Author's Note: I wrote this in 2021, and it would still be hidden away on my computer if not for the encouragement of my spouse and friends. I am excited to share it, and I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed spending time with Margaret and John in this universe. Thanks to AnnaStonebrook on Twitter for sharing research on Victorian ice skating and winter fashions during a special Christmas North and South Twitter Space last year!
I recommend reading my story Together at Christmas prior to enjoying this one. Click on my name to find it. It was the first North & South fanfic I wrote, and it will always have a special place in my heart! Thank you.
"Did you see today's paper, Margaret?"
Margaret looked up from the cambric she was busy embroidering for Edith's baby. Her father's face was still hidden behind the large newsprint. It was mid-afternoon, and the fire was already roaring to battle the chilly winter air seeping in through the windows of their Crampton apartment.
"I have not, papa. Is there something of particular interest?"
"I would say so. Come, my dear."
Margaret set aside her work to join her father at the armchair he occupied. She placed her arms around him as she peered over his shoulder to see the social section of the Milton Guardian. There, in the top rightmost column, she saw what had drawn his attention.
Mrs. George Thornton is pleased to announce the engagement of her son, John Thornton, of Milton, to Miss Margaret Hale, daughter of—
An involuntary, sardonic chuckle escaped Margaret before she could stop herself. 'Pleased' was not the word she would use to describe Mrs. Thornton's feelings towards their sudden engagement. But Mrs. Thornton had made clear that everything was to be done properly after the unusual circumstances that brought about the understanding between her son and Margaret. That meant an official announcement of the engagement went out in the Guardian, a practice that Margaret found rather gauche, but she was not fool enough to say so to Mrs. Thornton. Margaret was given only just enough time to write to Edith and Frederick to inform them of the happy turn of events before the announcement appeared in print.
Margaret was thankful that Mrs. Thornton at least accepted John and Margaret would not be swayed from their intent and had bestowed her blessing on the engagement. Mrs. Thornton was keeping whatever reservations she held about Margaret to herself as a courtesy to her son.
Still, Mrs. Thornton had warned Margaret that her evening out with a gentleman at Outwood Station was not yet forgotten, and the true circumstances surrounding her engagement with John would only cast further doubt on her character, so they had thought it best to proceed as though the engagement had come about in a completely unremarkable way and not as a result of several hours completely unchaperoned in a dark storage room.
There were, of course, some raised eyebrows from the young ladies of Milton who thought it a real tragedy that Mr. Thornton had been caught by a southern girl with no name or fortune to speak of. Those who were more intimately acquainted with the pair (save for the astute Mr. Bell) found it a true surprise. Richard Hale was in this camp. When Margaret had arrived well after midnight and recounted to her father where she had spent the Christmas evening and with who, Mr. Hale was more than a little troubled by the right course of action. Though his good friend Mr. Bell, had previously suggested there was a romantic spark between his favorite pupil and his daughter, Mr. Hale thought Margaret's recently improved opinion of John was purely friendly in nature. When he heard where Margaret had been all night, the pastor had been concerned he would have to strongly encourage the pair into an engagement if word spread about the incident, as he knew his late wife would have insisted.
But Margaret surprised him in the end by saying Mr. Thornton would call on Mr. Hale in the morning to ask for her hand, and that she hoped her father would answer favorably, as her future felicity depended on it. John bounded up the doorstep the following day, with all the energy and nervous excitement of a young man in love. Margaret, as red as a carnation while she served them tea, could hardly contain her smile before she left them alone. John apologized profusely for the faulty storage room lock (a replacement for which was already hurriedly ordered first thing that morning) and the unintentional breach of propriety, and then fumbled through the nervous request for Margaret's hand, but it was more than enough for Mr. Hale to give his hearty consent. Nothing brought him greater joy than to know his Margaret would be well taken care of by a man he knew to be worthy of her. It was a source of warmth and happiness that'd been lacking since his wife's death.
Mr. Hale handed the newsprint to Margaret, who went to the desk and took out the heavy pair of steel scissors. She carefully cut out the announcement, and it did give her a sense of satisfaction to see her name printed alongside John's. It was concrete proof that they were in fact engaged, and it had not been some fever dream. Mrs. Thornton's insistence on proper conduct meant that Margaret and John had enjoyed only a few moments alone, to the irritation of them both.
Margaret and her father had visited the Thorntons for tea and dinner in the preceding weeks, but Mrs. Thornton had kept on Margaret's heel, even accompanying her to John's study when he wished to show her a new book he'd recently acquired. The next day, Margaret had offered to deliver a note from her father to John's office. Though Mrs. Thornton had been doing her rounds in the mill, it was Higgins who'd interrupted their meeting shortly after Margaret's arrival with some concern about a machine. When Margaret left so John could attend to the matter, she witnessed Mrs. Thornton giving Higgins an approving nod. Only three days ago, before the frigid temperature and wind had sent everyone entirely indoors, John and Margaret happened to encounter each other near Princeton and decided to take a scenic stroll back to Crampton. They'd had the misfortune of encountering Dixon returning from the butcher, and she joined them, cutting the entire stroll short when she complained about the distance and cold. The weather itself seem to conspire against them, as the bitter cold and snowfall over the last two days had prevented any visits. Today was clear, though, and Margaret looked to John's lesson with her father later that day with great anticipation.
Across the snow-covered town, the master of Marlborough Mills was thinking of Margaret as much as she was thinking of him. Gone were the dreary hours fighting to keep Margaret from his mind. Now, he allowed his thoughts to happily wander between the challenges of his workday and Margaret— how she was, what she was occupied with, if she was thinking of him. If she'd seen the paper yet. He'd read the announcement that morning at breakfast. Indeed, he'd looked for it in every edition after his mother mentioned she would be sending it in.
His mother was pleased with the prominent placement, even better than Fanny's announcement. It would run in the social section for multiple days, to be sure that no one missed it—Mrs. Thornton, ever concerned about being the subject of any gossip, felt this would show they had nothing to hide and plenty to celebrate. John was far less concerned with appearances. He regretted his mother's disappointment in his conduct, certainly. When he returned from escorting Margaret home that Christmas evening, Mrs. Thornton had given John an absolute earful about his poor judgment, Margaret's ill intentions, and the dangers to associating with someone who could tarnish the good name he'd worked so hard to make for himself.
After she'd said her piece, John said he would be speaking to Mr. Hale in the morning, at Margaret's request and in accordance with his own wishes. Then he kissed his mother on the cheek and wished her a happy Christmas before retiring to his room. By morning, Mrs. Thornton had resigned herself to the idea that whatever had happened in that storage room had been for the best, and now all there was left to do is get them down the aisle with as little scandal as possible—even if that meant keeping the couple apart as much as possible until the wedding day.
This proved to be a plan that frustrated John as much as it did Margaret. He was eager to devise an outing for them once the weather cleared, away from the watchful eye of his mother, Dixon, Mr. Hale, and even Higgins, who seemed to take a distinct pleasure in torturing John by finding reasons to interrupt any conversation with Margaret when she ventured to the mill.
The recent difficulties at the mill kept him busier than he'd been last winter, but he carved out time in his schedule the best he could. Indeed, when he was able to keep his lesson times, he would arrive a little early and stay a little later. But when he arrived at the Crampton residence, instead of being greeted by his beau, he would find himself face to face with Dixon, who seemed intent on intercepting any moments he could steal with Margaret. Dixon was warmer towards him than she'd been in the past, and for that he was grateful, but he wished she'd turn her watchful eye elsewhere. If he had known he would rarely be able to see Margaret alone, he would have shut the storage room door again and never left.
John always enjoyed visiting the Hale residence. Even during the dark times of Mrs. Hale's illness or his own resentment towards Margaret, there was warmth and life in that tiny apartment. He suspected Margaret herself brought much of it to the place, and he longed for her to brighten the dreary mill house. This was a common train of thought for him, as he spent much of his evenings fantasizing about the prospect of his marriage to Margaret. On that one Christmas night they had spent together, he'd realized how much he longed for her consistent presence in his otherwise lonely life. They had settled on a nearly six-month engagement, in part due to Fanny's upcoming wedding, and in part due to his mother's insistence that the length would provide some cover for inauspicious beginnings. He had the good sense not to protest too much, though he was sorely disappointed he would have to wait so long for Margaret to be his wife.
These thoughts filled John's head as he reached the stoop to the Hale residence. An attempt had been made to clear the snow, but it was halfhearted, so he walked carefully up the stone steps. He'd barely released the door knocker when the door flung open. There, in the doorway, was his Margaret, smiling triumphantly at him.
"Good day, Mr. Thornton. You'll have to forgive the condition of the stairs—The Wilson boy we enlist to assist us is suffering from a cold, so you may fall victim to my poor shoveling."
He was too pleased to see her to scold her for doing such work herself, and mentally made a note to send one of his own staff to clear it in the morning. She ushered him in and closed the door behind him, and the little warmth the entryway provided was a welcome reprieve from the cold outside. He was surprised to see her, and as he quickly divested himself of his great coat, hat, and gloves, he glanced nervously around. When he did not see anyone else down the hall, he took Margaret's hand in his, and pulled her closer to him, his free hand finding her face. She bore the cold of his hand bravely and turned her cheek into his palm.
"Margaret—"
The thunder of heavy footsteps coming upstairs from the kitchen caused Margaret to pull away with a disappointed sigh.
"Mr. Thornton, you are early today!" Dixon greeted loudly to his back, and John took a deep breath to abate his own frustration, not willing to risk the tenuous good opinion of a servant so loyal to the Hales, before turning to face her.
"Good day to you, Dixon. Am I early? I hope it is no trouble for you."
"Never," Margaret chimed in.
"Let's get you upstairs to Mr. Hale. Come now," Dixon insisted, and she made her way up the stairs. John obediently followed, casting a final woeful look at Margaret. Margaret walked up the stairs behind them.
"Mr. Thornton, father was able to find the copy of Keats you expressed interest in during your last visit. You may need to remind him of it."
John glanced back at her, puzzled. He'd done no such thing, as he held no particular interest in poetry, but she raised her eyebrows at him, and he asked no questions.
"Thank you, Miss Hale. I will make sure to inquire after it today."
Mr. Hale was pleased to see John, who was not in fact early for his lesson but completely punctual. Margaret had relayed a later start time to Dixon, in the hopes that Dixon would not be so attentive to the door, but the plan had not worked nearly as well as Margaret hoped. So Margaret listened intently to the conversation between her father and her future husband, and though she was not in a particular mood to contribute to their discussion of Homer, she did enjoy being in John's company. The conversation reached a lull, and Margaret glanced at John conspiratorially. He understood her meaning.
"You know, I have been interested in expanding into reading poetry. Miss Hale mentioned you have a copy of Keats I could borrow?"
"Ah, did she? There should be a collection over on that shelf—" Mr. Hale rose to inspect one of the overstuffed bookshelves. Margaret watched him carefully, and then smiled at John.
"Are you sure it is not in your study, papa? I believe I saw it there just today."
"Ah, I do believe you are right. Let me go retrieve it.
Mr. Hale was already near the door, and for a moment John worried Margaret would offer to retrieve the errant book, but to his relief she did not. They watched Mr. Hale leave the room, and the moment he was out of sight, John rose from his armchair and moved to Margaret's side. He dropped to one knee beside her chair. She was startled at first by the rapidity of his movement, but her surprise quickly faded into a soft smile. Her cheeks were a faint crimson already as he delicately took her hand in both of his. It was such a change from the last times he'd been in this room with her—when she would not even look at him because he'd been so awful to her, and now, she clung readily to his hand.
"Margaret—" he began but could not find the words to continue. He never knew quite what to say around her, so he brought her hands to his lips and bestowed a reverent kiss. "An engagement has had the opposite effect of what I would have hoped. I see you less than before. My mother—"
"I know. She means well. So does Dixon, and Higgins, and my father," Margaret responded with another squeeze of her hand, cutting short the apology that was hanging on his lips.
"I was hoping to ask your father if we may go on an outing on Sunday if the weather is agreeable. You and I, and a chaperone of course. If you were free and would like it. I would not want to impose—"
John was rambling. His words either came in tumbling speeches or not at all around Margaret.
"An outing sounds lovely. There is nothing I would rather do."
"Nothing?" he asked before he could stop himself, and when she understood his meaning and flushed crimson once more, he smiled. She was not at all demurred though, and he saw her eyes flicker to his lips.
But they heard Mr. Hale's footsteps. With a regretful look, and with all the strength he had, John let go of her hand before retreating to the armchair he previously occupied.
Margaret's flushed face went unremarked on by Mr. Hale, who was busy flipping through the pages of the book he had retrieved. He handed it to John who thanked him for it. It was getting late, and as the conversation slowed, John was ready to make his request and take his leave.
"Mr. Hale, I was hoping you would allow Miss Hale to accompany my sister and I on an outing this Sunday."
He saw Margaret raise her eyebrows at the mention of Fanny. He had found himself an inattentive chaperone. Margaret wondered if Mrs. Thornton would even allow it.
"Of course. Where to?" Mr. Hale asked. John was relieved and touched by his immediate acquiesce. Mr. Hale held a great deal of trust in him.
"Hillcrest Park. It is just outside the city, and there is a pond that is now frozen solid enough for skating."
"I have never been ice skating before," Margaret interjected. John turned to her, concerned.
"I had not considered that. My apologies. Perhaps there is something else you'd rather do? You are always welcome to tea with my mother." The last thing John wanted to do was spend his time with Margaret under his mother's vigilance, but it was better than not seeing her at all.
"No!" Margaret said and then quickly smiled, casting an apologetic eye to her father. "Tea with your mother is lovely, of course, but I would much rather be out. Yes, I would enjoy that very much. My only hesitation is that I do not know how. I don't even own a pair of skates."
"Do not worry. Fanny has already agreed to lend you a pair of hers, and I can teach you," John reassured.
With the time arranged, John bid his farewell to the Hales. Mr. Hale himself saw him out the door, and Margaret was thankful for the earlier fleeting moment alone with him. She was pleased with herself for thinking to move the book from the sitting room to her father's study shortly before his arrival.
Sunday arrived. Margaret paced the sitting room, already dressed to leave. She had agonized about what she should wear on such an outing until two days prior when several packages had arrived with a note from Fanny Thornton. She wrote that her brother mentioned Margaret had not gone skating before and tasked Fanny with ensuring she was equipped with all the appropriate accessories. Fanny rose to the occasion, conspiring with Dixon to learn Margaret's measurements, and used her connections in town to ensure Margaret would have just what she needed in time for their adventure.
In the first large package was a woolen petticoat, a deep blue with stripes of black ribbon adorning the bottom. The sketch accompanying it showed Margaret how the petticoat would help lift her skirt off the ground for increased ease of movement. With some trepidation, Margaret opened the second package to find an accompany skirt. Thankfully, Fanny has selected a tartan skirt of blue and green. The third and fourth packages contained a velvet bonnet and matching black mid-length coat accented with a green trim. She appreciated Fanny's care in choosing muted but festive patterns, just to her taste.
Between Margaret and Dixon, they figured out how her skirt should be arranged over the special petticoat, and Margaret was pleased with the freedom the lifted skirt gave her. Her boots, thick stockings, and gloves would come from her own standard winter wardrobe. At first, she had felt uncomfortable with the idea of the Thorntons lavishing such gifts on her, especially when she recalled the difficulty with the mill's finances, but to decline the gift could cause offense. John was generous by nature, that much she'd learned, and she had no wish to change him. She certainly did not have the money nor the disposition to purchase such fine clothing for herself, and it would make for a much more pleasant time if she were appropriately attired.
There was a knock at the door, and Dixon answered it. Margaret bounded down the stairs, not needing to wait to see who it was. John was already at the bottom, watching her come down with that kind smile on his face, one she was becoming accustomed to seeing. It was a beautiful sight when he smiled—a vast improvement to the serious and contemplative looks he used to cast at her. He looked particularly festive due to the scarlet scarf wrapped around his neck, a splash of color against his usual black. Her spirits lifted immediately at the sight of him, and she could not help the happiness that she was sure was so evident on her face.
"Good afternoon, Miss Hale. You look lovely." He stumbled over the last word, as if unsure it was sufficient.
"Thank you. Fanny did very well." Margaret gave a twirl. The already lifted hem of the skirt billowed out as she did so. John was clearly mesmerized by her movement, and Dixon cleared her throat, bringing his attention back to their departure. He held the door open for Margaret.
"I forgot my gloves, so we will have to battle through the traffic once more to return to the mill house. I am sorry for the delay—"
"Oh!" Margaret exclaimed with sudden realization. "That won't be necessary. Wait here."
She made her way quickly back up the stairs to her bedroom. When she returned a few moments later, she held a pair of large black gloves in her hand. She handed them to John, who looked bemused.
"I have been meaning to return these. They are yours. You left them here the day—" she stopped, suddenly unsure of how to talk about the day that had brought them both a great deal of pain.
"The day after the riot." He finished her sentence for her. "I thought I lost these."
A cloud crossed over his expression. Margaret was filled with renewed regret with how she'd spoken to him that day— she'd been careless with his heart, more tender and fragile than she'd known, but it was a mistake she would never make again. She hoped he understood. She had not thought it through though, what reminding him of that day would do, and wondered if retrieving the gloves had been the right thing to do.
"You kept them? All this time?" The cloud passed from his face, and his expression significantly brightened.
She felt her cheeks warm, as they always did when he looked at her in that way.
"Yes. It never seemed like the right moment to return them, and I had no wish to be rid of them."
She would not tell him she'd kept them in the drawer of her nightstand, next to her mother's ring and letters from Frederick. They'd felt sacred then, even before she really understood why.
She watched as he pulled the leather onto his fingers. His gaze lingered on her as he did so, as though there was more he wished to ask her.
"Thank you" was all he managed to say, and Margaret felt the tension dissipate. He escorted her out then, and just as they crossed the threshold of the door, Dixon handed Margaret a tin that she'd nearly forgotten. She held onto it as they walked across to the carriage, and John kept one hand on her elbow as insurance against the icy street. He handed her into the carriage, where she found an impatient Fanny waiting. Margaret squeezed her own skirt against Fanny's on the bench. Fanny had indeed shown restraint in selecting the color palette for Margaret's outfit, for Fanny was dressed head-to-toe in bright red, pinks, and greens, complete with fur accents and feathers in her hat which folded against the ceiling of the carriage.
"Miss Hale!" Fanny greeted with her usual cheery wave. Fanny's exuberance for all things entertaining reminded her of Edith.
"Good afternoon, Miss Thornton," she said as she settled in beside her. John took the empty bench across from them.
"I cannot thank you enough for your care in selecting this for me," Margaret looked down motioning to her outfit. She had hardly ever looked so fashionable, and though it was still a bit bolder than she was accustomed to, she knew Fanny had tried her best to stick to Margaret's tastes.
"I am glad you like it. It was rather enjoyable to shop for someone else," Fanny replied. "And I know how you can use the help." Margaret saw John quirk an eyebrow up, but she replied quickly before he could admonish Fanny. She'd heard the same from Edith most of her life.
"Indeed, I could, Miss Thornton. My cousin Edith is the one who keeps abreast of all the latest fashion, and I am entirely lost without her guidance. I hope this isn't the last time you are generous with your expertise."
"Expertise! Now you are flattering me. Call me Fanny. Afterall, we are to be sisters." There was sincerity in her voice, and Margaret smiled. Truth be told, Margaret had only recently begun to understand that being John's wife meant gaining a mother and sister all at once. She knew the Thornton women had never particularly warmed to her and she had never warmed to them, but she sincerely hoped she and Fanny could find some semblance of sisterly bond. After all, stranger things had happened, she thought as she glanced at John, who was observing them looking pleased as punch to see the two getting on well.
"Then I must be Margaret," she answered warmly.
Fanny glanced out the window of the carriage, fidgeting with the fur on the cuff of her gloves. "The weather is so fine it is sure to be overcrowded."
"You believe so?" Margaret asked, suddenly apprehensive at the spectacle she would surely make of herself on the ice. A greater worry came to mind then—it was the first time they would be out together after the announcement of their engagement had appeared in the paper. Margaret was not quite sure why this made her nervous, but it did. She wasn't well-versed in how she should act as someone's betrothed, let alone someone as well-known and respected as Mr. Thornton. She felt a sense of responsibility to play the part.
"Oh, yes. I know Ann will be part of a large party, and I hope to see her. Nearly everyone goes out if the day is as fine as this one, though if you asked John the last time he joined, you would find he could not tell you."
Margaret turned to John to see how he took his sister's teasing. He was smiling.
"You're right, Fan. I do not have much time for diversions."
"I was exceedingly pleased when John suggested it. Mamma did not seem too keen on the whole idea, but I assured her chaperoning you two would be the easiest task in the world," Fanny said with a laugh. "Why she seemed unconvinced, I don't know!"
Margaret felt her cheeks warm. Fanny's ignorance was by design. They'd managed to keep the true circumstances surrounding their engagement to Mrs. Thornton, Mr. Hale, and Higgins. This required not even being forthright with Fanny, who could not be trusted to keep the truth to herself. No, from one day to the next, her brother was just suddenly engaged to Margaret Hale. But the whole affair meant that Fanny could enjoy the satisfaction of being able to tell anyone who would listen that she knew Margaret had set her sights on John from the very beginning. Fanny was amid her own engagement with her wedding date soon approaching. Another Thornton wedding (though sure to be duller than her own) sounded like a good bit of fun and that made her amenable to the situation without too many questions.
"Will Mr. Watson be meeting us?" Margaret hoped the mention of Fanny's betrothed would divert her attention.
"No," Fanny replied with a pout before explaining that business had taken Mr. Watson to London. Fanny needed little encouragement to begin speaking of the final stage of wedding preparations, as they were to wed by the month's end. The topic took them all the way to Hillcrest Park, and with some help from the footman they descended the from the carriage.
Margaret had never been to the park, and she immediately knew she would like to spend time there when spring and summer came. It was a vast open area, with a walking path around the perimeter that was mostly cleared from snow for the enjoyment of the revelers. Trees lined much of the park, though they were now bare, their spindly branches covered with snow that stubbornly refused to blow away. Before they could even see the pond, which lay at the base of the slightly elevated terrain generously called a hill, they heard laughter and joyous voices amidst the screams of playing children. The sound of blades gliding on the ice punctuated the revelry.
Margaret marveled at the energetic scene in front of her. The pond had indeed frozen solid, and as Fanny had predicted, it was crowded with many people of all ages skating to and fro, some only flashes of color as they weaved through the crowd. As their party approached the pond, Margaret noticed a rousing game of curling was happening at the far end of the ice. Ladies were being pushed on sleighs by obliging gentlemen, and she saw several children who were scooting themselves along the floor, but whether they had fallen or were playing, she wasn't sure. Many different languages rose from the chatter, and it seemed as though people from all walks of Milton were there to enjoy the day. Margaret had never seen such a delightful sight.
They passed several snowmen who were being diligently constructed across the snow-covered field. John, accompanied by a footman, led Margaret and Fanny through the snow. Margaret was not yet accustomed to the way the northern cold bit, and she was glad for her thick stockings and boots, though the frigid air stung her face. She held onto John's hand, gripping tightly when the spots of soft snow sank beneath her, and they eventually made it to the edge of the pond near an open wooden bench.
The footman carried the skates and some of their belongings, and Margaret followed Fanny's lead and sat. She watched as the footman helped Fanny strap the skates to the bottom of her boots, and how he pushed them so they hooked into her heel.
"May I?" John asked, and Margaret nodded. There was no need to hike up her skirt, as her boots were visible, and when he bent down to assist her, he propped her foot onto his knee. He worked slowly as he held her ankle in one hand and the skate in the other while he attempted to notch the hook into the heel of her boot.
Margaret felt her face and neck grow warm despite the frosty air. Though he did not look at her, she felt as though he too must feel the intimacy of it, especially the way his fingers lingered when he moved down to strap the skates to her.
"I can tie the straps," she said, suddenly too aware of their proximity. They managed to get her other skate on more quickly. Fanny had already dashed to the ice and skated off to meet her friends. A fine chaperone indeed, Margaret thought. That suited her just fine though.
Once John put his skates on, they were ready to venture to the ice too. Margaret clung to his arm as they walked to the edge of the pond. It was difficult to balance on the blades through the snow, and she hobbled like a tot just learning to walk. She stopped when they reached the ice and he stepped onto it, gliding forward and then in a circle before returning to her, his hands outstretched.
"Are you ready?"
She took his hands, but only leant towards him, refusing to step off the snowy embankment. He waited, and then smiled.
"Courage, Miss Hale."
At his words, Margaret slowly stepped onto the ice. He held her steady, and she let go of his hands to cling onto his forearms. She continued to step forward.
"See. It's not so bad," he encouraged. "Bend your knees. Put your weight on one leg and then push to the side with your other foot to move. You don't want to step as if you're walking, you want to glide."
"I don't want to do anything," Margaret countered, and he laughed.
"Miss Hale, that won't do at all."
She attempted to follow his instructions, clumsily shuffling forward as he continued to hold her arms and she tightly clung to his.
"Try not to overthink it," he added. Margaret let out a nervous laugh.
"A bit difficult to not think about how I will surely become intimately acquainted with that ice soon."
"I am holding onto you," he replied. "I can't promise you won't fall, or that it doesn't hurt, but I will help you up if you do."
Margaret continued to wobble forward, and he skated backwards as he guided her to a less crowded area, occasionally looking back to check for fellow skaters or deep notches in the ice that would shake her confidence.
"See, not so bad, is it?"
"Don't you dare let go—"
"Not until you are ready."
Margaret cast a skeptical look at him, but after a moment, she nodded, and he let go of her arms, though his hands continued to hover over her. She wobbled but managed to stay upright.
"Push to the side," he encouraged, and she did so, gliding forward just an inch. She tried again, and he skated easily alongside her, his arms outstretched at the ready.
John was so easily awed by Margaret. Her stately countenance and dignified manner intimidated him from the very beginning of their acquaintance. She was lovely, to be sure, but after his lessons, he would often leave the Hale residence thinking more about her pride than her beauty. Yet in this moment, when her uncertainty gave way to a genuine smile, full of dimpled excitement, and less of the quiet dignity than he was accustomed to seeing from her, her beauty took his breath away.
In his distraction, Margaret glided ahead of him, pushing one foot and then the other to propel herself forward. Her hands were extended out to balance herself, and for a moment she maintained gain a good deal of momentum before she came to an abrupt stop. She tried to remain steady as her feet were slipping underneath her, but she fell backwards, and John reached her just as she hit the ice with a thud.
"Margaret—I'm so sorry—I shouldn't have let go—"
Margaret, to his surprise, was laughing heartily.
"I'm well. Just humbled," she said as John grabbed her arm and waist and helped her to her feet.
"Are you injured? Let's get you to the bench—"
"No, I am uninjured, really, it wasn't so bad. I would like to keep at it." She was still laughing. He could not help but smile.
"You're sure?"
"Yes, Mr. Thornton, it would be worse for my pride if I do not keep trying."
They continued, though Margaret did not let his arm go again. He skated slowly next to her and sometimes held her waist to steady her when she attempted to pick up her pace. They did one slow circuit of the pond like that, pausing when oblivious children crossed their path, or when the more adept skaters whizzed past them. They were both too concentrated on keeping Margaret on her feet that they did not notice Fanny's animated conversation with Ann Latimer on the other side of the pond.
Eventually, John and Margaret had completed a loop, and Margaret was exhausted. Skating was far more vigorous than she imagined, and she asked for help to get back to their bench.
"I will rest with you," John offered, but Margaret shook her head.
"You have hardly been able to properly take a turn. How often do you have the chance to enjoy yourself? Go, just a loop or two. I insist. You will find me exactly where you left me," Margaret encouraged. He hesitated for a moment before skating off. Margaret watched his agile figure cutting a path through the crowd. It was a marvel someone of his height and build could navigate with such grace, but graceful was certainly the only way to describe how he glided over the ice. Even in places where blades had cut notches into the surface, he skated over without breaking his speed. She could watch him all day if given the opportunity, though it was hardly proper to do so, so instead she decided to take in the whole scene once more from the safety of her bench.
John did not wish to leave her long, so he decided to do two quick loops around the pond. He enjoyed the feel of the crisp air on his face, the way he could feel the blood pulsing through his legs as he picked up speed. Fanny was right. He could not remember the last time he'd been out on the ice, and he'd forgotten how much he enjoyed skating as a boy. It felt good, to do something physical that was not related to the mill, but not nearly as good as the feel of Margaret in his arms as he'd guided her over the ice. Just as he thought he should return to her, he saw a bundle of pink skating towards him.
Fanny nearly collided with him in her urgent efforts to reach him, and she grabbed his arm to stop herself. His sister's concern alarmed him.
"John, John, I must tell you what I just heard—" here, Fanny took several breaths before she could continue. "—Ann Latimer heard from her maid Elliot, you know the one who went with her to Sweden, that her sweetheart Jack, the errand boy for Colson's, overheard Mrs. Arnold tell Mrs. Singh, who both still shop at Colson's despite certainly being able to afford better fabric—"
"Fan, what is the point of this?"
"I am getting there, John! Mrs. Arnold told Mrs. Singh that she was finally getting to bed near midnight on Christmas evening, and she was looking out her front window, and she saw Miss Hale out walking with a gentleman. The gentleman had his back to her, that is, Mrs. Arnold, so she could not be sure who it was, but she saw the couple embracing—" Fanny drew out the last word for emphasis "—sharing a kiss in the middle of the street, to be exact. Ann says everyone, and she does well and truly mean everyone, is in agreement that it is impossible that you would act in such a scandalous manner, and I agreed, but I did promptly say to Ann that someone must be mistaken along the way, and it could not have been Miss Hale because surely she would not be kissing some other gentleman the day before your engagement. But John, I only said that to stop Ann from gossiping further. She said some people think maybe this sudden engagement is because of Miss Hale's impropriety somehow. We very well know Miss Hale has been seen with a gentleman before who has abandoned her once already and maybe—"
John's groan arrested his sister's ramblings. Margaret had always been an easy target for the ladies of Milton. Perhaps because she carried herself with such dignity despite being a foreigner to their ways, she never fit in well with Milton society. Not that she wanted to, he conceded. And people, including his own mother and sister, had been too ready to spread the gossip about Outwood Station. He should have known, just as his mother knew, that any new indiscretions would be seized to further besmirch Margaret. He'd been confident that their night in the mill could be kept secret, but he'd never considered they'd be seen (well, besides by Higgins) on their walk home that evening. John felt a sinking feeling in his stomach for having risked Margaret's reputation in such a public way.
"It was indiscrete, but it was late, and I did not think we would be seen."
He'd severely underestimated the impact this revelation would have on his sister. Fanny stared at him; her mouth hanging open in shock. For once, she was left speechless. But only momentarily.
"You kissed Margaret in the middle of the street?!" Fanny exclaimed, hitting John with her fur muff for emphasis, causing him to glide away from her as he shushed her. A couple looked at them askance as they skated past.
"Keep your voice down, Fan!"
She gasped with sudden realization. "Is that why mamma could not find you on Christmas? Because you were off with Miss Hale?" Fanny's shock was quickly evolving into delight, and she grinned widely at him. "I would sooner eat my hat than believe anyone who said you were having secret romantic rendezvous, John. No wonder mamma's been watching you like a hawk, she must know."
"She knows a great deal more than I would like—" Fanny wiggled excitedly at the implications latent in that statement and nearly lost her balance on the ice. John steadied her. "But they think it wasn't me? Even with the engagement? How obtuse can they be?"
"Of course they don't think it was you! Who would think old, dull, boring John Thornton would be kissing girls in the middle of the night on King Street?"
"It wasn't girls—it was only Margaret."
Fanny was staring at him like she'd never quite seen him before, her eyes wide with glee and admiration. "You don't even have an ounce of shame about it! If she is going to liven you up a bit so you aren't such a bore, I don't think I would mind it one bit."
"This is serious, Fanny. People have gossiped enough about Miss Hale, wrongly I should add, and it was my indiscretion that led to this. I must do something about it."
Fanny nodded in agreement. Margaret's alleged previous indiscretions was still at the top of mind. "I would not want rumor about her to threaten my engagement either. What if Watson thinks she's a poor association?"
John huffed a bit at that, annoyed at the suggestion that Watson was so fickle, and with worry that John could be responsible for his own sister's unhappiness. "It would be his judgment that is poor then. You think he would truly break it off with you because of a rumor that's not even about you?"
Fanny contemplated for a moment, and then she smiled. "No. He likes me a great deal. Says I can turn dull days into a delight with just a laugh. It is nice."
John smiled at that. Watson had seemed genuine in his pursuit of Fanny, even before he knew the amount of the dowry John had diligently saved. He was much older than her, sure, but Fanny did not seem to mind it, and if Watson made a habit of talking sweet to Fanny, well, John was glad for it. His sister deserved to be doted on.
"The rumor might bother Miss Hale, though," Fanny continued. "I don't right understand her most of the time, but no one would like to be thought of in such a way. It would be far better if everyone knew for certain it was you. The, uh, enthusiasm—" she wrinkled her nose here, remembering she was speaking about her brother "—of a young couple is easily forgiven and soon forgotten altogether once the wedding bells ring."
"I think you might be right about that, Fanny."
The Thornton siblings looked to where Margaret was sitting, on the bench just at the edge of the pond. She seemed content watching those who skated past her, and when she saw them looking in her direction, she waved. Fanny waved enthusiastically back.
But they saw two ladies, who Fanny recognized as friends of Ann's, glance at John and then at Margaret as they skated past, before they began conspiratorially whispering to each other behind their hands. Margaret saw too, and her confusion was evident.
"I need to tell her. And I need to fix it," John said, and he skated off.
"How?" Fanny called after him, but he ignored her. She huffed and shook her head before skating off in the opposite direction to do an errand that gave her a great deal of pleasure: telling Ann Latimer that she was completely mistaken, and that this was a rare case where the truth was far stranger and more satisfying than the rumor.
John reached Margaret quickly, moving from the ice to the snow in a few swift strides. Margaret's confusion dissipated into a smile when she saw him approaching.
"How many hidden talents do you have, Mr. Thornton? I don't believe I've ever seen such grace on ice."
"You flatter me," he said, for a moment forgetting his urgency. Margaret had an open tin next to her, and she offered it to him as he sat down. There were several different types of biscuits inside, including ginger snaps. Memories of chalky biscuits in cold storage rooms came to mind. Something must have changed on his face because Margaret laughed brightly.
"You have nothing to fear, Mr. Thornton. I had no hand in these. They are from Robinson's bakery," she said.
Before he could defend himself, Margaret continued.
"Dixon has forbidden me from entering the kitchen again. Says it does not befit someone of my station, that it never did and even less so what with being betrothed to one of 'those great manufacturers.' Her words, not mine," Margaret said with a twinkle in her eye. "It seems her opinion of you has increased, and I will bring great shame to the Thornton name if I continue in my wild culinary ways."
"You could never bring us any shame. I admire her bravery in endeavoring to dictate your hobbies. I would not dare attempt it."
Margaret smiled. "I know you would not."
They each ate a biscuit in companionable silence as John tried to figure out how to tell her about the rumor.
"Did Fanny find out what everyone is whispering about?" Margaret asked before she took another bite.
John stared at her for a moment. "How did you know?"
"She looked like she was telling you something sensational."
"Well, it is what I came over to tell you. Fanny reported that that Miss Latimer had heard from her maid who heard from one of Carson's errand boys that he overheard Mrs. Arnold tell Mrs. Singh that she saw us in the street that night."
"While we were walking?"
"Yes, but more so when we stopped and—"
"Oh. I understand."
"That's not the worst of it. They recognized you, but not me."
Margaret turned her head in surprise, swiftly understanding the implication. "Oh. Well, why would they? I'm the one that is out and about with gentleman at all hours, and you— well, Mr. Thornton, I don't know if you had ever done anything improper in your life before my corrupting influence. I have told you, I am not good enough—"
"Do not say that. I do not wish for anyone to speak ill of you, not even yourself."
Margaret sighed, not wishing to argue with him, and looked out towards the pond again, her face obscured by her bonnet.
"Your mother is going to be livid when she finds out we were seen."
"Indeed," he agreed as he brushed a fleck of snow off her shoulder. They both glanced up to see snow beginning to fall. He let his hand linger on her, and when she seemed intent on looking straight ahead, he caressed her face with this gloved hand.
"Won't you look at me?" he requested quietly, and she turned to him. "Margaret, can you forgive me for not being more discrete? I am a poor guardian of your maidenly honor."
She shook her head. "I will not have you divide the blame unequally."
"Are you distressed by what they're implying?"
At this, Margaret chuckled. "Mr. Thornton, there is only one person whose good opinion has ever mattered to me, and if he does not think less of me for kissing him in full view of Mrs. Arnold's sitting room window, then I don't mind. They will find something new to talk about in time."
"Do you face everything with such composure?"
"Not skating."
He laughed at that, and she smiled for a moment, but then turned somber, her hands coming together in her lap in a nervous fidget. "Does it bother you, though, if they believe me a poor match for you? I know your mother would never believe me, but I truly do not wish to tarnish what you have worked so hard to accomplish."
As she spoke, John continued to caress her cheek lightly, and when she finished, he took her hand in his free one.
"Margaret, if you love me, nothing else matters. They can say what they please, and if you are not concerned, I will follow your lead, as I intend to do for the rest of my life."
"I do love you," Margaret responded, with some force.
"I cannot wait a day, let alone months, to be your husband, Margaret. Say you will marry me today. I will find us a parson this instant, all these fine people will bear witness, and we will return to town as husband and wife."
Margaret laughed. "I hardly know what to say when you speak to me in such a way."
"Do you wish me to stop?"
"I wish for you to tell me everything you think and how you feel, even if it is as ridiculous as that. I wish for us to be open with one another, always. And if you wish to be so effusive in your devotion, which I am entirely unworthy of, I will just have to grow accustomed to it," Margaret replied with a teasing smile.
He ducked his head towards her, bringing his lips to her ear. "Would you prefer I find other ways to express myself?"
He knew she understood his meaning, because her cheeks, already splashed with pink from the cold, turned strawberry red. She turned her face to him, and he was already so close that her movement only brought her lips closer to his, and they looked at each other for a moment before Margaret tilted her head ever so slightly forward and closed her eyes. It was invitation enough. For the first time since Christmas, John kissed her, his cold lips tenderly pressing against hers. It was a patient and gentle kiss, until Margaret deepened it, and John's gloved hand touched her face.
It may have been residual good cheer from the Christmas season, or perhaps it was the happiness that radiated from John Thornton and Margret Hale. Whatever the reason, no one seem to mind that the young couple could hardly contain themselves, and in combination with Fanny's swift correction to the rumor, this kiss certainly put to rest any false notions about Mr. Thornton's reserved nature.
When the couple broke their kiss, they realized snow was coming down in earnest, glistening around them as it fell.
In the distance, they could hear Fanny's excited shriek. John smiled, and Margaret smiled in return.
Author's Note: I drew from the lithograph of the painting Central Park, Winter 1862 by Charles Parsons to create the fun, wintery scene.
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Happy Holidays!