Mrs Thornton sat at the dining table, her napkins about her, thinking - with some impatience - that it was not more than a few short months ago, that she had sat - in a similar fashion, about the very same occupation - anxiously awaiting her son's return. Her thoughts were still bitter, but the sting of maternal defeat was soothed by the balm of realisation, that her son would keep his mill; that the Thornton's had been saved.
She wove her Turkey-red marking thread in and out of those exquisite linens, and thought - grudgingly - that the girl must truly love him; that such a gesture, must undoubtedly prove her worth. Of course, her son would offer for her - would place himself at her feet - and Miss Darrow! Well! Mrs Thornton had not the hope of doubt; her son would be accepted, and he would return home the triumphant conqueror, proud in his love; desirous of her to share his joy. She would, of course. She could not be the proud, possessive mother, without knowing her son's heart, and she knew the pain he had suffered, in thinking the girl lost to him. She knew his happiness could be found nowhere but in that foreigner, and if she had to give up her place at her son's side - for the sake of his happiness - she would. She would bear her personal grief and jealousy in silence, and hold fast to the knowledge that with her son married, grandchildren would surely follow. The notion struck her; it was pleasant, and her lips gradually pulled from that pinched line of displeasure, and curled into a small, wry smile. My son! thought she, with maternal pride. He will give me grandchildren; he will be fruitful. And the girl! Miss Darrow was no doubt sturdy - despite her slight frame. She would be able to bear many children. Still, she hoped her son would tame his new wife, and perhaps, if Mrs Thornton was very lucky, they would have a long engagement.
'Mother?' said Mr Thornton; his entrance to the room unheard by the matriarch; caught up in her thoughts and occupation, as she was.
'John! I did not hear you come in!' replied Mrs Thornton, alarmed at having missed her son's return; even with her finely-attuned ear.
'What are you doing, Mother?' asked her son, staring down at her embroidery; the Turkey-red thread, stitching new initials into those heirloom linens.
'You have been to Crampton,' said Mrs Thornton, her shoulders tense, holding her breath as she awaited her son's reply.
'Yes, Mother.' She did not look at him, but kept her eyes trained upon her work; fingers still moving, but now with less purpose.
'You offered for Miss Darrow, I presume.'
'I did, Mother.'
'And she accepted you,' sighed Mrs Thornton; her voice resigned.
'Yes; she did.' And here, Mrs Thornton heard the smile in her son's voice, and with a pang of personal mortification, lifted her head to meet her son's impassioned gaze.
'And I am seeing to the linens. They must bear your name, now; yours and Miss Darrow's.'
'Mother!' cried Mr Thornton, stepping hastily to his mother's side, and kneeling before her. He was not insensible to her gesture - to the pleasure she took in those linens; so proudly acquired upon her marriage to his father. He knew the effort it must have cost her - and for her to have unpicked her own dear initials, before he had even returned in triumph! He would thank her for it, taking hope from her eager offering of acceptance, and so placed his hand upon her shoulder, and looked at her with a tender warmth. 'Mother, I am thankful. Isabel will be well pleased.'
'Isabel, is it, now?' asked Mrs Thornton, a brow lifted in vexation. She saw her son's eyes widen with hurt, and regretted her sharp tone, yet she could not help but feel pushed out; the usurper already digging out the ground from beneath her.
'Mother, she is my betrothed. We are to be married and soon! I am to go to the borough court and obtain a special licence so that we may marry as soon as may be.'
'Soon! A special licence! The cost, John; think of the cost.' But she did not simply think of the cost, but how little time she was to have left beside him, if her son would marry in haste.
'The cost is nothing, Mother. It is little more than twenty pounds, and that is nothing, if I am to have Isabel as my wife.'
'No! not now; the cost is nothing now that she has come about her fortune, and sweeps in to save the day,' grumbled Mrs Thornton. Mr Thornton sighed, and rose morosely to his feet, turning his back on his mother. He thought he might have been precipitous in his belief of her acceptance of the match. The linens had encouraged him, but he saw now - that although a kind gesture - they merely masked a deeper caution. He would have chided her softly, but she knew nothing of Mr Bell and his justification for leaving Isabel his money, and so he chose to ignore her bitter words, and instead walked to the window and looked out on the busy mill yard.
'I can take on those hands I had to let go last week. I can get the orders out quicker, and take on new ones before the Americans claim our trade.'
'I am glad,' replied Mrs Thornton, stoically.
'I shall see to it now, Mother - I took tea at Crampton with the Hales; I've no need for more.'
'And you will be home this evening?' asked Mrs Thornton, anxiously, for she feared he would hurry back to Crampton, and she would spend the evening with only Fanny and her prattle on wedding silks, for company.
'Yes, Mother. Dr Lyndhurst returns to Oxford to-morrow, and I leave the Hales to their farewells with him, but I shall be late to dinner; I mean to obtain the marriage licence before the day is out.' Mrs Thornton sighed; her son was determined in his haste to claim his bride. Mr Thornton was not the man of business - the admired magistrate - to have a weakness of mind; he was set to his purpose and would not be drawn from it.
She watched him leave, heard his sure step upon the stairs, and heard the clear bark of his voice, as he called out to his foreman in the yard. Such was his domain; it had been hers, too, but now those precious days of primacy were numbered, and soon she would find herself beholden to a mistress who knew not the way of things, and appeared to care nothing for her faults.
Dinner had been cleared away by the time Mr Thornton returned home, and Mrs Thornton was ensconced upon her chair with a pile of linens about her, awaiting her dedication. Fanny was sat about some ribbons, humming a vaguely-familiar tune, but it was so very off-key that Mr Thornton could not decipher the piece.
'John,' said Mrs Thornton, looking anxiously to her son.
'Mother.' And he walked over to the table, and poured himself a cup of tea.
'Your business at the borough court went as planned?' asked Mrs Thornton, glancing quickly at her daughter; who paid her brother no heed.
'Yes, Mother.' And here, Mr Thornton moved towards his mother and sister, holding himself proudly with square shoulders. 'Fanny; Miss Darrow and I are to be married. Mother, I have obtained a special licence; we shall marry in two weeks' time.'
'Two weeks!' cried Mrs Thornton; her voice weak through shock; her face pale. The palpitations began in earnest. Two weeks! Only two more weeks at his side!
'Miss Darrow!' gasped Fanny, her mouth hanging open in consternation. 'You are to marry Miss Darrow?'
'I am.'
'But she is so brown, and poor! I think she must be far poorer than the Hales.' Now turning to her mother, as though seeking support, 'Mother! Whatever shall the Master's wives say? The indignity. Watson shall not like it; my having to call her "sister".' Her thoughtless words vexed Mr Thornton, greatly. His cheeks flashed dark and his fists tightened until his knuckles formed white peaks. Mrs Thornton saw her son's discomfort, and although she shared her daughter's concerns, she would not see him wounded.
'Fanny, do not speak so!' said Mrs Thornton, more sharply than she had intended, for her temper had been piqued by the whole affair, and she resented having to scold her daughter in defence of her usurper.
'I suppose Miss Latimer was out of the question, now that Johnny is to lose the mill,' huffed Fanny. 'No doubt a penniless foreigner was the best he could do; he is rather getting on.' Mrs Thornton scowled at her daughter, for Fanny's betrothed was a good number of years older than her son, but Fanny conveniently forgot this fact, thus insulting her brother further.
'Miss Darrow is not penniless, Fanny; she was an heiress to Mr Bell,' said Mrs Thornton, primly.
'We need not talk of Miss Darrow's purse!' glared Mr Thornton. 'I should have asked her to be my wife if she had not even one penny to her name; her fortune is not my motive, and you will oblige me by not speaking of such foolish matters. Now, Mother,' continued Mr Thornton, forcing his voice to calm. 'We are to be married in two weeks; I might ask you to see to the details for me; I know there is little time.'
'But two weeks, John! What can be done in two weeks!'
'Very little needs to be done, Mother. It is to be a small affair. Neither Miss Darrow, nor I, wish for the pomp and ceremony that is to be Fanny's wedding.'
'But such a hashed-together affair is not befitting of your place. A Master and magistrate!' complained Mrs Thornton.
'I care not for such matters, and I know Miss Darrow shan't, either.'
'People might suspect some impropriety - the haste of it all - it shan't create a good impression, John,' warned his mother. And although he knew her caution justified, and her words not meant to wound, Mr Thornton bristled at the very suggestion that anyone who knew him, could think he would shame his love in such a way.
'If there is tittle-tattle it shall be from none whom I admire or care for; let them speak - I care not for their opinions.' Mrs Thornton sighed wearily.
'And what of Miss Darrow? Have you spared a thought for her? People will gossip and she will bear the brunt of it. Any thought of impropriety and it is always the woman who is punished for it. And her working here, at this mill! Why! That shall only fuel the rumours, John. You must think about your bride, and the damage a rushed wedding may do her.'
'She is no fool, Mother. Do you really think a woman who would offer her body as my shield during the riot, would quail about some idle gossip? I doubt she will ever be on close terms with the Master's wives; they are senseless creatures with nothing about them. Isabel shall have Margaret for company, and Mary Higgins and you and Fanny.' Here, he looked to his sister with a frown, and asked himself if such a thinking creature as his Isabel, could ever find anything to admire in the flightiness of his younger sister.
'Humph!' grumbled Fanny, for she did not wish to befriend anyone who would not be accepted by the Master's wives; her ambition being to join their very group.
'But surely she will want to arrange her own wedding?' frowned Mrs Thornton, choosing a different route of persuasion; knowing well, it would not work; her son knew his mind and never changed it.
'She knows no suppliers, Mother; nor who ought to be invited. You can arrange a small wedding breakfast - as you might the annual dinner, surely?' Mrs Thornton grudgingly ceded to her son's request, but did so with little grace, for she felt her son robbed of his rightful accolades and attentions. Indeed, if he had engaged himself to the likes of Miss Latimer, the engagement would be long, the wedding fine. She would have time to adjust to her relegation to second in her son's heart, and her son would have the proud wedding he deserved. Miss Darrow, it seemed, would never be up to par, and her son would always pay the price.
Now Fanny was slightly less concerned about the mean wedding breakfast planned for her brother and his new bride. She was certainly embarrassed, and dreaded to think what the Master's wives might say about such a patched-up affair, but she could not refute that the very meagreness of her brother's wedding, would only serve to heighten the unrivalled luxury and celebration of her own.
That she did not wish for Miss Darrow as a sister-in-law, did not need stating, and she was piqued that her own forthcoming nuptials would not have her mother's full attention; that there was to be a new mistress of the house to contend with, as her own wedding day drew near. In truth, she could not see the necessity of hurry. Fanny was glad to marry Mr Watson, but she was not fool enough to wish the matrimonial state upon herself with any unnecessary rapidity. That her brother should wish to marry Miss Darrow, was - in light of her elevated status to "heiress" - not surprising, but that any woman should wish to bind herself to such a grey and stern character as her own grim brother, quite surprised her. That the woman in question should agree to such a rushed wedding - such a stingy affair - was, to Fanny's small mind, unfathomable.
She was enlightened, however, when the following day, Mr Thornton brought his betrothed up to the mill house, after she had finished her hours in the mill infirmary. Isabel was cautious of her reception, and stood erect, but with a demure expression, as she lingered close to the calming presence of Mr Thornton. She could feel the scolding, doubtful gaze of Mrs Thornton upon her, lashing at her skin in a fever of jealousy and disapproval. Fanny Thornton, held not that intensity of look, and so her gaping did not unsettle Isabel, but she felt keenly - nonetheless - her future sister's unfavourable scrutiny of her person.
They sat down to tea; a cup was handed to Isabel, and she made a pretence of studying the fine china, when in truth, she asked herself how she was ever to live with such people. Yes; she would take a husband, but such a formidable mother-in-law? She was no coward; not one to quail, but to live within such conflict, day after day, would drain her as no troubled land of war had ever done.
Mr Thornton sensed Isabel's apprehension, and sought to allay her fears, by stating before his family, that his mother was about the business of seeing to their new table linens, which would bear the new couple's initials. Isabel blushed (which Mr Thornton found quite becoming) and looked hastily to Mrs Thornton, feeling touched at such a gesture.
'That is very kind. I am sure we are both very grateful.' Mrs Thornton did not like the offer of warm sentiment. Nor did she wish to encourage an open exchange of forced pleasantries, so she merely grunted her reply of acknowledgement, pressed her lips into a grim line, and sipped at her scalding tea. The room fell silent, and that very silence was, to all, oppressive.
'You found sound new marking thread, then?' asked Isabel, on a whim. She knew instantly - on seeing Mrs Thornton's startled frown - that she ought not to have spoken, and yet she took a perverse satisfaction in realising that she knew her future family's ways far better than they knew hers. She took comfort in it, and bravely forced a smile, meeting the warm eyes of Mr Thornton.
He did not notice her strange comment; did not see his mother's puzzled frown, but saw only his beloved, sat beside him on the sofa, sipping tea from their family china. She felt so very at home, he thought, and looking upon her - in his own domain - felt so natural, that the two short weeks until their wedding, seemed to him, an age away. He smiled back at Isabel with glowing eyes, and a look of such warm and open tenderness passed between them, as to attract even the oblivious Fanny Thornton's notice.
Strange, thought Fanny, that any woman could look at her brother with such longing; that her brother's face could soften in such a way. Fanny gaped and stared and strained her eyes as though willing her vision to focus (for she did not believe what she was seeing, despite having no impairment to her vision), and finally had to concede, that there appeared to be about her brother and his new fiancée, a bewildering air of love and admiration.
She crinkled her nose at the surprising realisation, thought on her greying Mr Watson (who was thick about the middle) and let her mouth turn downwards. John might marry for love, thought she, with an air of accusation, but I certainly do not! Indeed, she glanced across the room, to see her pile of silks and ribbons (all generously given to her by her betrothed, once her brother's allowance had run out) and she smiled with satisfaction, for what was love, when one could have fine clothes and riches in its place?
Mrs Thornton did not miss the intimacy of the new couples' gaze, and she instantly recoiled. There, before her, was a closeness of mind, spirit and heart, which she knew - by its very warmth - superseded anything she had ever held with her son. Indeed, through objective comparison, she could quite plainly see, that for all she loved her son - for all she knew he loved her and was loyal - she was to him a duty; a defender; a source of pride and gratitude. An occasional comfort and constant companion, but all sentiment was lukewarm; all wrought through obligation or a lack of anything warmer by which to stir the passions.
Now she saw how well her son could love; how he would revel in being loved, and she felt her own maternal adoration to be inferior. It was not a mother's love he craved; but that of a woman. He did not need the steadfast, but the feisty passion of youthful love - however fleeting it might be - and she felt, in that agonising moment, how utterly she had been replaced.
No! thought she; not replaced, for now I see I never held that place in his heart, which I had thought myself to own. What knew he of any love but mine? He was grateful for it, and satisfied, but now he knows another love, and mine is no longer enough! Mrs Thornton knew then, that for all Miss Darrow irked her, for all that she would make her son an unsuitable wife, he would choose the girl over the mother every time. She felt keenly, that if she wished to remain beside her son - basking in his prideful existence - she would have to open her heart to the keeper of his own.
The realisation was mortifying, and if Mrs Thornton had been able - despite the great weakness it would have been - she would have retired to her room and cried for her lost son, but her future daughter-in-law had been brought before her; there were hasty plans to be made, and she could seek no solitude for her broken heart. She - with that stoic manner so ingrained in her being - jutted her chin and narrowed her eyes assessingly at the girl, speaking sharply, but not unkindly.
'So, Miss Darrow, my son tells me you are happy for me to arrange the whole affair; that you have no requests as to menu or ornament for the wedding breakfast?'
'No, none, Mrs Thornton; only perhaps, that there is something of John's favourite.' Mrs Thornton smarted over the use of her son's Christian name, but he looked so very pleased by it, that she did not dare to express her displeasure; not by look, nor tone.
'I can, of course, see to that. And what of you? Have you any particular tastes?'
'You are fond of creamed spinach?' put in Mr Thornton, surprising all three ladies. He blushed under their scrutiny, and said low (in a guilty tone of voice), 'I recall you partook of a second serving at my mother's dinner.' Isabel smiled playfully; unaware that he had admired her so closely, all that time ago.
'Indeed, I did enjoy it, but I am happy with whatever your mother feels appropriate; and there is not much time; what is manageable shall please me.'
'And your dress!' rushed Fanny. 'Wherever shall you find a suitable dress in two weeks? Milton is very ill for fashion, and there is not the time to find a seamstress, nor to go to one of the great fashion houses in London!'
'I am to wear the dress I wore to your dinner,' replied Isabel, looking directly to her future mother-in-law. 'It is the only gown I own, and it is dear to me, as it was chosen for me by Mr Bell.'
'I did not care for Mr Bell,' said Fanny, carelessly. 'He spoke in riddles; I could never understand him.'
'Fanny!' scolded Mr Thornton, with evident displeasure.
'It is alright, John,' soothed Isabel, a small hand resting on his arm. 'Mr Bell enjoyed his word games; it amused him to confuse those of a weaker mind.' Mother and son both felt Isabel's slight, but Mr Thornton could not reproach her for it, for his sister had spoken cruelly about her late father. Mrs Thornton - unaware of the relationship between Isabel and her benefactor - was vexed that the girl should speak in such a way, and that John should not scold her for it! 'Fanny,' continued Isabel, unfazed, 'I know we have different tastes and interests, but it is my hope that we may be friends if we are to be sisters. You see I know nothing of fashion. Perhaps once John and I are married, you may talk through your own wedding plans with me, and school me in the ways of the Milton lady?'
Fanny beamed with satisfaction, but Mr Thornton paled. Here, Isabel cast a furtive glance at her future husband, and a wry smile tugged at her lips, easing his fears. Mrs Thornton watched the girl beguile both of her children, and felt irked that one creature could so easily please both brother and sister, who were so utterly different in their temperaments and sensibilities.
'Pray, Miss Darrow, might I know how old you are?' asked Mrs Thornton. For surely, there was something unnatural about any young girl who could master a person's will so easily. Of course, it was not Isabel's age - nor any talent on her part - that enabled her to console both brother and sister simultaneously, but the advantage of knowledge; gleamed from that great book.
'I am almost twenty-eight,' replied Isabel.
'So old!' gasped Fanny.
'You look far younger,' said Mrs Thornton; her voice measured, but her face no less surprised.
'Yes; I suppose I ought to be considered an old maid,' laughed Isabel. 'But I could never marry for anything but love, and I had never loved before.' Mr Thornton blushed, but smiled nonetheless, and Mrs Thornton had grudgingly to cede that the girl appeared to speak no lie.
The meeting was - for all intents and purposes - successful. There had been no open conflict, and Isabel was reassured that she would be accepted into the household; if not with open arms, then with a tepid indifference. Mrs Thornton, for her part, was gratified to see her son so happy, but she had learnt a cruel lesson that day; that where she was loved with constancy, Miss Darrow was loved with fervour, and passion would always prevail. She now knew her place, and acceptance of the match was her only course of action, if she did not wish to lose her son.
Now it was the day before the wedding, and Isabel was finishing up for the afternoon in the mill infirmary, when Nicholas Higgins stepped inside with his heavy boots, and eyes that glinted as he smiled.
'Miss Isabel,' grunted he, his cap slipping from his head, and fisting into his hand.
'Nicholas!' smiled Isabel, as she continued working over her list of supplies that would need replacing.
'I 'ad a visit from Miss Margaret yesterday.'
'Did you, Nicholas?' replied Isabel, with a smirk, without looking from her page.
'Ay, an' hoo tells me hoo is t' be wed an' all! Tha' southern 'ead doctor.'
'Yes!' beamed Isabel. 'He is back in Milton for the wedding, tomorrow, and I assume he saw his chance to catch his lady.'
'He seems a good sort,' posed Nicholas, in a fatherly way.
'He is. He's a good man, and a fair match for Margaret.'
'Ay! 'E seems a steady fellow; not a man I should choose t' sup wi', but we cannot all be worthy of th' honour.'
'Oh! you are wicked!' laughed Isabel, throwing back her head.
'And you make my fiancée laugh with such abandon, Higgins. I'm not sure how I feel about that!' jested Mr Thornton, as he arrived in the doorway to the infirmary.
'Well, hoo is marrying yo', Master. Someone needs t' give her some cheer; hoo'll get nowt from yo.' Mr Thornton glowered, but the expression was a mere outward appearance, for he had come to quite like Higgins, and took pleasure from his saucy tongue.
'Indeed; you are right, Nicholas,' said Isabel. 'My life is to be a dreary lot as a Thornton, but I shouldn't have it any other way. All the same, I shall need your sharp wit from time to time, to stop the soul from growing weary.' Mr Thornton smiled, his eyes heated, as he heard his betrothed refer to herself as a Thornton; stirring his male pride.
'The shift is over, it is not?' said Mr Thornton, looking to Higgins with an air of impatience. The weaver smiled knowingly; he knew the look of a man caught up in a passion.
'Ay! I just stopped by t' wish Miss Isabel well for th' morrow. An' my good wishes for yo', an' all.'
'Yes, yes - your good wishes. Be off, man!'
'That was a little rude,' chastised Isabel, once Higgins had tramped off across the yard.
'Yes, but I wanted to speak with you and his presence was unwanted.'
'Very well. He is gone; what shall you speak of?' Mr Thornton looked towards the door; he wanted to close it, but he did not dare. Instead, it took hold of Isabel's small hand, and led her into the back room.
'I have looked over some figures this past fortnight, and I am to set up a dining room for the workers. They shall pay for their meals, and we will buy the goods wholesale, keeping the costs low. See, now, my love, you shan't have to secretly feed the children your biscuits, and they shan't have to feign sickness or injury to satisfy their stomachs.' Mr Thornton smiled at the look of pleasure he had placed upon his beloved's face, but her smile slipped to a playful smirk, and she squeezed back on his hand.
'And let me guess; Mary Higgins is to be the cook for this mill dining room?'
'Did Higgins tell you?' asked Mr Thornton, in vexation, for he had coveted her glad surprise for himself.
'He did not,' grinned Isabel, enjoying Mr Thornton's displeasure.
'Who spoke to you of it? Only Higgins knows of his daughter's involvement; I am certain.'
'Ah! But I have read the book,' warned Isabel, cupping Mr Thornton's stubble-covered cheek. 'You were to speak with Higgins one evening, and get up some scheme for this dining room. Mary was to be the cook and you were to enjoy her home-made stew.'
'That blasted book!' sighed Mr Thornton, gently placing his hands about Isabel's waist. 'Is there nothing you don't know? Are you privy to all that I shall do?' And although he was smiling, and his tone was tender, Isabel knew he was irritated.
'No, love! The book told little beyond the opening of your dining room, and I know nothing of myself; nothing of what shall come of our marriage.'
'Our marriage,' smiled he; his eyes burning with a warm intensity of longing. 'Tomorrow, love; you shall be mine tomorrow.'
'If I am to be yours, you shall be mine, also. I shall not bind myself to an unequal partnership,' laugh Isabel, as Mr Thornton's lips drew closer to her ear; his breath bathing her skin, sending a shiver down her spine.
'I have been yours since the moment you fed me that peanut fudge. You have bewitched me,' whispered Mr Thornton; his words caressing the sensitive skin of her neck, with a velvet touch. A sigh escaped Isabel's lips at the brush of his warm breath in that tender place, and Mr Thornton stilled, watching her intently. Her eyes were closed, and pink crept up her neck, bleeding into her cheeks. Mr Thornton had never taken liberties with a lady before, but he knew she was affected by him, and the realisation of her passion for him, stirred him as nothing ever had. 'Isabel!' groaned he, his voice laced with longing.
'Tomorrow; only one day,' soothed Isabel, feeling him tense against her, as he waged his own inner battle.
'Only one day, she says. One day feels as though it is a lifetime,' came his roughened reply. And one hand crept upwards from her waist, and pressed between her shoulder blades, holding her to him; the other spanning the small of her back, possessively. 'Isabel!' sighed he, 'I must kiss you. I have waited two weeks to kiss you, and the last time I kissed you, we were interrupted too quickly.' His voice was low, and full of need, and Isabel felt no compunction in allowing or encouraging his kisses. Indeed, she was not ashamed of her feelings for him, but rather exalted in them.
'Then kiss me; I am happy to receive your kisses.' It was all the invitation he needed, and in an instant, Mr Thornton had dipped his head low, brushing his lips softly against hers. The kiss was slow and tender, but full of such promise, that he could not help but be affected by it, and he heard his blood pump thick within his veins, as his passions stirred. Oh! how he wanted her.
He knew he should pull back; step away and bid her farewell; not touch her, nor be alone with her again until they were husband and wife, but her small hands came to rest about his waist, pressing gently against the heavy wool of his frock coat, and he was undone by her compliance. His lips grew heavy upon hers, and finding no hesitancy in her returning kisses, he sought to part her lips; delighting when she obeyed and admitted him entrance. Such intimacy was pure bliss to him, and he craved more, as though he were a starving man, made to serve at the table during a sumptuous feast. His mouth watered for her, and he was heedless to caution, pressing her lithe frame against his great and powerful one; feeding from her lips.
Isabel's nimble fingers buried beneath Mr Thornton's frock coat, and pressed against the thinner barrier of his waistcoat, but still, there was too much distance. Those fingers burrowed further, until her fingertips were separated from his bare skin, only by the thin cotton of his shirt. His heat radiated from his body and made her greedy in her eagerness to know him, and - unthinking - she fisted her hands into that plume of white cotton and tugged upwards, until she had exposed a slither of bare skin at the small of his back. She could not see it, but she felt it; his skin scorching her fingers. Her touch - trembling and tentative - made him jump from her as though he had been branded with an iron.
'Isabel!' panted Mr Thornton, staring back at her, wide-eyed; his mind a haze of incredulity. She had touched him! Sought out his bare skin!
'I am sorry,' whispered she; mistaking his heavy gaze for disgust or disapproval. 'You must think me quite wanton. I had no intention of - that is, I only wished to - I do not rightly know, but I would not have -'
'Shush!' soothed Mr Thornton, pressing a finger to her lips to quieten her. 'Do not apologise. I was only surprised that you would wish to touch me, so.' Surprised! thought she, in consternation. The man is an utter fool if he cannot see how very handsome he is! But these thoughts - quite improper - she could not voice.
'Do you expect a cold and passionless wife?' asked Isabel, sharply; accusation evident in her tone, for now she feared, that perhaps he thought her willingness unseemly.
'Nay! I might have expected that to be my lot, if ever I had thought myself to marry, but when I met you - when I fell in love with you - I knew that if I should have you, you would not be a cold, reserved partner. It is simply the difference in our times, love. A man would not expect a lady to welcome his attentions in such a way; certainly not before marriage.'
'A true lady, you mean.'
'Pardon? I did not hear you,' said Mr Thornton, in reply to Isabel's sulky mumble.
'I said no true lady; you would not expect a virtuous woman to have touched you as I did, or welcomed your kisses as I did. No doubt, I should have forced you to leave the moment Higgins took off; I ought not to be alone with any man - most especially, my betrothed. Is that the way of things?'
'Isabel!' cajoled Mr Thornton, perplexed by her sudden hostility, for her body was tense; arms folded defensively across her person.
'I must be home to Crampton, John. I shall see you to-morrow.'
'And you will go; you will leave this misunderstanding unresolved?'
'I will not justify my behaviour to you,' replied Isabel, tartly (for in truth, she felt ill-judged). 'I have spoken of the differences between your society and mine; I will not be castigated by you for conducting myself with the standards by which I was raised. I will not simply allow that your way is right and mine improper. I might say that your society is stifled; that there are too many unhappy marriages because people are too quick to marry upon too meagre an acquaintance.'
'You seek an argument with me,' sighed Mr Thornton, grasping Isabel by the arm and hauling her against his body. His arms enveloped her, and he held her steady; passionless, but comforting. 'Are you anxious about to-morrow? Are you troubled, or are you simply embarrassed by my reaction to you touching me? For I can promise you now, my Izzy, that there shall be more misunderstandings between us. You cannot think to marry a man from another world - another time - and always think alike and share one's expectations. We shall come to know each other with time. We shall learn each other's ways and compromise as we must, but you cannot be so fiercely independent, and I so stubborn and passionate in my love for you, without some small disagreement erupting from time to time. I welcome it, my love. A marriage without conflict is a marriage without passion, and I could never wish for that. Do not push me away, Izzy; I will not allow it.'
'I do not want to disappoint or shame you,' sighed Isabel, melting into Mr Thornton's comforting embrace. 'Your mother has been very kind to me - far more so than I had expected - but I know - and surely you do, too - that she is waiting for me to err; that she expects me to do wrongly, and she does not even know how utterly alien I am; how uncertain of what I ought to do.'
'But we shall marry, and then I shall guide you.'
'Ay!' said Isabel, grinning up at that best-loved face. 'I am following your guidance already, and speaking like a northerner. Do you like it?' Mr Thornton shook his head.
'No, love. It sounds silly. Keep your Kentish speech. Taking my name shall be enough for me. Now off you go before it falls dark. I have business to see to, and you distract me no end.'
'Farewell, Master,' laughed Isabel, pulling from his hold. She gave him such a look as to make him narrow his eyes at her, as she made towards the door, securing her hat upon her head. Master! thought he. It would have been nothing to him, but for the look that she gave him, and he smiled happily, as he watched her button her coat and slip from the door; she was playful; marriage to Isabel would be trying at times, but never dull; never passionless.