Mr. Thornton stood alone in the late morning light in the Hale's drawing-room. Clutching a bouquet of white roses, he anxiously looked to the stairs where he had directed the maid to send for Margaret.
A door closed and a flurry of steps sounded above before he heard the patter of creaking boards as she made her way quickly down the stairs. She was dressed simply in a dark skirt and white blouse, but her hair was freshly swept up on her head and her face shone radiantly. He had never seen her look lovelier.
"John," she exclaimed with unhidden joy as she bounded toward him, her skirts rustling in her haste.
He opened his arms instinctively to receive her, and by some miracle of heaven, she rushed into them. He held her close, careful not to crush her, his muscles quivering in his desire to bind her tightly against him.
He could not move or speak, so precious was this moment to him. Her utterance of his name resounded through him like a balm, reaching every recess of his wounded soul, banishing the aching loneliness of the years with a single call from her lips.
After some time, she stepped back. "Are these for me?" she asked with a demure smile as she gazed upon the roses in his hand.
"They are," he acknowledged, transfixed by the warm glow of her face. "There are no words to tell you how happy I am," he endeavored to explain, his deep voice quavering with emotion.
As she dipped her head to hide a bashful smile, a sudden movement by the stairs caught her attention.
"Mary," Margaret called out to the taciturn girl who had silently descended the stairs. "Will you please find a vase for these flowers?" she asked gently, handing her the profusion of velvet blossoms.
"Yes, miss," Mary dutifully answered, flashing her eyes respectfully at Margaret while her face reddened to steadfastly avoid looking at the Master.
The young servant scurried away, her heart racing with a rush of guilt to have intruded upon such an intimate scene. She had seen the Master's face as he had released Miss Margaret from his embrace. Everything of love and happiness that she had ever heard of or seen had not compared to the look that shone from his eyes. She had witnessed something transcendent - almost holy - and she would never be able to think of the Master again as a man bent entirely upon the cold calculations of business and profit.
Upon Mary's departure, Margaret returned her attention to the man beside her. "Should you not be at the mill?" she inquired pointedly, although her eyes sparkled in teasing delight.
He smiled broadly at her unspoken reproach. "I've come to give you the guest list, which has just this morning been completed," he answered, arching an eyebrow in defense of his abnegation of usual duties.
"Oh, that is wonderful! Mother will be pleased," she declared, all playfulness vanishing as she looked expectantly at him.
"Will you not pay me for my messenger's service?" he requested with a mischievous grin, a glimmer of desire heating his steady gaze.
A faint blush stained her porcelain skin as she averted her eyes a moment before taking a step forward to answer his demand, raising her face to his.
Instinctively, he reached for her as he brought his mouth to hers, his fingers curling at either side of her waist to bring her closer as every nerve ending in his body thrilled to the feel of his lips upon hers. With a restraint borne of the hour and circumstance, their lips moved in silent communion. No morning greeting had ever been so sweet, and his heart surged with a desperate longing for the time when such a greeting, and more, might be his every morning.
Reluctantly, they withdrew from the pleasurable contact after a few moments, marveling at the profound emotions evoked by this simple intimacy.
Wordlessly, Mr. Thornton pulled the folded list from inside his frock coat and handed it to her.
"Thank you," she breathed, opening the paper to glance at the scrawled names filling several pages.
"My mother asks if two o'clock will be a convenient time for your mother," he related officially, his gaze inevitably drawn to the soft, full lips that had moments before had been pressed to his.
"Yes, of course. Two o'clock will be fine," she answered, mesmerized by the soothing sound of his deep-toned voice and his very nearness.
"Then I will take my leave so that I may attend other matters of importance," he responded, his lips curving into a smirk.
She smiled at his teasing remark to her earlier impertinence. "I will see you tonight?" she asked somewhat impatiently.
"Yes," he answered, returning her smile. His heart warmed to discern her eagerness.
He lifted her hand to his lips, not trusting himself to bring his mouth to hers, and placed a lingering kiss upon her fingers, right next to the gleaming ring which proclaimed his claim to her heart.
"Until then," he softly declared, giving her one last penetrating look before he forced himself to turn toward the door.
Margaret stood dazedly a moment, staring at the space he had just vacated. Her heart beat fervently in her breast as she moved her gaze to her hand. She still felt the warmth of his breath and the brush of his lips on her fingers, astounded at the power he had to waken sensations in her she had never felt before. Every fiber of her being longed to feel his touch again, to be pressed against him so that she might feel needed and secure.
She knew her thoughts would dwell upon him the rest of the day.
*****
At the precise hour prescribed, a small carriage arrived at the Hale's home that afternoon. Mrs. Thornton was ushered into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Hale greeted her enthusiastically.
"How very good of you to come. I'm certain you will be an immense help. I could not conceive of arranging such an affair without your assistance," the frailer woman insisted while Margaret politely nodded in agreement.
Hannah Thornton gave a warming smile, pleased to be regarded as an integral figure in the planning of her son's grand social event. "It will be my pleasure to offer whatever assistance you require," she replied, taking the seat designated for her.
"I'm grateful to you. Such a formal affair and so grand, I expect! The list of invited guests is quite impressive, I must say. I was brought up quite used to very grand balls and magnificent affairs," Mrs. Hale proudly shared. "However, I'm afraid my experience in Helstone these last twenty years has not given me experience in preparing for such an event as will be required for Mr. Thornton's stature here in Milton," she related with sincere deference to the wealth and position which her daughter would attain in marrying the well-known Milton manufacturer and magistrate.
The proud widow lifted her chin imperceptibly at this estimation of her son even as her shoulders relaxed from their stiff posture. She was hopeful now that Mrs. Hale would welcome every proper arrangement. The corners of her mouth edged upward in satisfaction.
Margaret happily attended the unfolding consultation as a by-stander, answering only such questions as were occasionally put to her by her mother. She watched with fascination as the otherwise rigid and unknowable Mrs. Thornton deftly navigated the conversation to appeal to her mother's excited interest in taking part in the plans, although the ailing woman would not have a hand in most of the preparations.
"Margaret, do you fancy pink or white roses?" Mrs. Hale inquired, interrupting her daughter's quiet musing.
"Perhaps white and yellow? Yellow roses are so cheering. Remember the ones surrounding the parsonage, Mother?" she answered with a fond gleam in her eye.
"Yes, of course. Yellow you shall have, then, my dear," Mrs. Hale readily replied. "It will brighten the church -- you are right. Oh, Margaret! How proud I shall be to see you walk down the aisle in front of half of Milton! I should never have guessed when we first arrived here...."
Hannah Thornton took in such exuberance with a measure of reserve, still uncertain if Margaret was entirely worthy of the dotage and acclaim the pretty southern girl would receive as John's bride. She took a deep breath as she appraised the young woman again with a wary glance. Although perhaps a trifle too proud and strong-headed, she appeared now to be all feminine grace and refinement. She would make a beautiful bride.
"Forgive me," their guest gently interrupted. "I'd almost forgotten...I took the liberty of making an appointment for Madame Coutreau to come here tomorrow. She is Milton's best dressmaker and generally very busy. If, however, you have other arrangements..."
"No, no! It is just what we like," Mrs. Hale assured her. "How exceedingly thoughtful of you to think of such a thing. Indeed, Margaret and I were a tad fretful that there was so little time...Oh, this will be splendid, won't it, Margaret?" she enthused, very much pleased to have these accommodations made which only those with wealth could procure.
"Yes, indeed. Thank you," Margaret answered, a little taken aback at the swift decision and action with which Mrs. Thornton moved. Certainly, no detail would be left undone with Hannah Thornton at the helm.
When the elder women had sufficiently discussed the guest list and menu plans for the wedding breakfast, Mrs. Thornton announced that she should leave. Margaret smiled warmly at her future mother-in-law. She had shown every kindness to her mother at this delicate time and had discerned, as Margaret had, that Mrs. Hale was growing weary, despite her eagerness.
As she walked Mrs. Thornton to the door, Margaret thanked her profusely for her time and consideration in taking so much of the responsibility for the wedding arrangements.
A trifle embarrassed at such an effusion of gratitude, the staid widow smiled politely and replied that it was her pleasure to oversee any tasks that would make the day a success.
Relaxing in the silent solitude of her carriage afterwards, Mrs. Thornton sighed in satisfaction at having carried out her duties well. She was warmly encouraged that Maria Hale gave every respect due Mr. Thornton's position in Milton. That frail woman from the countryside had been impressed by the guest list and was insistent that this event should reflect John's status and reputation.
The vicar's wife was a kind and decent woman, but it was apparent that she would not have the strength to bear the responsibility of orchestrating such an event. She had voiced her own opinion on several matters, but had been pleasantly pliable in other areas where Mrs. Thornton was more knowledgeable. Hannah knew that she would need to bear the burden of implementing every detail, which was just as she should have liked. No one else could plan the regalia of her son's wedding better than herself, she decided.
Warm contentment flowed briefly through her at this thought, until insidious pangs of sadness reminded her of the cost of her accomplishment: she would lose her son. The strong bond that she had shared with him for these many years would be irrevocably altered once he brought home his wife. She sighed again in uneasy resignation to the inevitable march of time and change.
*****
As the first hint of darkness encroached upon the dull daylight, Mary Higgins prepared the evening meal in the barren grayness of her home. She stirred the steaming stew over the old iron stove and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She hoped the meal would please her father. The meat she had scrounged with her last few shillings would be tender served this way. She tried not to think of what they would eat on the morrow. It was hard enough to scrabble together victuals day by day with the money they had. Others fared worse; there was no use in complaining.
She set two bowls on the sparse table and placed a spoon by each, wondering when her father would appear.
She had scarcely returned to the soup pot when the metal latch clicked and the door heaved open. Relief and trepidation washed over her as she jerked her head around to discern her father's mood.
"There's a good lass," he muttered as he sat down at the table. "Smells good. What 'ave we today?"
"Stew," she answered quietly, knowing how often her answer was the same. She breathed easier when he made no complaint.
"Yo've not found work?" she bravely asked. Not daring to look at him, she continued to stir the pot.
"No." The word hung in the air with oppressive bitterness, laced with unspoken despair. "There's naught to be had except that which would break my back and pay a pittance," he said more quietly. "But I'll not go back to the mills. Not them that's forcing men to give up the Union. They make liars of men and think they can command us to do their every bidding now that they've won," he grumbled, the fervor of his anger bristling his resolve.
"Maybe yo' oughten to think of Thornton's," the girl replied meekly as she served him his stew.
"Thornton's?" he spat, crinkling his eyes in disbelief. "Him that brought the Irish to take our jobs? He'll not listen to our complaints. It may hap he's turned soft to a woman's touch, but he's not changed. He'd be glad enough to make me know my place," he surmised with a derisive snort as he leaned over his dish.
"You know naught of 'im!" Mary hurled back, surprised at her own vehemence. But her father's startled response seemed only to spur her indignation, compelling her to speak. "If you'll swallow a bit o' your pride, you might find who 'tis that's stubborn. You speak of progress but you don't do welly a thing for it when given the chance," she exclaimed, feeling a surge of power as she met his incredulous gaze.
He stood up as if to strike her. Trembling but defiant, she kept her chin aloft and met his threatening look with flashing eyes.
Nicholas stared at her as if she were a new creature.
"It were he that sent the coffin for Bessy," she boldly added in a rush of triumph.
His brow furrowed in disbelief for a moment before he dropped his gaze and strode for the door.
Mary jolted as the wood crashed back into its frame. The silence was foreboding. All her strength suddenly left her and she collapsed into a chair, sobbing into her hands.
The night was black when he returned, but she had kept the stew warm. Silently, she rose to serve him his supper and he sat to eat it. Not a word was spoken between them the remainder of the night, but Mary sensed that the storm of his anger had passed.
*****
On the other side of town, Margaret impatiently listened to her mother's recounting of the day and glanced at the clock on the mantle. At half past the hour, she knew that Mr. Thornton would be with her father in his study, waiting for her to join them. Eagerly, she bid her mother good night when the opportunity arrived and hurried to the end of the hall where the deep tones of her betrothed's voice could be heard at the door.
"Aah...Margaret!" her father enthused when she entered the room. "I don't think John can quite concentrate on our themes until you have made your appearance," he remarked with a smile. Although Mr. Thornton's manners were as calm and impeccable as always, Mr. Hale had noted this evening the restlessness of expectation in the shifting gaze of his paragon pupil.
"Then I shall make every effort to be punctual in the future to avoid such a distraction," Margaret replied smartly. She caught the guilty expression that came over Mr. Thornton's face and met his unrepentant grin with a smile of her own, a glimmer of amusement in her eye.
She settled into her seat as the men resumed their discussion and picked up her sewing. She was glad that John made the effort to come to his lessons with her father, when it would be far easier to spend the time alone together in a private visit now that they were engaged. She knew that he was aware how much such meetings meant to her father, and she admired him all the more for his continued loyalty and friendship to that end.
Gazing across the shadowed room, she watched with fascination every movement of his face, which revealed his deep consideration of the subject at hand. She would never tire of studying him. Her contemplations were interrupted when Dixon entered the room, carrying the tea tray.
Margaret found it a scintillating pleasure to pour the tea, knowing that every fluid motion of her hands was being watched by the one who most adored her. She served her father first, gracefully handing him his tea as she had done so many times before. She managed to keep her hand steady as she turned to offer Mr. Thornton his tea. His eyes blazed with secret passion as he met her gaze. He brushed his fingers sensuously against hers as he took his cup, and she felt the charge of a thousand tiny jolts of electric energy surge through her arm and enliven her whole body.
She returned to her chair and languidly attended to her stitching as she happily imagined listening to his soothing voice every day for many years to come. When her father announced the lesson's conclusion, her stomach pitched in exhilaration and she set her sewing down.
Ever since he had arrived this evening, Margaret had waited for when they could be alone again for a few precious moments at the end of the day. As she preceded him down the stairs, she wondered if Mr. Thornton felt the same.
One look at him as she stopped in the darkened hallway, and she knew that he did.
"I trust my mother was helpful this afternoon," he posed somewhat formally as he reached out for her hand. He could not refrain from touching her, and pulled her nearer, nestling his hands on her waist.
"Yes, very much so. I'm certain the circumstances are very restraining to her, but she has been most kind. My mother is happy to be involved in such an affair. She was used to quite a grand life when she was a girl. I believe the idea of putting on a splendid wedding is giving her much joy," she related thoughtfully.
"What of you, will you also be happy with such a wedding?" he asked, a shadow of concern furrowing his brow.
"I had always imagined I would have a simple country wedding," she confessed hesitantly as she stared for a moment at her hands, which rested comfortably on his broad chest. "But I know it is important to my mother - and yours - that this should be a grand occasion. I am content," she added truthfully as she began to move one hand slowly over the fabric of his waistcoat.
He would have swept her up into a crushing embrace, but she suddenly looked up to him with a girlish smile of excitement.
"I am to be fitted for my gown tomorrow," she told him, her eyes sparkling in the delight of sharing this news.
His heart twisted to see her eagerness in this feminine endeavor, to which he had specifically attended. "I hope you are well-pleased to have your own seamstress," he answered, studying how beautifully her face glowed in the dim lamp light.
She fluttered her eyes as she realized he was aware of the special arrangement. "It is very fine. I do not wish to be extravagant," she proclaimed.
He tugged her closer. "I hope you will choose what pleases you. I wish you to have everything you desire," he declared fervently, his gaze hungrily roaming from her eyes to her soft pink lips which were so temptingly near.
"I'm certain I shall have a lovely gown," she enthused, her luminous eyes glittering up at him as a warm smile spread over her face.
Her happiness enchanted him. He bent forward to kiss her. At such moments, as his mouth slowly neared hers, he still felt the quickening of fear that she may not wish for such attentions - that such a delicate and refined creature was innocent of the desperate cravings which flowed so maddeningly through his veins every moment he was near her. He thought her more exquisite in beauty and grace than any other being, and marveled that such a creature would match herself to him.
But her soft, pliant lips moved against his with answering tenderness, transporting him to the heavenly bliss of her sweet affections.
"I cannot help but feel unworthy of you," he rasped, halting his pleasurable pursuit just enough to tell her what burned in his heart. "I am but a plain and coarse man who works among common men," he murmured, his eyes pleading for her acceptance.
"Shh," she hushed him. "There is nothing common about you. You, who have raised yourself from misfortune to power and purpose," she exclaimed in defiant praise, her eyes kindling with fervent adoration. "Striving alone to provide for your mother and sister - I have not known a more hard working and unselfish man...."
He crushed his mouth to hers, impatient to taste such vehemence from her lips, incredulous at her steadfast praise.
She met his ardent possession with equal fervor, igniting within him all the raging forces of his desire. How long he had wanted her, believing for so many months that she would never deign to return his favor!
With one forceful tug, he pulled her flush against him, reveling in the whimpered sound of her surprise.
His kisses were hungry and unrelenting, searching for the depths of her acceptance of him. The sensuous feel of her tongue entwined with his sent pangs of fierce desire coursing through him. He knew he should stop, but he could not refrain from exploring the sweet ecstasy of her pliant mouth, becoming lost in the heady sensation of her willing submission to him. At last, he tore himself away, every pulse point pounding in furious frustration.
"Margaret....I..." he faltered, afraid he had treated her too harshly in following his rampant urges.
She buried her face against his shoulder like a child seeking refuge, and the apology forming in his throat died on his lips. She trembled in his arms and he clasped her closer, wishing to offer her every comfort of tenderness after such an onslaught of reckless passion. Had he frightened her?
The tapered arms which had wound around his neck were now wrapped around his waist. She tightened her hold, and he breathed out in rapturous wonder that she should lavish her affection on him, trusting him to care for her. He could not suppress a shiver of emotion from tracing his spine at the thought of her innocence and vowed he would shield her from all danger - even his own unguarded, lustful demands.
At length, they loosened their hold of each other and his adoring gaze searched her face until she raised her eyes to him and dropped them again with blushing cheek.
"I cannot see you tomorrow. I am engaged for the evening with business matters," he informed her, already thinking of when he would see her next. "But I will come on Thursday for my lesson."
She nodded, bringing her gaze to his at last, still unable to speak.
"Good night," he uttered reluctantly in low tones.
"Good night," she replied in gentle earnestness.
The mere sound of her dulcet voice infused him with a comforting warmth and before he knew it, he bent to place one last tender kiss upon her lips.
She rewarded him with a contented smile and he beamed at her in return. Their eyes danced in silent rejoicing at their growing bond before he forced himself to take up his hat and open the door.
Margaret stood for several long moments after he had gone, awash in the whirl of emotions that he had wrought within her. Excitement, joy, confusing shame, love - all swirled and clamored, vying for closer contemplation.
She heard the squeaking footfalls of her father's movements upstairs, and thought of how speedily her days in this household would pass. No longer the dutiful daughter to beloved parents, she would embark on a new and wholly absorbing role as wife to the man whose very presence awakened in her every thrilling impulse to be alive.
She turned to dash quietly up the stairs to her room, her pulse quickening at the remembrance of the fiery yearning in her belly which his deep kisses had evoked. Frightening in their intensity but wildly exhilarating, she still could not fathom the power of emotions and sensations that came over her when her body pressed against his as one.
She entered her room and closed the door. Crossing the floor in a dream-like trance, she pulled her nightgown from the wardrobe drawer and slowly brushed her fingers over the fine lace pattern of the edging. She tried to imagine how it would feel when he would take her into his arms their first night together - that special night when they would be alone for the first time. A shiver of tingling expectation arose from deep within, tracing goose bumps along the length of her arms and lightening her limbs. She hugged the garment to her breast and closed her eyes in expectation.
*****
Mrs. Thornton and Fanny had already arrived in Crampton the next afternoon when the dressmaker's coach pulled up to the house.
The ladies gathered in the drawing room to watch as a pair of young porters lugged two hefty trunks to the upstairs sitting room. Madame Coutreau entered the house in their wake and introduced herself and her nodding assistant, who carried an embroidered bag brimming with the tools of their trade: pins and scissors, measuring ribbons, patterns and fashion catalogs.
Maria Hale awaited them in the sitting room, and Fanny was soon scarcely able to remain seated as the dressmakers pulled out bolts of shining satin and sumptuous silks, delicate lace, and all manner of sequins, ribbons, and buttons until the room was transformed into a veritable shop of bridal wares.
"Now," Madame Coutreau began with enthusiastic authority in her French accent, "what fabrics catch the eye of mademoiselle?" she encouraged Margaret. Petite in stature yet elegant in style, Milton's most sought-after fashion supplier bathed her customers in exuberant smiles that both pampered and prodded.
The bride-to-be walked over to the broad display, gently fingering several fabrics before hesitating over a shimmering satin of palest blue.
"Oh no, you must have white, Margaret!" Fanny called out in faint distress. "It is what everyone in London is wearing these days."
Hannah cast a sidelong look of warning at her daughter.
"That is true," Margaret calmly admitted. "Edith wore white at her wedding last year." Fanny relaxed at this acknowledgment.
"But it is a very lovely fabric, isn't it?" Maria agreed with her daughter, rising slowly to cross the room and admire the material more closely.
"Per'aps madame wishes to have her dress made of blue satin?" Madame Coutreau astutely proposed. The famed dressmaker's eyes twinkled with intelligence.
"Oh! I had not thought of it, but perhaps you are quite right," Mrs. Hale replied, her countenance brightening at the thought of obtaining a fresh new gown.
At length, Margaret was drawn to a soft white satin, which would match her mother's Honiton lace veil.
As Margaret selected her fabrics, Fanny poured over the latest dress designs in fashion magazines and catalogs, eagerly showing her future sister-in-law the ones she found to be utterly wonderful creations.
Margaret inclined her head politely at the images presented, but could not truly admire dresses drowning in layers of flounces and every conceivable frippery of adornment. Under Madame Coutreau's keen guidance, she was led to approve a design both simple and elegant in style, which both she and the dressmaker deemed perfect for her taste and figure.
Mrs. Thornton was silently impressed at Margaret's poise and mature self-determination, for even though Mrs. Hale tended to side with Fanny's gushing praise of the most atrociously overladen gowns, Margaret was unfazed in her attraction to what naturally suited her own sense of refined beauty.
Following a flurry of measurement-taking and cataloguing of selections, Madame Coutreau and her obedient assistant vacated the house with as much pomp and efficiency as they had appeared. The dressmaker smiled satisfactorily as she reclined into her coach seat, pleased to have the orders on three dresses for such an account as Mr. Thornton's.
Somewhat dazed by the sudden quiet that engulfed them, the exhausted shoppers exchanged a few more polite words before the Mrs. Thornton and Fanny stood to depart.
Mrs. Thornton approached Margaret with uneasy purpose. "I brought you a small gift...just a token..." she falteringly explained as she placed a tiny bundle of white cloths bound with a ribbon into the girl's hands.
Margaret untied the blue ribbon to behold a several exquisite handkerchiefs edged in delicate lace and embroidered in the corner in with the initials 'J T M.' Her gaze lingered in loving fascination over the combined initials of John's name with her own. "They are beautiful. Thank you," she breathed, captivated by the poignancy of this gesture which acknowledged Mrs. Thornton's acceptance of her.
The stiff formalism melted for a moment in the stern widow's eyes as she appreciated the girl's genuine gratitude. She turned to address both the girl and her mother. "If it's convenient for you, we would be honored to receive your family for luncheon on Sunday."
A shadow of concern passed fleetingly over Mrs. Hale's face before her countenance brightened with resolve. "It would be a great pleasure, thank you," she replied in earnest, pleased to have the opportunity to experience for herself the grandeur of Mrs. Thornton's table settings and to see the place that would soon be her daughter's home.
Mrs. Thornton nodded her approval. After politely informing them of the hour at which luncheon would be served, she bade her final farewell and departed with her daughter, leaving Margaret and her mother to exchange weary but pleased glances at the outcome of the day's affairs.
*****
Cigar smoke wafted to the ceiling in the dark wood-paneled clubroom where the cotton mill masters often met. Mr. Hamper and Mr. Henderson sat comfortably in high-backed leather chairs while Mr. Slickson watched anxiously for the arrival of the others.
Mr. Watson and Mr. Harkness ambled into the room a few moments later, the paunch of middle age and the haughty air of wealth marking them as members of the select few.
"Have you seen the Guardian?" Slickson called out smugly as the late arrivals approached. "Thornton has finally fallen prey to the wiles of womankind," he announced with great aplomb.
"No! He's an impervious rock. Far too upright to pursue the paltry paths of pleasure. Besides, he's married to his work," Hamper shot back from his chair, incredulous at such a possibility.
"Totally oblivious to the flutter of a maiden's eye. My wife insists upon it," Henderson retorted.
"Well, it's in black and white. He's to stand at the altar before the month is out," Slickson declared in triumph.
"Impossible!" Watson argued, his face contorted in confusion.
"Who's the girl?" Harkness inquired. "Perhaps he's found an heiress."
"Or a beauty," Henderson suggested raising his eyebrows.
"Probably both," Watson quipped with a wry twist of his mouth.
A consensus of nodding heads and chortled snorts answered his acid conjecture. Thornton's standards were impeccable and his luck, so they believed, unbeatable.
"Who is she?" repeated Harkness.
"Miss Hale of Crampton," Slickson announced.
"Miss Hale?" Watson repeated, still confounded.
"She's none other than that girl that was at Thornton's dinner party, Eunice tells me," Slickson enlightened them.
"Do you mean the girl with Bell?" Henderson asked with great interest, remembering the lovely creature who had dazzled them all with her elegant air and snug-fitting gown.
"The spitfire beauty? Now, that's ripe!" Watson bellowed with a punctuating guffaw at this revelation. "He'll have a devil of a time getting that one to heel," he added wickedly.
"So it seems the blood runs hot beneath Thornton's cool exterior, after all," Hamper remarked with a snide grin.
"Aye!" Slickson agreed as the other men snickered.
"Is she an heiress - Bell's niece?" Harkness guessed eagerly, hoping Slickson had all the pertinent information.
Slickson's brows drew together at that suggestion. "No...no. Eunice did not mention it. As far as can be discerned, she's not by any stretch of the imagination the heiress. The family's come from Hampshire. Her father gave up his country parish and moved wife and daughter here to become a tutor. Thornton's been taking lessons from the old man, twice a week," he revealed, shaking his head dubiously at the customs of the youngest member of their group.
"I'll wager it's not the lessons he's been after," Watson wise-cracked, breaking the sober atmosphere into a round of sniggers once more.
At this moment, the Master of Marlborough Mills entered the room.
"Ah, Thornton!" Slickson greeted him. "We understand that congratulations are in order - you're to be married!" the small, self-important man announced with a twinge of nervousness, wondering how much the imposing groom-to-be had heard of their bawdy banter.
"Shackled, Thornton! There's no escape - let me tell you! They'll bleed you dry and still complain that the curtains need replacing, or some such thing," Hamper endeavored to warn him, holding out his hand with a wide grin.
A shy grin creased the corners of Mr. Thornton's mouth as he gripped the hands extended to him one by one. "Thank you," he muttered, ignoring the warnings against his future liberty.
"She's a fair young lass," Henderson congratulated him.
"Not afraid to speak her mind, eh Thornton?" Watson ribbed him with a challenging gleam in his eye.
"She'll learn soon enough to bend to your will," Henderson added as a matter of fact.
Mr. Thornton chaffed at this crude assumption, his ire rising at their ignorance. "Miss Hale and I have come to understand each other better. I believe she now understands the challenges we masters have to face," he managed to respond with calm civility, distinctly uncomfortable to be under the scrutiny of his business fellows.
"Indeed," Watson allowed politely, raising a dubious eyebrow as he exchanged covert glances with his cohorts.
"Now, then, gentlemen, shall we discuss the matter at hand?" Mr. Thornton proposed with smooth authority.
When their consultation had ended, Mr. Thornton stood aloof in momentary contemplation. As the other masters talked among themselves, Watson ambled over to the loner's side.
"Thornton, if I may have a word with you..." the comfortably plump fellow began in earnest.
The younger man gave him his full attention.
"I've been meaning to speak to you...about your sister," he faltered nervously. Adolphus Watson cleared his throat and began again with determination. "I wish to ask your permission to pay her my addresses," he finished. "Ever since your dinner party, I have not been able to put her out of my mind...."
Mr. Thornton half-listened to the ramblings of the middle-aged man before him as he contemplated this request. It had not been wholly unexpected, for he had seen the furtive glances Watson had given his sister that evening. Whether Fanny had taken notice was past his reckoning, but in a flash of insight he realized that he had never in his life heard Fanny speak of marriage as anything beyond a hoped-for attainment of stature and wealth. She did not seek a love match; her affections were spent upon all that pampered and impressed.
"Yes, of course, Watson," he answered the suitor, halting the older man's speech. "I'm certain it is an honor to receive your interest," he assured him.
"Yes? Oh well, thank you, Thornton!" he muttered in his excitement as a grin of relief and triumph spread across his face.
"I should like to ask you something as well," Mr. Thornton returned, taking hold of an opportunity which suddenly emerged in his mind. "Would you stand with me at my wedding?" he candidly proposed.
"Yes. Yes, of course. It will be an honor," Watson answered, heartily shaking the hand of the man who he hoped would someday become his brother-in-law.
*****
The night air caressed Mr. Thornton's face with a welcome breeze. Released from the smoky confines of the meeting room, he walked briskly, the crisp evening temperature invigorating his senses.
All the talk of the strike and the riot's effect on business had reminded him of the day when she had first thrown her arms around him. Brave, passionate girl! He had not known then that this singular act would forever alter the course of their hitherto estranged lives. Everything he had ever known of life and love had come to a blinding revelation that day. There had been no turning back, once he had felt the touch of her tenderness turned toward him.
All the force of energy from those charged emotions came flowing back into his restless gait. He pushed past the corner of Marlborough Street, his feet following his unquenchable yearning to be near her.
What ridicule he would meet if his colleagues knew where he intended to go at this late hour! But they could never know the feelings in his breast. He doubted they had ever known a tenth part of what he himself constantly felt. He had not known before, had never guessed what love was. He had been too consumed by his work to be aware of any other woman. Now he loved, and would love. It was the vital force of his very being.
He shrank from the harrowing thought of how he should have endured if she had rejected him. He was grateful beyond measure for the forces of fate that had propelled her into his arms and opened her heart to care for him.
How well he remembered the days when her pungent words, flung disdainfully for his ears, had culled from him every desire to prove himself worthy of her esteem; how her strict resolutions of justice and mercy had tormented him, constrained him to consider the paths he had chosen and the way which promised an even higher purpose and accomplishment.
How unstained from the torpid and sinuous ways of men she was! Unfazed by the subtle allure of self-satisfaction that allowed men to rationalize the sufferings of others, she held firmly to the right, which blazed before her continually from that fountain of pure goodness and strong compassion that was the very essence of her.
He took vigorous strides to match the throbbing emotions that swelled to feverous pitch within him. He had never known such a woman. Courageous and unflinching in her support of all that she deemed worthy of her devotion, she was a paragon of strength and virtue. Yet undergirding such fortitude lay the soft tenderness of her feminine heart, that she lavished upon those within her realm of care.
His chest heaved with an overpowering sense of awe that the tenderness and passion he had so jealously watched her bestow on others was now willingly given to him. The contemplation that he should receive - foremost and forever - her most intimate affections drove him to near madness in his desire to claim them.
Arriving finally at the last terraced house on the darkened, empty street, he raised his eyes reverently to the upper level where he knew she must dwell. It was well past ten o'clock. A fleeting suggestion chided him for the sentimental lunacy of this homage, but he brushed it aside, acknowledging with unrepentant zeal that he was indeed a lovesick fool with only one hope of recovery - to make her his own and abide in the constant companionship of her presence. If it was madness then let it be so, but he veritably felt the palpitating nearness of her standing in this place.
He could not help imagining her gently closed eyelids and parted lips as she slept. He ached to be the one to care for her, to offer her refuge and comfort when the cruelty of this world threatened to mar her sweet confidence in life's goodness.
Picturing her in peaceful repose, he allowed his mind to wander more dangerously. He imagined the curvaceous form of her body, lying in peaceful repose on her maiden's bed, delicately clothed in some flowing nightdress without the encumbrance of any feminine bindings. He closed his eyes to quench the rising ardor this vision roused in him. To know what would be his, and yet to know he must wait was an excruciating torment.
How much he yearned for the day when she would live in his house and belong in his bed could scarcely be described. It was an agonizing ache, a torturous pleasure which he bore with every breath whenever he was parted from her.
To be wedded to her was the most glorious freedom he could imagine! No longer to be imprisoned in the solitude of silence and forbearance, he would have someone to whom he might unburden the heavy weights of his mind - someone who would speak soft words of encouragement, assuaging the tension of responsibility with sweet caresses and loving arms. And he would love her in return - without reserve and with all the power his body and soul could give.
He looked up to the heavens where a faint glow of silvery light shone from behind the clouds in the blackened sky.
He believed that a power beyond them both must have brought them together. A future more wonderful than any he could have imagined spread before him. Joy and profound love would now fill his days. She had awakened him to a higher purpose in everything he did, and with her compassion and clear insight, things which he had not conceived of before now lay within the grasp. To have her by his side would throw open the doors of achievement to endless possibility.
He let out a sigh of wistful impatience for all that would be.
He stood silently in the darkness with face upturned toward her house. At length, he turned with resignation toward his own dwelling, where the cold barrenness of every familiar corner seemed to whisper the promise of her coming.