Margaret of the North (32 page)

He kissed her face all over,
"Oh, Margaret, you don't know how much I have wanted to!"

"Then why?"

He hesitated for a moment,
studying her face, "Because………well, I saw you suffer giving birth to
Elise.  I loathe for you to go through that again.  At least, not so soon
after."

She regarded him thoughtfully for
a long moment as if she did not grasp what he meant and was struggling to do
so.  Then in a low sultry voice, she urged, "Make love to me."  She
pulled his face closer to hers, paused, and whispered into his ears, her voice
both tremulous and enticing.  "I want you to."

With a sweep of her arm, Margaret
pushed the sheet off herself completely.  John raised his head and gazed at
her—eyes closed, lips slightly parted, and head thrown back a little so her
ivory throat was arched, waiting for him to bury his face in it as he had done
many times before.  Her shoulders were pressed against the bed and the lamp on
his night table cast its golden glow on her breasts, rounder and fuller from
nursing.  He groaned at the mixture of apprehension and guilt that still
inhibited him. 

Every night that he had been back
in bed with her, he had wanted to make love to her.  But he always restrained
himself, haunted by images of her panting continuously, her shadowed eyes frightened,
and her sweaty face grimacing in pain.  That image of her had invaded his
dreams for a few nights after she gave birth to Elise.  How could he do that to
her again?  Yet, he had not expected that she would ask him so directly and the
directness of her plea—or was it more akin to a command?—amazed and thrilled
him at the same time.

Margaret, opening her eyes
briefly, caught his hesitation right away and, clasping him close, she kissed
him.  She ran her warm trembling hands down his neck and shoulders, across his
back and his buttocks, kneading them with the palms of her hands.

"Margaret, my love,"
John groaned once more.  This time, it was a groan of surrender, of yielding
his defenses to the passion that swept them together into delicious moments,
fusing their whole being, allowing their bodies and their senses, not their
minds, to be in control.

Later, they lay in silence with
his arms around her.  She ran delicate warm fingers very slowly up and down his
arm, delighting in its comparative roughness.  Occasionally, she lifted the
back of his hand to her lips or against her cheek.  He found those moments
infinitely tender and yet sensuous and enthralling, the sort he could vividly
relive when, in his office, his mind wandered from the stresses of his work at
the mill.

Since that night, it seemed to
him that their lovemaking assumed a different character.  He had believed that
while Margaret had always responded eagerly to him, she did so out of her love
for him.  Now, he confronted the idea that a woman like Margaret—with a mind of
her own and feelings she neither denied nor allowed society to dictate—could
have desires in the same way as men.  It scared him a little but it fascinated
him as well and he was in awe once more at the woman he had married.  Usually
soft, warm, and yielding in his arms, Margaret could love with more abandon. 
She stroked and took little nibbles of his bare skin, initiated passionate
kisses and caresses, and obviously relished every bit of their lovemaking.

**************

A week later, John came home with
a big bouquet of roses in one arm and a gift-wrapped box in the other.  He went
directly to their bedroom where he knew Margaret would be nursing Elise before
she was put to bed for the night.  With the needs of a baby of primary concern
for the present, he and Margaret had to modify their evening rituals.  He still
came home an hour before dinner and while Margaret often tried to finish
nursing and dressing Elise for bed shortly before he came home, this was not
always possible.

Margaret sat where she could see
the door as he came in from the mill.  This evening, she was humming in a low
voice, rocking Elise to sleep, when he opened the door, balancing a bouquet and
a package in his arms. 

She smiled, extremely pleased and
her eyes twinkled as she whispered, "For me?"

"You know why, don't
you?"

"How could I forget the day
you promised to cherish me all my life?"  She answered playfully.

"I was certain you would not
let me forget either," he teased back.  He placed the flowers in a vase
and the package on the low table in front of her.  "And it is for me to
remind you that you made the same promise," he added as he bent over and
kissed her tenderly, lingering a while on her lips.

He looked deep into her eyes,
"You are the best thing that ever happened to me.  Love me always?"

"Deeply, irrevocably.  How
could I resist you?  I did try but look where I am."  Her gaze went from
him to the baby sleeping in her arms.

After they had both put Elise to
bed, they sat on the armchairs, silhouetted together by the glow from the
fireplace, as John watched Margaret open the pretty package carefully.  In it
was a silky light green fabric wrapped in tissue, on top of which was an
elegant little box.  Margaret picked up the little box and placed it on the
table.  Then, she lifted the fabric delicately and saw there were two pieces. 

"A peignoir!  How lovely and
how sumptuous."  Her eyes half-closed, she rubbed the silk against her
cheek, delighting in its sensuous feel against her skin.

"Do you remember our first
night together?"  He murmured with a small quiver in his voice.

She blushed a little and did not
answer; instead, she reached over, put her arms around his neck and pressed her
lips ardently to his.  He clasped her in his arms, kissing her back.

At length, he whispered,
"Open the small box."

She straightened, nodded with a
smile and picked up the box.  It contained a bracelet of white gold and
diamonds.  "What an exquisite piece!"

"You were wearing such a
bracelet when I first realized I was falling for you that night I was at your
house."  He smiled, teasing her as he added, "when you refused to
shake my hand."

"That was the night I fell
asleep on my chair because I was so tired ironing curtains for you so you would
feel at ease in our small home."  She retorted, flashing him a saucy
smile.  A little more seriously, she continued, "I have nothing as
spectacular as all these to give you."  She reached into a small
compartment under the tabletop.  "I do have this for you."

The box was carefully
gift-wrapped and tied with a large ribbon.  Under the ribbon was a small folded
card on which she had painted a yellow rose.  He opened the card which read,
"For all that you have been to me and done for me this past year, my
deepest love and gratitude.  Loving you always will be the easiest thing I
do."

He held the card in his hand,
fondling it with his fingers for a few moments.  Then, he put the card to his
lips and slipped it into his vest pocket.  He picked up the box and opened it. 
It contained a pen with a metal nib attached, not to a quill, but to
beautifully polished wood trimmed with bronze.

"I saw one of these at the
international exposition in London a few years ago."

"Yes, I first learned about
them there.  People are inventing new things all the time."

"But how did you get this? 
Nobody I know has one of these."

"With Edith's help.  At the
exposition, they exhibited one that the French patented a couple of decades
ago.  It held ink but it never caught on because it leaked so much."

"The handle on this is so
much larger and should be easier for me to hold."

"It has a receptacle for ink
so it does not need an inkwell.  You can carry it around and use it for a long
time before it needs refilling."

"Now, that is a great
convenience!"

"Yes, I thought it would
be.  I have seen you struggle with thin quills that are just too small for your
hand.  I hope this new type of pen helps to make doing all that paperwork for
the mill less tiring and less staining on your fingers.  It is not supposed to
leak."  She reached over, took his right hand, and pressed it closely to
her lips.

He grasped both her hands and
pulled her over on his lap.  She wound her arms around his neck as he nuzzled
his face against her cheek, then against her neck, breathing in her subtle
fragrance.  She laid her head on his and they sat in their quiet intimacy until
the darkness engulfed much of the space around them and reminded them that his
mother might be waiting in the dining room for dinner.

He sighed and said, "I would
have preferred to have dinner alone with you tonight.  Can we not have it
served here in our room?"

"You know the answer to that
as well as I do."

They descended to the dining room
but Mrs. Thornton was not there.  Instead, Dixon waited with a couple of
servants ready to attend to them.  The table was laid out with a full set of
silver and dinner ware, a Hale heirloom tablecloth, candelabra used mostly on
special occasions, and a centerpiece of red and yellow roses brimming out of a
large low vase.  Before John could inquire about his mother, Dixon explained
that Mrs. Thornton had pleaded fatigue and asked only for soup and bread to be
brought to her room.

Dixon had not forgotten what that
day meant for John and Margaret.  She prepared a special full-course dinner,
served formally by two servants she had coached to be especially
attentive—offering dishes and filling wine glasses just at the right moment,
taking dirty plates and silver away and replacing them promptly, even taking an
elaborate bow as they retreated.  The dinner was sumptuous and delicious, and
John and Margaret were grateful to Dixon for the care and the effort she had
taken.  But they found the formality of the whole dinner somewhat diverting and
they smiled at each other every time the servants, enthusiastic but awkward at
their tasks, stepped back with a bow.

Later, on Margaret's inquiry,
Dixon confirmed that Mrs. Thornton had indeed come to the dining room at her
usual time.  She had forgotten the couple's wedding anniversary but, seeing the
special table settings and the large vase of roses, she remembered.  She left
immediately after asking for her meal to be sent up to her.  Margaret could not
but be touched by the thought and generosity of this gesture.  She was, once
more, perplexed by how to reconcile such a considerate side of Mrs. Thornton to
the sterner almost harsh face she often assumed with Margaret.

**************

Elise was baptized when she was
three months old.  Edith was godmother and Fanny's husband Watson volunteered
to be godfather.  Both John and Margaret were hesitant about Watson with whom
they always felt some unease but they did not have much choice.  Mrs. Thornton
insisted that the baptismal sponsors come from both sides of the family and
Margaret had already chosen and asked Edith soon after Elise was born.  Mrs.
Shaw  came with her daughter for the affair, a small one that included only
family from both sides.  John and Margaret had hoped to have a larger joint
celebration of the christening and the blessing of their new house. 
Unfortunately, renovations were taking longer than estimated and their move was
postponed for another three months.

Edith, escorted by Watson,
carried the baby out of the church after the ceremony.  John followed with
Margaret and his sister.  Mrs. Thornton and Mrs. Shaw  trailed behind everyone
else.  Outside, Watson rejoined Fanny and John went to fetch the carriages that
were to take them back to the house.  Edith pulled Margaret to one side, some
distance apart from the others as they waited for the first carriage.  She
handed Elise back to her mother and, leaning closer towards Margaret, she
whispered conspiratorially in the way they had done as children.  "I have
news that will surprise you and, perhaps, delight you at the same time."

Margaret arched a questioning
eyebrow and fixed expectant eyes on her.

"Henry is engaged." 
Edith announced momentously in a voice she struggled to keep low.

"Who to?   One of the three
Harding sisters?  They have all been after him for years."  Margaret
asked, her voice just as low but without the drama.

"No, I doubt he even
entertained that idea for a moment.  I never liked those upstarts.  No, Henry
is marrying into big money."  She paused, enjoying Margaret's look of
surprise and anticipation.

"Well, tell me,"  Margaret
laughed.  She knew Edith's penchant for surprises and Margaret had obligingly
indulged her across the years by assuming an air of impatience.

"You'll never guess. 
Someone from Milton who you must be acquainted with—some rich banker's daughter
by the name of Ann Latimer!"

"No!    How?  They did not
meet at my wedding.  The Latimers politely declined our invitation, saying they
were going abroad at the time."

"Apparently, he met her
father when Henry came to Milton on business regarding your property, shortly
after your wedding.  Mr. Latimer was impressed with Henry's cleverness and
financial knowledge and asked him over for dinner.  It seems the attraction was
immediate and mutual.  They reached an understanding within three months of
meeting but Mr. Latimer requested that they wait a year to announce their
engagement."

"I am happy for Henry.  Ann
Latimer went to finishing school and has the fashion and polish that he
admires, which would be an asset to him in his career."

"I am glad to hear that if
she is to be my sister-in-law.  I was afraid she would be some spoiled daughter
of a nouveau riche who puts on airs.  Still and all, I would have greatly
preferred to have you for a sister.  Do you know her well?"

"Not really.  Our paths have
not crossed that often."  She leaned over to whisper to Edith, "I
will tell you this: She and John were seen together a few times before we were
married and people from around here probably expected them to get married.  I
am certain Mrs. Thornton would have been much happier if John had married her,
instead."