True to his word, Mr. Thornton did return to the Hales' that evening. It was a little later than he would have liked, but he did not think he was so late as to merit the forbidding glare Dixon gave him when she opened the door. She clearly had not forgiven him for not being blind and deaf when Margaret had thrust her brother into the study. He tried to keep his voice mild and face impassive, however, as he asked if the family were within. He would not allow her to rattle him as she reluctantly opened the door wider.
Before he had stepped very far into the foyer, Margaret's voice floated down from above for the second time that day, only now she addressed him rather than Dixon. "Good evening, Mr. Thornton." He looked up to find her on the landing. "Please come up," she beckoned. His heart filled with pleasure at the sight of her, the thought that she had been waiting for him bringing a smile to his face.
Instead of waiting for him at the top of the stairs, she came down to meet him halfway. In the dim light, he could see her bright eyes and soft smile, and he was eager and quick to take her warm hand in his. It had been only a few hours since they had parted, and yet it seemed a lifetime ago he had last beheld her. He murmured a greeting that only she could hear, and they lingered on the step until a cough from below brought them back to the world. Dixon had not left her post nor had she ceased to keep her hawk's eye on Mr. Thornton.
Margaret directed him up the stairs while she, to his surprise, descended. He walked slowly in order to hear the hushed conversation she had with Dixon, but he was unsuccessful in hearing anything more than a few snatched, undecipherable words. She was still engaged with Dixon when he reached the landing, so he entered the drawing room alone.
Both Mr. Hale and his son rose to greet him, although the younger stayed his ground while the elder came forward gladly to shake his hand. "I hardly thought you would come again so soon, John. I am very happy you have."
Taking a seat, he looked over to Frederick Hale to see that scrutinizing look on his face again. However, the younger Mr. Hale's expression did not bespeak hostility or suspicion, but curiosity. He did not know what to make of it, but was prevented on giving the matter further thought by the appearance of Margaret. She sat herself on the couch next to her brother and took up her work.
"Have you persuaded Dixon to move at last, Margaret?" Frederick asked cheerfully.
"I do hope you have," Mr. Hale chimed in. "I daresay she has not left the door all day. She must be quite worn out."
"Yes, she is. I managed to convince her that we would have no other callers this late. She has gone to bed."
She spoke simply, but he suspected that persuading Dixon to abandon the door had been anything but simple. He was glad, however, to know that he would not be subjected again to her ominous presence this evening. He was rather ashamed to admit it, but Dixon still had a stern power to make him feel like a truant schoolboy. In that regard, at least, nothing had changed since the night he and Margaret had finally begun to speak like friends. He glanced at Margaret to find her eyes glittering in amusement at him, obviously noting his relief. So she was still able to see his fear of Dixon! How would he ever be able to live this down?
Frederick suddenly spoke. "Margaret tells me, Mr. Thornton, that you are a manufacturer. Indeed, she says you run one of the finest mills in Milton." His almost-innocent words caused a profound flush to spread over his sister's face as she widened her eyes at this repeated praise. How her brother enjoyed provoking her! She looked shyly at Mr. Thornton to see him now smirking at her discomfiture.
Her father, however, took the words at face value and spoke his own admiration of Mr. Thornton's business practices. Embarrassed by the tribute, he was quick to turn the discussion to matters of general business and the various factories found in Milton. Margaret was able to recover her usual color and participated just as openly as ever. It did not escape her or Mr. Thornton's notice that Frederick was making efforts to know him. However, she knew of Frederick's privileged information, while Mr. Thornton could only guess at his motives.
"You are clearly very proud of the business you have built up here," Frederick observed after some conversation. "You speak so well of it, and are naturally comfortable using the necessary terms. I am learning of trade myself in my new position, so I suppose some day I will be at ease with using such language."
Margaret smiled softly. "Then perhaps it is good that you are so far away. We should not know you if you spoke like a manufacturer around us."
"The acquisition of that knowledge and speech comes much faster than you think it will, when you immerse yourself in it daily," Mr. Thornton said. "Just take care that you restrain yourself from using it too much around those far more genteel and civilized," he pointedly said with a smirk directed at Margaret and Mr. Hale. She smothered a chuckle and Mr. Hale acknowledged the hit with a nod of his head.
"You know very well, John, that such knowledge filters through to even us scholars. I myself have been caught at using your factory slang, and if I recall, Margaret has, as well."
"Yes, that is true. Mother once accused me of becoming quite vulgar by picking up too much of Milton speech. I could not think of another word for knobstick, however, and why should I have tried when it serves its purpose quite well?"
"Your mother was desirous that you remain a well-bred lady, that is all," Mr. Hale replied quietly, and Margaret's smile disappeared in the thought of her mother and the implied rebuke in her father's words.
Mr. Thornton sobered quickly at the drop of her head, knowing that she would feel chastised from the innocent statement, but he could not find the words to properly lift her spirits. His natural instinct was to go to her and wrap her in his arms, but such an act in front of her family was unthinkable. He was grateful when her brother spoke up, his tone more gentle and thoughtful.
"Dear Mother," he murmured, his smile tinged with sadness. "She encouraged us so much to be the ideals of goodness." Margaret still did not look up. "Do you remember, Margaret, how often she would read from The Children of the New Forest? She was so eager for us to become proper grown-ups."
Margaret now smiled again at the recollection. "And she was always sure to point out how we must follow the examples of Edward and Alice, simply because we were also from the New Forest."
"Yes," Mr. Hale spoke once more. "It was very hard on her, having to leave Helstone. It was . . ." he could not finish his thought, as tears began to fall upon his cheek. What pain he had put his wife and child through; what responsibility he must bear for bringing his wife to Milton and a swifter end. That bitter sting would never leave him, and his guilt would never allow him to recover. He did not deserve any peace.
Margaret knew what thoughts tormented her poor father, and her heart broke again to see his misery. She nearly sprang from her seat to go to him, but Frederick was quicker. He rose at once from his seat and placed his hand on his father's shoulder. "Father," he said quietly. Mr. Hale shook his head, as though trying to ward off any attempts at comfort. "Father," Frederick spoke more firmly. "Mother . . . Mother loved you, and was willing to follow you. None of us could know what would happen, and you did what you thought best."
Mr. Hale stood quickly, throwing his son's hand away. "It is no use, Fred. I know what I have done." He shook his head again, trying to stop the tears. "It is no use," he repeated, quieter.
The only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire, as they all looked upon the despairing man. Indeed, in the dim light and his feeble stature, he hunched more like a lost boy than a man past his prime. But Margaret saw in his eyes the weariness of hundreds of years, so much had he abandoned himself to sorrow and grieving. How could she begrudge him his suffering, though? No matter the choices he had made, there was no doubt he loved his wife.
But what a reminder she had now of her own sadness, a sadness she had not been allowed to give way to. As much sympathy as she felt for her father, she felt overburdened by the tears she had not yet shed, the grief she had not expressed. And now it was building up and threatening to engulf her once more, and she fought desperately to hold it back. Her father could not bear to see her shed a single tear; she had to be strong before him.
Mr. Hale himself broke the silence as he moved toward the doorway. "I am grateful, John, that you came again so soon, but I'm afraid you chose a poor time. I am sorry." Mr. Thornton stood, as well, but was prevented from saying anything before Mr. Hale apologized again and disappeared into the hall.
The drawing room now felt strangely empty with Mr. Hale's departure. Mr. Thornton was unsure of what to do. He looked down at Margaret, whose face was turned toward the fire. Was that a tear splashing, alone, onto her cheek? Would she not turn to him? What could he do? He looked at her brother, who bowed his head to the floor. What could he possibly say after witnessing such a private moment?
Frederick raised his head and looked Mr. Thornton in the eye. His brow was furrowed in pain, but he did not give way to tears. He looked down at his sister and then immediately back to Mr. Thornton. Mr. Thornton swallowed in surprise. The implied message in Frederick Hale's gesture was clear. He wanted his sister to be comforted, and he knew Mr. Thornton was the man to do it. Without a word, Frederick nodded at him before striding into the hallway and down the stairs.
There would be time later for him to feel surprise at Frederick Hale's behavior. Now her brother was gone, she had the pressing need, and Mr. Thornton would not give another thought beyond giving her whatever solace she required. In an instant, he was sitting next to her and pulling her to face him. Her gaze had remained on the floor for some time, and he carefully lifted her chin with his hand.
She raised her eyes to him as his hand lingered on her face, caressing her cheek. He would not disturb the silence by speaking, and he could only hope that she saw his sympathy, even blinded by the tears that now filled her eyes. Finally, with a sob, she hurled herself into his chest, the tears falling freely. She clutched at his coat as she cried, and he wrapped his arms around her, cradling her and stroking her hair.
Now she had begun, Margaret felt her sobs would never cease. She could comprehend little but her grief. Mr. Thornton's gentle caresses were lost to her, and the tumbling weight of her loneliness and burden were all she knew. She did not realize how desperately she clung to him as she spent her strength in tears.
But time passed away and exhaustion was soon to follow her emotional exertion. She felt spent and weary, the deep springs from which her tears came drying up. And as she calmed, she remembered the man who held her so close. His chest against her hands felt firm and warm, his arms around her were secure. He spoke nothing, but she could sense his breath upon her hair, his lips on her brow. He asked nothing, but gave everything. How had she survived this sorrowful time without him? Her clutching grasp on his coat relaxed as she gave in fully to the feel of him, quietly letting him hold her in that tender way she craved even in her dreams. She felt traitorous for allowing her senses to be filled so completely by him when she should be thinking only of her mother, but that feeling was only fleeting as she burrowed closer to him.
He could feel the change in her body against him, and now that her cries were gone, he was too selfish a being to relinquish her. It was too precious, too delicious, to keep her, and he was reluctant to remind her of the initial motive that drove her into his arms. She would recall it soon enough. Slowly, he brought a hand to her face, taking her chin gently and lifting her eyes to his. Once he was sure he held her gaze, his hand stroked her cheek absently. Her eyes were bright and shining in the reflected firelight, and he was afraid to speak for fear of shattering the peace that had come upon them, of breaking the spell that brought her so near.
For she was near. Her lips were so tantalizingly close that his desire for her betrayed itself in the way his eyes flicked down to her mouth. He would not, he must not! take advantage of her vulnerability. Not now, when she was enduring such a terrible loss. It would be utterly despicable of him to elevate his affection over her need. Yes, even though she drew close, it was unthinkable. Even though her hands slipped past his shoulders, he needed to resist. Even though her eyes were closed in anticipation . . . Hang it all, there was only so much temptation a man could take. She offered herself, and he would not deny giving himself in return.
He was a hair's-breadth away from her when she abruptly placed a hand to his chest. "Wait," she whispered.
The spell that had drawn them close together was broken, but the air was still warm and intense as he furrowed his brow in confusion at her. She knew what she had been inviting him to do, and for her to stop him so suddenly had taken a great deal of control. But this was her chance. She had consciousness enough to remember the promise she had made to her mother, and she would no longer delay his knowing her feelings. As he gazed at her in silent wonder, she wished she were more eloquent. If only she could truly express how much he meant to her. She gave an airy and embarrassed chuckle as she dropped her head, gathering her courage for a moment.
A moment was all she needed. She lifted her head again, her eyes full of determination. "I love you."
Immediately his confusion cleared into astonishment, and then delight. She smiled at the sight of his dawning comprehension, that she had finally said those simple words. Those simple, tender, thrilling words.
In the end, there was no eloquence needed. No grand declarations or overwrought speeches. Her assurances were enough, and when his voice returned to him, he was quick to reply in kind. She closed her eyes in contentment as he covered her hands and face in kisses. And when he lingered on her lips, she felt a flood of happiness wash over her that she had never imagined possible.
He drew away from her only long enough to ask a question and receive a favorable answer, a short exchange but one that increased their happiness a great deal. Once the words were uttered, they returned to their previous occupation with zeal and devotion.
Long after their chaste passion was at an end, they sat in a tender embrace, watching the fire in silence and wonder.
He feared to break the peace, but his curiosity got the better of him. "What possessed you to confess to me at such a moment? Do not misunderstand me, I am very happy. But I was willing to wait until your mother was laid to rest. Longer, if need be."
She smiled gently and looked up at him. "It was precisely because of my mother that I wanted to tell you. She asked me to not put off my happiness, and the thought of being your wife is my happiness."
After such another heavenly confession, he could not resist drawing her to him once more. "Do you think she would have approved of your choice?" he whispered against her mouth.
"Of course," she responded so emphatically that he backed away from her in surprise. She laughed softly. "It so happens that my mother approved of you greatly. She was not as blind to us as I thought she had been. She knew I loved you before I did. She knew that marrying you would make me happy, and she . . . encouraged me to make my feelings known as soon as possible. I am only sorry I was not able to tell you before Frederick arrived."
Surprised and deeply gratified by the late Mrs. Hale's approval, he held Margaret's hands tightly. "Well, you have told me now, and that is all that matters. I could not wish for anything else."
Her smile tempted him to once more pull her close, but a theatrical cough pierced their fog. Margaret jumped away from him, her face flushing crimson, and he pulled his gaze away from her to the doorway where her brother now stood. It took every ounce of fortitude to not glare daggers at the intrusive young man. Had he not left the two of them alone for a reason? Yet there was no apology in the young Hale's manner as he spoke.
"Margaret, it's late. Perhaps we should allow Mr. Thornton to go home." He spoke awkwardly, but with a hint of a smile that showed he was privy to much more of their conversation than they had realized. "I'm sure he can return again tomorrow."
Although she could read Mr. Thornton's mood and was mortified to be caught by her brother, she knew that Frederick had left them alone for long enough. His manner of interruption left something to be desired, but it was right. She placed a hand on Mr. Thornton's arm and said, "Yes, of course. You will come tomorrow?"
He seemed to read her thoughts at a glance, his desire to pummel Frederick Hale dying away to a resigned disappointment. Now that she was his, he did not want to be away from her. But it was late, and even lovers need sleep.
He rose silently and approached the young man. Now he was close to him, he was inwardly pleased to detect the slightest trace of fear in the young man's eyes. Good, so he knew how much cause Mr. Thornton had to be displeased. But Frederick Hale stood firm and with that slight smirk on his face that spoke of his good humor and knowledge, and Mr. Thornton had to be satisfied with heaving a sigh and reaching out a hand to him. Frederick's smirk gave way to a real smile as he took his hand heartily. "I am sorry to be the cause of your parting, Mr. Thornton, but I am tremendously glad for what seems to have preceded it."
He could not stop a grin from gracing his own features as he looked back to his beloved, who was now ducking her head in embarrassment. "Indeed, Mr. Hale, you could not be more glad than I. I will see you tomorrow."
"I look forward to it," was the simple reply.
He gave a final glance to Margaret, who had lifted her head up again. "Good night, Miss Hale."
Before she had a chance to respond, Frederick spoke up indignantly. "Surely you don't still need to call her that in company, Mr. Thornton! 'Margaret' will do quite nicely, as I'm sure she has not been used to such formality from you for quite some time."
"Fred!" she cried out in shock.
"Am I wrong?" he asked pointedly.
Her face grew red again, and Mr. Thornton was ultimately pleased to know that her brother seemed to approve of him, as well. "No, you are not wrong, Mr. Hale. Good night, Margaret."
She summoned enough resolve to speak through her blush and replied, "Good night, John."
He could not give away in front of her brother how startled he was to hear his name from her lips for the first time, so with a final nod to them both, he hurried his way down the stairs. But the walk home in the dark seemed nothing to him as his heart danced within his chest at the sound of it. At long last, she was his.
A/N: Ah, just writing that made me happy. How sappy am I? Still a little bit to go, but see? Less angst. Okay, now to the actual purpose of my author's note: The book referred to, The Children of the New Forest, is real. Children's books up to that point in time were pretty pedantic, full of lessons for children to follow, nothing of a fantastic nature, like what would come with Alice's Adventures in Wonderland or anything similar. However, The Children of the New Forest was one of the first historical novels written for children, and was one of the novels that first started making that shift in children's literature to something that could be called a little more entertaining rather than merely instructive. It was published in 1847, so in strict chronological terms, Margaret Hale would not have been a child when it was published, so she and her brother really wouldn't have reminisced about it (if they were real, of course). But I found it too irresistible to not include, considering the serendipitous title about the New Forest and how much that area was a part of Margaret's life.