Sorry for the week's delay! - Trudy
Mr. Thornton woke the next morning at the prescribed hour, stirring himself to life at dawn, as was his habit. He opened his eyes, at once alert to the impending import of the day. Today his future would unfold with imperishable brightness or collapse beneath him with blighted hope.
The humid air seemed thick with an eager energy as he made his morning ablutions. He shaved with careful precision; staring blankly at his reflection in mute amazement at the hand that fate had played. Only yesterday morning, he had believed himself consigned to a life of solitude - a life in which he would be destined to bury himself in his work to evade the hollowness that would never be filled.
Now, there was hope that he might not live alone - that the woman who so beguiled him might become his wife.
He could scarcely believe that he should be standing here today, endeavoring to conjure the words that that he would use in confessing his heart. His breath came quickly in anxious consternation at his inadequacy. He was neither eloquent of tongue nor practiced in speaking of love. He had no knowledge of the precise words that might be acceptable to a lady of her standing.
He let out an exasperated sigh as he crossed the room to fetch his shirt. With the end of the strike and the probable return of many of his workers, he would have scant time to allow his thoughts to wander. It would be a strain to his schedule to leave the mill and go to see her, but see her he must. He could not wait another moment to know what she might make of him, and was resolved to go to Crampton by mid-morning.
He snatched his frock coat from the wardrobe and shrugged it on as he headed out. He stopped and glanced quickly around his room before stepping into the hallway and closing the door. His hopes were tremulous, but potent. He did not know what this momentous day would bring, he only knew that when he returned at nightfall, he would be a different man.
*****
Mrs. Thornton studied her son’s agitated demeanor with a furtive glance as he stepped into the breakfast room. He made no motion partake of the simple breakfast that was laid out on the table. “Will you not eat, John? It is certain to be a strenuous day with the return of the strikers,” she remarked in an attempt to care for his health.
The Master glanced at the table before relenting to her motherly admonition and seating himself to quickly partake of eggs, toast, and tea.
“What will you do with the Irish if all the hands wish to return?” she asked, wondering how much thought he had given to the predicament in which he now found himself.
“First we must see who will return,” he replied with easy logic. “It seems most of the Irish will be satisfied to return home. I will pay them for their troubles and they will be no worse for wear,” he concluded with a low sigh. He took one last draught from his teacup and rose to depart.
“I will go to Crampton at eleven or thereabouts,” he announced. The words, almost casually spoken, stilled the atmosphere like a solemn edict. Their eyes locked together in a meaningful glance before Mr. Thornton turned to take his leave.
Hannah Thornton sat rigidly in her chair as she listened to the scuffle of her son’s footsteps as he descended the stairs and heard the final thud of the outside door.
*********
Margaret dressed with languorous movements, grateful to have put yesterday behind her and unwilling to hastily relinquish the quiet privacy of her morning. She contrived that today would be one of peace and resolved to banish any unsettling thoughts. She would devote her attention to her mother and visit Bessie, if time allowed.
She breakfasted with her father, who seemed relieved and cheerful that his wife was feeling better. When he went upstairs to his study, Margaret followed, continuing down the hall to keep company with her mother.
Dixon was clearing away her mistress’ breakfast tray when Margaret entered the room. Mrs. Hale gave her daughter a slightly strained smile as she sat weakly but comfortably in the plush, rose chair of her sitting room.
“Isn’t the mistress looking much better?” the stout and loyal servant asked Margaret, who nodded cheerfully in reply.
“I do believe the water mattress helped me sleep better. Margaret, you must thank Mrs. Thornton for her kindness in sending it. And was it not very thoughtful of Mr. Thornton to bring such exquisite fruit the other day?” the slight woman remarked in her delicate voice. She was sincerely pleased to have been accorded such kindly consideration from people she had originally deemed rough and unpolished.
“Yes, Mama,” Margaret answered politely, fluttering her eyelids in embarrassed distraction. She watched silently as Dixon exited the room with tray in hand, giving Margaret coveted time alone with her mother.
“Shall I read to you this morning?” the young daughter asked pleasantly, laying her hand on a book of her mother’s favorite sonnets.
“Yes, my dear, and then will you read to me again the recent letter from your Aunt Shaw?” she asked meekly.
Margaret smiled in response and opened the leather-bound book on the tableside to begin reading some of Tennyson’s poetry. Her mother listened with her eyes closed, her head resting against the crochet-covered chair back. The words tripped easily from the younger girl’s tongue and the rhythm and meter soothed, but try as she might, the memory of her actions the day before stole into her thoughts, bringing an occasional blush to her cheeks.
************
Mr. Thornton left the mill at half past ten, unable to concentrate on the matters at hand any longer. His step was quick and his spirit light at the thought of seeing Margaret again.
Gray clouds moved slowly overhead and a light wind subdued the growing warmth of noon, stirring the grasses underfoot. Traveling the dusty path that led over a great hill, he took no note of the distant landscape that lay before him. With his gaze fixed ahead, he walked briskly toward his purpose. Exhilaration was tainted by trepidation as he vaguely rehearsed his lines and imagined her response.
He strode past vendors and workers in the busy streets as he grew closer to the rented townhouse that housed the former vicar and his family. With trembling eagerness, he bounded up the stairs to rap on the painted door. Removing his tall hat as the door opened, his pulse hammered furiously to be given entrance into the Hales’ house by their broad maid.
Dixon eyed the ruddied cotton manufacturer with aloof curiosity. Mr. Thornton was regularly received twice a week in the evenings to study the classics with Mr. Hale, but rarely came calling during the day. “The master is upstairs in the study,” she informed him curtly as she began to return to the kitchen.
“I would speak to Miss Hale,” he answered more hastily than he had intended. He swallowed to rein in his impatience and evened his breath with effort. “If you please,” he added with calm civility.
Her eyebrows rose faintly as she cursorily studied him. “Miss Margaret is with her mother. I’ll see if she is receiving callers this morning,” she answered haughtily. Gesturing him to the drawing room, she lumbered up the stairs to make known his request.
The family servant quietly let herself in the room where Mrs. Hale was napping in her chair. Margaret looked up from the book she was reading. “Mr. Thornton is in the drawing room,” she announced summarily in whispered tones.
The young miss paled and felt her heart skip a beat. “Is not father in his study?” she queried hopefully, her voice wavering slightly.
“He asked for you, miss. Your father remains undisturbed.”
“Very well, I will come directly,” she replied, endeavoring to sound composed.
*******
Mr. Thornton stood restlessly at the window, attempting to gather his thoughts, though his heart beat erratically in anticipation of her arrival. He dared to divine the full fruition of his fondest dreams - that his words would meet with her sweet approval and with his beckon, she would fall into his arms to find her rightful home and resting place.
A faint rustling alerted him to her arrival, and he swung around to reverently watch as she silently glided into the room.
He moved forward with a tempered eagerness and, brushing very near her still form, closed the door behind her. What he wished to say would be for her alone.
“I trust your mother slept well,” he remarked in passing, feeling his mouth go dry as he assumed a position several steps across from her.
“Yes, my mother thanks you for your kindnesses on her behalf,” Margaret managed to respond with stiff formality, her eyes glancing at him briefly before lowering her gaze. She trembled inwardly to be alone in his presence, afraid of what he had come to say.
With a sweeping glance, Mr. Thornton hungrily took in the sight of her. She was beautiful in her queenly bearing, holding her chin ever so slightly aloft even as maiden modesty required that she avoid his gaze. Her small, delicate hands were linked gracefully before her. “I only wish I could be of more service,” he answered softly, the last words drifting from his lips. He stifled the urge to rush forward and take her hands in his.
“Miss Hale, I’m afraid I was very ungrateful yesterday,” he declared, rigidly beginning his practiced lines.
“There is no need to be grateful,” she returned immediately, causing a flicker of confusion to cross his face.
“I believe there is. I must thank you for kind attention....”
“Please, don’t speak of it,” she interrupted. “I only did what any one would to tend to one who had fallen. Surely, you need not thank me, when it is I who placed you in danger. I did not think...” she equivocated as a new wave of guilt bid her imagine how horribly he might have been hurt.
“Are you well today?” she suddenly thought to ask as she stepped toward him, raising her hand as if she would inspect his wound. Her eyes softened in gentle concern.
The wall of his reserve crumbled at this sign of tenderness, and he swiftly grasped her hand between both of his. “Will you marry me? That’s what I’ve come to ask you,” he breathed, his husky Darkshire accent intensified by his urgency.
She stared at him with widened eyes for an instant before hastily withdrawing her hand and turning her back to him, her heart skittering in frightened confusion. “Mr. Thornton, you must not speak so!” she hastily rebuked him. “I am sure you feel obligated to rescue my reputation, but I assure you that is not necessary,” she answered in quavering tones, struggling to edify her voice with conviction, being overcome with the strange hope that he should be in earnest and not impelled by honor.
“I had no thought for your reputation,” he answered immediately with vehemence. “I would gladly lay down my all to save your honor, but I wish to marry you because I love you...as I believe no man has ever loved woman before,” he declared with rising ardor, his breath coming quickly in his passion.
She did not move nor make a sound, unable to breathe or speak for the clamoring of her heart.
His body quaked in expectation of her answer. He waited. Clinging to the hope that her silence indicated consideration, he continued his plea more gently. “I know that I am not worthy of you, but my heart cannot remain silent,” he declared with a tremulous voice. “If you will only consider me, I believe I can offer you every comfort that you may desire. I offer you my utter devotion. There is nothing...”
“Yes,” she interjected with shortened breath, impelled by something deep within which swelled and ached at the honesty of his plea.
The world seemed to still around her. She could scarcely believe what she had uttered.
“Excuse me?” he asked in stunned amazement, doubting he had heard correctly.
Summoning the courage to reaffirm her impulsive answer, she turned to face him. “I said ‘yes’,” she avowed shakily, raising her eyes to his to see the expression of incredulous wonder frozen upon his face.
“Margaret!” he whispered hoarsely with trembling emotion. He stepped forward, stretching his arms out toward her, but stilled himself when she stiffened at his approach and hid her flushed face from his.
He dropped his arms and stood in awkward silence for a brief moment. “I must speak to your father,” he stammered, finding recourse in speaking the words that custom would demand as he stared at her in stupefaction.
Margaret raised her head to answer him, but could only meet his gaze briefly. “He is in his study,” she faltered, attempting to sound unaffected by the momentous weight of the occasion.
His limbs were leaden, for although he was eager to secure her word, he was afraid to leave her, lest the spell be broken and she decide against him. He studied her demure pose in a lingering glance before turning to go. As he climbed the stairs, he raised a silent prayer that she had spoken from the heart.
“Mr. Hale?” he called out from the doorway of the study where the older man sat at his desk, pouring over some ancient text.
“Is that you, John?” he answered with surprise, doffing his glasses and rising to greet his favorite pupil with a broad smile. “I did not expect you until tomorrow evening.”
“I have come on a matter of personal business,” the Master stated with some apprehension.
“Of course, of course...come in,” the former vicar gestured amicably. “What can I do for you?” he asked expectantly as he sat back down in his chair.
Mr. Thornton opened his mouth for a moment before he could formulate the words. “I have come to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage,” he announced with gravity, scarcely able to believe he was indeed asking his trusted friend for permission to marry his lovely daughter.
Mr. Hale’s pleased expression turned into one of considerable shock. “Margaret?” he asked vacantly, attempting to recover himself. “Why I should like nothing more, John, but....ehm...perhaps you might consider trying to court her first. I don’t believe she is quite appreciative of your finer qualities...” he stuttered, not wishing to offend his friend with his honest fear of Margaret’s rejection.
“She has already given her consent,” the younger man answered with a growing smile.
If Mr. Hale had been surprised before, he now struggled with absolute incomprehension. He stared at Mr. Thornton for a lingering moment with creased brow and slackened jaw. He had been quite certain that Margaret detested the man and all that he represented. How was it that she had suddenly changed her perception of him?
Despite his internal confusion, he mustered a pleasing smile for the man before him. “That is wonderful news, John! Wonderful indeed, I assure you,” he replied as he stood up to shake his future son-in-law’s hand. “But would you perhaps take the trouble to send Margaret to me? I would like to speak to her a few minutes,” he fumbled, half congratulatory, half wary.
Mr. Thornton’s smile faded at this request. He dreaded that Margaret might be given opportunity to reconsider. “Of course,” he answered reluctantly, and left to carry out his task.
His eyes sought her before he had even reached the last few stairs, anxiously wondering if she was still there - if she was still willing to stand behind the word she had given him, the one word which had the power to change his entire life.
His uncertainty was mildly relieved as his gaze rested upon the solemn figure standing mutely in the drawing room where he had left her. His footfall alerted her to his approach and she looked up from her dazed reverie, her large soulful eyes meeting his and seizing him with a desperate desire to enfold her in his arms and never let go.
“Your father wishes to speak with you,” he relayed with slightly furrowed brow. A cold fear stabbed at his heart and he began to feel the familiar pall of dread that he should live a lifetime alone.
She gave a slight nod of acquiescence before silently sweeping past him to obediently follow her father’s summons.
He watched helplessly as her graceful form slowly mounted the stairs. When she finally disappeared, his panic rose to smother the budding wonder of her acceptance. Had she been in earnest in her response, or was it merely an outburst for which she would repent? His hope refused to surrender. Surely she would honor the word she had spoken. She had promised to become his wife. His chest ached in intensified longing at the thought of it.
He began to pace amidst the cramped but pleasant confines of the room.
*****
“Margaret, Mr. Thornton tells me you have accepted his offer of marriage. Is this true?” Mr. Hale asked, bewildered, of the girl standing before him with bowed head.
“Yes, Father,” she admitted in soft tones, lifting her gaze to meet his uncomprehending stare. How could she explain what she had done, when she barely understood herself? “Do you not approve?” she asked, flustered by his somberness and desperate to be assured that she had not been foolish - that she had acted wisely in accepting him.
“Of course I should approve, my dear. I only wished to understand how it is you have changed your opinion of the man so quickly. I was certain that you did not carry him in very high regard. Truth be told, I had no idea that my favorite pupil had a tenderness for my dearest daughter. I was quite convinced you had put the man well off the trail, as it were, with your rather strong opinions of Milton men and their ways,” he confessed, regarding her expectantly.
“I have been rather harsh,” she admitted, realizing how strange it must appear to him that she should have accepted the man with whom she had so stringently quarreled. She could not make sense of the swirling mass of emotions that assailed her. What had she done? It was no use to fathom the depths of it at present; she had given her word and must now stand behind it.
“I believe I can see a kindness in him now,” she faltered. “He is honest. You believe him to be a good man, Father, do you not?” she asked, convincing herself of the rightness of her choice.
“Yes, indeed. There is no question of that, my dear. He’s one of the most impressive men I’ve ever had the privilege to meet. I only wanted to be certain that you came to your own decision without feeling any...obligation that is not pleasant to you,” he clarified with concern. He did not want her to enter into such a sacred bond merely to please him, or the expectations of others.
She froze at his words, momentarily wavering in her response. A haze of dizziness threatened to unsteady her as she considered the consummate, life-long commitment that lay before her. She would be Mr.Thornton’s wife forevermore if she verified her acquiescence. Panic threatened to rise at the thought that her freedom had been eclipsed - that she would be bound to one whom she did not fully understand. But, battling against the tide of fear, she felt strangely compelled to trust her decision, feeling a faint reassurance that all would turn out for the good.
“I have answered him of my own accord, Father,” she stated softly, but with equivocating clarity.
“Well then, my dear, I give you my heartiest blessing,” he said with a heart-warming smile as he lovingly grasped her arms. “I hope you will be very happy. I must tell Mr. Thornton to take special care of my precious pearl,” he elaborated with poignant fondness, giving her a gentle pinch on her smooth cheek.
“Papa,” she blurted with unguarded emotion and thrust herself into his arms like a child.
He held her for a cherished moment, reveling in the chance to hold her as of days of old. The years had passed quickly, and it was hard to fathom that she would soon leave them. He could not have asked for a more blessed gift.
“Now then,” he announced, releasing her from his hold and stepping back. “We must not keep the poor man waiting,” he remarked with a smile.
*****
At the first sound of movement, Mr. Thornton stilled before taking measured steps to the doorway to observe Margaret and her father descend the stairs.
Her expression was unreadable. Keeping her gaze lowered, her angelic face showed neither tremor of remorse nor trace of inward contentment as she calmly - gracefully - approached.
A desperate glance at Mr. Hale, however, revealed a happy father’s grin. Slowly, the hopeful suitor let his breath out in glad relief.
“Congratulations, John,” Mr. Hale enthused as he carefully shepherded his daughter forward.“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to welcome you to our family,” he continued, shaking the dumbfounded man’s hand with vigor. “I know you will take excellent care of our precious Margaret,” he declared.
“Thank you,” the awestruck Master managed to return, inevitably casting his gaze at Margaret for a sign of her willing concurrence. At last, she lifted her eyes to her future husband, and he felt his heart twist with aching rapture to see them filled with hopeful trust.
Their eyes locked in stilled wonder, searching for the truth in each other’s gaze.
“I must go tell Maria,” Mr. Hale announced merrily, leaving the newly betrothed couple to stand alone in the front hallway.
Margaret tore her gaze away from his questioning stare, feeling a warm flush rising to her cheeks.
Mr. Thornton continued to study her in amazement, her feminine blushes and meek behavior a stunning revelation. Had she feelings for him? He yearned to reach out and pull her close - to taste from her lips her acceptance of him.
But he would not frighten her with his passion. He took a long breath to bring himself to reasoned action. The regular duties of his day still awaited him. “I’m afraid I must return to the mill. There is much to be done now that the strike has ended,” he stated, breaking the silence between them.
Snapping to life, she raised her face to his. “Have your men all returned to work?” she asked interestedly, all maidenly modesty vanished in her concern.
He regarded her with a mixture of amusement and admiration. “For the most part, yes,” he replied.
“And will you take them back? What of your Irish?” she asked, the gleam of compassion in her blue-gray eyes.
He could not help but smile at her blunt inquisitiveness. “I have not yet decided upon the right course of action. I suppose that many of my Irish will like to return home,” he answered forthrightly, meeting her gaze with a sparkle of pleasure in this exchange.
She averted her eyes in embarrassment to realize the impertinence of her insistent questioning. “I’m sorry. I have no right to intrude upon your business decisions,” she stammered meekly.
“Not at all. I am pleased that you take an interest; you have every right...now more than ever,” he replied warmly, letting his gaze rove briefly over her figure and the soft features of her face.
She blushed at his words and the felt the heat of his gaze on her.
Silence again invaded the space between them.
“Perhaps I may see you tomorrow evening when I come to my lesson,” he suggested hopefully.
Her eyes fluttered to find his once more. “Yes, of course,” she answered politely with a trace of a smile.
The corners of his mouth drew upwards in satisfaction. “Then I will take my leave of you today,” he announced with reluctance.
She followed him towards the door. He had just begun to step out when she noticed his hat still hanging on the wall. “Wait!” she called out.
He turned expectantly with a start, hoping to hear some tender word from her lips. He watched as she retrieved his tall black hat and gently handed it to him with a pleasing smile.
He grasped it with both his own hands but made no move to remove it from her hold. “Thank you,” he said in a low, whispered tone as his stark blue eyes attempted to convey all that he wished to say.
She nodded in faint accord and fluttered her lashes in distraction as he took his hat from her grasp.
He turned to go, securing the door behind him. He ambled somewhat dazedly down the stairs and into the street. His eyes swept heavenward, where he spotted a patch of blue amid the encompassing gray of Milton’s dreary sky.
The crease of bewilderment set upon his brow slowly receded as the corners of his mouth edged upwards into a wide grin.