Tick… tick… tick…
Closer… closer… There. Quarter past the hour. Now the slow countdown continued toward the half hour mark.
Tick… tick…tick…
John Thornton sat at his desk, staring at the hands of the clock on the wall, as he had been doing for the last forty-seven minutes. Counting down the hours, the minutes, the seconds… Counting down the time remaining for him. The time he had left to remain as he was. The time remaining before the decision had to be made.
And in this decision, no matter what choice he made, he would lose.
Tick…tick…tick…
Other than the soft sound of the clock, the room was silent. The quiet hush seeped into his bones. The room should be full of background noise – noise from the machines in the mill, chatter of the workers in the courtyard outside. Instead, the silence shouted John's failure. None of it had mattered. After all of his efforts, all his work, it had all come to naught.
Throughout everything in his life, he had always striven to do the right thing. He had never been one to take the easy road, or cut corners. From a young age, he had determined he would be unlike his father in that regard. Every choice, every action, he weighed against his own steady moral compass. Until now, it had always seemed to steer him correctly. Through his hard work and determination, he had risen to prosperity and prominence as the master of a preeminent Milton mill. His name was respected as a leader of the industry. But now, despite doing everything right, it had all fallen down around him.
Tick…tick…tick…
Perhaps he should have taken Latimer up on his offer the first time. It would have saved everyone all this trouble. When the wealthy banker had proposed an investment in Marlborough Mills, John had thought it an answer to his prayers. It would have allowed him to weather through the difficult financial times, and soon he would have been able to make the mill profitable again. But then Latimer had made it clear that the offer was conditional; John's marriage to his daughter Ann being the requirement.
John had refused at once. While he had nothing against Ann Latimer, the idea of a marriage of convenience, a marriage without love, repulsed him. It would at least be a marriage without love on his part, he supposed; he knew nothing of Ann's heart. He barely knew the young lady at all; he could not recall ever speaking more than a handful of words to her. He knew not whether Ann truly desired such a union, or if it were all her father's idea. Perhaps she found the idea as distasteful as he did.
And now Latimer had renewed his offer. He offered an investment that would allow John to reopen Marlborough Mills.
John had never spent much time considering the women of Milton. He was a man, and could appreciate an attractive woman, but none had ever stood out to him. He had not sought out a wife to keep his house and affairs; he had his mother for that. He did not overly care about having children to inherit. He would be satisfied to leave everything to Fanny's offspring.
He had long believed he would only marry if he truly loved a woman. A marriage based on anything less seemed false and abhorrent to him, as well as unfair to a wife. And he had lived over thirty years now without his heart ever being touched. Maybe he truly was as cold hearted as the other mill masters liked to say. Perhaps he was incapable of falling in love. He sighed. Somehow that thought depressed him even more.
Possibly he had never given himself a chance to love. Could he grow to love Ann, if given enough time with her? Was that all love required, time and proximity? Maybe he had been too stubborn, too romantic with his sensibilities. He huffed a humorless laugh at the idea of John Thornton being too romantic.
He considered the good that Latimer's investment could do. All his workers would be restored to their livings. His mother would be well cared for. John would return to his former prominence and financial stability. And Ann… He laid his head in his hands. It still felt wrong. To marry a woman he didn't love… But maybe he had to put aside his own feelings. If everyone else desired it – if Ann herself desired it – perhaps for once he needed to ignore that little voice inside. He could marry her, he could be a decent husband to her, he could provide for her. But would she want more? Would she desire his love? Could he ever give her that?
Tick…tick…tick…
Sighing, he stood up and picked up his hat. He had no more time. He grimaced as he considered what he must do now. He was engaged for dinner with the Latimers that evening. He knew what the topic of conversation would be when the women withdrew after dinner. An answer to Latimer's offer would be required. He could not delay his decision any longer.
John took a last glance back at his empty office, looking for the resolve he needed. As he began to push the door open, he was startled to feel it jolt back at him, knocking into something on the other side. He caught a quick glimpse of a woman and heard her cry out, faltering on her feet and beginning to pitch backwards.
Instinctually, John rushed forward to catch her before she could fully fall over. One arm quickly grasped her waist and the other he secured under her back, halting her fall before she could hit the ground.
Disaster averted, John looked down at the woman suspended in his arms.
And suddenly… time stood still.
He found himself inches away from a face of startling beauty. Wide, grey-blue eyes gazed into his own. A porcelain complexion was offset by cheeks flushed pink, and rose tinted lips held open in surprise. He breathed in a soft floral scent. For a moment he forgot where he was, and just held her, unmoving.
"Oh, I… I…" The woman's eyes were riveted to his face. She seemed equally lost for words.
John abruptly recalled himself. "Forgive me." He was suddenly aware of how closely he was holding her. Her body felt warm and soft against him… Heat began to creep along his neck. He lifted her back to her feet, making sure she had regained her balance. He backed away a step. He was standing upright again, but his world had been thrown off its axis.
She glanced down at herself and brushed at her skirts. One hand shakily brushed a stray chestnut curl away from her forehead.
"My apologies, madam. I had no idea you were there. I hope you are not injured." And who are you? Why are you here? Why can I think of nothing but holding you in my arms again?
"Oh no, thank you, I am fine…" She looked up at him and their eyes locked. Her words trailed off, her mouth slightly agape. They both stood frozen for several moments, staring at each other.
John's mind was wrapped in cotton wool. She had to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He had never had such a strong reaction to any woman before. He must say something to her. Words stubbornly refused to form in his mind.
He shook himself, recovering slightly. What is wrong with me? "May I…" He broke off as she began to speak at the same time. They both stopped, and then began to speak again. "Pardon…" They both stopped again.
John grinned slightly. His heart skipped a beat when she answered with an embarrassed smile of her own. He gestured to her. "Please, go on."
She nodded her head in thanks. "I am so sorry, sir, I did not know anyone was here. I did not mean to intrude." She gazed at him with those striking eyes. John felt helpless to look away, captured fast in their clear grey depths. His thoughts drifted off again, until her voice broke through his haze.
"Are you…" She trailed off for a moment, then blinked. "Forgive me. Are you Mr. Thornton, by any chance?"
"I am John Thornton," he managed to reply. His thoughts were so fuzzy and slow. He tried to focus his mind, get himself together. Who is this woman? He knew he had never seen her before. Was he gaping at her? He hoped he did not look a fool, standing there staring. But he was unable to tear his eyes away from those arresting eyes… and those lips…
"Oh, that is wonderful! Just the man I'd hoped to meet. I feel as though I've heard a great deal about you, although I never encountered your name before last night. I am so sorry about the closing of the mill."
"Thank you." Get a hold of yourself, John. "Forgive me, but I do not believe we have been introduced."
"Oh, my apologies." She held out her hand to shake in the Milton manner. "My name is Margaret Hale."
He looked down at her small hand, her fingers slender and graceful. He gently clasped them in his own, feeling a warmth that seemed to spread through his arm into his chest. Her fingertip lightly brushed against his palm, sending a jolt throughout his body. He glanced up in surprise, their eyes locking again.
He did not know how many moments passed before he managed to speak. "Miss Hale – or, pardon me, is it Mrs. Hale?"
"I am Miss Hale." Was it his imagination, or did she blush slightly? And why had he felt near panic for a moment?
John realized her hand still rested in his. "Forgive me." He reluctantly released her, their fingers brushing again as he dropped his hand. She looked down, seeming a little flustered. She brushed the hair back from her forehead again.
"Hale–" The name stirred a memory. "You are Mr. Bell's heiress."
She gave a small nod. "He was my godfather."
"I am very sorry for your loss, Miss Hale."
"I thank you. I do miss him very much."
Suddenly he realized what this meant. Mr. Bell's heiress. "And I suppose I must ask your pardon again. It appears it is not you who are the trespasser here, but I. This is your mill." And no longer mine.
"Oh no…" She appeared rather distressed by his words. "No, you mustn't think that at all. It is your mill. It has been for so long. It is hardly mine, I mean, well I suppose legally it is, but… oh, this is all so new to me. And I know nothing about cotton mills. I do apologize, I am rambling."
John watched her in wonder as she spoke. He had to concentrate on attending to her words. It was far too easy to get lost in those expressive eyes, the movement of her lips… Her voice floated in the air like music. When she finished speaking, she bit her lip and looked down, as though she was trying to stop herself from saying anything else. Was she nervous? Did he make her nervous?
"There is no need to apologize, Miss Hale. Of course this must all seem strange to you. Mr. Bell's loss must have been a shock."
She bit her lip. It was… adorable.
He shook himself. "Have you anyone who could assist you, a father, brother, or… or an intended perhaps?" As soon as the words left his mouth John wanted to kick himself. Why had he asked her such a thing… It was inappropriate. And incredibly obvious.
"No, my father died last year. I have no one else." Her bright eyes suddenly filled with shadows. He felt a sudden shame for bringing her pain.
"I am sorry to hear that, Miss Hale. If there is anything I can do, I would be happy to be of what assistance I can… if you wish." Why did I say that? And besides, what assistance could she possibly need from him? She was Mr. Bell's heiress, a wealthy woman. She could require nothing from John Thornton, failed mill master. Yet something in him wanted desperately to be of service to her.
"That would be wonderful, Mr. Thornton." A warm smile spread across her face as she gazed at him. His heart beat faster in his chest.
"I'm at your service, Miss Hale." And in that moment he knew he would do anything he could for her.
But, he realized with dismay, I have already failed her. He had failed to save Marlborough Mills. He had already let her down. The guilt knotted deep in his core.
He could reassure her that the mill's closing was temporary. After all, he could reopen it again with the funds from Latimer…
His throat tightened. The room seemed to spin. No. His mind refused to think about that.
He cleared his throat. "Do you have plans for the mill, Miss Hale?"
"Oh, I hardly know yet. I am so ignorant, I feel so ill-prepared to make such decisions. It does seem such a shame for the mill to stay closed, with so many people who depend on it for work."
"Indeed. Unfortunately, it will take a great deal of capital now to reopen Marlborough Mills."
"Hmm, yes." She looked thoughtful.
John felt a deep sense of shame. He had been in charge. It had been up to him to keep the mill in business, to see to its prosperity, and he had failed her.
"I am very sorry, Miss Hale, that I could not keep the mill in business. I am sorry that my failure has become a problem for you." John hung his head, unable to continue.
"Oh no, Mr. Thornton. You must not feel responsible. Mr. Bell was very firm in his opinion that the closure was not your fault. He had every confidence in you." Her voice was earnest, and her eyes full of sympathy.
She placed a consoling hand on his arm. Once again, the warmth of her touch seemed to spread throughout his body.
He felt a strange pull in his chest, a longing to hold her close. He was struck with a sudden vision of those eyes shining at him with affection, her warm arms offering him comfort at the end of a long day…
He looked down at the floor. What is wrong with me? "You need not concern yourself with me. I will make plans to vacate the house soon."
"No, please do not do that. Please–" She looked down at her hand on his arm in surprise, as though she had not realized she had touched him. She slowly retracted her hand, a flush on her cheeks.
"Do not do anything yet, Mr. Thornton. I have an idea… Well, I need to speak with my lawyer first. I am dining with him tonight. But please, do not make any plans yet."
"Very well, if that is what you wish." Perhaps she wanted to keep him around for a time as an adviser. He could help her with getting the mill running again. It would prevent him from securing another position as soon, however, and he was already worried about what kind of employment the failed master of Marlborough Mills could expect to find. But he knew already that anything she asked, he would do.
Their eyes met again silently for a few moments. Margaret blinked rapidly, and looked down at her hands clutched in front of her waist.
"Well, I suppose I should endeavor to find my way home again. As I said, I am dining with Mr. Taylor and his wife. They insisted since I have no servants yet. They are very kind."
"You have no servants?" What was a lady like Miss Hale doing staying in a home all by herself without any servants?
"No, not yet. I only arrived today. But Mr. Taylor will assist me in finding some help." She pulled a map from her pocket and glanced at it. "I hope I can find my way home from here."
"May I help you, Miss Hale?" John inwardly grimaced. He sounded such a fool. He was like an awkward adolescent, tripping over himself to be of help to her.
"Oh, you will think me silly. It is just that I am new to Milton, and I find it a bit confusing. I come from a small village in the south. And when I lived in London I never had the chance to walk around by myself."
"Not silly at all, Miss Hale. Where are you staying?"
"I have a home in Crampton."
"Please allow me to accompany you home. It would put my mind at ease, I would not want to worry about you getting lost, Miss Hale."
She regarded him for a moment. His heart clenched. Perhaps he was being too forward, too presumptuous.
"If it would put your mind at ease, Mr. Thornton." She gave him a small smile. Was she teasing him? Something fluttered in his chest. He felt the corners of his mouth lifting.
He glanced down and for the first time he noticed her hat that had fallen to the floor, seemingly forgotten. He reached down and picked it up, and held it out to her. "My apologies once again, Miss Hale."
Her fingertips brushed his as she took the hat from him. Her cheeks flushed more deeply. She raised her eyes to his slowly. "I… I thank you, Mr. Thornton."
He held her gaze for a moment, then held out his arm. "Shall we?"
She gently placed her hand on his arm. Her eyelids fluttered, but she kept her gaze down as he led her out of the mill.
As they made their way back to Crampton, they walked silently at first. John tried to focus on something other than the feeling of Margaret's hand on his arm, the brush of her skirts against his leg, her light floral scent in the air... As they walked the busy streets he tried to imagine how Milton must appear to her. To come from a village in the south, surrounded by green pastures and fresh air… Milton must seem very foreign to her. He wondered if the change in her circumstances distressed her.
He cleared his throat. "I am sorry to hear you recently lost your father, Miss Hale. And then to lose Mr. Bell as well – that must have been very difficult for you."
"Yes, it has been a trying time. My mother died only a few months before my father." He thought he saw a slight glimmer of tears in her eyes as she spoke.
"My deepest condolences." His words seemed so inadequate. He wished he could offer her some real comfort.
"Thank you. I do miss them all very much."
"You come from the south?"
"Yes, I lived in a small village called Helstone. My father was the parson there." She gave him a small, wistful smile.
"You must miss it. I expect Milton is quite a change for you."
"Yes, I did love Helstone. It was lovely. So green and beautiful. But somehow – it felt different after Papa died. The villagers–" Her expression darkened. "Well, they did not seem to mourn him overlong."
"I am sorry, Miss Hale. I am sure he was an excellent man."
"Yes, he was. He was a scholar as well, you know. That is how he knew Mr. Bell, from Oxford."
"I see. That is very admirable." She was proud of her father, he could tell. "I would have liked the chance to study at university." He regretted the words as soon as they were spoken. Why had he admitted such a thing? That topic was dangerous. He was afraid of where her questions might lead.
"Really, Mr. Thornton?" She smiled at him. "I believe you would have gotten on well with my father, then. He loved to discuss literature and philosophy. Do those subjects interest you?"
John was enchanted by the way her expression lit up when talking about her father. He forced himself to focus on her words. "Yes, I enjoy reading whenever I get the chance. Of course, with running a mill – I have not often had much free time."
"Yes, I do understand that. I know you must have been very busy." Her expression became troubled. He longed to bring back that joy he had just seen.
"And I suppose… a wife and children… would also take up much of a mill master's time." She kept her gaze down, a light flush on her cheeks.
John nearly lost his footing, catching himself before breaking his stride. Is she asking what I think she's asking? "I would not know, Miss Hale, as I have neither."
He was rewarded with a quick, gratified peek through dark lashes. His heart soared.
He tried to appear unaffected. "Did you often discuss books with your father, Miss Hale?"
She smiled again. "Yes, sometimes I did. More often I would listen to him lecture. He especially loved Plato and Aristotle…
"But oh, the most wonderful thing! Mr. Bell saved Papa's books for me. I had no idea! I found them in my library, here in Crampton. He left them for me. He knew I would want to have them. It was so kind of him."
The radiant joy on her face nearly stole his breath. "That was very thoughtful of him. He must have cared for you greatly."
"Yes, he was a dear man. I will be glad to read Papa's books again. Perhaps…" Her manner suddenly seemed rather shy. "Perhaps you would care to look through them sometime. You would be more than welcome to borrow anything that interests you."
He looked down at her in surprise. That she would be willing to share her late father's prized possessions… with him. After hearing her speak so reverently of her beloved father, he understood what a great honor she granted him. His throat tightened.
"That is most generous of you, Miss Hale." He spoke quietly, losing himself once more in those alluring eyes.
She held his gaze for a moment. Her eyelashes fluttered and she looked away, blushing.
"Oh, I recognize this street. Yes, my house is just around this corner." Margaret took the lead now, guiding John to the home she had so recently acquired. "Thank you for seeing me home, Mr. Thornton. Thanks to you, I did not get lost." She gave him a small smile.
"I am glad to deliver you home safe, Miss Hale." He smiled back at her, before realizing he did not know when or if he would see her again. Suddenly he was overcome with a feeling almost like despair. "If there is anything I can do–" He broke off. "If you require anything–"
"You will be hearing from me soon, Mr. Thornton." She gently placed her hand on his arm, and his heart leapt at the touch. He gave her a small nod, unable to speak again. She turned and unlocked the door, then looked back at him again for a moment before slipping inside.
John took no notice of his surroundings as he made his way back to Marlborough Mills. His mind was filled only with her. Her eyes… her lips… the way she had felt so warm and soft when he had held her in his arms for that brief moment… the scent of… roses. That was the perfume he had noticed.
She had asked him not to make any plans, and that he would hear from her soon. What did she mean by soon? He was not sure how he would manage to wait. He was much too impatient to see her again.
He longed to help her in some way. If she wanted to reopen the mill, he could assist her, offer advice, and find a trustworthy overseer for her to employ. Perhaps he could help her find investors. Maybe Latimer–
John came to a sudden halt in the street. Latimer. He was engaged for dinner with the Latimers tonight, where they would be discussing Mr. Latimer's investment in Marlborough Mills – and the terms of that agreement.
Suddenly he was unable to breathe. His heart was racing. He knew very well that the money to reopen the mill depended on his marriage to Ann Latimer. A marriage that, he now knew with all certainty, could never happen. The decision had been made. No. There was no decision to make.
John Thornton could never marry another woman when Margaret Hale walked in the world.
