Roses and Lace
Chapter 1
Margaret breathed easier in her aunt's house after she had made known her decision to manage her own daily affairs. She discovered in herself a serenity she had never experienced. She was of age, and she was of independent means. She might even contrive to travel. If Mr. Bell could live out his final days in South America, could she not contemplate a visit to Spain?
Edith pouted whenever Margaret shared these musings with her. "But Fred will keep you there with him and his Catholic wife! You might even fall in love with a handsome Spaniard and never return to live with us again!" And then she would collapse on the nearest couch, weeping, in a somewhat exaggerated display of despair.
But while Margaret cossetted and soothed her lovely cousin, she noted that it was not the same as when she had curbed her feelings for her parents' sake. At that time it had felt like a strain, a burden so constant she was only seldom aware of it, to always put her own emotions aside and make a brave face, to be a constant support for her ailing mother and hesitant father. Now, although she assured Edith that she had no plans to travel at present, by that qualifier she assured herself that she was not actually bound to her cousin's wants and whims. She was free to make her own decisions and live her own life.
She had no parents, no husband, no children. She was free.
Even the nagging sorrows of the past were abated, somewhat, by the comfort of her last conversation with Mr. Bell, in which she had explained the occasion of her deceit that had shamed her so much with regards to Mr. Thornton. She did not know that Mr. Bell had actually conveyed the truth of those circumstances to Mr. Thornton, but surely... Surely, he must have. And that was another burden lifted. It had been almost physically painful to reflect on the idea that Mr. Thornton might rightfully hold such a low opinion of her, and she had been unable to excuse or explain herself.
But now, even if she never saw him again, to know that he might know the truth, might... If not think well of her, then at least not despise her...
Thus, Margaret felt that she could finally move forward after the sorrows of Milton, the sorrows that befell her there as well as the sorrow she felt when remembering the friends she left behind.
Indeed, it was more than enough that Henry Lennox, who had taken it upon himself to assist her, traveled to the north to oversee her newly inherited properties. Of course, she could not ask him to make any personal inquiries on her behalf. That would make the brittle nature of her businesslike relationship with Henry even more awkward. She just had to glean whatever she could from every scrap of information he happened to acquire in the course of his work.
Somehow Milton seemed even farther away from her than Cadiz, now. No, she could not return there. She could never look back. She did not want to admit the reasons why, but she felt such pain in her heart when she thought of it.
Perhaps... in a few years... To visit her mother's grave, she would go. And then see how Nicholas and Mary Higgins and the Boucher children were doing. She could stand it then.
In the meantime the mill will be prospering, and Mr. Thornton likely would have married Ann Latimer. And Margaret would be a more mature, independent woman. Perhaps she might have recently returned from travels in Spain.
Not married - she could not see herself ever marrying, despite Edith's wishes regarding Henry or fears regarding anyone else.
Perhaps Margaret might even come across Mr. Thornton in the street and at least be able to allow him her hand in greeting. She could finally meet his eyes openly, knowing that at last he knew the truth.
These were Margaret's musings after she had come out of the long months of mourning and recovery, come into her own, living in London during her twenty-first year.