Sorry for the long lag between chapters. I'm hoping my next one will post sooner.
-Trudy
Two gray-garbed men shuffled into the doorway of the Master’s office the next afternoon, one sneering doubtfully at this intrusion and the other eyeing the mill owner scribbling at his desk with caution.
Mr. Thornton finished the tabulation he had been making and put his quill in its place. Raising his eyes at last to the figures standing just inside his office, he gave an inquiring look to his overseer.
“This ruffian claims you’ve offered him work with a message from your own hand,” Mr. Williams reported derisively, a grin of amusement poised to witness the Master’s retort.
“Nicholas Higgins, sir,” the stranger announced himself properly, a tinge of defiance in his tone. The long-time mill worker held himself erect with cap in hand, fastening the shrewd glimmer of his eyes on the Master.
Mr. Thornton studied the union leader with great interest at this revelation. He had long been curious to see the man who had earned Margaret’s friendship and was deemed worthy enough by her to be called by his Christian name. The spark of old jealousy flared for a moment until he cast it aside as illogical. Had he not won her whole affections?
With a jerk of his head he dismissed his overseer and continued to study with a darkening frown the man who had helped engineer the strike. He stood up to close the door behind Higgins, reminding himself that he had indeed promised work for this man. The hope that had impelled that act now seemed clouded with the familiar pall of bitterness and doubt.
“I’ve come to see if your offer still stands,” Nicholas put forth, swallowing his pride with a steady voice of calm resolve.
“You’ve taken your time in replying,” the Master shot back as he crossed his arms, waiting to hear his story.
“I weren’t certain yo’ wanted my help, or if you’re just wantin’ to please a bonny face,” he replied frankly, meeting the flash of the Master’s eyes with a steely gaze.
Indignation rose from Mr. Thornton’s breast at his impertinence, but he could not help but admire the brazen man’s honesty.
“I need work. You drive a hard bargain, but I reckon you’re the fairest of the lot,” Higgins declared, crumpling the cap in his broad hands in his anxiety.
“Thank you….I think,” Thornton answered sarcastically, giving the union leader a penetrating look with the merest gleam of humor.
Higgins’ keen eyes twinkled and a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You’re not making the men swear against Union,” he continued. “All the other masters have it in their head that they can force men to do against their own will,” he stated, giving the Master a challenging glance.
“I’ll not make liars out of men. It’s not my business what they do with their wages, but it is my business to decide what those wages are,” the Master declared, piercing Higgins with a stare that dared him to claim otherwise.
“Yo’ve a right to do as you see fit, and I’ll not say a word agin’ yo’,” Higgins conceded. “But if I see yo’ doing wrong - if the men get to grumblin’ that yo’ve not done right by us, I promise to come tell yo’ in private. And if we canna see our way to agree wi’ one another on aught, you can turn me out at a hour’s notice,” he proposed.
Mr. Thornton huffed in wonder at the man’s gall. “You’re not one to beat around the bush, are you?” he asked. “You’ve a pretty high opinion of yourself to offer yourself as go-between between me and my men. I wonder how it is that Hamper let you go?” he asked, mockingly.
“Hamper’s not one to listen to aught else but hisself and his great book of capitalism. Never minding that, I’m a good worker and steady. I been working the mills ever since I were a lad and am rightly skilled in all yo’d ask o’ me,” he answered, his last words more pleading.
The Master’s eyes narrowed, discerning however reluctantly the qualities in this rebellious ruffian that might have appealed to Margaret. He was open and frank, proud and impudent, but he seemed wise in a way - the sort who could stay the course when the seas grew rough. What he needed most at the mill right now were skilled workers, he told himself, feeling the tug of inclination to hire him.
“I’ll give you work, but I warn you….” Mr. Thornton announced threateningly as he uncrossed his arms and raised his chin. “Stir up trouble and you’re out. And I wager you’ll not find work in this town again,” he finished, his lips pressed together in firm conviction.
Higgins eyed the Master with grudging respect, recognizing the glowing embers of his own bitterness in the prosperous mill owner’s penetrating gaze. “I give yo’ my word,” he promised, his gruff voice lowered to a somber, even tone.
The Master silently appraised the jobless man another moment before thrusting out his hand to settle the matter. “And I’ll stick to mine. I offered you work, and I’ll not retract it,” he declared.
Higgins took the offered hand with a firm grip. “Thank yo’. It’s a good deal for me, and yo’ll not be sorry for it neither,” he responded, a sweep of grateful relief quickening his eagerness to prove his usefulness.
“Keep sharp to your time. What hours we have, we keep strict,” Mr. Thornton admonished him, keen to ensure the man that he would be treated no different from the rest.
“Aye, you’ve given me right warning,” Higgins returned, detecting the Master’s discomfort with this unlikely new collaboration. “If yo’ll not mind me saying, I have a fair warning for yo’,” he offered cautiously with a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.
The Master cocked his head curiously and frowned.
“Yo’ll not be the same man if yo’ marry that woman. She’ll turn your world upside down,” the mill worker warned.
A smile crept over the Master’s face at this unexpected retort. “I suspect she’s already begun,” he sagely replied.
Higgins grinned, and Master and man locked eyes in the shared humor of understanding their plight.
******
Alone again at last that evening with Margaret in the shadowed Crampton hallway after his lesson, Mr. Thornton snaked his arms around her waist possessively, eager to tell her his news. “Higgins came to me today,” he began in low tones, unable to suppress the smile that teased his lips as he imagined her reaction.
Her head snapped up to meet his gaze with great interest. “Did you take him on?” she asked anxiously, her wide blue-gray eyes staring up at him.
“I did,” he answered slowly, reveling in the brief power of holding her in suspense.
She jumped up onto her toes, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck in her excitement. “I knew he would come! You will not be disappointed,” she exclaimed.
Every impulse urged him to take possession of those lips and press the soft curves of her body to his tall frame, but he kept still as a playful deviousness impelled him to test her.
“He advised me against marrying you, saying you would meddle in all my affairs,” he provoked her, keeping his face somber with great effort.
She was at once solemn and uneasy, slackening her hold around his neck. She looked up to him with meek repentance. “I…I would never wish to interfere…” she stuttered anxiously.
He grinned as he took her face into his hands, reverently searching the loveliness of every feature. “I wish you to meddle in all my affairs,” he proclaimed, in fervent hushed tones. She looked stunned, unbelieving. “Until such time as I expressly forbid it,” he added to rouse her, his eyes sparkling in mirth.
The twitch that lifted the corners of his mouth at this admonition revealed his jest and the sober concern written on her countenance dissolved into happy smiles and shining eyes, alight with dumbfounded adoration.
He kissed her gently. “I want you to speak freely with me, as you have always done,” he murmured, earnest that she should know that he wanted no feigned, submissive mannerisms to mar the bold honesty between them which he so treasured.
She nodded, marveling that a man as powerful and confident as he should care to know her own thoughts on every matter. A strong swell of warmth flooded through her. She had never felt so cherished.
The light shining from her face moved him and he took her into his arms and held her close. He let out a sigh of aching rapture to feel her small arms tighten around him in answering accord. They did not move for several moments.
“I’ve been so alone,” he rasped into the empty darkness behind her, his chin nestled in the softness of her thick hair.
“You will no longer be,” she whispered in reply, her cheek pressed contentedly against his chest. She felt the beating of his heart as the very source and tempo of her own existence.
His encircling grip pulled her even closer to him, and she felt the sting of tears come to her eyes. She knew now, without a breath of doubt, what her purpose in life would be.
After they had said their tender goodbyes, Margaret slowly climbed the stairs in a haze of wistful longing and happy contentment. The sound of her father rustling papers in his study sent her to his open doorway.
“Mr. Thornton has given Nicholas work,” she announced, eager to share the news which gave her much hope.
“Has he? I’m glad to hear of it. Perhaps now they might find some way to understand each other and put an end to this war between masters and men,” he exclaimed.
“I am very hopeful that it can only be a step toward some resolution,” she replied. “Good night, Father,” she added softly, giving her father a kindly smile as she turned to go.
“Oh, Margaret…" he called after her before she had stepped away. “Do you think that Mr. Thornton will continue with his lessons after…well… after you are married?” he asked anxiously.
Margaret saw the furrow of concern on his brow and her heart went out to him. “I see no reason why he should not. I’m certain that he shall. He values his time with you very much,” she answered, allaying his fear of losing the one special bond he had formed here in Milton.
Her father seemed much relieved. “Yes…I had thought he had. Thank you. I’m glad you think so,” he answered. “Good night, my dear,” he added, sending her to bed with a grateful smile.
*****
On Sunday morning, Margaret prepared for the day with cheerful eagerness. The past two days had been filled with errands and shopping, giving her much to do but she had missed seeing John, who had sent word that finishing an important order at the mill would constrain him to his office. He had still found the time to make a brief visit on Friday night, but yesterday had come and gone without word or sight of him and she had felt the ache of his absence.
She opened wide her wardrobe to choose her Sunday dress, chastising herself for the sentimental melancholy which had descended upon her last night as she had lain down to sleep. Could she not endure one day without him? Certainly, she mused, he would be a busy man when they were married and she could not expect him to forestall his responsibilities to tend to her selfish need to be with him.
Today, though, she would see him. She smiled as she pulled out a sunny dress of pale yellow that she thought might be becoming for the luncheon at the Thorntons’ house. She had not thought the dress suitable for Milton, having worn it only in London and in Helstone where the sky seemed more blue. But even if the sun did not appear today and the streets were dirty, she could not contain the bright joy that buoyed her, transforming all that had been dreary into marvelous light.
She hoped that there would be time after lunch to take a walk with John, for they had had very little time to speak to one another since the wedding date had been set and she longed for just an hour of his undivided attention.
She took a deep breath as she thought of what she must tell him. Nearly a week had passed and she had not had the opportunity to explain about Frederick. There was no doubt in her mind as to whether he should be made aware of this dangerous and closely guarded family secret. He would be her husband, and she would not hide from him anything so imminently portentous or consequential. But the knowledge that he was a magistrate, a man of great principle who was sworn to uphold the law of the Crown, made her stomach turn uneasily. Would he be ashamed and confounded to be linked by marriage to such a treacherous scandal as mutiny?
*****
As the Hales neared Marlborough Street in the carriage that had been sent for them, Margaret felt a nervous twinge at the thought of showing her mother the great stone house located so close to the mill. She watched her mother crane her neck to see the upper windows and the tall chimney of the impressive factory and noted the look of startled surprise on her face when the coach stopped at the other side of the yard.
“Is this where the Thorntons live?” Mrs. Hale asked with a tremor of faint dismay.
Her brow, knit in confusion, lifted slightly at the sight of the grand staircase once they had entered the home and evaporated into happy approval as they were greeted by the Thorntons in an airy and elegant drawing-room that spoke of a power and privilege set apart from the scene outside.
Curiosity drew Mrs. Hale to the window overlooking the mill yard before taking a seat. Margaret stood just behind her mother’s elbow.
“It must be quite something to live so near the…busyness of the mill,” she remarked cautiously, noting the still carts and piled bales on loading docks. “Do the machines in the factory make much noise?” she asked rather innocently.
“Oh heavens, yes! The steam engines can be heard morning, noon, and night. Well, until the last whistle, that is. It is a relief to have at least our Sundays quiet, or I should never find any peace from the constant drone of the place,” Fanny complained, ignoring the stern look of disapproval glaring from her mother’s eyes.
“I find it fascinating, Mother,” Margaret declared softly as she gazed at the imposing size of the brick and stone structure across the way, remembering the mesmerizing clatter of machines that usually whirred within. “I shall never be bored with such activity going on outside these walls. And Mr. Thornton will always be close at hand,” she added thoughtfully just as her future husband slid his hand along the small of her back to rest gently at her waist.
She looked up at him, a warm glow of admiration and contentment beaming from her face and he returned her soft smile with a radiant gleam of proud adoration written on his own countenance.
A taut hollowness clenched Hannah Thornton’s stomach as she witnessed her son possessively wrap his arm about the girl he had chosen. This telling gesture caught her off guard, for similar tenderness from her son had heretofore only been silently shared between herself and him.
But if this open affection unnerved her, what followed stunned her as if she had sustained a physical blow. The girl looked up to him - looked up to her son as the sole object of all her worldly adoration and he returned her unhidden gaze as if he had found the reason for his existence in her eyes.
Mrs. Thornton reeled at this revelation, swaying for just a second on her feet, as she realized at last that this was no trifling affair; the vision of the couple at the window was a searing glimpse of the future. She would stand forever now in the periphery of her son’s life. No longer the center of his universe, she would need to learn to support him from afar - a fact that wound creeping tentacles of deadening fear around her heart even as some deeper tension, tightly held and worried over, lifted to see her son glow in happiness. She only hoped it would endure.
“I had not noticed this portrait before,” Mr. Hale spoke thoughtfully, drawing Hannah Thornton back into the present amicable duty of tending to her guests. “Is it a Thornton forebear? A very pleasing countenance,” he remarked concerning the painting of a vibrant-looking woman on the wall.
Mrs. Thornton smiled weakly at the kind old parson’s observant nature, before patiently explaining with a twinge of bittersweet pride the character of her husband’s mother.
The luncheon passed pleasantly enough. Mrs. Hale was suitably impressed with the elaborate crystal and silver place settings, the sumptuous dishes served, and the impeccable attention to detail and sparkling cleanliness about the table and the whole environment. Somewhat surprised, but very pleased to find her daughter’s future home to be so appealing in taste and up to standard, the former Beresford belle was happy to take part in something more lively and bright than her more dreary and reclusive existence in Crampton.
Conversation drifted quite easily over a variety of subjects. Fanny only came to life when talk lighted upon the swift work of Madame Coutreau or the names of those who had already responded to the wedding invitations. Mrs. Hale’s inquiry as to how old the Thorntons’ house was, lead to a deeper discussion of the mill’s history and to the development of Milton itself into the bustling city it was today. Mrs. Thornton was pleased to note Mr. Hale’s avid interest in this recounting, which she joined with her own recollections of Milton’s former days.
The betrothed couple exchanged glances often as each participated in the course of conversation. Mr. Thornton could not contain the upward pull at the corners of his mouth every time he gazed at Margaret. He was zealous of the day when she would preside at the end of the table, opposite himself. Her presence in his home gave him an indescribable feeling of lightness and expectant joy.
He knew from the soft smiles he received that Margaret was happy to see her parents accorded every respect from his family. But he also detected the wistful look in her eyes every time Mrs. Hale spoke, and his heart contracted in aching longing to forestall the bitter sorrow of loss that would someday be laid at her feet.
When it was time for the Hales to return home, the carriage was called for the former vicar and his wife, but arrangements were made for Margaret to take a leisurely stroll home with Mr. Thornton.
Pleased to have this time to be alone, the couple walked arm-in-arm through the streets, remarking on the pleasant success of the luncheon. Mr. Thornton tipped his hat to a distinguished looking couple of his acquaintance as they passed by on the other side. The younger couple fell into a comfortable silence, enjoying the simple pleasure of their close contact as their unhurried gait aligned in blithe unity.
“I’ve been thinking…” Mr. Thornton began thoughtfully, “that I would like to take you to the sea, or somewhere quite scenic, immediately following the wedding….if it pleases you.”
Margaret looked up with some surprise. “A…wedding trip?” she falteringly inquired, casting her gaze downward as she felt a blush warm her cheeks.
“Yes, I know you do not wish to be far from your mother and I cannot be away from the mill for long, but I wish to get away from everything…for just a day or two,” he suggested carefully.
“It sounds lovely,” she replied, imagining what a pleasure it would be to have no intrusions upon their time together.
“It does?” he replied, astonished and relieved at her quick admission.
“Yes, I haven’t been to the sea in some time. I would love to go…with you,” she added, blushing anew as she realized that this trip would be unlike any other she had ever taken.
“Then, I will take great pleasure in arranging it,” he answered. He smiled at her bashful reply, her eagerness to be with him filling him with a warmth that flowed to every portion of his being. He relished the thought of stealing his bride away to a place where they would be undisturbed by the dross of daily concerns - a place set apart for learning the new intimacy of their life together.
They walked quietly for a time as they trod the footpath through the park overlooking the town, each absorbed in their own thoughts.
“Perhaps we could sit for awhile,” Margaret suggested uneasily as they approached a weathered granite bench at the crest of the grassy hill. “I have something I must tell you,” she announced, bravely determined to reveal her family’s secret.
“I have a brother,” she began as soon as they sat, looking down at her hands with trepidation.
“A brother?” he echoed in stunned confusion. “Your father has never mentioned…”
“We do not speak of him. He is in exile,” she responded hastily, anxious to lay out the tangled explanation of her brother’s situation.
“Exile?” He whispered sharply, the creases on his forehead deepening with alarm.
“Oh…I’ve begun it all wrong,” she muttered, shaking her head and wringing her hands in agitation. “It’s just that…you are a magistrate…”
He took her writhing hands in his grasp, stilling her with the strong clasp of his broad hands about her slender fingers. “Tell me, Margaret,” he demanded softly, his soothing tones coaxing her to look at him. “It has been a burden for you,” he determined, his blue eyes penetrating her frightened gaze with tender concern and dissolving all her doubts of his revulsion.
So she told him, as the breeze swept the loose wisps of her hair against her bonnet, of all her mother had recounted about her brother’s experience in the Navy: how Frederick had been under the command of a man whom he had never liked - a nefarious captain who treated his men ill, and how Frederick had rebelled against the unnecessary death of a fellow shipman who had lost his life rushing to perform the captain’s obtrusive orders. She bewailed the cruel irony that convicted her beloved brother of treasonous mutiny when he had but sought to free others from unjust authority.
If the Master’s eyes flickered in doubt at the accuracy of this account or of Frederick’s judgment, he kept such thoughts from his future bride. The story she told was grim, and he was once again struck by her fortitude in enduring such a trial, which had undoubtedly cast her into the ceaseless and solitary role of endeavoring to bring solace to her grieving parents. Anger pricked in his breast at the capriciousness of others, whose acts had unwittingly dropped a burden of troubled sorrow on the innocent girl before him.
When she had finished Frederick’s story and explained that he was now in Spain, she let out a sigh, relieved to have finally shared this secret with him but feeling the knot of apprehension in her stomach for what she had yet to confess.
“It is very unfortunate that your brother has been parted from you these past seven years. But I believe he will be safe if he remains abroad,” Mr. Thornton concluded in a comforting voice as he gently squeezed the small hand still in his grasp.
“I have not told you all,” Margaret replied, her voice wavering weakly. His brow was creased once more as she raised her eyes reluctantly to his. She looked away, resting her gaze on a small patch of swaying grasses as she considered what she had done. “My mother begged me to write Frederick. She was frightened she might not ever see him again, so I did what she asked of me. I…I told him to come. I could not bear my mother’s pleading,” she finished. She shivered at the thought of his condemnation of her foolishness and at the stiff breeze that now came over the hill.
Without a word, Mr. Thornton rose from their seat, helping her up and tucking her arm in his as he began to lead them to lower ground. He did not know what to say, taking swift action with his body as his mind tried to comprehend the consequences of her action and the strategies that might be involved in handling such a dire circumstance.
“When did you send the letter?” he asked, his serious tone sounding harsher than he had intended.
“A week ago, the same day I told you of our wedding date,” she dutifully answered.
“He may arrive at the time of our wedding,” he announced as fact, making the calculations of travel quickly. “No one must know when he is here in England,” he added, endeavoring to quell the burgeoning distress that threw his thoughts in turmoil as he considered the dire costs of Frederick’s discovery - to the mutineer’s life, to Margaret and her parents, and to Mr. Thornton’s own integrity as a magistrate of the Crown.
“Yes, of course. We will keep him well hidden,” Margaret assured him, attempting to keep pace with his swift strides. His agitation and distress frightened her and she felt the sting of guilt to throw this trouble into his store of burdened responsibilities. “I’m sorry,” she muttered, watching the pattern of her feet as they rhythmically peeked from her undulating skirts.
Mr. Thornton brought them both to a halt, much to her astonishment.
“You are not at fault,” he declared, his eyes searching hers. He would have taken her face into his hands to assure her but for the passersby who walked heedlessly about them. “Your brother’s doing is out of your hands,” he affirmed.
“But I have called him to possible danger….”
“You wished to bring your mother comfort at a difficult time. I cannot cast blame on you for that,” he declared with resolution as he resumed their walk, securing her arm in his with a gentle squeeze. “The circumstances are grave, but we will attend to every detail as it arises,” he assured her, although he feared that her brother’s arrival would prove untimely and fraught with tension.
She studied his sober profile with amazement, feeling the weight of her worries lighten at his response. How swiftly he had undertaken to assume his portion of this troublesome situation and how sympathetic he was to all that oppressed her! She was aware now, more than ever, how great her fortune was to be linked with this man, who had once seemed so dark and mysterious. Somehow, he seemed to understand all the secret chambers of her heart and offered her safe repose in releasing her emotions within the comforting embrace of his unwavering love. Her heart yearned to know him better, to learn what hidden memories or fears might haunt him so that she - by the sheer force of her patient and fierce devotion - might dissolve them one by one.
“I will be glad to meet your brother,” Mr. Thornton added after a few moments of quiet contemplation. “It would seem that your father has instilled in his offspring a sincere concern for the common man,” he remarked with an upward curve of his mouth, distinctly recalling with admiring amusement her vehement compassion for the strikers’ suffering.
Margaret looked up into his face and smiled at his recognition of this family trait. “One can never become so grand as to cease being human. We are all of us made after the same heart, after all. Father never treated anyone as less than one of God’s own beings. We lived among very humble types of people in Helstone - cottagers and farmers,” she explained.
“I hope you will like Frederick. He has a certain energy about him. He is not wholly comfortable being idle,” she remarked.
They talked about Frederick for a while as they strolled together toward Crampton.
When the conversation waned, however, and they grew closer to Margaret’s street, Mr. Thornton’s thoughts drifted to the week ahead. “I’ve been invited to dinner at the Mayor’s on Thursday next. Mr. Colthurst and a few other Members of Parliament from the south are coming to see the industry here in Milton. Will you accompany me?” he asked with eager expectation.
She discerned the glimmer of uncertainty in his eyes. “I would be very happy to accompany you,” she assured him with a beaming smile, hugging his arm closer.
He smiled in warm satisfaction, pleased to think that she would be by his side at all such occasions in the future. “There will be dancing,” he elaborated.
“Do Milton manufacturers dance?” she inquired with mock surprise, meeting his gaze with a glimmer of teasing mischief.
“I believe we are civilized enough to know how to perform the finer graces of our culture. Although perhaps our northern balls may not compare to the grand elegance of your southern balls,” he quipped with a lopsided grin.
“I suppose I shall have to determine for myself this Thursday,” she replied with a saucy lilt. “I’ve never been one to truly enjoy such affairs, but I will be very interested to attend a Milton gala. I’m quite certain I’ve never danced with a manufacturer before,” she mused, her eyes sparkling with mirth as she caught his gaze.
“Then you will have ample opportunity to do so. Not only will the cotton trade be represented, but the machine manufacturers and print makers will also be in attendance,” he replied suavely to her haughty taunt, unable to contain the smile that pulled on his lips.
“I see,” she answered, thinking that there was only one manufacturer with whom she would like to dance. “The mayor will be wanting to show the importance of all Milton’s industry?” she asked.
“Yes, although the cotton mills predominate. You will recognize many of the other masters from my mother’s dinner party. Fanny will be attending with Mr. Watson. He has taken an interest in her,” he explained, answering her surprised glance.
“Is Fanny…interested…in him?” she asked hesitantly.
“She is interested in making a favorable match that will allow her to continue to live in the comfort she now enjoys,” he answered. “Not everyone marries for love,” he added more softly, the deep timbre of his Darkshire voice sending certain tremors through her body. Their eyes met in shared understanding and her heart lurched to see the depth of his devotion in his clear blue gaze.
When they arrived at Margaret’s house, Mr. Thornton followed her inside to the small hallway. She felt the flutter of anticipation to be alone with him at this time of parting. “Thank you for the walk. It was very kind of your family to invite us for luncheon,” she stammered as she untied her bonnet distractedly and hung it on the wall. She saw him step near out of the corner of her eye and her heart beat faster.
When she turned to face him he closed the distance between them, placing his hands on her waist. “I’m glad your mother was able to join us,” he murmured in sultry tones as his gaze roved over her loveliness, so near to him now. He placed a light kiss on her lips, but then drew back, his brow creased in sudden regret. “I may not be able to see you for some days. Mr. Colthurst and the others will want to see Marlborough Mills, and I have orders still backed up that must be finished,” he explained.
“Oh…I understand,” she falteringly replied, endeavoring to cover the inevitable disappointment his words conveyed. She dropped her gaze to her hands, which rested on his chest. “Then I shall have Thursday to look forward to,” she resolved with attempted cheer, raising her eyes to his.
He saw the glint of melancholy in her eyes. How he hated to cause her any sorrow! He pulled her closer and brushed his lips against hers, wishing to show her how much she would be missed. The searing bliss of her willing response sent tremors of desire through every nerve ending. He snaked his arms around her, splaying his broad hands possessively on her back as he sought the sweetness of her kisses, the mingling of their lips slow and tentative in repressed ardor. He began to capture her mouth with his more desperately when the sound of a guttural throat-clearing startled them apart.
“Dixon!” Margaret exclaimed in befuddled shock as she stepped back, the glow of her embarrassment appearing on cheek and neck.
Mr. Thornton let his arms fall reluctantly to his sides as he shot the intruding maid an aggrieved look of bitter annoyance.
Dixon pressed her lips in haughty triumph at the Master and then set her attention to her mistress. “Your mother has been waiting your return, Miss Margaret. She won’t take her rest until she’s spoken to you,” she announced with important urgency.
“Thank you, Dixon. I’ll be up directly,” she answered summarily, drawing herself up to a regal posture.
The Hale’s long-standing maid made no move to vacate her protective stance, casting a wary look at the Milton manufacturer before returning her expectant gaze to her mistress’s young daughter.
Margaret blushed anew at the thought of what the family servant had seen. “Please tell your mother it was a delightful afternoon,” she said to her betrothed in flustered confusion.
Ignoring the presence of an observer, Mr. Thornton took her hand and lifted it to press a lingering kiss on her fingers. “I will come for you at seven on Thursday,” he answered, piercing her with a longing look from his searching eyes.
Margaret nodded. The sensual gallantry of his kiss and the intensity of his stare stilled her breath for a dizzying moment.
Mr. Thornton cast one last hardened glance at the stubborn maid before retrieving his hat from the side table and going out the door.
Dixon raised her chin in proud defiance before she turned to follow the young miss to her mother’s chambers. “I’m certain you don’t need me to remind you that a lady conducts herself with propriety at all times,” the stout woman lectured as she lumbered her way up the stairs behind the girl.
“We were saying goodbye, Dixon. Mr. Thornton is my betrothed,” Margaret responded firmly in defense as she climbed the stairs, her ire rising at the servant’s counsel.
Dixon huffed at her retort. She had seen the way the Master had ensnared his bride-to-be in his grip and the predatory way he had sought her lips! “Betrothed or nay, these northern men have a wildness about them, Miss Margaret - not at all like the well-bred manners of the southern gentlemen you have known,” she warned the innocent girl with a shake of her head.
A fleeting image of Henry as the model of proper decorum came to Margaret’s mind, and she smiled devilishly at the realization that she much preferred the passionate nature of her untamed northern manufacturer to the staid sophistication of the southern barrister’s suit.
“Mr. Thornton is a gentleman, Dixon, and he will soon be my husband. I wish that you will not speak against him again,” she stated firmly as she reached the landing and turned to face her mother’s faithful servant.
Dixon pursed her lips and gave a reluctant nod before the young miss disappeared into her mother’s room.
*****
A pink haze gathered in the sky where the ocean had swallowed the setting sun as Frederick Hale stood out on the balcony of the old building where he resided, the sound of echoing voices rising from the narrow, cobbled streets below. The smell of the ocean air, pervading this ancient southern port, sparked his senses with its pungent saltiness. The call of the sea tugged at all his memories, both dark and bright.
Adventure had beckoned him, lured him, to the life of a seafarer. He had received his fair share of adventure - and more. Though his native country might brand him as a traitor and never welcome him home, he had lived more excitement and seen more of the world than any other Helstone lad ever would. Mexico and South America he had called home, each for a time, as he had sought for a place where he belonged.
And now, just as he was certain he had found his place - his purpose and future, he was being called back to England to visit the country that had formed him and to embrace, perhaps for the last time, the mother and father who had given him birth, nurtured him, and still loved him. A twinge of helpless guilt gnawed at his conscience for having abandoned them.
And Margaret! His sweet, fearless sister was only a child when he had left them all in Helstone. How well he remembered her happy laughter at his antics and her joy in freely roaming the fields and forests of their childhood home. He yearned to see her now, scarcely able to believe she was no longer a girl, but a woman who in a matter of days would be claimed in marriage by a man he did not know.
His countenance darkened. What had impelled his father to move his family to the ceaseless hustle of an industrial city far from every familiar comfort and company? Was it this move that had sickened his mother? Frederick was not altogether convinced that she was truly dying. He would not believe it until he had seen with his own eyes her condition. Perhaps the sight of him might renew her strength and give her comfort to continue. He had hope that the doctor was mistaken.
And what of Margaret? How had the move affected her? He wondered that his parents should consider a northern manufacturer to be an agreeable match for his dear sister, despite her own written lines of encouragement that this man was well-respected and of fine character.
What was his name? He brought the letter, still clutched in his hand, up to the fading light in front of him. Mr. Thornton of Marlborough Mills.
He shook his head in doubt. Such a match would never have occurred had they stayed Helstone. It was hard for him to imagine that the Margaret whom he had known - the girl who was so carefree in the countryside of Hampshire - would be happy to be paired to a tradesman who would confine her to a life in a Darkshire city.
He would go. He knew it as soon as he had opened the missive to read his sister’s pleading.
His thoughts flew to his own love - Dolores. He took a deep breath and let it out with long sigh. Dolores had enchanted him with her silken black hair and bewitching green eyes the very first time he had met her. His heart had been captivated by her innocent adoration of him, an Englishman who worked for her father. He would ask for her hand as soon as she came of age and live his life here in Cadiz.
He could envision the worry that would flash in her vibrant eyes when he told her tomorrow what he must do - what he must dare to see his mother.
He cast his gaze over the open sea. Twilight darkened the horizon where the distant waves faded from blue to graying oblivion. He felt the quickening excitement of embarking upon a dangerous journey, even as a sweep of dread chilled his heart to leave his happy contentment behind.
England was no longer home, not with Dolores here. But he would return one more time to the land of his birth and venture to the strange city his father had chosen, where no one would know his name.
He would soon set sail for Milton.