LIKE FATHER, LIKE SONS
Chapter Four
As the three adults listened to the pitter-patter of tiny feet fleeing up the stairs, John collapsed into an armchair, letting out a spent sigh. Raking his fingers through his dishevelled hair, he leaned forwards, bending his elbows on his knees, and burying his head in his hands.
He looked like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
'God help me!' he muttered, his chords cracking. 'What am I going to do?'
Hannah and Margaret shared an unsettled glance, then with a nod of approval, Hannah mutely settled that his wife should be the one to tend to him. Margaret shambled forward on her knees and rested at his feet. Placing one hand on his leg like an anchor of reassurance, she tenderly began to soothe the side of his bristly face, whispering words of solace and support.
'There, there, my darling,' she comforted, 'we will find a way.'
John's head shot up. 'But how?' he begged, his tone gruff and tired. 'Margaret, I've tried everything! I've shouted at them. I've explained it to them. I've reasoned with them. I've warned them. I've bartered with them. I've even threatened sanctions and reprimands of all sorts for pity's sake. Nothin' seems to work!'
Margaret nibbled her bottom lip, unsure of how to proceed, but there were certain matters that needed to be discussed, despite their unsavoury ilk. 'You will not…John, dearest, you do not actually mean to strike them, do you?' she inquired tensely, her maternal trepidation as clear as the wintry night sky.
John inhaled sharply and his body slumped. 'No,' he confessed frankly. 'No, you know I never could,' he reassured Margaret, taking her hand and smoothing her knuckles. 'I would never forgive myself. But the threat just slipped out. I hoped it would maybe give them a fright. I thought if I put the fear of God in 'em, it might make the lads see that I mean business,' he justified, more to himself than anyone else.
John knew that most men did not think twice about taking up a belt or stick and thrashing their offspring. He knew too that some judged him soft or spineless for not doing the same and could not understand why the once merciless master had mellowed so markedly. Some speculated that John Thornton's shrewd sensibilities had been spoilt by his fine southern lass and her strange principles.
The truth was, that during his bachelor years, John Thornton had never given much consideration to the concept of having a family of his own. Nonetheless, he had always assumed that if such an eventuality did transpire, he would be a firm father who related to his progeny with barely more than reserved and impassive regard. He had presumed that he would not be prone to words of affirmation, or affectionate embraces, nor would he partake in infantile horseplay and games. He had believed that he would see his children rarely and that they would exist in distinctly separate spheres, until the day they reached adulthood and he commenced a cordial but formal relationship with them as strangers. That was the way things were generally done and he had no desire to question the status quo. Yes, John had scarcely dwelt on the possibility of having children and his hypothetical rapport with them, that is of course, until he met the woman whom he wanted to be the mother of his children.
From the day John had been introduced to Miss Hale, his black-and-white world, previously dulled to the senses, had suddenly been infused with colour and vibrancy. He found that he began to contemplate things that he had never before entertained. The prospect of wooing and taking a wife had once seemed so foreign to the man whom people jibed was married to his mill, but now, the possibility of having and holding her was too enchanting to ignore or surrender.
He had to plead guilty to having frequently fantasised about what it would be like to witness his dreary abode come to be filled with her sweet presence and each trite room being transformed and thawed by the sight and sound of their own nurslings laughing and crying. She would have taken his house and reformed it into a home, somewhere that would no longer be impersonal, instead making it cosy, contented, and cheerful. His mind harked back to the night of the Thornton dinner party when he had dreamt that most vivid vision, in which he had envisaged Miss Hale lying naked in his arms, his hand stroking the bump of her belly, caressing both her and the precious life within. It had been the most carefree, and yet the cruellest of dreams, mocking his soul's deepest desires.
Even when he and Margaret had married, John was still uncertain of what sort of parent he would be, but he soon found out. He remembered the exact moment Margaret had told him that she suspected she was with child, mere weeks after their wedding. It had been during a stroll in the countryside and with the sun shining, she had shyly peeked up at him with glowing skin and rosy cheeks, and she had taken his palm and held it on her tummy, before blushing in that adorable way she did. It was one of his sweetest memories and his heart treasured it. He had been awe-struck and even although she was not far along enough for him to detect any sign of her pregnancy, he had somehow known it to be true. John had sunk to his knees and touched and kissed her stomach with reverence. His breath had caught in his chest as he felt an overwhelming outpouring of love and devotion for the babe growing inside her, and knew there and then, that he would do everything in his power to take care of both of them.
He remembered the first time Margaret had woken him up in the night, and he had startled in panic, fearing that she had taken ill, but no, she just wanted him to feel the baby kick. John had gawked as a hidden foot booted him with astounding force, causing him to chuckle, for he could see that the little one had their mother's feisty spirit. He recalled the piercing wails of their newborn cries as they each entered this world, or the first time he had cradled the fragile bundles of joy in his arms, or their first babbling words and their first shaky steps, God, he could recount it all. It was in these cherished moments that John Thornton learned that his sole purpose in life was to love Margaret and every one of their beautiful babies.
Yes, John Thornton may have been a humourless sourpuss in the eyes of Milton society, but behind closed doors, he was the most besotted and blessed papa in all of England. That is why in spite of his generally heated nature, John could not condone the unforgivable abuse of trouncing any one of his children, no matter how sorely they tested his patience. He knew too well how it was. Once the beatings started, then a man would readily raise his fist for all manner of sordid and senseless provocations, using his defenceless victim as a release for his rage. No, since the day Margaret had first met him and challenged his brutality, John Thornton had never so much as laid an aggressive finger on another person. His integrity and more importantly, his veneration for her, would simply never tolerate it. Her approval and admiration meant more to him than anything, so, he would not even consider risking it by harming another soul, let alone their own children.
Consequently, John had never struck his bairns, not once, and he ferociously opposed anybody who had ever tried, resolutely defending the baby chicks in his nest. He felt sick whenever he was reminded of the time that he had discovered Maria's bruised and slashed hands that had been repeatedly scourged by her tutor and his rod. An incensed John had seen red and had reacted with a frenzy of paternal feeling. He had snapped the monster's cane, hurled him out of the house, and sent him packing, with Ruff chasing him away and snapping and snarling at his heels. John had immediately enveloped his weeping daughter in the shelter of his arms and gently rocked her for hours while she whimpered, and he promised that he would never let anybody hurt her again, and so far, he had kept his pledge.
No, John would not permit any harm to come to any of them, for he wanted his children to look upon him with deference and trust, but not with fear, never with that. But lately, it had become increasingly difficult to discipline his eldest sons and he was adrift in a sea of inexperience, desperately seeking land, a shore where he could take refuge from his self-doubt and the nauseating dread he felt for their welfare.
'I'm at my wits' end, Meg!' he admitted. 'I can't stand the thought of what might happen to them.'
It was at this point that Hannah deemed it appropriate to open her mouth and impart what few words of wisdom she might possess.
'John,' she began benevolently, as she stood and stepped towards the couple, her aged face illuminated by the weakening firelight. Her son glanced up, his features a fog of fretfulness.
'John, son, you must stop wrestling with yourself, you must not blame yourself. You do not need to agonise like this,' she counselled in the most velvety lilt Margaret had ever heard her use.
'How can I not?' he questioned with scepticism. 'Mother, you know as well as I do how precarious the factory floor is. I caught them tonight climbing all over the machines, paying no heed to the spokes and looms. They could have gotten trapped, or lacerated, or…,' he trailed off, unable to finish his unbearable prophecy.
'And fire! Mother, you have seen how devastating a flame can be in a mill. The whole thing could have been consumed and burnt to a cinder in minutes. To think…to think they could have been in there and I…I may not have been able to reach them…to save them. How could I live with myself if they…if they…'
He gulped and Hannah noticed that John's typically sonorous speech had suddenly become incredibly small. As he stared off into the distance, imagining all manner of horrors, she saw the grim shadow of fright flit across his face and he looked terrified. Then as the pale moonlight flooded the room, Hannah's heart bled for her son as she saw that he was no longer the man, the master, the magistrate, but was once again her vulnerable boy.
Both Margaret and his mother grew distressed as John's body started to shudder. His formidable frame trembled as he held back the tempest of his fevered emotions. He was such a robust and resilient pillar of strength, that it was almost impious to see him affected in this way.
'Shhh, my love, do not think like that, please,' Margaret pleaded, gripping his arm.
Hannah laid her hand on the crown of his head, delicately ruffling his raven-black mane. 'Now, John, I appreciate how scared you are, believe me, I know,' she commenced, and John's expression became one of curious intrigue.
'John, when you were a small lad, you were just the same,' she revealed warmly.
John's brow furrowed and he rapidly shook his head. 'No!' he contested. 'No, I was never so wild.'
'Aye, maybe not so rowdy, but just as inquisitive,' she retorted with a nostalgic huff. 'Why John, you were always sneaking off to God knows where and up to all sorts of tomfoolery. You would abscond at all hours and go exploring by yourself, with no word of where and when we would likely see you again. You liked looking at the new trains and their tracks, and more than once, a navvy brought you home, covered in mud and grime and enough engine oil to have a bath in!' she snorted. 'You always had such a grin on your ruddy face. But no matter how much I admonished you, you would still run off and I was mad with worry about what might befall my Johnny.'
John and Margaret listened attentively, both equally stunned at this account of a young John Thornton, the man who was notorious for being strict, stern, and as precise as a Swiss watch. The very idea of him breaking the rules or not obsessing over risks seemed estranged to the scrupulous person sitting before them.
'No,' John asserted again. 'You cannot be right, that does not sound like me at all,' he insisted, although both ladies detected the brooding glimmer in his eye as if a distant memory was gradually forming in his subconscious.
'True, it's not a bit like you now,' Hannah acknowledged. 'But it was back then when you were no more than a tyke. But John, the essential thing to remember is that the tearaway in you soon matured into a man. You learned as all boys do,' she clucked, concluding her parable.
Hannah took her son's face in her hands and tilted his head so that he could not avoid her gaze. Brushing her thumbs against his cheeks, she wished with every fibre of her being that she could make him see what she did; a man who had been so callously trampled by life, but who had miraculously survived and thrived. She saw him for what he was, a marvellous father, and one who could and would, take this setback in his stride, for he was John Thornton, a master among men.
'John, I know you are scared. You have every right and reason to be. But they are just boys and they will grow up. Perhaps, my lad, what they need is not a firm hand, but a father who is willing to understand them and give them the freedom to make mistakes. Besides…with two such stubborn parents, is it any wonder they are so tenacious?'
John and Margaret were both about to protest most emphatically, but Hannah quickly stopped them. 'It is no use arguing! Look how long it took the two of you to own up to your mistakes and confess that you loved each other? Well? Hmm?!'
As Hannah Thornton observed them both sitting in contemplative silence, she smiled and nodded astutely. 'Exactly…you are both as stubborn as they come, but still, look how far you have come, both of you. Your boys will be just fine, believe me,' she promised.
Hannah placed a lingering peck on the top of John's head, and after squeezing Margaret's shoulder, she bid them both goodnight. But before she left, she turned and predicted: 'Everything will look better in the morning, you shall see, it always does. You are both wonderful parents and your children are blessed to have you.' Then with that, she trailed out of the parlour and they watched her candle as it bobbed away, the flickering light swallowed by a cloak of darkness.
Left alone, John and Margaret sat in the shroud of an intimate hush, the cogs of their minds turning just as surely as the gears and wheels in the mill's machines.
'John,' Margaret murmured.
'Yes, love?'
Plucking at the hem of her nightdress, she deliberated about exactly what to say. 'I want to ask you something.'
'Go on,' he encouraged.
She took a deep breath. 'Do you ever regret it?'
'Regret what?' he asked with a creased brow.
'Us? The fact that we have so many children?'
John's head whipped up and he stared at his wife, his mouth agape and his eyes wide.
'NO!'
He took her lithe hands in his larger ones and frantically searched her face. 'Margaret Thornton, how could you ask that? How could you ever think such a thing?'
Margaret squirmed as she examined her heart for the right words, but none came, and her account tumbled out in a string of disjointed gibberish. 'It is just…oh John! You ─ you are a man who needs to always be in control, for everything around you to be ordered. You like routine and structure. You…you like everything to be exact. You cannot abide mess…you do not like unruliness. You ─ when it comes to you, everything has to be just right. And I sometimes fear that the children and I have taken that away from you and that you might…well…resent me for it.'
John sat in stupefied silence for some time, not because he was unsure of his answer, but because he had been rendered dumb by her doubts. Did she really not know?
'Margaret, darling,' he whispered. He crooked his finger and curved it under her chin, gently raising it so that they gazed into each other's eyes. His heart pounded at the sight of her sparkling orbs, that twinkled as brilliantly as the brightest stars. 'Margaret, my love, my life, I have never been as happy in all my days as I am now.'
Seeing the hesitant wrinkle of her charming little nose, he soldiered on. 'Margaret…you are right, I do like order and method. But before you, I clung onto those things for the most pitiful of motives. For one, I relied on them because I was afraid. My youth had been tainted by uncertainty and I could not bear to go through that nightmare, that chaos ever again, so I coached it and controlled it to the point of obsession. I needed everything to be disciplined so that I would feel safe. But also, I had nothing else to live for,' he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. 'The roles of master and magistrate, they were all I was, all I had to show for myself. So, my schedules and stringency, they gave me focus and purpose, do you understand?'
She nodded.
John smiled and pressed a featherlight kiss to her roseate lips.
'But, my darling girl, you…you and our children…Margaret, it was like I was dead, but now I am alive. Yes, our family can be anarchic, and I sometimes feel more like a zookeeper than a manufacturer, and my whole world has been turned upside down by our little imps! But would I change it? No! Would I change any of our babes? Not for anything!'
John took Margaret by the shoulders as his penetrating eyes seeped into the caverns of her very core. She was lost to them, floating in an ocean of cobalt blue, awash in the tenderness of his passion for her. She gasped as she felt his spirit speak to her spirit, and all the emotions of his soul poured from those eyes, gushing through her every nerve and vein.
'Margaret, Maria Thornton, you mean more to me than all the world and without you and our children, my world would be cold, and bleak, and wretchedly empty. So, no, I never have, and never will, regret a second of our life together and would not alter a hair on our children's head, not for all the tea in China,' he insisted, quoting one of Margaret's own familiar phrases.
With that, he pulled her close and held her tight, both man and wife savouring the steady thrum of their steadfast hearts.
'John,' Margaret said, at last, her voice as warm as melted butter.
'Hmm?' he answered vaguely.
'Darling, may I tell you what I really think?'
John let out a hearty laugh and the rumble tickled her tummy as they touched. 'Are you asking my permission to speak your mind, Mrs Thornton?' he chortled. 'You've never had any trouble asserting your opinion before!' he teased. 'But aye, love, you say what you will. I want to know what you think, always.'
Margaret knew that John would willingly let her talk and would never condemn her for having a liberated mind, one that was free to follow its own instincts and beliefs, without being restrained by the restrictions of a husband. He had always let Margaret be herself and always would. He had even valued her opinion long before either of them realised they were in love. He believed that she was not an extension of him, to be treated as a mere dummy, an ornament, a possession, but rather as an equal, a partner in life. But still, she often sought her husband's backing before stating her judgment and offering her guidance. This was because despite their amicable marriage, at the end of the day, John Thornton's personality was still defined by his obstinacy. He was such a steely and stalwart character, that she appreciated that he would be much more amenable to her counsel if she knew he was in the right frame of mind to attend to it and accept it.
'John' she started, stroking his fingers. 'Dearest, I think you are worried about more than Richard and Daniel's safety. I think…I think you are concerned that they do not respect you.'
She saw John stiffen in his seat; however, she also noted that he did not disagree.
'That is why I want you to know that all of your children, including the twins, love and esteem you more than you realise,' she professed.
John did not reply but let out a quiet snuffle.
Margaret sketched the outline of his sideburns with her lips and peppered his ear with dainty kisses. John closed his eyes at the intoxicating sensation, and he relaxed as he felt her hot breath on his neck. Sitting back, he filled his lungs with her sweet scent and his spirit soared as he welcomed her affectionate embrace.
'John, I think you need to see it from their perspective. You forget that the mill is right on our doorstep, the noisy, bustling, hectic…'
'Do you begrudge it?' he demanded bluntly, defensively, even, his hand constricting around hers. 'Do you think I'm wrong to have our children born and bred here? Do you wish we had a house in the country like a proper gentleman's family? Do you wish I did not have to work in such a place, that we were not associated with trade? Do you want me to take you away from the smoke of the mill and Milton. Do you...do you wish you had chosen a different life?' he quizzed suspiciously, although Margaret could detect the sensitive strain in his tone. She could hear it as distinctly as a clanging bell; her darling John felt guilty, and what was worse, he felt worthless.
Looking closely, his wife could tell that his external expression of provocation and bravado was no more than a well-worn mask, one adorned to veil his latent anxiety, his bleakest insecurity, which was that he would never be good enough for her. Margaret knew that when he asked if she wished she had chosen a different life, what he really meant was: did she wish she had chosen a different man?
She confidently held her husband's gaze, for she would not shy away from him, no, not when he had nothing to reproach himself for.
'Hush, my love,' she appeased. 'Enough of that now.'
Margaret rose from her knees and nestled herself on John's lap, curling up like a cat, one coated in glossy chestnut hair.
'Now, John Thornton,' she commenced decisively. 'We have had this argument many times before and I will not have it again. You are the most wonderful of men. You are a thoughtful and dedicated son, brother, husband, and father, a rare man who would move Heaven and Earth to provide for his family,' she commended, championing her spouse. 'All I meant was that we need to accept that we have placed this rather exciting spectacle in front of them. It is like a wonderland right before their eyes and it must be so tempting for them to explore. It was foolish to suppose it would be otherwise. And John, dearest, they see you.'
John was dumbfounded. 'Me?'
'Yes,' she reflected. 'Oh, John! Your boys adore you. They think the world of you.'
'I can't think why,' John grumbled.
'Can you truly not? Well, I can,' she said matter-of-factly. 'John you are everything a young boy would want to be. They peer out from their bedroom window and not only see the lively mill with all its intriguing activity, but there, amongst it, they see you.'
John was still not sure.
'They see this impressive man commanding his empire. You radiate…strength…yes, you are so strong in both body and character...you are a force to be reckoned with, John Thornton. I saw it the very first time I glimpsed you, standing on the scaffold, surveying your kingdom of cotton. I knew nothing of you, but I understood right there and then that you were like no other man I had ever seen before.'
John felt his pride prickled and he permitted himself a small smile. If only he had known, back then, that he had left a lasting impression on her, had an effect, and one that was not simply distaste, but budding awe.
'That is all very well, Meg, but it didn't make you like me all the same,' John countered, half in jest and half in shame.
'No, I admit that I did not. But you grew on me, Mr Thornton. As I said, you are a force to be reckoned with, and it was only a matter of time before my stubborn heart gave way and I fell madly in love with you,' she teased, basking in his beguiling grin.
'Oh, but my love, our children do not have the same disadvantage I did. They have grown up knowing the magnificent man you are from the day they were born. And John, your boys see you as this inspiring figure, a hero who governs this magical and mystical land that they have been blessed to live. But they do not want to be banished from it, they want to share in it, they want to be just like you.'
'Do you really think so?' he solicited with fragile hope.
'John, I know so,' she promised. 'They talk about you all the time. Do you know, when you are at the mill, they sit in your study? I overhear them pretending to be you. They give orders to imaginary people, and they attempt to mimic your accent, both failing miserably at imitating your deep burr. They mutter and shake their heads and complain about the price of importing raw cotton, even although they have no inkling of what that means. They tense and rub their foreheads, and they do that flexing thing you do with your knuckles. Oh, and yes! They practice your scowl, and they even draw pictures of you, all day long.'
John smiled wily. 'They practice my scowl, do they? Who wins? I noticed tonight that Danny's glare is already coming along nicely.'
Margaret nuzzled her nose against his. 'Well, I really could not say, for it is such a fierce and fetching scowl, that I do not think anybody could perfect it quite like you.'
'It did take years to cultivate,' John joshed.
'And John,' Margaret added, sitting up and being serious. 'When you are away on business, they miss you terribly ─'
'I miss them too! You know I do!' he bit back defensively. 'You know, Meg, I never used to mind being away on business, I never gave it a second thought. My only gripe was that it took me away from affairs at the mill. But since I met you, I have hated it. In fact, even before we were betrothed, I loathed going away, I still felt like I was leaving you. How I wished I could visit Crampton before I headed for the station. I wanted one last chance to see you, to talk to you before I went. I yearned for sustenance, something to take with me and cherish on the lonely journey. But now we have our children, I can stand it even less. You know that I carry the portrait with me in my travel case, I always unpack it at every hotel.'
Margaret cuddled closer into her husband's chest. Yes, she did know. A few months after their wedding, John had complained of having to go to work every day at the mill, and Margaret had been taken aback, for she knew how intrinsic John's work was to him. For while some men drew nourishment from food or sleep, John Thornton drew his from an honest day's toil. He had confessed that he found spending hours away from the house more and more difficult when he knew that his beautiful bride was waiting for him at home. After careful consideration, the creative and canny side of Margaret had chosen to gift him with something that would solve his dilemma. She had sat for a modest portrait of herself which was to hang in his mill office. His response had been so pleasing, that in the years that followed, Hannah had thoughtfully commissioned several family portraits for the couple, all representing the multiplying Thornton clan. There was always a miniature one made every time a new baby was born, and it was enclosed in a special case, which John would take with him when he was away so that he could always keep his family near, even when he himself was far.
'I know you miss them, my love, and the children know it too. The twins ask constantly about what you are doing and when you shall be back. They believe you are away slaying dragons half the time, and I do not quite have the heart to correct them. John, my dear heart, your boys love you, but I think maybe your mother is right. They are not trying to be rebellious; they are trying to be like you and be part of your world, but they just do not know how. They just want to be with their Dada,' she finished, recalling the precious memory of the twin's first word.
John was pensive for a minute and the rhythmical ticking of the clock was the only sound to be heard in the stillness of the twilight hours. 'Perhaps…perhaps I have been wrong. Perhaps they do not need my anger and rigorous boundaries smothering them. Maybe they just long for…me. Possibly…maybe I could start taking them to the mill with me, show them around, let them study it safely. After all, I have hopes that at least one of my children will take over the mill one day, boy or girl.'
'There,' Margaret cheered, clapping her hands together, causing John to smirk, for she clearly had been spending too much time with Fanny.
Margaret shuffled on his knee as she made to get up and John tried to ignore the rather distracting sensation of her backside chafing against certain sensitive parts of his person. He stifled a moan as she scraped across his lap and inadvertently straddled him, positioning herself perfectly for him to penetrate her. But alas, even although he wished he could take her here and now with one determined and deliberate thrust, a randy John acknowledged that such pleasures would have to wait.
'I think that is a splendid idea,' Margaret praised, oblivious to the influence she was having on her husband and his primal bodily functions. 'Why do you not go up and talk to them? Hmm? Do not let the sun set on your disharmony. You should smooth things over and start afresh tomorrow.'
'Yes,' John agreed, as he offered Margaret his assistance to clamber off his lap, although he did so with more than a little disappointment. He also deemed it best not to ruin her optimism by mentioning the fact that the sun had already set, and it already was tomorrow.
'As always, wife, you are the fountain of all wisdom.'
'Hmm! Well, I am certainly glad you finally figured that one out, Mr Thornton,' she mocked with a flirtatious swish of her hips and flick of her hair.
As they began to climb the stairs, Margaret turned and gave her husband a critical pout.
'John, you said that you would not swap me and the children for all the tea in China, did you not?'
'That I did,' he concurred, wrapping his hands around her waist, whilst amorously drinking in her curvaceous shape.
'Well, sir,' she giggled as she saw him shudder, for she knew how much that form of address got him hot under the collar, and she had a funny feeling that she could detect something hard stabbing into her thigh. 'I am afraid that declaration of devotion really means very little to me and I shall need you to amend it.'
'And why is that?' he asked, letting his ravenous gaze rake up and down her glorious body.
'Well, Mr Thornton, you do not like tea.'
'No, Mrs Thornton, I don't! I only ever pretended to drink so much of the vile stuff whenever I visited your parent's house, just so I could watch you pour it,' he divulged without a hint of repentance for his scheming deception.
'Oh! You silly boy,' Margaret tittered, peppering his lips with light kisses.
'Oye! Give me peace, woman!' he demanded, pretending to be offended. 'I was a man in love.' Bringing his thumb and forefinger together to make a circle, he traced a path up and down her arm. 'I liked watching that bracelet of yours slide up and down from your forearm to your wrist. It was the most fascinating thing I had ever seen, made all the more alluring by the loveliness of the bangle's owner.'
'Oh, John!' she laughed, playfully pushing him away. 'Well, if you do not like tea, then what do you love me and the children more than?'
'Well, I love you more than…,' he thought for a second before a roguish grin tugged at the corner of his lips. 'I love you more than all the raspberry pavlova in Brighton,' he said with a mischievous glint in his eye.
'You do not even like pavlova that much,' Margaret joked, although she knew exactly what he was alluding to.
'Aye, no I don't,' he confessed, his twang turned husky by desire. 'But it tastes so much better when I'm eating it off…'
'John!' Margaret squealed, slapping him on the shoulder in mock chastisement. 'Honestly! You are more badly behaved than all our children put together! But…,' she swayed coyly, ensuring that her breasts pressed up against his chest. 'If you hurry back to bed, I think Cook has some cream in the kitchen that I could steal. So, what do you say, Mr Thornton? I know you are an extremely busy man with a tight ship to run, but please, do not be too long, for your wife sorely needs you,' she told him with a pleading face.
'Oh, yes?' he asked, folding his arms. 'And how can I assist, my lady?' he solicited with a slight bow.
Reaching onto her tiptoes, Margaret whispered something scandalous in John's ear, before she licked it for good measure, both deeds causing his eyes to nearly pop out of his head and he near enough choked as all the air left his lungs. With a growl, he dragged her to him, kissed her soundly, and groped her bottom, before sending her off to the kitchen and promising to see to her needs as soon as humanly possible, for, after all, he was a committed husband.
He had to take a moment to recover himself, for before John Thornton could perform the role of his wife's lustful lover, he first and foremost had to undertake the role of his twin's faithful father.