Becoming Mrs. Thornton: A Sequel to North and South

Chapter 15

“What are you doing?” she whispered, flustered by his uncharacteristic behavior. He rarely embraced her outside of their private rooms. Now, to be draped all across him when his mother could see them or a servant might walk in at any time…it was simply not how John Thornton behaved.

“Humor me for a few moments,” he said on a sigh. “I have missed you for an entire week.”

She relaxed to bend willingly against him, even sliding out of her slippers so she could tuck her feet between his leg and the arm of the chair. “I love you so much,” she said.

“And I, you,” he murmured as he rubbed her arm. “I received your message in Liverpool. I was already hastening home, eager to see my bride. I hired a horse instead of a carriage and gained only an hour or two.”

She nodded against his shoulder. “I am so glad you are here. I know you are the only person who can comfort her.”

“She seemed perfectly comfortable when I arrived,” he said reassuringly. “When will Dr. Donaldson visit again?”

They spoke of the details of Mrs. Thornton’s situation while he held her cuddled against him. He closed his eyes when he had a grasp on his mother’s condition. Margaret’s weight in his lap, her warmth and willing affection for him, returned the balance that had disappeared during his journey. Oh, he’d been the same commanding Thornton his colleagues expected during his business dealings. However, when he was alone the distance from her ate at him. 

He’d found it damn disconcerting. How had he survived thousands of quiet evenings with Mother and Fanny without pining for a welcoming, intimate smile meant only for him? Had he really been satisfied to retreat to his bachelor’s chamber with the forebodingly empty mistress’s bedroom next door?

No, he’d never been satisfied. Resigned and lonely, yes. Suffering, yes, when he thought Margaret’s love lay beyond his reach. In his pride, though, if anyone had asked him at any time after she’d refused him whether he desired the partnership of marriage, he would have claimed to be too busy for a wife while deep in his heart, deep where only Margaret had ever dared to tread, black loneliness and white-hot longing tore at him.

Hours alone in a hotel in Le Havre brought back those forlorn months and reminded him of the hole in his being Margaret filled. He’d wished he’d brought her with him as she’d asked. Standing on the rolling deck of a ship, sprayed with freezing seawater as he searched for the first sight of England, he’d vowed never to squander even one day of her companionship. 

Of course, with the advent of Mother’s illness, he knew it was best that he hadn’t taken his wife to France. From Margaret’s detailed description of the episode and her ability to chronicle every improvement and nearly every word the doctor had spoken, he knew she’d been a constant, steadfast caretaker. 

His wife tilted her head back to invite a kiss. Their lips met in a brief caress that spoke volumes of who they were together.

It was not exactly the ardent homecoming he had imagined, but it was more than enough.

k

Margaret approached the door with a stack of laundered nightgowns. 

“If you could only convince her to leave,” Mrs. Thornton said to Dr. Donaldson as he checked her breathing. 

Margaret paused in the hall, not out of sight but unviewed by the woman sitting on the edge of the bed and the man who now checked her pulse. 

“Everyone hovers around me,” Mrs. Thornton said. “Just today I had to send John back to the mill. What does he mean by coming here to hold my hand at eleven o’clock in the morning?”

“They have been concerned about you, as your children should be,” Dr. Donaldson said soothingly.

“If only she would go I could have some peace. She pesters me. I am suffocated by her silly questions.”

In spite of the sympathetic indifference Margaret had cultivated since the day of her betrothal, her mother-in-law’s words stung. Did she truly want the doctor to ask her to leave? To go where?

“Then you must tell her,” Dr. Donaldson said, “since your strength seems to be returning along with your opinions.”

Mrs. Thornton released a beleaguered sigh. “I suppose you are right. I must tell her that her place is with Mr. Watson and not here weeping ‘Mamma, Mamma, Mamma’ all over me as if at my wake.”

“You might say it more gently than that, Mrs. Thornton.”

“How did I ever produce such a delicate flower for a daughter?” Mrs. Thornton asked with a grumble.

Dr. Donaldson waved Margaret into the room. “Ah, here is Margaret who will remember just how she assisted her own dear mother to walk. Mrs. Thornton is adamant that she be allowed to dress and use the water closet, but I have made her agree she will not do so unassisted,” the doctor told Margaret with a commiserative smile.

“Of course,” Margaret said, still a little lightheaded from the realization that it was Fanny whom the dragon wished to drive away, and not her new daughter-in-law.

*  *  *

Oh, no, next week brings the end! The final chapter of Becoming Mrs. Thornton will be posted on May 14.

Jill Hughey writes historical romance, including a sweet American historical called Sass Meets Class, and a series of five medieval romance stories called the Evolution Series. You can find Jill's work on Amazon at http://www.amazon.com/Jill-Hughey/e/B0067M9Q14, on Barnes and Noble at http://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/jill-hughey?store=allproducts&keyword=jill+hughey, and at most other ebook vendors.