In Consequence

In Consequence - Prologue

Tall and dark-haired with strong chiseled features, Mr. Thornton was a formidable figure whose sober expression seemed to suggest that he knew little of gaiety or leisure. Margaret admired the self-discipline and unremitting determination that had enabled him to raise his family from poverty, but she had grave reservations as to his methods in dealing with the working classes. She held him and the other masters’ hardened stance largely responsible for the outbreak of the strike that currently held Milton’s cotton industry at a standstill.

They were among the first guests to arrive at the stone mansion that stood by the mill. While Mr. Hale conversed with Mr. Thornton’s mother, Margaret chatted with his sister, Fanny. Mr. Thornton was nowhere to seen.

“I’m sorry that your mother is ill,” Fanny remarked politely. She elaborated on the physical comfort she had discovered in using a water mattress for her delicate constitution, and wondered if Mrs. Hale might derive some benefit from borrowing it.

Margaret’s attention was diverted at this moment by the entrance of Mr. Thornton into the room. He was resplendent, dressed in dark coattails with a gold brocade waistcoat and matching cravat that fitted his commanding frame perfectly. He moved easily amongst his guests, greeting them and smiling as a perfect host would do.

She watched with fascination as he was introduced to an attractive young lady. He took the proffered hand with a simple elegance. There was no affectation of feeling or gleam of arrogance in his eyes, as she had often seen in the gazes of Edith’s London acquaintances. As the beauty bowed and smiled at his attentions, Margaret realized how strikingly handsome he was.

She caught her breath when he turned and saw her, and smiled as he made his steady approach toward her. She held out her hand to him and clasped his hand warmly in both of hers. “You see, Mr. Thornton, I am learning Milton ways,” she remarked lightly as an apology for the times she had not accepted his amiable gesture.

“I’m sorry your mother was not able to join us,” he returned in a low, silken voice. His tone resonated within her, at once awakening her to the allure of his virile masculinity. She felt his eyes fervently search hers as if he would discern her thoughts and intentions. As she reluctantly pulled her hand from his grasp, his fingertips brushed lightly along her palm and fingers. The sensation sent a flutter through her stomach and she blinked in mute surprise at her reaction.

She had never felt such a strange stirring within her and wondered what it could portend. She had not yet taken anything to drink and yet she felt almost tipsy. Her limbs quaked slightly to stand so closely before him.

She was both relieved and chagrined when his attention was diverted by a fellow manufacturer who compelled him to leave her side. He gave her a penetrating look of sincere regret and excused himself with apparent reluctance. Somewhat stunned and forlorn, she stood alone until Mr. Bell, a close friend of her father, guided her about the room to mingle with other guests until all were called to dine.

Her mother would have been astonished at the opulence of the table settings and the quantity of dishes prepared. Mrs. Thornton’s dinner rivaled any that Margaret had attended in London. She would have been honestly impressed, were it not for her feeling of unease that the surfeit of food and grand elegance seemed incongruous to the lack with which the larger portion of Milton were currently struggling.

But such inequities did not seem to disturb the consciences of the other diners. Conversation drifted comfortably among the men from the cotton industry, while the women listened quietly to their discussion of profits and future opportunities. Margaret observed with great interest that, although he was the youngest master of the assembled group, Mr. Thornton’s opinion was sought by all the others for his sound judgment.