John could not believe his good fortune! In the span of a few short days he had managed to save his business and secure the love and trust of the woman of his dreams. To top it off, it was highly likely that they would be married within a fortnight.

Now here he sat with Margaret comfortably asleep on his shoulder. He reached out to brush a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered to caress the silken skin of her cheek. He ran his thumb across her lips which pursed a little at his touch. He so wanted to kiss her but he would not wake her. He slid his hand slowly across her shoulder and down her arm to rest over her hand that lay on top of his. He leaned back against the squabs and closed his eyes, a blissful smile upon his lips.

Margaret woke later to find John's hands slack in hers. As she sat up and turned to look at him she saw him resting comfortably against the side of their compartment fast asleep. She had never seen him look so peaceful and, if it was even possible, more handsome than ever. His perpetually brooding frown had been gone for the last few days. She blushed to think that was her doing. Now, in his slumber, all the lines of care and worry were erased from his features, the stress and tension gone. She reached up to touch his face. Freshly shaven, it felt smooth under her fingers.

Removing her hand she thought how wonderful it would be to capture this image of him. This seemingly rare moment, for all she knew he always looked this way in his sleep. She blushed when this thought occurred to her. Maybe it was wrong of her to gaze upon him in his slumber – such an intimate moment. However, hadn't she just woken from her repose under his watch? This thought caused her blush to deepen. Daring to feast her eyes upon his peaceful countenance once more, she determined him to be quite soundly asleep. Remembering her sketch book in her reticule she figured she might just be able to complete his likeness before he awoke.

Slowly and gently extracting her other hand from his, she slid herself away from him. She wanted to find the best angle for her drawing. She finally settled on the opposite bench and pulled out her tools. She spent the next half hour or so at her task. It was not easy in the rocking compartment and she had to start over a couple of times as she was not satisfied with those attempts.

Margaret was just putting on the finishing touches when he started to awaken. His hands flexed in his lap as if searching for hers and the scowl returned to his face. When he realized she was missing from his side his eyes sprang open and as they tried to focus he said, "Margaret?"

She set her book and pencil down and quickly moved to soothe him, "I am right here, John."

He wrapped an arm around her to pull her near and buried his nose in her hair to breathe in her scent, emitting a low rumble which sent delicious shivers down her spine.

"What were you doing?" he asked looking across to the other seat.

She had intended to have her things stowed before he awoke. Instead she had left her sketch book sitting open on the bench. She reached across and snapped it shut. Then turning to put it in her bag she said, somewhat teasingly, "Oh, nothing."

"Oh really," said he with a mischievous grin while he reached around her and took the book from her hands. She did not protest. She just settled back, embarrassed, folding her hands in her lap. He gave her a smirk and a side long glance. Poising his hand to open her sketch book he politely turned to her and asked, "May I?" for he would never invade her privacy without her permission.

With her head still bent over she smiled, blushed, and nodded. Even though she was a little embarrassed for him to see her latest drawing she really did desire to show him her works, to share her passion, her hobby, with him.

"Are you sure, Margaret?" he asked in all earnestness, "I do not wish to pry where I am not wanted."

"It's alright, John," she said, "I – I want you to look."

It was an old book as she had not had much time for sketching as of late. There were trees and flowers, from when she lived in Helstone. John recognized some well known London landmarks from her years spent with her Aunt and cousin. Then there were some more recent drawings: her father pouring over his books in his study at Crampton; her mother asleep in her sick bed.

As he turned the page Margaret told him that the next image was that of her brother Fred. "I had to draw that one from memory," she explained, "but I am not very good at it. I seem to manage live subjects better."

The next picture was of a young lady who looked vaguely familiar to John, but it was not Edith so he asked, "Who is this?"

"That is my friend, Bessy Higgins," Margaret informed him with a touch of sadness, "she died just recently."

"I'm sorry," said he, "this was your friend who worked in my mill, was it not?"

She could feel him tense next to her.

"Yes," she replied and not wanting him to think he had to defend himself she added, "you probably prolonged her life."

Startled, he looked at her questioningly.

She explained, "When her father, Nicholas, first realized she had fluff in her lungs he sent her straight away to Marlborough Mills because you had wheels to blow away the fluff."

"I am sorry she had to die, still so young," he said sympathetically, "I am always interested in ways to make the mill safe and healthier for my workers but maybe I should be more active in that pursuit."

Placing her hand on his leg she said, "I'm sure you are doing all that you can. I realize that about you now." She paused and added, "Nicholas agreed with you about Stephens too."

"Nicholas Higgins," said John, incredulously, "orchestrator of the strike, thought I was right to toss a worker out on his ear?"

"Indeed," replied Margaret fervently, "Nicholas is no more of a tyrant than you are! He understands his trade well and cares about his coworkers. He knows what smoking in a mill can do. He said Stephens deserved what you did to him. I still think it was a bit extreme but…" Here she looked down at the floor.

"Yes, I am sorry you had to witness that," he said looking away in shame.

"I have witnessed many harsh things since coming to Milton," said she thoughtfully, "It is a town struggling with the growing pains of this Industrial Revolution, as you called it. But the people of Milton are a proud, steely lot, independent and revolutionary, those of high birth as well as low, and I admire them all."

John smiled at her in thanks. He asked, "Has Mr. Higgins gone back to work since the strike?"

"No," Margaret replied with a sigh, "He is getting desperate though, since he has taken in six orphaned children. He is a committee man for the union, a fact which goes against him. He also refuses to sign any papers saying he won't pay the union fees."

Shaking his head in disgust, John said, "I told the other mill masters that was a bad idea. I refuse to make liars out of men. Has he been to inquire at Marlborough Mills?"

"Yes," replied Margaret, "and your foreman turned him away, sharpish." She smiled at her own use of the colloquialism.

John was pensive and didn't notice the Northern word. "Convince him to come and see me personally," he instructed her, "don't let on that I told you to send him. I'm not making any promises, mind. I want to judge the man for myself."

"Oh, thank you, John," she exclaimed, "Nicholas is a good man, you will see."

He smiled down at her and turned back to her sketch book.

The next image caused Margaret's cheeks to turn bright red, having forgotten all about it. "Oh," she said, "that's another one I tried to draw from memory but not very well." She reached over and tried to turn the page but he held it fast with a growing smile on his lips.

It was a picture of a man dressed in black with an imperial stance, standing on a platform overlooking the looms in a cotton mill, as indicated by the fluff floating all around. He supposed the man was meant to be him as he was fairly tall with raven black hair. Margaret had made a valiant attempt at his Greek nose and stern brow.

John turned to Margaret with a smirk. "Is this me?" he asked, "Were you intending to put it up on your wall and throw darts at it?"

"No, indeed!" she replied lifting her chin, "The whole scene had struck me when I witnessed it and I wanted to try to capture the power and beauty of it."

"Beauty! In a cotton mill!" he scoffed. Then lowering his voice he flatteringly retorted, "You are the only beauty I have ever seen in a cotton mill."

Blushing yet again she explained, "Well, the whole place looked like one giant snow globe to me, and you, up on your dais – the tall commanding figure, lording over it all."

Now he blushed. He turned back to the book and looking at the picture again, he said in all seriousness, "I want this one." Margaret giggled.

The next image made Margaret gasp but she tried to catch herself before John noticed. It showed a bulldog standing on it's hind legs wearing a frock coat, cravat, and top hat. John snorted, glanced quickly at Margaret, and noticing how flushed were her cheeks he decided not to ask. He turned the next page.

They had now caught up to the present time. Margaret had spent a few pages trying to capture, from memory, some of the things they had observed at the Exhibition. She explained that it was for her mother who had been so excited for Margaret to attend the show. There was a well done sketch of the fountain, an incomplete drawing of the stuffed elephant with the Indian royal canopy, and even a representation of the Koh-I-Noor diamond.

"What?" chided John, "no drawings of the 'Drunken Faun' or the 'Greek Slave'?"

Margaret smacked his arm and he chuckled at her indignance.

Next there was the beginning of a sketch of the Queen's ivory throne. It was shown from behind with a woman reclining in it. Bowing low in obeisance before her was a familiar looking dark haired man wearing the chieftain's ceremonial robes.

John began to laugh. "Margaret," he teased, "your sense of humor continues to surprise me." Then, snaking an arm around her waist, he drew her near and began nibbling on her earlobe as he had done when she first suggested the image of this scene.

"John!" she squealed and laughed, "We're in public!"

"No one can see us," he replied mischievously. "Anyway, I need to punish you for your impertinence," he growled in her ear. Then he continued his nibbling down her neck as she squealed and giggled and half-heartedly tried to push him away.

When he was done having his fun and Margaret was attempting to put her hair back where it belonged, he once again returned to the sketch book.

The next image was the one of little Sholto. John recognized the boy from having briefly seen him at Harley Street that first evening.

When he turned to the last drawing he was stunned. Not only had Margaret drawn the subject with exquisite detail - that subject was himself!

Margaret turned to him, her color heightened in self-consciousness. She reached up and touched his cheek saying, "I couldn't resist. You looked so peaceful sleeping there, all the worry lines gone from your face," she traced a finger over them, "and your eyebrows no longer knitted into that scowl of yours." She slid her hand around his neck and pulled him down to kiss his brow. Then looking into his eyes she said, "I wanted to capture that vision of the true John Thornton - my John Thornton."

Absentmindedly setting the book aside, John pulled her scandalously onto his lap and kissed her. Margaret made no move to resist, sinking her fingers into his hair instead. They remained that way for several minutes.

Finally pulling apart from each other the couple endeavored to put themselves to rights.

Taking her hand in his John said, "Margaret, your drawings are superb. Why have I not seen any hanging up at Crampton?"

"Well," she replied, "I had planned to hang some up in order to cover that horrid wallpaper that was originally in the place. However, when the landlord decided to install that beautiful yellow paper instead, my artwork was no longer necessary."

John smiled inwardly at this. He had never known if his efforts to get the landlord to replace the paper had been appreciated.

"Well I thoroughly enjoyed your drawings and would love to see more," he sincerely proclaimed.

"Thank you," she replied looking into his eyes, "It is a hobby I greatly enjoy, especially if the subject is one I particularly love."

Settling back in their seat and looking out the window they could see the smokestacks of Milton in the distance. John wrapped his arm around Margaret and she laid her head on his shoulder. They would soon be home.

….oOo….

A/N: Although this story was obviously meant to follow the adaptation, I have supplanted the Crampton wallpaper scene with the one from the book. If you are interested you can find the wallpaper scene toward the end of Chapter 7 in Gaskell's book or you could check out my one-shot on the subject, titled 'Wallpaper.'