to be around their peers lest they grow slow and dim. I assume your children are well?"

"Yes," Margaret nodded, John and Hamper going away for a cigar. "My little one was born early, but he's as healthy as a baby ever was. And my oldest is walking."

"Good, good," Mrs. Hamper replied, clearly distracted. "You know my husband intends to buy the property." She gestured around at the space. "Yes, we intend to do wonders with it."

"Well I am sorry then," Margaret volleyed, "but we have put in an offer already. It is sold to us in all but name." While this was not quite the truth, Margaret revelled in the way Mrs. Hamper blanched, and the angry flash in her beady little eyes.

"We shall see about that," the former sniffed, "good day, Mrs. Thornton."

"And to you," Margaret dipped slightly in response, and went to find John in the yard, just stubbing out his cigar into the gravel.

"John," she said, taking his arm, "you must buy this place soon if you do not wish it to become a new Hampers factory."

"I know," John replied, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze, and I have spoken to the owner already. He agreed to my price, and the paperwork is being drawn up. I simply told him that you would have to approve, and now that you have, we can go to the lawyer and sign the deed."

"So it's official then?" Margaret asked, knowing the answer. Still her stomach did a nervous little flip.

John nodded.

"Well, won't this be a thing to tell Edith!" Margaret made a face.

John laughed, took her hand and kissed it, saying as she did, "hold on, my love, we have not won yet. When we have the machines and workers, then we may relax."

"Ah, the ever-cautious John Thornton," Margaret teased, "but I would have you no other way."

"Truly?" John squinted at her, the sun in his eyes.

"I think what you are doing is wonderful." Margaret grinned reassuringly.

"You have so much faith in me," John took her hand, "and surely, this is a better conceived plan than Watson's speculation. You have to earn you money, as my mother said."

Margaret smiled and the pair walked home, eager to visit their children and begin work on their next great endeavor; something that they could truly share in the business world.

AN: Thank you so much for all your reviews and favorites/ follows. I love you all! When I posted the last chapter I was so into it that I started writing this one too. I hope you all like the progression of Margaret and John's relationship and their two little boys! R & R for more, as always!