Roses and Lace

Chapter 23

By the time the newlyweds had changed into their traveling clothes had packed their trunks and were ready to leave, the whole family lined up to wish them goodbye. Dixon was there as well, weeping. She gathered Margaret into a close hug. She would stay on with Aunt Shaw for a few weeks before making her own journey to live with her sister. Margaret's wedding was the final close to a long chapter of her life.

Mrs. Hannah Thornton and the Watsons would spend one more night with the Lennoxes before returning north.

"Take care of things at the mill for me, Mother. I plan to return within a week."

Margaret looked at John, surprised. "Are we not going straight to Milton?"

He smiled at her shyly. "Nay. It isn't much, but I've arranged a brief retreat for us."

"But where?"

John glanced at Watson, who winked at him and touched his nose.

To Margaret, he only smiled and said, "It's a surprise."

And then he helped her into the carriage and stepped in after her, and they waved their final goodbyes out the window and then they were there, together, jostled and clattering over the cobblestones, off to somewhere mysterious, and John Thornton was sitting in the carriage across from her, gazing at her with those dark eyes and smiling.

Margaret found herself smiling in return.

He reached for one of her hands and turned it over in his own hand then slowly, one by one, loosened each finger of her glove.

"John..?"

After he had pulled her glove off he simply held her hand gently, his fingertips caressing her palm and the back of her hand and the delicate skin at her wrist. He was looking at her hand, seemingly lost in thought.

Margaret felt herself breathing more deeply.

Then he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. Margaret caught her breath in a gasp. From such gentle touches, it was as if her whole body had some strange energy coursing through it. She felt mesmerized. Then he raised his eyes to hers and it was like drowning in a dark sea.

"John..."

He glanced at her mouth, and then he had moved to sit next to her and he had pulled her into a kiss and his hand was on her neck and he was kissing her again and again, slowly but more and more intensely, and she never wanted him to stop.

Finally they broke apart, both of them gasping.

"Margaret," he groaned. "Margaret, I never want to stop touching you."

She blinked at him in a daze. "...Then don't."

He laughed and kissed her again. Her lips. Her forehead. The tip of her nose. The sides of her neck just above her collar, where he licked - licked?! - where he swiped his tongue over her skin. He pulled her earlobe between his teeth and chuckled as she panted.

But then he pulled back with a groan.

Margaret hardly knew what to make of herself. Married less than two hours and she was coming apart in a carriage ride. Part of her wanted to stop the carriage immediately and get some fresh air and forget that anything so scandalous - had it been so scandalous? - had ever occurred. Part of her felt stifled in all of her clothing and wanted more than anything to tear that cravat from John's neck and see what his skin tasted like.

He was still watching her. He seemed like he ought to be more disheveled. She felt like she ought to be more disheveled. She could hardly believe that all he had removed from her was one glove.

Then he put his hand to his face and sighed. "Margaret, I'm afraid..." He laughed softly, despairingly, to himself. "I'm afraid that I arranged to meet with a trader at a cotton warehouse just outside of London. It won't take long. It's only to finalize an order of shipments, but it's a... a damned sorry beginning to a honeymoon."

She was still thinking about his cravat, and how many buttons it would take to get to where she could loosen her corset. "I'm sorry, you have a... a business meeting? Outside London?"

He looked at her with heat in his eyes and reluctantly nodded his head. "It was a stupid decision. To imagine that I could do anything on this day other than spend every moment with you."

Margaret smiled. She was just beginning to feel that she could breathe freely again. Her skin was still tingling from his lips, his tongue, he teeth. "John, you are the master of Marlborough Mills. That doesn't stop, even though we are married. You must do what needs to be done." She reached for his hand. "I want to help you, John, not hinder you. I'll come with you. I would love to learn more of the cotton trade."

He shook his head in wonder. "I've arranged for us to stay at an inn tonight. You can at least make yourself comfortable there. I won't be long, and I promise, tomorrow we're leaving for the seaside and you shall have a proper getaway for at least a few days before we settle in Milton."

"The seaside?" Margaret beamed at him. "I love the sea! But really, John, as long as I'm not a bother then I would rather come with you to the warehouse. Please."

He was still looking at her in awe, and finally he spoke quietly. "...Anything I can ever give you, it's yours. You've already given me everything I could wish for. You may have the whole running of the mill if you'd like."

She blushed at the heartfelt emotion in his face and started to stammer. "Really, John! Please don't be absurd, Master Thornton. Remember, we have a business agreement. You are responsible for running the mill and giving me a good return on my investment. You must do your duty to the mill and then you must also do your duty as my husband."

He grinned at that. "Aye, my mistress. My lady. I am at your service." He was kissing her hand again, and Margaret realized that he might have more specific duties in mind than what she had intended to imply.

It was almost a relief when the carriage stopped in front of the warehouse. They spent a minute making sure their hair and clothing were all properly arranged before John stepped out and took Margaret's hand.

She stepped out by his side. The warehouse was located on a wharf, and the gulls crying and the men working and the loads of dry goods being hoisted and lowered all sounded like energy and industry.

Margaret felt like she was stepping into her new life. She was no longer simply Margaret Hale. She was mistress of Marlborough Mills and John Thornton's wife.