FORGIVEN AND FORGOTTEN

Chapter Three

Margaret quailed at the severity of her fiancés harsh retort, since darling John, when he wanted to sound hostile, he truly had an unsurpassed knack for it. It was this intimidating capacity of his for making people feel small, something which he achieved with both his stature of height and standing of honour, an impressive combination indeed. She was sorry to say it, but while there was nobody alive who made Margaret feel so wholly and unreservedly loved, there was also nobody like John for dragging her down from her pious pedestal and making her realise she was in the wrong.

Nonetheless, far from offending her, it was a feature of John's character which Margaret admired, nay, needed. She was not an unfriendly person, nor genuinely supercilious, but Lord forgive her, Margaret knew that she possessed a certain self-righteous element to her personality, a pride and a prejudice, if you will. It was an armour of uncertainty which she had adorned as a young woman who had been finding her feet in this world, a shield which had metamorphosed into haughtiness, a shell which had established a partition between her and the man she loved for far too long. It had been like a barrier which had prevented Margaret from seeing past the thorny mill master's stern exterior, all so that she might appreciate the sweet and sensitive soul within.

Margaret chuckled to herself. Dear John, what a conundrum he was with all his handsome brooding.

But Margaret chose not to say anything in response, since even although she could admit that his ill-tempered snap had upset her, she understood that it was not borne of malice, but of an agitated sort of wretchedness, given that her dear boy was no doubt feeling resentful at the mention of Henry's name, wary of what this unanticipated announcement might mean. Yes, John was not surly, not really, he was just being petulant, but not because he was childish, never, but because he had experienced so much loss in his life that he was now conditioned to assume that everything and everyone he loved would be taken from him, and such a despairing thought broke Margaret's heart.

Therefore, Margaret knew that it was her responsibility to tread carefully if she did not want to trample on the fragile fragments of this sweet man's wounded heart, for she wanted more than anything to live up to her calling in this life, and that was to let her tenderness heal him, to let her devotion serve and strengthen him, and to let her love make John whole again.

Margaret knew it, she knew it with everything she was, because each miniscule fibre of her being itched and flexed to perform its sole purpose, meaning that the closer she was to him, the more her blood rushed, her head swam, and her nerves tingled. Yes, there was no doubt in Margaret's mind. God had created and crafted her with his own two hands for the distinct intention of loving John Thornton with all her heart, and ever the dutiful girl, Margaret had every intention of living up to her Heaven-ordained role.

But Margaret frowned.

Despite all of this, there was something still not quite right. She had seen it, she had seen it in him during the past five days, ever since Margaret had returned to Milton with him. He had not known it, but while John had been watching and studying his muse, Margaret had been doing the same of her man, their furtive glances always just missing each other and never colliding. And yes, while he was clearly overjoyed to have her there, his sad face now smiling, his shoulders less stiff, his whole demeanour more calm and cheerful every time she came near, Margaret could tell that John was also constantly on edge, unable to settle and enjoy his newfound happiness in peace.

At first, she had wondered why. Perhaps it had been because of the mill, his fears of losing it still plaguing him, his mind afflicted by guilty concerns over what that would mean for his mother and his workers, because bless his selfless soul, John never once had a thought in his self-sacrificing head for his own plight, not when he was dedicated to protecting and providing for those in his care. Then again, Margaret thought not, since he seemed optimistic about the mill, always talking about his plans to salvage and restore it to its former glory, the whole project, one which he was determined she should share with him and be a partner in, having kindled a new fire of passion and purpose in his spirit.

If it was not that, Margaret had deliberated whether it had something to do with their living arrangements. The situation was certainly unconventional and improper, there was no denying it. Margaret blushed to think what her parents would have said, for while they had trusted John wholeheartedly, her respectable mother and father would have paled at the thought of their daughter setting up home with a man whilst unmarried, albeit if he were a gentleman who would never try and take advantage of her vulnerable position in his household by laying a lecherous finger on her.

Margaret knew what people were saying, how could she not when Fanny was only too happy to inform her? Her future sister-in-law had been so exhilarated by it all, that she had been forced to take a generous sniff of her smelling salts for reinforcement before getting onto the truly degenerate details of the rumours which were being wagged by the wicked tongues of Milton's townsfolk.

Margaret could tell that John had tried to shield her from all the tittle-tattle, caring man that he was, but she did not mind, not really, for so long as she and he were together, then it did not matter a jot what small-minded people said or thought. No, Margaret did not batter an eyelash over their gossiping, but she had worried that John did, given that he was a man of principle and prominence in the town of his birth, and his reputation, especially at such a precarious time, what with the mill facing challenges, was something she needed to defend rather than bring into ill repute with her presence.

Because of this, Margaret had attempted to broach the topic with John more than once, suggesting that she should perhaps go to a hotel, or take up some temporary lodgings, or as a last resort, even although the idea made her head ache, she knew that she could always stay with Fanny for a while. However, try as she might to have a reasonable conversation with her intended about their unusual position, a grumpy John was having none of it. Every time Margaret so much as mentioned the very idea of her living elsewhere, he would soon scowl and sulk, before telling his fiancée in no uncertain terms that she was staying put, all the while threatening to track her down and bring her back if she so much as stepped foot in another house. After this tenacious outburst, one which she could not help but giggle at, John would then march off, refusing to discuss it any further, and so, that was that. So there, it would seem that John was not overly concerned about the fact that the woman he loved was living under his roof without bearing his name, and she sensed that any provocation he might feel on the matter was more for her sake than his.

Therefore, at a loss to understand what the matter was, on this very afternoon, Margaret had retreated to a window seat that looked out upon the yard, her favourite scene in all the world, and on chewing her bottom lip, she had continued to ponder this, resolved not to budge until she had solved this puzzle. Then, tonight, at long last, Margaret had figured it out and deduced what was troubling her Mr Thornton.

It was all about her.

John was worried that she was not here to stay.

John was afraid that she was leaving him.

John was scared that this was all too good to be true, and that they would be denied their happy ever after, a life together as man and wife.

Well, Margaret could not have that.

Sitting beside him this evening, Margaret nodded pensively, her eyes still concentrated on the floor, that ink stain becoming larger with every second which passed with painful sluggishness, so much so that she was fearful it might soon become a giant hole that she would fall into, never to be seen again. But no, it was time to clear this matter up once and for all, and so, to achieve the equilibrium that they both so desperately desired and required to finally be happy, Margaret realised that there were a few loose ends which she needed to tie up, lest the aimless strands of unfinished affairs unravel and fray their marriage, something which she refused to let happen. Consequently, whether John liked it or not, this culmination of incomplete chapters in her life included bringing the narrative of one Henry Lennox to a close.

Taking a fortifying breath, Margaret coughed, her throat terribly dry from all the tension. 'I have been thinking about him a great deal these past few days,' she confessed, for as insensitive as that sounded, it was the truth.

John gritted his teeth as he glared at his desk with a vengeance, since he could not, and would not, bring himself to glower at her.

Lousy Lennox!

John half smirked. It was a private game of his, you see, to come up with as many defamatory adjectives, (and nouns, and verbs and adverbs), as possible to describe his love rival, an infantile diversion, he knew, but one which brought him enormous satisfaction.

'And why is that?' he asked apprehensively, his tone curt, since a thousand tormenting explanations were flitting through his head, his resentful mind now wondering whether there had been more between Margaret and Lennox than he had previously presumed. Could it be that after only a few short days of living with him in Milton, this fine lass had grown tired of his coarse northern ways and her regretful heart was changing course and returning south towards the man who was everything John was not, a man who would offer her everything a lowly tradesman could never hope to?

Lennox! That, that, that – damn it! There was nothing wrong with the blasted man. John grumbled. The louse, he was perfectly clever, perfectly capable, perfectly charming, he was just damn perfect in every way, and John hated him for it!

Margaret did not answer directly, but thought on this, then, at last, she simply said, 'Because he is a good man…and I was not good to him.'

John's head whipped around, so abruptly that his neck felt the smart of his swift movement like the sting of a lash. 'What?' he scoffed sardonically. 'What do you owe him? I thought he was nothing to you?!' he bit back, the bulldog in him having a good old snarl.

Margaret shuffled on the verge of John's desk, recoiling at the scornful nip of his disapproval. 'Do not be cross, John, please,' she said forlornly, her shapely shoulders wilting like the petals of a flower.

He turned away and bit his tongue. 'I am not cross,' John replied, his attitude intolerably terse as he glared at the fire, the flames hissing back at him for being such a foul git.

Finally, Margaret looked up at him, and she smiled, something which surprised the man, since a sorry John had half expected her to look either dismayed or affronted, given that she had every right to be both, his behaviour being unforgivably puerile. Instead, her cherubic face was so soft and sympathetic that John's heart broke, since how could he hope to ever be good enough for this gentle and generous woman? While every stitch of her soul was beautiful and benevolent, he was no more than a beast.

John cocked his head to the side in confusion as Margaret's eyes stilled and rose to examine what appeared to be the air above him. Tutting and lifting her hand, she ran her fingers through his thick, black hair, which was sticking up like a scruff-puff after he had restlessly raked his own fingers through it earlier when he had been fretfully wondering where the blazes she was. With her slender digits gliding along his scalp, John closed his eyes and his head fell back as he groaned in gratification while she ruffled the locks of his unruly mane with uplifting affection. It was almost as if Margaret had been tidying her Mr Thornton up for years and years, an intimate act which was second nature to her now. When she did this, Margaret felt her heart sing to think of a tiny baby in her arms with blue eyes and black hair, the spitting image of its beloved father, and such an enchanting thought gave her the courage she needed to continue.

'Yes you are, darling,' she told him plainly, her eyes settling upon his own with fearless intractability since she refused to shy away from him any longer. Margaret knew that she had been timid over the past few days, and in return, she appreciated that John had been wonderfully patient with her while she found her feet. She did not like being so nervous, since such diffidence was not in her nature, but alas, there had been so much to take in that both her head and heart had felt just a little overawed. But no, no more, because one of the main reasons John had fallen in love with her was because Margaret was valiant, and so, it was hardly fair to either of them if she were to back down now.

Leaning forwards, Margaret took John's face in her hands, much like he had done at the station, and she let her thumbs rub calming circles across his cheeks, his eyes fluttering shut and his breath coming out in an unsteady pant as he gulped down the ball of pleasure which bulged in his throat.

'John, it is me,' she reminded him, her voice melodic, soothing him like a lulling melody, and John's eyes opened so that he might stare into the hypnotic pools of her cloudy irises.

God help him, she was far too beautiful to describe.

Margaret sighed. 'Like it or not, I know you better than I know myself, and I know when you are angry, I know when you are sad, and most of all, I know when you are displeased with me. And, my boy, I know that you are unhappy with me now,' she revealed, her pretty lips pursing.

John's features slanted downwards most despairingly as he squirmed under the intensity of her overwhelming kindness.

'See,' Margaret sustained, her fingers skimming along the grooves of his forehead. 'You have a tell-tale sign, Mr Thornton, did you know that? Your brow furrows and your skin creases when you are cross with me, it has always been the way,' said she, her hand falling once more to stroke the master's face, his stubble scratching the silky layer of her palm. 'Your jaw goes all stiff and settles into a scowl, almost like you have forgotten how to smile, and that makes me so very sad. You have such a lovely smile, John, and I do not like it when it goes away, especially now that I have finally gained the privileged right to bask in its warmth,' she described despondently, Margaret's head inching closer and her moist lips creeping nearer, so close that they brushed his own.

John could hardly breathe, his hands bearing down on the arms of his chair and gripping them for dear life, lest other parts of him stir without permission and frighten her away.

Gazing into his eyes, Margaret's heart swooned to see the penetrating passion which burnt there for her and her alone. 'You looked at me like that when you saw Fred and me together at Outwood Station,' she told him, her pinkie mapping his cockled eyebrows, and Margaret felt a shudder in her soul to see the way John tensed beneath her touch as she unintentionally struck a sensitive chord by resurrecting the nightmare of their unlucky encounter that night, a mystified witnessing that had hounded them both for months. It had been an event which had waged a correspondingly insufferable war in their disillusioned hearts, a torment that had almost been too terrible to endure.

'Even although it was dark, I could still see you,' she confessed, her eyes echoing the alarm she had felt that night. It had been strange, because Margaret had not realised at the time that she was falling in love with him, but the idea that John had seen her, that he was questioning her integrity and innocence, that he was most likely judging her to be a wanton woman, it had been like a knife to Margaret's heart. It had not made sense back then, but it did now, because, for reasons which she could not explicate at the time, John Thornton's good opinion mattered more to Margaret than anybody else's in the whole wide world.

Swallowing, Margaret thwarted the tears which threatened to spill forth from behind her misty eyes. 'You were so incensed, so wounded, and it showed on your handsome face,' she resumed, her head bowing so that she might bump her temple against his own, John's head rising instinctively to lean into her touch since he hungered for the feel of her, an addicted craving which he could never seem to satisfy.

'And now, dearest, you are looking at me just like that again, and I cannot bear it, so please stop,' she begged, a single finger sketching down his cheek, the man just sitting there in spellbound silence, fighting the primal need that flared in his core to urgently drag her to him and make love to Margaret in every conceivable way he could think of, all simply because she was so unreasonably lovely, and he could not bear for his darling girl to not know how much he treasured her for it.

Margaret's hands began to twist and mangle the folds of her dress, something which John found oddly offensive, since he could not stand to see her lovely yellow frock so poorly handled. And so, gently sliding his hand towards hers, he extradited them from their transgression, and held them firmly in his own for safekeeping. In doing so, he chuckled to himself as a bracelet slipped down from her elbow to her wrist, smacking his knuckles. It was an ornament he knew well, since even although he cared nothing for such trinkets, this particular one of brass and gems had brought him much-enamoured entertainment during his early visits to the Hale's home, and so, when he had noticed that Margaret had brought it back with her to Milton, an eager John had bashfully requested that she wear it for him whilst pouring her fiancé a cup for their evening tea.

But this was no time for fun and flirting, no, this was the time for laying the foundations of their future, a basis which John was resolved would be strong and stable, all so that their love might weather any storm life threw their way, including the vile tempest that was his infernal temper.

'I am sorry,' he whispered, his own voice rough with emotion. 'I do not mean to be such a brute, but you know me, I get…'

Margaret trembled as she felt the tender heat radiate from John's strong hands into her own small ones, his so large that they encased hers without any effort, something which made her feel remarkably safe.

'Jealous?' she finished for him.

John flinched at the unpleasant sound of the truth.

'Aye, jealous,' he acknowledged glumly, heartily ashamed of himself. 'I have waited so long for this, Margaret, so long to have you for my own. For the first time in my life, I finally feel happy, complete, and I think I would die if anyone should ever take you away from m−'

'Nobody is taking me away from you, John,' Margaret retorted bluntly, her voice self-assured and steady with the candour of her speech. She guessed that he had read the letter from her aunt, that inexcusable script of nasty poppycock, but Margaret would not let it get to him. 'I will remind you that I am my own woman and always have been,' she declared, and John grinned broadly to think that he had never doubted it for a minute, since his cherished Margaret, she was the very definition of mulishness.

'However, now I have my own means, and I am of age, so I can do as I please,' Margaret went on, rolling her shoulders back as she beamed smugly at the thought of her own prized independence. 'And as a result, I have chosen to be here, with you, John, by your side, and nobody will dissuade me, not even you,' she warned him genially, a slight smirk quivering her lips.

John nodded, the edges of his mouth tugging upwards to hear her speak words of such fierce loyalty for him, a love and faithfulness so pure, that he could never have dreamt of it, not in his wildest dreams.

Peering down at the papers in her hand, his nose twitched as he gestured towards the pages which still rested against her slim abdomen, a precious place which John hoped would very soon be growing his babe, one of many to be born of their consecrated and consummated love. 'What's that all about, then?' he asked for what felt like the umpteenth time.

Margaret sighed.

'I am not sure how to put it,' she faltered. 'But I have written to him, and that is why I have come to see you,' she explained. 'I want you to read it before I send it. I do not want to ever hide anything from you ever again, and I think it only right that you see it, even if it is addressed to him. I want to know what you think as the man I am to marry.'

Then, elevating her head, and with her eyes flashing with the innate defiance which ran through the woman's veins, Margaret added, 'I do not feel abashed by anything I have written, and I do not apologise to you for it, for I do not feel I should have to. I do not need your permission to write to anyone, but what I am asking for, John, is your blessing. I would hate to distress you, my dear, and so if it brings you pain, I shall not send it. So, there,' she finished, laying the papers down before him like a sacrifice. 'I shall leave it with you to read, and when you are ready, you can tell me what you think.'

Margaret then stood and lifted John's hand, drawing it towards her breast before resting it over her heart, the feeling of her soft skin melding with his hardened and hairy dermis a strange yet sensual thing. As John watched in a rapt hush, she carried it to her lips and left a lingering kiss there. John closed his eyes and let out a small moan of contentment, because you see, that euphoric sensation would never cease to bring him to his knees. It had done so at the station when she had unexpectedly kissed his hand, the master grateful that he had been seated, or else he may have plummeted to the ground in response to the shock of pleasure which coursed throughout him. He had vowed that he would never wash it again, and ever since, it had felt different, that lucky patch of skin forever changed by the touch of an angel.

'John?' she mumbled.

'Margaret?' he replied.

'I…I know that we have hurt each other in the past,' she conceded, and John's fingers curled around hers reassuringly, something which bolstered her determination. 'I am sorry for my part, you know I am, just as I trust you are too,' she continued, recalling the profound heart-to-heart they had shared on the train, a conversation which had washed away the failings of their misunderstandings and baptised them anew in the acknowledgement of their united love. 'But darling, that is all over now, and we must look forward to a fresh new future if we want to have a blessed marriage. I want us to absolve each other's mistakes and put the past behind us once and for all. However, for us to do that, we must have a steadfast faith in one another's characters and one another's commitment,' she foretold. 'So, please, John, believe in me, just as surely as I believe in you.'

Tilting to the side, Margaret placed one fond and final kiss on his cheek before pushing herself away from the table and gliding towards the door, leaving John stewing in brooding silence.

As she was about to depart, Margaret turned her head once more and looked back at him. Seeing him sitting there, his troubled eyes fixated on the missive in front of him, Margaret called out, 'I love you,' her words clear and certain. As his eyes trailed upwards to meet hers, she smiled to see the tenderness she found shining back at her, her darling John, her rock of dependability and devotion that could never be shaken.

'I love you with all my heart, John Thornton, please never forget that,' she concluded before slipping away like a ghost, the sound of slipper feet growing ever fainter as she wandered off into the distance of the night.

The second she was gone, John snatched up the letter which sat before him in mocking stillness. He did so with such frenzied speed, that he cut his finger, and John winced at the sharp pain which now bothered him, ignoring the droplets of blood which dripped onto his mill papers, since he could not bring himself to care about business, not right now. With his anxious eyes flying back and forth across the pages, the master read his lover's words to another man, his heart full of fear.

Dear Henry,

I do not know if writing to you at such a time is wrong, or whether indeed you will consider it an insult, but I sincerely hope that neither will be the case, because my letter stems from a place of healing and not hurt, or so I hope.

I hardly know what to say, but I must tell you that while my heart is light with joy these days, I also find that it is heavy with remorse and feelings of guilt for the way I left things with you.

Henry, I feel duty-bound to be ingenuous when I say that you must dispel any notion that you and I could ever have been together from your mind, for such imaginings of what might have been are simply not true, since you see, as fond as I am of you, I am sorry to say that we would never have been. I do not believe that at any time in our acquaintance, I gave you cause to think that I cared for you more than I did, but if you think otherwise, I am more sorry than I can say, and I can only blame my lack of experience in such things as the art of love. I hope that you never felt used by me, for that would be a harsh crime to own, and I hope that you know that my fondness for you has always been genuine.

I need you to know that your friendship over the years has been a constant source of encouragement and solace throughout dark and difficult times. I know that during my latter years living in London before my family transferred to Milton, I very much enjoyed and valued your company at Harley Street, since I believe that out of everyone there, you perhaps understood me the best, something which I will never forget, not amidst that disorientating interlude when I transitioned from girlhood to womanhood.

What is more, when I returned to my aunt's house after the death of my dear Mamma and Papa, you were always there to offer me your unconditional friendship, and I know that whatever feelings you may have harboured, your kindness towards me was never false, nor scheming, since it was always grounded in selflessness and sincerity. I also appreciate that you offered me a great deal of your time and assistance in order to try and help relieve Fred's dire situation, and again, when I wanted to do what I could for Marlborough Mills, you were the first to step up. While my bankers laughed at me for being a naive young woman with no business sense in my head for wanting to pursue such an unsound investment, you never once questioned or belittled me, but offered me your stalwart support, despite you most likely discerning my clandestine motive in wanting to help another man, and for that, I will always be indescribably grateful.

Oh, dear, I hardly know what I am trying to express, and no doubt, I am putting it most poorly indeed. But I want you to know that even if I could never have agreed to be your wife, I feel blessed to have known you and to have been the beneficiary of your goodness in my times of need. I do not regret being born a woman, nor do I think I am inferior to any man, but life can be tricky for a woman who does not possess the same options and opportunities as her male companions, and so, she feels truly fortunate when a man is willing to treat her with respect, a courtesy that you never once failed to show me.

However, despite this, I do not believe that we could ever have made each other happy as man and wife, not because we do not like each other, but because we are so very different in the ways that matter when it comes to such a sacred bond, not that I am an expert in such things. But I know that my opinionated and obstinate ways would have vexed you, and over time, you would have grown displeased and dissatisfied with me, causing you to no doubt have regretted your choice.

As I sit here, I laugh and shake my head, since I appreciate that it would take a rare man of immense patience to put up with a woman such as me, and to willingly take me as his wife, he would need to be quite mad, either that or wonderfully brave. But, oh, Henry, I now know I have found him, the other half of my spirit, my soul, my true self.

Henry, I know that you have had your reservations about John, Mr Thornton, but I trust that one day you will find it in yourself to be happy for me because he really is the most extraordinary man. I know he comes from a foreign place to you and me, and his ways are different and a little strange to the likes of you and me. But with God as my witness, I love him.

I love him with all that I am, and whether I like it or not, I am his, and there is no getting away from it. When I left Milton over a year ago, I felt as if my heart had been ripped out of me, because I was leaving it behind, and my soul grieved every day for the loss of him from my life, for without Mr Thornton, my spirit cannot be at peace.

I do not say these things to hurt you, although I fully appreciate that making such intimate declarations will surely seem tactless to you, unladylike even. Nevertheless, I simply need you to understand without any doubt, that while I am sorry for denying your hopes, I cannot and will not apologise to anyone for allowing my heart to find its one and only mate, and to commit itself freely and entirely into his hands, since my soul was made and moulded so that I might love John Thornton, and I now know that without him, I am not myself, and with him, I am whole.

John once told you, if you will recall, that he does not know how to dabble, and truer words were never spoken, because even although I may not have yet learnt all there is to know about my future husband, there is one thing I do know beyond a shadow of a doubt, and that is that he is a good man. Throughout our acquaintance, despite my refusal to recognise it at first, John had shown himself to be a man of stubborn persistence, dependability, and constancy, and while I know our marriage will not be perfect, since such a thing does not exist, I do trust that when John says he loves me, he means it. And what is more, I have faith that he will spend every day of the rest of our lives providing for me, protecting me, and proving to me that I made the right choice.

There, I have said what I feel I must, and I hope that it was right to do so. Once again, Henry, I will always be your friend, and I hope with all my heart that you can find it in you to forgive me for not being yours, and that one day, hopefully soon, we can disremember any wounds that may have been unconsciously inflicted, and we can begin to reconcile and rebuild our relationship. I cannot speak for you, but I know that I would feel such a loss to lose you altogether, and I hope that will never happen, and that we will be firm and fond friends again once more. I wish that one day, you will know similar happiness to my own, I pray for it, and when you do, dear Henry, you will be glad of how things turned out in the end.

Forever your faithful friend,

Margaret Hale

As soon as John had finished reading, he instantly dropped the letter, the small stack cascading down like a snowy shower of paper. With his chair scraping along the wooden floor of his study, he rose to his feet, his legs swiftly taking him out into the hallway as he tore into the darkness. As he stumbled through the gloom of the inadequately lit passageway, he turned his head left and right, trying to discern any slight sound which might tell him where she had gone. Veering round, the master took hold of his senses and hurriedly strode towards the parlour, his feet blundering over themselves as he half ran, his limbs jumbled in a fit of restless urgency.

At last, when he skidded into the room, Margaret came into sight. Shrouded in a halo of glowing candlelight, she was pacing back and forth, nibbling at her nails, clearly anxious, her arms hugged around herself in the hopes of supplying some comfort, something which he had failed to give her.

On distinguishing his presence, Margaret spun round and sprang back as she saw John's towering form looming in the shadow of the doorway. Eyeing him curiously, Margaret could see that he was frantic, disturbed even, since his body was strained and stooped, his eyes animated, his chest heaving, his breathing coarse.

'John, what−'

But Margaret was unable to finish her inquisitive sentence, because as quick as can be, John had closed the gap between them with just a few short strides of his long legs. In one rapid and powerful movement, he had gathered her up in his arms, and with one hand cupping and caressing the back of her neck, he captured her mouth in a passionate kiss.

Gasping, Margaret's knees nearly gave way beneath her, but John was there to catch his fiancée, and he lifted her up as if she weighed no more than a feather, her feet dangling high above the ground as he clasped her petite body firmly to him, one loving heart pressed up against the other, beating as one.

Their mouths must have mingled for an indecently long time, the two of them paying no heed to who might stumble upon this scandalous scene, the pair of lovers just content to show their awe-inspiring adoration for each other.

After what could easily have been hours, John hauled himself away from his betrothed, not through choice, but through a necessity to draw breath, his starved lungs grappling for air. Margaret's eyelashes fluttered open, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of their intimacy, her head whirling, her limbs buckling, her body on fire from tip to toe.

'Heavens, John!' she panted. 'What on earth −?'

'Send it!' he rasped hoarsely as he set her down, his thumbs drifting across her cheeks as he peppered her face with kiss after tender kiss, his wet lips sprinkling her with his abiding reverence, his heart fit to burst with love for her.

'I beg your pardon?' a dazed Margaret stuttered, hardly able to form the words, her corset digging into her side as her chest wheezed in response to John's ardent affection.

'Send it,' he repeated. 'The letter,' he croaked as his mouth sucked her own. 'To Lennox, send it!'

Margaret blinked. 'Truly? You do not mind? I thought it would make you unhappy,' she disclosed, her eyes still flickering with uncertainty, because she could not believe that he could genuinely be comfortable with her praising another gentleman so unreservedly, not John, not a man who was prone to envy.

However, John just shook his head vehemently. 'No, my funny little nymph, no,' he insisted, grazing his nose against hers, something which he found he loved to do almost as much as kissing the puckered florets of her honeyed lips.

Then, resting his forehead against hers, their necks slanted as they stood so sinfully yet scrumptiously close, John tried to think of how to best convey the multitude of sentiments that overflowed from his unworthy heart. 'Margaret, my love, you are so kind, so generous, so noble, so insufferably perfect, that I can hardly believe that you are mine,' he proclaimed, his words no more than a whisper, since they were uttered in worship.

'Yes, I was jealous, hideously so, and I was scared of what you might have to say to him. I was terrified that I might discover that another man had the guardianship of your heart, that you had in fact bequeathed a small piece of it to him and left it behind in London, meaning that without it, without him, you would never be whole,' John murmured despairingly, his head turning giddy as he took in the spine-tingling aroma of the skin around her neck.

'But I see now that I was a fool, a deplorable fool, because there is nobody as good as you in this whole wretched world, and who am I to stand in the way of you letting that light of yours shine, all so that you might let your goodness warm the lives of others? I will never be good enough for you, Margaret, no matter what you say, because you are virtue itself. I must trust that you love me. I also understand that I must work to banish any insecurity on my part, since now I see that it will only cause a rift between us, break your heart, and drive you away, and that would surely kill me. So I must trust you, and I must trust myself to be the man you have chosen, the man whom you talk about so passionately on the pages of that letter, the man of honour, humility and honesty whom you wish to marry. And tell Lennox that he is always welcome in our home, because if you think well of him, then he is all right by me, because I trust your judgement, my love, and any friend of yours is a friend of mine, Margaret.'

Margaret breathed a long sigh of relief and wrapped her arms around his neck, nuzzling her nose against him. 'I told you, John…I love you…just you…just as you are…with all my heart…and you will always have me,' she promised.

Holding her close, John's fingers entangled themselves around the ringlets of chestnut hair which spiralled at the back of her neck. 'Margaret,' he whispered into her ear.

'Yes, John.'

'You never told me about how heartbroken you were in London. All you said on the train was that you had missed me, you never said how much,' John ruminated, thinking about her heartfelt confession in the letter. 'I had no idea.'

He could feel her skin prickle with the heat of a blush against him, and Margaret shambled on the spot as she peeked up at him shyly. 'Oh,' she blew, her chest reddening. 'Well, it is just, I did not know how to tell you, so I thought I would let you read it in a letter. You see, that letter was not just to Henry, dearest, but I think in a way, it was to you as well. But there are things I have not felt ready to say to you, not because I do not want to, but because I was afraid of sounding…'

One of Margaret's shoulders rose unconsciously, and she rubbed her chin against it. 'You are so strong, John, and I did not want you to know I had been so…so…'

'Human?' he asked. 'Margaret, you are the strongest person I have ever met, and it warms my heart to know that you missed me so, much as I missed you. Still, I am more sorry than I can say to discover how unhappy you were,' John shuddered.

Crooking a finger under her chin, John raised Margaret's head so that he could look into her eyes, and there, he gazed at her, unwavering in his fidelity. 'Sweetheart, if I had known, if I had any idea of how you felt, I would have come, you must know that, don't you?' he pressed, his voice trembling. 'I would have come for you at once and taken you home, I swear it…if only I had known.'

Pulling away, Margaret peeked up at him, her eyes glittering with the enduring stars of eternal love, a twinkling which burnt with such a beautiful brightness and brilliance that it would surely leave him blind. 'But you did!' she avowed. 'I am home, John, you brought me home that day, remember?' she smiled. 'And so here I am, to stay, with you, forever.'

John felt tears prick in the corners of his eyes. 'Until our dying day,' he added in conclusion, his deep voice choked with emotion. Taking her hand in his, John let his lips trace along the cotton ring she wore on her finger, before gently drawing his beloved Margaret into his embrace once more, and lost in their love for one another, they kissed the night away, all former impediments between them finally laid to rest, gone for good.

The very next day, bathed in the sunshine of a hopeful spring morn, John and Margaret strolled down the street, hand-in-hand, not a care in the world for who might be watching. Together, they walked to the post-box, and nodding in unreserved approval, John watched without a hint of concern as his fiancée slipped a letter inside, the contents now out of their hands, out of their control. It was one addressed to a man whom he no longer felt a shred of animosity towards since the strings of his ugly jealousy had been cut loose, and feeling freer than he ever had before, John waved goodbye as they floated away like balloons into the clouds.

It was just a week later, as Margaret and John were sitting side-by-side at his study desk and reviewing the plans for their wedding, a joyous day that was fast approaching, they were interrupted by the butler who handed the young lady a letter in a crisp white envelope. On spying the London postmark, they opened it, and the couple rested their heads together and smiled as they read the most warm and welcome words which were boldly etched upon a single sheet in a confident hand:

My Dear Margaret,

Please be assured, all is forgiven and forgotten.

Your faithful friend,

Henry Lennox.

The End