Margaret awoke feeling unusually contented. As she stretched and yawned, she suddenly recalled the events of the previous day. I am engaged to John Thornton! She came fully awake in an instant. The memory of his proposal… his kisses… his smoldering eyes… his lips… Margaret covered her face with her hands and giggled. Oh, she was deliriously in love. To think – soon she would be Mrs. John Thornton, and would be waking up in his bed! Margaret felt herself blushing. She knew little of the marriage bed, but if John's kisses were anything to go by, she was eager to learn more.

Becky helped her style her hair with particular care. The young maid had been thrilled to hear of Margaret's engagement. She had felt horribly guilty for opening the door to Henry yesterday, when the man had pushed his way in and not even waited for permission to enter. Margaret had assured her she was not responsible for Henry's reprehensible behavior. But Becky had been overjoyed that John had proved himself a hero once again, and now was going to marry her very own Miss Margaret.

"Oh, and I'll be so happy to follow you anywhere, even to the big house with the mistress who's so severe. Ah, but you'll be the mistress now, won't you? And you'll be such a lovely one, too. The other girls will all envy me. Imagine me, lady's maid to the mistress of Marlborough Mills! Ah, it sounds so proper. Miss Latimer never would have done, you know. Now there you go, you look so beautiful! Just like a queen. Mr. Thornton won't be able to take his eyes off you." Becky's happy babbling was interrupted by a knock on the door. She bobbed a quick curtsey and ran out to answer it.

As Margaret walked downstairs her attention abruptly caught on her maid's words. Miss Latimer? Was that not the name of Becky's previous mistress? Why had she mentioned her? Margaret did not have long to consider the matter as she saw the man at the door, eagerly awaiting her.

"John!" She rushed down the stairs to him. Conscious of Becky's presence, she did not throw herself into his arms as she truly longed to do, but instead grasped both his outstretched hands. "You are here!"

"I am here, Margaret." He beamed back at her. She sensed that he enjoyed using their Christian names as much as she did. "I thought perhaps we could take the day off from work. It seems like a nice day for a picnic." He gestured down to a covered basket sitting by the door. "What do you say?"

"That sounds wonderful!" She noticed that Becky had Margaret's shawl and hat already waiting. "Well, I guess I'm ready!" She accepted the items from the grinning maid and took John's offered arm. She looked up a bit shyly into his handsome face, his eyes shining back with undisguised affection. How thrilling to know that look was for her! Her hand trembled a bit as she set it on his arm.

John picked up the basket with his other hand and led her out the door. As they walked, she glanced up at him and caught him looking down at her. They both smiled at each other a little bashfully. She wondered if he also felt a little nervous, with everything between them so new and unfamiliar. Strangely, that thought made her feel more confident and she squeezed his arm.

"So where are we to have our picnic? I do not know of any green parks in Milton."

John chuckled. "No, I'm afraid there is not much green here. But I know of a place that I think will do." He winked at her. "I have had a little more time than you to explore all the intricacies of this city."

"I suppose so." She grinned at him. "Well then, I am glad to benefit from your wealth of experience."

John laughed heartily at her response. The sound thrilled her. That she could bring him that kind of happiness! She vowed to herself as his wife she would endeavor to make John laugh every day.

"I told Mother our news." John leaned down to speak quietly in her ear.

"Oh?" Margaret felt a bit apprehensive about the matriarch's response to the marriage of her only son. She traced her fingers idly on John's arm without lifting her gaze. "And what did she say?"

"She insists on a large, grand wedding and inviting the whole town." Margaret looked up, alarmed, only to see a mirthful grin on John's face.

"Oh, John!" She playfully pushed his arm. "She said no such thing!" She giggled.

"No, she did not. But how did I know you would be horrified by a big affair?" John's smile turned tender. "Do I know my Margaret so well already?"

Margaret fluttered inside. "Your Margaret…" she spoke softly. "I like that." She looked up at him shyly, her cheeks flushed.

John's eyes flashed and he bent his head closer. "My Margaret," he whispered. "Mine forevermore."

John hardly recognized himself as he proudly strolled the streets of Milton, enraptured by the feeling of Margaret's arm in his. Who was this lovestruck man, out for a pleasure walk in the middle of the day? What had happened to the stern, cold master of Marlborough Mills? He smiled to himself to consider how he must appear to observers on the street. Glancing at the captivating lady beside him, he found he cared not a bit for what anyone else might think. The only approval he sought was in those magnificent grey eyes.

"So, if you do not want a big wedding, what would you like, my Margaret? Your wish is my command." John was charmed at the way her face lit up at his words.

"Oh, I've never cared much about the particulars. I never wanted a big fuss. I suppose I imagined I would marry on a sunny morning, just put on my favorite dress and walk to the church." She smiled bashfully, but then her face fell a little. "That was in Helstone."

John felt a pang in his chest. "You miss your parents."

Margaret nodded, and bit her lip. She blinked and turned her head away. John's heart ached at seeing her sorrow. "Margaret, please do not hide your feelings from me."

She turned back, and her expression was now troubled. "I'm sorry, John. It is just... I feel guilty being so happy with you, when I should still be sad about my parents. And I am – I am so sad that they won't be at my wedding, and yet I'm so happy…" Margaret shook her head and John was alarmed to see tears beginning to fall down her cheeks.

"Margaret..." John felt helpless at seeing her tears. Glancing about them, he pulled her into a secluded alleyway, away from any curious eyes. He took her into his arms and she laid her head on his chest. "Margaret, don't be ashamed to cry, or feel you have to keep it from me. It is all right to be sad for your parents, just as it is all right to feel happy, even without them." He held her while she cried, her tears wetting his coat.

After a minute her tears slowed. John felt her sigh in his arms. She withdrew just enough to look up at him, her wide eyes still wet. "John."

John softly traced her cheek with his fingers, and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. How he longed to comfort her more fully, to show her how much she meant to him. But for now, he must content himself with these small gestures.

Margaret smiled and laid her head on his shoulder for a moment, then pulled away and took his arm again. John picked up the basket and they resumed their walk.

They were silent for a few minutes, as they neared the graveyard. The small clearing that was John's destination lay on the other side of the cemetery. Without thinking, he took her down his habitual path that led alongside his father's grave.

His thoughts preoccupied by the woman at his side, he did not realize where they were until they were nearly upon the grave. At the sudden tension in his arm, Margaret glanced up at him, and then at the place where his eyes rested. Her eyes took in the name carved on the stone marker.

"George Thornton." Her hand on his arm tightened. She looked up at him again, her wide eyes full of compassion. "Your father?"

"Yes." John knew he should say more but no words came. They stood a few minutes in silence, both looking at the grave.

Margaret placed her free hand gently on John's arm. "You have not spoken of your father." It was not a question, but John knew he must respond.

He never talked about his father. Not once, in all the years since his death, had he told another living soul about the circumstances of his father's death. Many knew, of course. The news had been common gossip in Milton all those years ago, and some still remembered. He knew he must tell Margaret; as his intended, she had a right to know. Would she hold his father's disgrace against him, as so many had? Perhaps she would feel it too shameful to be married to such a man. He felt a lead weight settle in his chest. Their engagement was not public, they could end it without any scandal or harm to her reputation. He would make sure of that. If she wanted to be free he would not hold her to her commitment.

Without speaking, he led Margaret away from the grave, past rows of stone markers, and out of the cemetery. They arrived at a small clearing on the side of a hill, covered with wildflowers. John guided her to a large tree near the top of the hill. Placing the basket in the shade, he removed a large quilted blanket and laid it on the grass. He gestured for Margaret to sit and settled himself next to the trunk of the tree. She moved closer until she was leaning up against him. He wrapped his arm around her, and she laid her head upon his shoulder.

"My father…" John's voice caught in his throat. He stopped and sighed, and started again. "My father died when I was fourteen. He died in unfortunate circumstances…" He stopped again.

Margaret placed her hand on his chest, a gentle reassurance. John rested his hand on hers.

"My father was in trade. He took risks he should not have, made some bad investments, speculations…" He swallowed. "They did not come through. He lost everything and much more. He was greatly in debt." John closed his eyes and said the words he had never spoken. "He took his own life."

Margaret did not speak, but he felt the gentle pressure of her hand. She inched her face a little closer to his neck, almost nuzzling him.

"Margaret–" John felt the need to ensure she fully understood his degradation. She could not marry him without knowing. "Margaret, my father, his – suicide–" He choked out the word. "It was a scandal. A disgrace. He owed a great deal of money… He left those debts unpaid." John felt his eyes beginning to sting. "I worked for many years to repay all those debts. I was barely a man when I started – still a boy, really. He left us with nothing. He abandoned us."

John could say no more. His breath was starting to come in shorter gasps. He felt Margaret move in even closer, her hand moving from his chest up to stroke his cheek. He was alarmed to feel tears forming in his eyes and blinked against them.

They sat for a few minutes, while John struggled to bring himself under control. He realized that Margaret was placing tiny kisses along his jaw. He let out a shuddering breath and tightened his arm around her. Was she truly still here, offering him solace, even after his horrifying revelation?

After a time, Margaret rested her head on his shoulder again. "What was he like? Before. As a father?" Her voice was quiet and calm, soothing.

John took a few moments to reflect. It was not a question he had ever been asked. "As a father? He was… he was full of life. He had a great deal of energy, always excited about some new invention or opportunity… He would take me on outings, just the two of us. He taught me to climb a tree… He had such a loud, spirited laugh. You would hear it even in a crowded room." John realized he was smiling. "He taught me the constellations and how to find directions from the stars. He loved the stars. Sometimes we would go out at night and look at them together."

John was flooded with memories, events he had forgotten, recollections he had pushed from his mind. For so long he had purposefully not thought of his father, the pain too raw, too bitter. How had he forgotten all the good times, their happy days, the love they had shared? So long he had focused only on what he saw as his father's failure, his betrayal. But there was more, so much more, to his father than that.

Margaret's hand idly traced the buttons of his waistcoat. "It sounds as though he loved you very much."

John's throat tightened. Yes, his father truly had loved him. Had he somehow forgotten that over the years? He felt a burden lifting from his heart. "Yes. He did love me."

They sat without moving for some time. John could hear a bird calling from the branches above them. A gentle breeze blew around his face, ruffling his hair. An ethereal peace surrounded them, blanketing them from the world outside.

"Margaret–" John had to say the words, had to make sure all was clear between them. "Can you accept my past, my history? Some in Milton will still recall the scandal. Can you still marry me, knowing that?" He sat holding her, afraid to look her in the eye.

She did not respond for a few moments. Then she pulled away, and clasped her hands in her lap. John felt bereft at the loss of her warmth against him. Was she now reconsidering their engagement? He felt a sudden stab of despair in his heart.

Her words were the last thing John expected. "John, I have a brother." She glanced at him. "Frederick. He is older than me. We were very close. I adored him…" She looked away, gazing into the distance. "He joined the navy when I was still a young girl. He was so excited, he told me stories of all the exotic places he would visit, the adventures he would have…" She sighed. "He was under the command of a bad man. I do not know all the details, but men died because of the captain's incompetence. Frederick and some of the other sailors rose up against him. It was a mutiny." She looked down at her hands. "Frederick is banished from England forever. He would be hanged if he ever came back. I do not think I will ever see him again."

She looked at John again. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears. "Frederick is a good man, and a good brother. I do not know if his actions in the mutiny were justified. I know he did what he believed to be right. I do not know if it was a mistake." She placed her hand on John's, which rested on his knee. "We all have made mistakes, and done wrong. Often we believe we are doing the right thing."

John was suddenly overcome by a feeling of gratitude for this woman beside him. She was able to touch his heart in a way no one ever had, her healing words soothing so many years of pain and bitterness. How had he been so blessed? John had not been very religious since his childhood, but surely the appearance of Margaret Hale in his life was evidence of some divine plan.

"So, John," Margaret moved closer, leaning against his side again. "Can you forgive my family's scandal and disgrace? Do you still want to marry me?" Her wide eyes gazed at him warmly, openly baring her heart to him. John suddenly knew this woman would accept him fully, every part of him. He felt a rush of love for her flooding his soul.

He bent his head and slowly, tenderly lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss was gentle but sure, all hesitancy swept away. This kiss spoke of belonging, one to each other, wholly and completely. Her lips were soft, comforting. The flame of desire was there, smoldering, but right now John found he could hold it at bay. In this moment, this was enough.

Some time later they retrieved their lunch from the basket and ate their picnic on the grass. John spent more time watching Margaret than eating. He was too absorbed in the way Margaret's hair shone in the sunlight. When the wind blew her chestnut curls onto her forehead, he delighted in softly brushing them back for her. The flare of heat in her eyes when his fingers grazed her skin made his pulse race.

After their lunch, John pulled out a book from the basket and suggested they read to each other. She looked at the title of the book and blushed.

"Twelfth Night?" One brow lifted as she peered up at him slyly.

"I am assured by a reliable source that it is very romantic." He leaned down, brushing his nose against her temple. "Something about a strong, beautiful heroine who longs to share her heart with the man she loves…" His grin widened when she laughed gaily.

"Then by all means, let us read it. It sounds intriguing."

They read aloud to each other, each taking different roles, hands and arms entwined, stealing kisses occasionally when they were sure no one was about. John was pleased that their shady refuge remained undisturbed, only occasionally espying other people walking some distance away. When they tired of reading they sat quietly for a while, her head on his shoulder, as he lightly traced her inner arm. He wondered if she was asleep until he heard her speak.

"John–" Her voice was quiet, as though she were afraid to break their spell of enchantment.

"Yes, my Margaret?"

"This has been the loveliest day of my life."

"Me, too, love." He rested his head on hers. "And this is only the beginning."

Afternoon faded into evening, and they reluctantly decided to leave their idyll and return home. John packed up the remains of their meal in the basket. Margaret had wandered off down the hillside to pick wildflowers. She walked back to him through the grass, hatless, curls blowing in the wind, her cheeks pink, eyes bright. John was struck anew at her beauty. Was this goddess truly going to be his wife?

Passing again through the cemetery, Margaret stopped when they reached his father's grave. She approached the headstone and touched it reverently, then lay the bouquet of flowers she had gathered on the stone. A moment later she crossed back to John and took his hand in hers. Without speaking, they turned as one and resumed their walk home.