For what must be the hundredth time that afternoon, John found his eyes wandering from his desk. Once again, they were drawn to the woman working quietly a few feet away. He did not usually have any problems focusing on a task. But Margaret Hale was just too tempting a distraction.

Not that John found it an inconvenience having her in the office. For the last ten days, in fact, Margaret had been an untiring and invaluable support. She had made herself useful in numerous ways. She had spent hours patiently taking notes and dictation for John, composing correspondence with buyers and distributors in a neat and efficient hand. She also proved to have a good head for numbers, and she seemed to enjoy adding up sums in his accounting ledgers.

His mother had come into the mill once to offer her assistance, but after observing Margaret and her competent efforts, she had left again. "Three's a crowd, after all, John," she had murmured quietly, with a sly smile. John was glad that Margaret had not overheard that comment.

Besides assisting in the office, Margaret had been a tremendous help with organizing the workers when they had reported at the mill. He had seen how the people responded to her warm smile and welcoming manner. His workers would always obey his orders, with respect and deference, but they followed her instructions seemingly with pleasure, and an eagerness to please her.

He had been glad to find that they would have no shortage of workers at the mill; they were now in the position of having to turn people away. It seemed all of Milton wished to work at Marlborough Mills. It had made Margaret even more determined to make the mill a success, and thereby be able to hire more people.

He regarded her now, carefully comparing lists of inventory. She brushed back a curl that fell onto her forehead, a habit he found captivating. But then, everything about this woman was enchanting. John sighed. He knew he was hopelessly in love. There was no denying it. He had never expected this. He had thought his heart immune to the lure of women; but for this one woman, it held no defense.

He was less certain of her feelings for him. At times he thought – or perhaps hoped – that she might feel something for him, too. Did he imagine a tenderness in her eyes when she looked at him? But maybe that was nothing more than the natural warmth and kindness she showed to everyone.

And she did not really need to be helping so much with the mill. Despite her assurances that the mill's prosperity benefited her as well, he hoped that his presence had something to do with her desire to be there.

But surely that was his own wishful thinking. John knew he was not good enough for her. She was a lady, gently born and bred, a far cry from his humble upbringings. And such a lady… He had never beheld beauty like hers, both in her physical being and her inner person. What could she possibly want with a man like him, so rough and unrefined? No, it could not be. He knew he would always love Margaret, but she would never be his. He would continue to love her from afar, as much as his heart might break. He would never be able to stop loving her.

John's thoughts were interrupted by a small gasp. Margaret was grimacing while leaning back and rubbing the right side of her neck.

"Are you all right, Miss Hale?"

"Yes, I must have been sitting in this position too long, I think." Her brow was furrowed in a frown. Her neck was obviously paining her.

John felt a strong urge to help her. Surely it would be inappropriate, though… Would she think he was taking advantage? Then Margaret tried to move her shoulder back and flinched. The decision was made.

"Miss Hale, please, would you allow me–" He walked over to her. "May I try to help your shoulder?" He lifted his hands to indicate his intention.

She looked at him a moment, then nodded. She lowered her arms. He stepped closer, and softly laid his hand on her neck at the spot she had been rubbing. Margaret's eyes closed, and she shivered slightly, but didn't pull away from his touch. He pressed more firmly and started massaging the area in small circles. She let out a small sigh and seemed to relax into his hand, her head drifting to the side to allow him better access.

John gripped the back of her chair with his other hand to steady himself. The touch of his hand on her skin had a startlingly intense effect on him, not to mention her small sighs. He closed his eyes to try to get control of himself. The sight of her creamy neck, bared to him under his fingers…

He stepped back from her suddenly, unable to continue. "I hope that helped a little, Miss Hale." He knew his voice sounded strained. He prayed she could not guess the reason. He turned away from her and strode back to his own chair.

"Oh–" Seated behind his desk, he looked up at her again. She was regarding him with a curious expression, her cheeks flushed. "Yes, that is better, thank you." She looked away from him.

John felt a rush of shame. Had she guessed his thoughts? She must be repulsed by him. Surely she would want to get away from him as quickly as she could. She would probably not return tomorrow.

"Perhaps it would be good to stop there for today." He would give her an excuse to leave now. He would continue working after she was gone.

"All right. Yes, I think I am a bit tired." Margaret stood up and stretched a little, her hand returning to touch the sore muscle in her neck for a moment. She crossed to the doorway and removed her hat from the coat rack. She glanced over at John. "Are you ready?"

John stared at her a moment, uncomprehending. "Pardon?"

"Well, I thought–" She suddenly looked flustered. "It is only, you have walked me home every evening, I just expected… Oh, forgive me." She shook her head, her eyes downcast. "Of course you cannot walk me home every day. I will see you tomorrow."

"Do you want me to walk you home?" Did she really still desire his company?

"Oh, well…" She eyed him uncertainly. "It's really quite selfish of me. You are busy. It is all right–"

"I would be happy to walk you home, Miss Hale." If she wanted him there, he would gladly afford himself any opportunity to remain in her presence.

Her answering smile nearly took his breath away, illuminating her whole face. "Thank you, Mr. Thornton. I do enjoy our walks together." John felt his spirits lifting immeasurably.

He donned his own hat and took her arm to escort her out of the mill. They did not speak for a few minutes.

"Miss Hale, I must tell you again how very grateful I am for all your assistance these past couple of weeks. I do want to make sure you do not ever feel compelled to help – although it is always appreciated." John still had trouble believing Margaret would truly want to spend her days at the mill.

"I know, Mr. Thornton. I really am enjoying the work, and knowing that I am helping you and the mill." She seemed to blush slightly at this. "It is good to be of use to someone again. It has been a long time since I felt useful."

"Were you not useful to your family in London?" At the look on Margaret's face, John wished he had not spoken. "Pardon me, I should not have asked such a thing."

"No, it is all right." Margaret gave him a half-hearted smile. "I have not spoken much of those days… It was not a happy time."

She was silent for several moments. John thought she would not continue, but then she began to speak again.

"I moved to London after my father died. My mother had passed not long before. She had been very ill, and we knew it was coming. But Papa…" She gazed into the distance. "He was at the church one Saturday, preparing for his sermon the next day. He did not come home for dinner. She blinked rapidly. "When he still was not home by bedtime, I went to check on him." She shook her head slightly, unable to continue.

John covered her hand on his arm with his other hand. "I am so sorry, Miss Hale."

She nodded. A few minutes passed without talking, while she regained her composure. "In London," she began again, "I lived with my cousin Edith and her husband. Edith and I were very close as children… At least, I always thought we were. But then she married Maxwell, and my Aunt Shaw died. And when I came back to London, Edith was – different." Margaret's eyes were troubled. "She only cared about Maxwell and their society friends, wearing the latest clothes and attending fashionable events. She did not seem to care about me at all any longer. I felt a burden to her. I missed – I missed the friend she used to be."

John ached to comfort her. "That must have been hard for you."

"Oh–" Margaret gave a small, humorless laugh. "That was not the worst of it. You see, Maxwell had a brother, Henry. He had… proposed to me, in Helstone, before my parents died. I turned him down. But he still wanted to marry me. And Edith–" Margaret looked alarmingly pale. "She made it clear I would be expected to marry Henry. With no one else to support me… I would have had few other options."

John felt such a burning rage within him he could not form words to speak. Margaret would have been forced into an unwanted marriage? By her own cousin? And this man, this Henry, would dare… John struggled to control his sudden overwhelming desire to hurt anyone who had ever caused her pain.

"Mar– Miss Hale…" John knew his voice sounded strained. "That anyone would try to pressure you into marriage..." He could not continue.

She looked up at him. She must have seen some of the emotion reflected there. "Don't worry, I am well now." She gave him a small smile. "I have my independence now, thanks to Mr. Bell. And anyway, I believe he would not have allowed me to marry Henry, if he had lived." She looked a little wistful. "Mr. Bell was a true friend. I – I suppose I have not had many friends."

John contemplated the incredible woman on his arm. "That astonishes me, Miss Hale. Who would not want to be your friend?"

She met his eyes again and her cheeks flushed. "What about you, Mr. Thornton? Have you many friends?"

The question unsettled him. Friends? He had never given much thought to friendship in his life. There had been far too many more pressing needs. And John valued his independence too much. He did not like to depend on others.

He looked away, frowning. "No, I would say I have not had many friends." He considered. "My mother. She has always stood by me. My sister…" He grimaced. "I'm not sure I could call her a friend. But perhaps that is my own fault." He sighed. "The other mill masters… At one time I might have called a few of them friends. But they were all quick to forget me when Marlborough Mills closed."

"That is not a true friend, I think." Margaret's eyes were full of sympathy. John felt his heart clench. "A true friend will stick by you, even at the lowest of times."

John was silent for a moment. "Yes. I believe… I believe you are a true friend, Miss Hale."

Her lips parted, but she did not speak. After a few moments she flushed and looked down. "I thank you, Mr. Thornton." She shyly peeked up at him. "I regard you as my friend as well."

John was warmed by the earnestness in her gaze. How much he longed to tell her what she really was to him, what he longed to be for her. Could she ever care for him as more than a friend?


When they arrived at Margaret's home in Crampton, John escorted her to her front step. "Thank you for allowing me to see you home, Miss Hale."

Margaret turned and looked up at John, biting her lip. "Would you care to come in and take some tea, Mr. Thornton? I thought you might like to see Papa's books that I mentioned."

John considered her for a moment. "Are you sure that would be wise, Miss Hale?" he asked hesitantly. "I mean, for us to be alone…" John regretted the words as soon as he had said them. What would she think he was implying?

"Oh, I see." Margaret looked embarrassed. "I mean, the servants are here, of course, but I understand that might not be entirely proper. Please forget I asked."

"No, no, forgive me, Miss Hale." John stepped forward, trying not to let her slip into the house yet. "I did not mean… I simply wish to protect your reputation. But of course, you are right, we would not be completely alone. And I suppose… we have already spent quite a bit of time alone at the mill." John felt a pang of guilt. Had he put her reputation in danger by allowing her to work so closely with him?

Margaret looked at him. "Mr. Thornton, I appreciate your concern. But I don't think there would be anything improper in my showing you Papa's books. They mean a lot to me. If you would like to see them, of course."

John stared back into those blue-grey eyes, and knew he was powerless to deny her anything, even if it went against his better judgment. "Very well, Miss Hale."

Entering the house, they were greeted in the front hallway by the housemaid, Becky. She was looking markedly happier and healthier than the last time John had seen her. She appeared surprised to see him there, and gave him a warm smile and a little curtsy.

"Would you bring tea to the study, please, Becky? I am going to show Papa's books to Mr. Thornton." Margaret smiled at the girl, who gave a small nod and hurried away to prepare the tea tray.

Margaret led John into the study, looking around fondly at the bookshelves. The room was small and cozy, with a comfortable, lived-in air. "I had no idea that Mr. Bell had saved my father's books. It was such a wonderful surprise, when I came to live here." She smiled fondly. "Mr. Bell was very secretive. He must have been preparing this home for me for some time."

"Perhaps so. I can't say that I knew him all that well. But I did get the impression that he was a very intelligent and observant man. He must have known that you would need a place to go."

Margaret gazed at him thoughtfully. She nodded slowly. "Perhaps sometimes a friend may know what we need, even before we know it ourselves."

John was unable to speak for a moment. The air in the small room suddenly seemed stuffy and warm. Did she know, could she tell how much he needed her? Could she possibly need him too?

They were interrupted by Becky's entrance with the tea tray. She set the tray on a table by a small sofa. John was relieved to see that Becky quite properly left the study door open when she withdrew.

Margaret sat next to John on the sofa and served the tea. He was very aware of her proximity next to him, and he could not draw his eyes away from her delicate motions. She remembered precisely how he took his tea, and prepared it perfectly.

Taking a few sips in silence, John turned to look at the bookshelf beside the sofa. He glanced over the titles there. "It appears your father was very fond of the classics."

"Yes, they were probably his favorites. He would discuss them with me sometimes."

"Are you also a classics scholar, Miss Hale?"

She smiled. "No, not really. I learned from my father, of course. But in truth, Papa had little choice; he could discuss Plato either with me, or with the chickens. He did not have many other options in Helstone."

John chuckled. "Well, I am sure you had more insightful observations than the chickens."

"Oh, I don't know, some of our chickens were quite intelligent." She gave a delightful little laugh. John felt his heart leap in his chest. He did not think he had ever heard a sound quite so lovely.

"Well, if the classics are not your preference, what do you like to read, Miss Hale?"

"Well…" She set down her teacup. "I enjoy reading novels sometimes. And some poetry. Oh, and plays. Papa had many volumes of Shakespeare's works." She began scanning the shelves as she spoke.

"Do you like Shakespeare? I am partial to his work as well."

"Are you? Yes, I am very fond of his plays. Many of them, at least. Some I do not like as much."

"Oh? Which ones?" John was eager to learn more of this amazing woman's mind.

"Well, to be honest, I do not overly care for Hamlet. Papa admired it greatly, and it has some very moving speeches, of course. But I could not like it terribly well. It revolves so much around murder and revenge."

"You are not fond of murder and revenge stories, then?"

"Not a great deal, I suppose." She smiled.

"I think I would agree with you there. A man should not waste his energies on revenge."

"But I do enjoy A Midsummer Night's Dream." Her eyes lit up. "That one is quite amusing, all the absurdity with the fairies, and the mixed-up lovers. Sometimes Papa and I would read it aloud, and we would do the silliest voices, especially for the troupe of players. You should have heard Papa when he imitated Bottom performing the lion's roar." She laughed brightly.

John grinned. "I would have loved to have heard that, Miss Hale."

"I also like Much Ado About Nothing. Although… Well, that one does anger me a little."

"Anger you?" John was startled. "How so?"

"Well, it all works out in the end of course, but along the way Claudio really treats Hero very poorly. He is horrible to her. That he would believe that she had been unfaithful to him, with another lover."

"He was persuaded to think she was. He thought he had seen her being unfaithful, with another man. Should he not have believed what he saw with his own eyes, then?"

"But he was mistaken in what he thought he saw! She was not truly unfaithful. And he knew her character, did he not? He wanted to marry her, after all. Surely he did not believe she could do such a thing, or be so unmaidenly. He should have simply spoken with her, asked her for an explanation, and trusted in the goodness of the woman he claimed to love."

"Perhaps you are right about that, Miss Hale. He should not have jumped to conclusions. A man should have faith in the woman he loves." John was captivated, sitting so near, watching Margaret speak so passionately.

"Benedick and Beatrice are also entertaining, but they seem very unrealistic to me. They spend the entire play bickering, and then we're supposed to believe they are actually in love?" She smiled, shaking her head. "That would not really happen."

"No, Miss Hale? But then, they do not realize their love for each other at first."

"I suppose… But I cannot imagine falling in love with someone when all we did was argue."

"Perhaps that would make it difficult, I grant you."

"Oh, but Romeo and Juliet is beautiful. The way they love each other so passionately… But it's so needlessly tragic. Every time I read it I keep thinking they did not really need to die! They could have worked things out somehow. If only there had not been so many miscommunications, so much pointless prejudice."

"Well, I have to disagree with you there, Miss Hale. I have never been fond of Romeo and Juliet."

"No?"

"No. I do not like Romeo. He did not deserve her. One moment the foolish boy is pining for Rosaline, and then the next he's madly in love with Juliet! A true heart would never be so inconstant. When a man truly loves…" John's voice faltered. "He would not forget his love so soon."

Margaret blinked, then suddenly flushed and looked down. She was silent for several moments.

"My very favorite Shakespeare play has to be Twelfth Night."

John was a little startled by the abrupt return to their conversation. "And why do you prefer that one, Miss Hale?"

Margaret smiled. "Well… I find Viola such a compelling character. Much more than Shakespeare's other heroines. She survives so much. Imagine… she nearly drowns in a shipwreck. And she loses everything dear to her. Her home… her parents… her brother…" Margaret paused and bit her lip. "She's cast away from everything she's known, adrift in a strange new world. And yet she doesn't let that stop her. She doesn't give up and stab herself, or drown herself in a pond. She pushes on, embracing a new life, a new place, and ends up meeting a man that she grows to love." She raised her eyes to John's.

John's heart started beating faster. He suddenly realized how closely they were sitting together, her skirts brushing against his leg. Her large grey eyes gazed into his with a fervent, open expression.

"And yet," she continued softly, "Viola has to suffer in silence, working alongside her duke each day, unable to tell him of her love for him."

The world seemed to stop around him. Surely he was dreaming. Was she – was she saying what it sounded like? Was she trying to tell him she cared for him?

John slowly reached out, gently covering Margaret's hand with his own. Her eyes fluttered, but did not break contact. John felt some force pulling him, gently, inexorably forward.

Her gaze fell to his lips. Her own were slightly open, waiting… She was leaning toward him, as well… He felt her soft breath on his face…

A loud voice shattered the silence. "Margaret!" John pulled back and jumped to his feet.

A man stood in the doorway, glaring fiercely at them. Margaret stood and John immediately moved in front of her to shield her. He felt her lightly place a hand on his arm and step to his side. She spoke in a quiet, resigned voice.

"Henry."