"Regret for the things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable." Sydney J. Harris

Milton-Northern, England

Two weeks later, John was sitting at his desk long after the workers had gone. He spent hours going over his ledgers and had to face the truth. The mill was barely hanging on. If he did not turn things around soon, he would have to apply to Latimer for a substantial loan, or the mill would have to close. He had written several letters to potential investors but had not heard back from any of them with a positive response yet.

John looked at the stack of mail that sat on the corner of his desk and briefly thumbed through it. There were invoices from his suppliers and a thick envelope from a shipping firm in Spain, Barbour and Company.

Out of curiosity, John opened the envelope and to his surprise, found two personal letters. One was simply addressed to Mr. John Thornton and said, "Read First." and the other was addressed to him in a decidedly feminine hand.

John broke the seal and read the first letter.

Mr. Thornton,

Let me introduce myself. I am a relative of Mr. and Mrs. Hale and Margaret Hale. I saw you twice while I was in Milton at the end of Mrs. Hale's life at their home in Crampton and at Outwood Station, but we were not introduced due to circumstances that I cannot explain in a letter.

Margaret has come to live with me and my wife, as well as my in-laws in Cadiz, Spain. Since she came to us several months ago, she has been in deep mourning for her parents. Of course, that is to be expected, but I believe there is more than that keeping her from moving forward in her life.

She and I spoke about it, and she gave me an overview of what had transpired between the two of you over the eighteen months she lived in Milton. She gave few details, only that she had been unkind to you, and it grieves her, as the lie she told to the police grieves her. You must know a woman of moral integrity would suffer greatly from doing something so out of character.

I am a man of honor, and if I had known all that she would suffer after I left Milton that night at Outwood Station, I would have risked my life to protect her. I am sorry she was forced to lie to protect me and that she could not tell you more about our family. You are a magistrate, and neither she nor Richard wanted to put you in the difficult position of having to choose between your duty to the Crown and your friendship with my relatives.

I encouraged Margaret to write to you to express her regrets. The second letter is from her.

She is in my care, and all correspondence must be addressed through me. Please do not put my name or hers on the outside of the envelope. Simply address it to Barbour and Company, 12 Oceanside Avenue, Cadiz, Spain. It will get to her, I promise. As she is family, her happiness means a great deal to me. I believe she would welcome a letter from you.

Yours, Frederick Dickenson

John could hardly process all he had just learned. His heart was beating rapidly as he took the second envelope in his hand to break the seal. He took a deep breath before turning his eyes to Miss Hale's words to him.

Mr. Thornton,

I know it is quite improper for me to write to you, but I was encouraged by my relative to do so. I am now living with my family in Cadiz. It has been a great comfort to be here with loved ones, and the city is quite beautiful.

After Mama died, I had a great deal of time to think. As you can imagine, my life was quite lonely due to the incident at Outwood Station. My family had few friends in Milton, and of the friends we had, none were dearer to us than you.

I owe you many apologies, but for now, I would like to address the ones that grieve me the most.

First of all, I did not treat you as I should have when we first met due to my Southern prejudices. I am ashamed of how self-righteous I was in my opinions when I first arrived in Milton. It might surprise you to know how very much I miss Milton even though my family never found our place in society there. I miss Nicholas, Mary, and the children terribly and the industriousness of the people. The residents of Milton live their lives with purpose, and I admire that.

Secondly, the day you offered me your heart, I was so unkind. I regret, more than you know, how I spoke to you. I do not know how you could forgive me for it, but please know that if we could go back in time to have that conversation again, it could have been a beginning for us, a chance to get to know one another better, rather than what it was. It makes my heart ache to remember it. I regretted my words from the moment you left the room.

The last thing I apologize for is for putting you in a terrible position by lying about being at Outwood Station. I know I lost what little remained of your affection for me, but I was protecting my relative who had come to Milton to say goodbye to Mama. We did want you to be put in a difficult position with such unwelcome information as he is a fugitive from the law in England.

I could not give you an explanation at that time because he did not leave the country immediately. I encouraged him to seek legal counsel from Henry Lennox, my cousin's brother-in-law. After the interview, Henry got him to a ship in London and out of harm's way. It seems hopeless from a legal standpoint that my relative's name can be cleared, and he can once again walk freely in the country of his birth.

I lament that I did not have a chance to speak to you privately the day I left Milton. It was all I could do not to look back at you as the carriage pulled out of the snowy mill yard that day. I had the strongest urge to do so, but I was holding on to my emotions by a thin thread. I think if I looked back, I might have gotten out of the carriage and never left Milton.

I know you think of me as a woman of low moral character, and not worthy of your forgiveness. Nonetheless, I do hope you will accept my words of regret for all that I have said or done that has caused you hurt, disappointment, or angst.

If you would like to write to me, I would welcome your letters, but I understand that you may want to leave our acquaintance in the past.

Yours always, Margaret Hale

There was no misunderstanding that her letter conveyed more than regret. Miss Hale cared for him. John was sure of it. And….the man he had seen her embrace was family. He thought of all the torment he suffered since that night of believing that she had given her heart to another man. The memory of their embrace was seared indelibly in his brain.

The lie that she told was done to protect a relative she clearly loved. It spoke well of Miss Hale to be so loyal and to make such a sacrifice for him. John felt shame wash over him for questioning her character.

John recalled their conversation that awful day after the riots when he offered his heart to her. He had behaved badly, and Miss Hale had hurled cruel words that had wounded him deeply. Nothing but her love could ever heal those deep scars. He picked up her letter again and reread the paragraph about the day he offered for her.

"…. I regret, more than you know, how I spoke to you. I do not know how you could forgive me for it, but please know that if we could go back in time to have that conversation again, I would hope it could have been a beginning for us, a chance to know one another better, rather than what it was. It makes my heart ache to remember it. I regretted my words from the moment you left the room."

John wondered if two people ever misunderstood each other more than he and Miss Hale did. Almost two years had been wasted if he was reading her words as he hoped she meant them. She was not the only one with regrets. Not a day passed when he did not wish he had asked for a courtship instead of marriage. If he had, maybe she would be his wife now, and he would not be so alone.

The fact that Miss Hale said that she might have never left Milton if she had looked back at him also indicated that she felt something for him. How he wished she would have stopped the carriage. The depth of his despair as he watched her carriage pull out of the mill yard that terrible day was unfathomable. The joy he would have felt if she had come back to him would have been euphoric.

He lifted her letter to his nose and inhaled the faint scent of lavender and roses, her signature scent. He closed his eyes and remembered her in the mint-colored silk dress she wore to his dinner party the night before the riot. The dress had shown off her beautiful figure, and the attraction he felt for her magnified tenfold that night.

He would write to Miss Hale and tell her that he forgave her. Her letter meant more to him than she could ever know. He wanted to tell her that his affections for her had never wavered, that he had lied when he told her that any foolish passions he felt for her were over. Those affections and his profound love for her were an intrinsic part of his being and would be for the rest of his life.

He lit another candle, took out a sheet of his best parchment, and sat down to write a reply to the woman he held most dear in his heart. He read over his words and was satisfied that he had given Miss Hale the peace she needed with his words, but there was much more than that in his letter to her.

Next, he wrote to Frederick Dickenson to thank him for his letter and the opportunity to correspond with Miss Hale.

He addressed both letters, put them in a larger envelope and carefully addressed it as Frederick Dickenson had instructed. He put it in his safe along with Miss Hale and Dickenson's letters to him. He would take his letters to the post personally first thing in the morning. This was his secret for now, and he smiled for the first time in months. Not even the dismal financial state of business could dim the joy Miss Hale's precious words had given him.

oooOOOooo

John walked across the yard to the house where he found his mother in the drawing room. He bent to kiss her cheek, and ate a quick dinner with her before retiring to his room.

He washed up for bed and changed into his lightest nightshirt. It was late summer in Milton, and the temperatures were sweltering. He poured himself a glass of brandy and sat in his chair with Richard Hale's copy of Plato.

He opened the cover and traced the words that Margaret had written to him. "Dear Sir, The accompanying book I am sure will be valued for the sake of my father to whom it belonged. Yours, Sincerely, Margaret Hale."

His finger traced her name, Margaret Hale. His most fervent wish was for her to become Margaret Thornton. On this night, unlike all the nights that had passed since her rejection, he had a small glimmer of hope.

oooOOOooo

Author's Notes:

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