In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (33 page)

“We must first compose our guest list, although I cannot conceive that the Hales are prepared to receive a grand portion of Milton’s society on a tutor’s meager income. So, you see that I am already constrained in my ability to help,” she explained, giving her son a pointed look.

“I will speak to Mr. Hale tomorrow. He should not bear such a burden at this time. The expenses will be our own. Let us have no complications over money,” he firmly declared.

“Can we afford it?” she asked bluntly, relieved to have the freedom to spend as she saw fit for such an occasion but still concerned about the mill’s stagnant progress.

“We are secure at present. We shall see our profits return when business resumes a more reasonable pattern,” he assured her.

She nodded, refusing to voice her lingering doubts.

“It is a singular occasion, after all. I am to be married, Mother!” he exclaimed in whispered astonishment as the reality of all that had taken place that day washed over him anew.

“Yes,” she acknowledged with a weak smile, her heart twisting at his open exuberance. He would never know how much she treasured the years of being his sole companion.

*****

Alone in his room, the Master could not subdue his elation, scarcely able to comprehend his fortune. He paced the floor, absently running his fingers through his hair as he recalled every word, every glance that had passed between himself and his beloved that day. That she loved him still seemed a thing incredible, filling him with bounding joy. That she seemed almost as eager to wed as he was sent him into a dizzying passion of excruciating expectancy. How he ached to hold her fast to him and show her his love!

He stopped to gaze around the room with new eyes.  It was sufficiently furnished, but sparse enough that he should make new accommodations. He mused over the possible changes that could be made. There was space enough for a second wardrobe. A dressing table might be situated along the front wall. He smiled to imagine Margaret brushing her unpinned hair in the privacy of a shared bedchamber.

A wave of ecstatic wonder and fervent longing flooded through him as he thought of coming home to find her in this very place. Her presence in this room would brighten his most wearying days. Nothing could surpass the sublime privilege of being able to spend every evening with one who filled his heart with such vibrant joy.

He could not bear the thought of her living apart from him, in her own room. He was determined to speak to his mother. A sitting room could be arranged for her comfort, but she would sleep and wake with him. Without her close by his side, he would not truly be living.

Inevitably, his eyes roved over the smooth expanse of the large oak-framed bed. He had spent countless nights in it by himself, some of them in an agony of despair that he would live his entire life alone — without the love of the one woman who had touched his soul.

Soon, it would no longer be a place of solitude, but a haven of shared tenderness, soft caresses, and such blissful pleasures as he had heretofore only imagined. Every manly desire rose in fierce longing for the moment when he would finally take her as his own. How he yearned to hold her in his arms every night!

Heaving a sigh, he resumed his pacing, determined to patiently rejoice that the days until she was his could now be counted.

*****

Exhausted, Margaret lay in the dark in her small bedroom, marveling at how much had been accomplished in one day. She had awoken that morning with no knowledge of how long she would be engaged. With one fell swoop, her mother’s fervent wish had cast her headlong into preparations for a wedding that was to take place in a matter of a few weeks!

Nervous excitement tingled through her arms and limbs. At times, she was uncertain if she was prepared for such a life-altering change, but at other times — when she was with him — she felt that nothing could feel more natural or right.

Fear rose to unsettle her, however, as she thought of her mother’s earnest request and the unspoken, horrible truth that lay behind it. She tried to push her thoughts away from it, but dread weaved a subtle strain of anxiety around their plans for joyful celebration.

And what of Fred? Although she had been compelled to beckon him to England, terrifying images haunted her, in
which he was captured and the gesture that had intended to bring him home to his mother would become the final stricture on his life.

Her father would never recover, should he lose Frederick. It was unclear if he should even survive the loss of his wife. Margaret winced in painful sympathy at her father’s determined ignorance. He steadfastly refused to believe that his wife should be taken from him.  He could not comprehend the cruelty of it. And she knew he affixed upon himself the blame for her current decline, which in turn would make her death a mortal blow.

In this darkness of despair, the happiness of her coming marriage served as a beacon of hope. All was not bleak. She would have Mr. Thornton’s tender solicitude throughout all her trials. He would care for her. He had promised it in his letter, and she believed it every time she looked into his eyes.

It was no small measure of comfort to imagine putting herself under the care of one as powerful and commanding as John Thornton. His mind was quick and his resolution indefatigable. No matter what lay ahead, she felt a strange, new feeling of peace to remember that she would not have to face it alone. She had never felt more secure or happy than when his strong arms were around her.

She smiled to remember his jubilation upon hearing her proposal and gave a puff of laughter to recall how he had swept her up to twirl her about in the unromantic setting of his workplace. It thrilled her to know that he was eager to wed.

The contemplation that such a man could love her never ceased to fill her with amazement. And although she could not quite comprehend how or why, she knew that he needed her. She could sense it in the urgency of his touch and in the way that his pure blue eyes searched hers, seeing through to the very depths of her like no one else ever had.

She yearned to love him in return, to fill that need which clutched at his innocent heart. He had suffered much in his life and had had little ease. For as much as he promised to care for her, she wished to care for him — to shower him with all the tenderness he deserved.

She would soon have her chance to prove her love, she thought as her eyes traced the shadowy forms of the familiar objects in her room. Her nights in this bed were limited. It would not be long until she belonged to him. A shiver of unknown anticipation drew her muscles taut within her belly.

Soon, she would begin a whole new life as Mrs. John Thornton.

Chapter Thirteen

Mr. Thornton stood alone in the
late morning light in the Hales’ parlor. Clutching a bouquet of white roses, he anxiously looked to the stairs where he had directed the maid to send for Margaret.

A door closed and a flurry of steps sounded above before he heard the patter of creaking boards as she made her way quickly down the stairs. She was dressed simply in a dark skirt and white blouse, but her hair was freshly swept up on her head and her face shone radiantly. He had never seen her look lovelier.

“John,” she exclaimed with unhidden joy as she bounded toward him, her skirts rustling in her haste.

He opened his arms instinctively to receive her, and by some miracle of heaven, she rushed into them. He held her close, careful not to crush her, his muscles quivering in his desire to bind her tightly against him.

He could not move or speak, so precious was this moment to him. Her utterance of his name resounded through him like a balm, reaching every recess of his wounded soul, banishing the aching loneliness of the years with a single call from her lips.

After some time, she stepped back. “Are these for me?” she asked with a demure smile as she gazed upon the roses in his hand.

“They are,” he acknowledged, transfixed by the warm glow of her face. “There are no words to tell you how happy I am,” he endeavored to explain, his deep voice quavering with emotion.

As she dipped her head to hide a bashful smile, a sudden movement by the stairs caught her attention.

“Mary,” Margaret called out to the taciturn girl who had silently descended the stairs. “Will you please find a vase for these flowers?” she asked gently, handing her the profusion of velvet blossoms.

“Yes, miss,” Mary dutifully answered, flashing her eyes respectfully at Margaret while her face reddened to steadfastly avoid looking at the Master.

The young servant scurried away, her heart racing with a rush of guilt to have intruded upon such an intimate scene. She had seen the Master’s face as he had released Miss Margaret from his embrace. Everything of love and happiness that she had ever heard of or seen had not compared to the look that shone from his eyes. She had witnessed something transcendent — almost holy — and she would never be able to think of the Master again as a man bent entirely upon the cold calculations of business and profit.

Upon Mary’s departure, Margaret returned her attention to the man beside her. “Should you not be at the mill?” she inquired pointedly, although her eyes sparkled in teasing delight.

He smiled broadly at her unspoken reproach. “I’ve come to give you the guest list, which has just this morning been completed,” he answered, arching an eyebrow in defense of his abnegation of usual duties.

“Oh, that is wonderful! Mother will be pleased,” she declared, all playfulness vanishing as she looked expectantly at him.

“Will you not pay me for my messenger’s service?” he requested with a mischievous grin, a glimmer of desire heating his steady gaze.

A faint blush stained her porcelain skin as she averted her eyes a moment before taking a step forward to answer his demand, raising her face to his.

Instinctively, he reached for her as he brought his mouth to hers, his fingers curling at either side of her waist to bring her closer as every nerve ending in his body thrilled to the feel of his lips upon hers. With a restraint borne of the hour and circumstance, their lips moved in silent communion. No morning greeting had ever been so sweet, and his heart surged with a desperate longing for the time when such a greeting, and more, might be his every morning.

Reluctantly, they withdrew from the pleasurable contact after a few moments, marveling at the profound emotions evoked by this simple intimacy.

Wordlessly, Mr. Thornton pulled the folded list from inside his frock coat and handed it to her.

“Thank you,” she breathed, opening the paper to glance at the scrawled names filling several pages.

“My mother asks if two o’clock will be a convenient time for your mother,” he related officially, his gaze inevitably drawn to the soft, full lips that had moments before had been pressed to his.

“Yes, of course. Two o’clock will be fine,” she answered, mesmerized by the soothing sound of his deep-toned voice and his very nearness.

“Then I will take my leave so that I may attend to other matters of importance,” he responded, his lips curving into a smirk.

She smiled at his teasing remark to her earlier impertinence. “I will see you tonight?” she asked somewhat impatiently.

“Yes,” he answered, returning her smile. His heart warmed to discern her eagerness.

He lifted her hand to his lips, not trusting himself to bring his mouth to hers, and placed a lingering kiss upon her fingers, right next to the gleaming ring which
announced his claim to her heart.

“Until then,” he softly declared, giving her one last penetrating look before he forced himself to turn toward the door.

Margaret stood dazedly a moment, staring at the space he had just vacated. Her heart beat fervently in her breast as she moved her gaze to her hand. She still felt the warmth of his breath and the brush of his lips on her fingers, astounded at the power he had to waken sensations in her she had never felt before. Every fiber of her being longed to feel his touch again, to be pressed against him so that she might feel needed and secure.

She knew her thoughts would dwell upon him the rest of the day.

*****

At the precise hour prescribed, a small carriage arrived at the Hales’ home that afternoon. Mrs. Thornton was ushered into the drawing room, where Mrs. Hale greeted her enthusiastically.

“How very good of you to come. I’m certain you will be an immense help. I could not conceive of arranging such an affair without your assistance,” the frailer woman insisted while Margaret nodded in agreement.

Hannah Thornton gave a warming smile, pleased to be regarded as an integral figure in the planning of her son’s grand social event. “It will be my pleasure to offer whatever assistance you require,” she replied, taking the seat designated for her.

“I’m grateful to you. Such a formal affair and so grand, I expect! The list of invited guests is quite impressive, I must say. I was brought up quite used to very grand balls and magnificent affairs,” Mrs. Hale proudly shared. “However, I’m afraid my experience in
Helstone these last twenty years has not given me experience in preparing for such an event as will be required for Mr. Thornton’s stature here in Milton,” she related with sincere deference to the wealth and position which her daughter would attain in marrying the well-known Milton manufacturer and magistrate.