Not a Gentleman (North and South Fanfic)

Chapter Eight: The Shroud

Margaret rummaged through a bureau, until she found several sachets of lavender and one of dried roses. She poured their contents into a bowl and rubbed the tiny flowers between her hands through them in an effort to release the oils long-trapped in the tiny purple and pink buds. There. The air was smelling a bit more fragrant already. She turned to her mother with a smile.

"At what time does Mrs. Thornton arrive?" They had decided it would be best to receive John's mother in this room rather than the parlor, as Mama still was too weak to sit up for long periods of time. Surely Mrs. Thornton would understand.

"At half past one, Margaret. Not long, now. We do have a lot to discuss." Maria Hale regarded her daughter lovingly. "Margaret, please stop pacing and come sit with me. Surely there is no need to be so nervous. Mrs. Thornton is imposing, yes, but you are more than her equal."

Margaret perched on the edge of the bed and nervously twisted her skirt.

"Stop that. It will wrinkle," her mother chided her. "Besides that, you know better. Actions say so much more than words."

With difficulty, Margaret calmed her hands. "Yes, Mama."

Maria spoke softly. "Mr. Thornton- your John- is a good man. He has been so attentive to this family, and to me in particular. The lovely roses, and two gifts of fruit in so many days- and such fruit. I have not seen its like since leaving Helstone. But Margaret, I must ask. When did you know? Richard and I were wondering, as we saw no signs of your attachment."

Margaret looked away to hide the blush that crept across her face. "Mama, I do not know. It has come upon me gradually, I think. The story I constructed in my mind about John turned out to be wishful thinking. No, that is not correct. Perhaps it was malicious thinking, as many of the things I believed him to be were so utterly mistaken. I have begun to see that he is not the person I thought he was."

"No?"

"I cannot pretend that I understand the decisions he makes in running his mill. He is, indeed, a hard master. But I have talked to his workers- to his hands- and they expect this. In fact, they respect him for this hardness. It is hard to fathom. They expect him to beat a man who is insubordinate. Or to yell and act in other uncouth ways."

"And you can love such a man, Margaret?"

Margaret turned to her mother, eyes wide. "I...yes. I think so."

A smile spread across Maria Hale's face, while her eyes took on a far-away expression. "Do you remember in Helstone, when I suggested that we renew our acquaintance with the Gormans?"

"The carriage makers. Oh, Mama, will you remind me of my immaturity?" Margaret groaned in embarrassment as she remembered her many dismissive words about tradesmen, both in Helstone and Milton. What an arrogant snob she'd been.

"It is interesting to see how a person's perspective can change in just a few month's time, my darling. You would have nothing to do with the Gormans' son, as they were mere carriage makers. And yet the Thorntons-"

"Mama, do you think John is not good enough for me?"

"I did not say that, Margaret. But the question is, do you?"

"Please do not remind me again of my foolishness. I see now that a man who has made himself is worth ten- no, one hundred- of a man made by fortune's kiss. John may be rough around the edges, but look how he seeks to polish himself! And even if he did not..." Margaret's voice trailed off. She liked his roughness, she realized. She liked that John was not an effete London man, soft and untried by life. She liked that he was a man of passion, that he angered. And loved.