A Heart for Milton - Chapter 11
Mr. Thornton's feet grew numb from the stinging cold of the flowing water, but his heart was warm with love for the woman he held in his arms. He slowly released her from his tender kiss. "Is this how we shall pass our holiday?" he teased her, awed by her ability to constantly surprise him. "Will you show me something of your world every day, so that at length I shall become a carefree country dweller?" he pressed, as he gazed at her adoringly, her face only inches from his.
"Have you never waded in a stream?" Margaret asked curiously, detecting something in his tone that revealed a childlike wonder to explore all things new.
He shook his head with a measure of embarrassment to confess that he had never experienced such a simple pleasure. The river in Milton was deep, and dirty with years of use, and he had seldom visited the countryside.
Her heart went out to him for the years he had worked hard, while others his age had played. He had spent his years in a city with little opportunity to escape his structured confines. Margaret was at once determined that he should know the joy of living in the country, where nature dominated the patterns of everyday life and the constructions and regulations of men were less in evidence.
"Then, yes, it shall be my duty to show you everything wonderful about living here," she declared confidently as she regarded him with affection.
He smiled at her determination and kissed her fervently for her compassion, eager to begin at once the glory of her tutelage.
Mr. Thornton carefully guided her by the waist, as the lovers stepped out of the brook onto the grassy bank. Margaret held up her skirts until she was safely on dry land.
They headed back to the coach, Margaret with wet silk stockings in once-dry slippers and Mr. Thornton in his bare feet, casually carrying his shoes by his side.
Seated in the open carriage once more, they grinned at each other in the shared secret of what they had done as Mr. Thornton brought her snugly against him with a strong pull of his curved arm. She rested her head comfortably on his shoulder as they drove a little further into the countryside before turning around to head to the cottage.
At last, they arrived at the country home that would be their private haven. The driver carried in the groom's trunk as Mr. Thornton helped his wife out of the carriage.
As the couple reached the door, Mr. Thornton swept his bride off her feet to carry her over the threshold. Margaret gasped in surprise, but happily wrapped her arms around his neck. The last time he had held her thus she had seemed lifeless and fragile - a tenuous dream of love and happiness. Now, she was alive and vibrant - and promised to him alone.
Stepping into the cottage, he felt the impulse to continue straight up the stairs and into the bedroom to claim his privilege as her husband, but stopped in the foyer at the foot of the stairs. He was resolved to wait until the time was right. He did not wish to appear overbearing.
"I believe you are supposed to carry me over the threshold of our home," she emphasized playfully, enjoying the demonstration of his strength and the feel of his arms about her.
"I must take every precaution to ensure my great fortune," he replied with mirth as he reluctantly set her down, keeping fast hold of her waist.
Margaret smiled in response but dipped her head timidly, suddenly conscious that they were now alone, and the hours before them unscripted.
"I should change into my day dress," she faltered, her gaze still cast downward. "I'm afraid my dress is a little wet," she explained with a wry smile as she brought her gaze back to his.
He faintly nodded his assent as he attempted to ignore the beguiling images already forming in his head, and watched forlornly as she made her way up the stairs.
"If you need any assistance..." he heard himself call out to her, at once realizing with a measure of mortification how his offer should appear.
She halted at his words, and it suddenly dawned on her with a rush of anxiety that without Dixon, she would indeed need his help to get out of her wedding dress. "Yes," she stammered breathlessly, still frozen in her tracks. "I will require your assistance," she finished, her heart beginning to beat wildly as she continued up the stairs.
His heart clattered in his chest to hear her response, stunned by her request. He stood motionless for a moment as his widened eyes watched her slowly ascend to the upper floor. Stirring himself at last, he quietly followed her.
She was removing her earrings, her hands trembling nervously, as he walked through the door. She unfastened the clasp of her necklace as he stood just inside the doorway, silently scanning the room that they would share. At once pleased with its charm, he glanced at the uncluttered arrangement of simple furnishings, his gaze drawn inevitably back to the bed that was prominently placed in the center of the room.
Margaret felt his eyes follow her as she bustled across the room to the wardrobe, the rustling of her skirts and petticoats announcing their encumbering presence.
He waited patiently for her direction, not quite believing that he should be there, waiting to help her undress. He watched as she pulled a dress from the wardrobe and hung it on the open door. He felt a pang of painful compassion as he recognized her nervousness.
Finally, she turned to offer her back to him. "The fastenings are all in the back," she explained, attempting to sound composed, as if this was a normal routine and not an extraordinary occasion.
He crossed the room to her, feigning a calm demeanor which belied his apprehension. He was already unsteady at the mere thought of his task, and was uncertain of the strength of his resolve to complete it in the manner that she would expect.
He gingerly began to unfasten the small hooks at her neck, silently cursing his fingers as they began to tremble slightly. The delicate fabric fell away as he worked, exposing first her neck and then a portion of her back. As he bent lower, the air was infused with the scent of jasmine and the silken skin of her neck only inches from his face. His eyes drank in the vision before him. Unable to resist her allure any longer, he bent even lower to place a delicate kiss on the curve of her back.
She drew in her breath at the touch of his lips and closed her eyes in breathless expectation.
Sensing no resistance, he interspersed light kisses from her neck to her back, following his hands as he continued to unfasten the hooks down to her waist. Every brush of his fingers sending tingling shivers down Margaret's spine.
She began to pull at her cuffs to free her arms from the slender sleeves, and he moved to assist her, gliding his hands across her back and over the curving slope of her bare shoulders, allowing the dress to slip to her waist. The feel of her soft skin and the suggestiveness of the gesture made his heart pound with his desire to experience more of her, his resolve melting in the fervent heat caused by her loveliness.
Powerless to resist the tantalizing smoothness of her bare skin, his hands caressed her shoulders and arms as his mouth found the curve of her neck and followed the gentle slope to her shoulder.
Margaret felt her insides quiver at his touch, her pulse racing at his intimate advances. When he gently slid his hand over hers, she whirled around to face him, her eyes plaintive with longing.
He took one glance at her and clasped her to him, melding his mouth over hers with a fervency that excited her, even as she trembled in his fierce possession.
He grasped her tighter, claiming her with his mouth and tongue, desperate to be at one with her. He felt himself slipping into the abyss of his darker desires, his self-control vanishing as her arms wrapped around his neck.
He tore his lips from hers to look into her eyes. "Margaret," he panted, "will you lie with me?"
"I am yours, John," she whispered, gazing at him steadily so that he might know that her very soul belonged to him.
His eyes flared with the recognition that all that had hitherto been forbidden was now his.
He returned his mouth to hers, kissing her tenderly as his hands trembled to loosen the fabric ties of her corset.
She moved her hands to his chest and slowly pushed his lapels to urge the removal of his coat, causing him to groan in heady anticipation of her willing participation.
He broke away from her to release himself from his blue frock coat, casting it off to land on a chair before returning to his delicate task. No sooner had he resumed his attention to the lacings of her corset, than he felt her fingers moving to free the buttons of his waistcoat.
He could scarcely breathe. The thought that she should desire him promised a bliss so profound that he found her fastidious gesture an excruciating torture.
He gently removed her hands from their purpose and kissed each in turn, and they silently communicated with one another with their eyes.
She moved to pull her dress up over her head, her helplessness in the daunting task tacitly requiring his assistance. With his help, the silk slid easily over her torso and brushed over her hair, loosening the pins.
He laid the dress carefully over the chair, and began to unbutton his waistcoat even as she undid the fastenings of her crinoline and petticoats. They quickly undressed in silence, stealing glimpses of each other, in awe of what was happening.
At last, he stood wearing only his trousers, as she still wriggled to slide out of her corset, clad in a sleeveless cambric slip. She removed the pins from her hair, and her auburn tresses tumbled past her shoulders.
Her breath quickened at the sight of him. Her eyes roved over the chiseled form of his chest and the muscled shape of his arms. His presence was commanding, and yet she detected something of his vulnerability. She ached to touch the broad expanse of his skin, and yearned to feel his strong possession of her.
His heart beat thick and fast as he moved to close the distance between them. He took her into his arms and kissed her.
She quivered to feel the press of his bare chest against the thin fabric of her slip, and willingly opened her mouth to him to experience his deeper kisses. Tremblingly, she placed her hands against the smooth surface of his back.
His passion rose quickly, sending his hands to explore the curves of her body now unbound by layers of feminine accoutrements.
She melted as his hands slid over her breasts and down to her waist, his palms stroking the curve of her hips in aching slowness.
He tugged at the fabric at her hips, desperate now to remove all boundaries between them.
She disengaged herself from him and looked into his eyes. Without a word, she moved to the bed and deftly removed her slip with one fluid motion, dropping it to the floor. She pulled back the covers and climbed into bed. As she did so she recalled something of what Edith had explained. With her knees bent slightly to steady herself, she sat waiting for him as she slowly brought her eyes to his.
She looked to him like a goddess, for truly, he had only seen such a vision depicted in paintings and sculpted in marble, never in living flesh. His pulse hammered and he swallowed hard at the realization that she revealed her beauty to him alone. Her soft, shapely form was presented for his pleasure.
He swiftly stepped to the bed and sat on the edge next to her, his eyes exploring the glory of her until they met her own. He stared in wonder and sank his fingers into her hair to grasp her neck and pull her toward him. He kissed her tenderly at first and then more ardently until, tremulously, he pushed her back onto the pillows. Breaking contact with her mouth, his lips quickly grazed her throat. He continued to trace his course downward, taking into his mouth the pink flesh that tantalizingly rose to meet him.
She cried out in pleasurable surprise, arching her back instinctively to give him more of herself and raking her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.
Inflamed by her reaction, he moved to cover her with his body, cautiously lowering his full weight upon her. He continued his blissful ministrations as she moaned softly beneath him, until he could take no more.
He brought his face to hers, and each flushed with desire. "Margaret, I only mean to love you," he rasped, forewarning her of his urgent need. His body ached for its fulfillment.
"I know," she softly assured him, looking lovingly into his eyes.
He searched her face with tender adoration before lifting himself off the bed to remove his trousers.
She glanced modestly away for a second but brought her gaze back to him again in breathless wonder of what should be revealed to her. A quiet gasp caught in her throat as she glimpsed the measure of his full manhood before he climbed over her again.
He brought his face to hers for a gentle kiss, his body quaking with emotion, before moving to find his way within. Slowly but firmly, he seated himself inside of her. A soft groan escaped his lips as he felt her warmth surround him. He stilled a moment to see her wince, and then lowered himself to gently kiss her forehead before he began a slow, rhythmic movement.
He lifted his head and hovered over her, closing his eyes in the rapture of the sensations overcoming him.
Margaret watched his face in fascination as his rhythm quickened, tensing in uncertain anticipation as she felt the weight and strength of his taut body. She let her fingers explore the contours of his muscled arms as his movements increased in intensity until he suddenly cried out his pleasure and was still. She felt him shudder his relief before he collapsed upon her breast.
It was done. They had truly united as husband and wife. Overwhelmed by the significance of what they had done, and astounded by the power her body had to please him, she felt tears spring to her eyes as he began to cover her face with gentle kisses. She was gloriously happy to consider the great love that had engendered such an event, and felt a joy beyond measure to know that she had pleased him. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.
He continued his soft caresses until his lips met with the wetness on her face. At once alarmed, he moved to lift himself up. "Margaret, I have hurt you!" he declared with great concern, his eyes filled with worry.
She stayed him with a tight clasp, holding him close. "No, no!" she quickly assured him, her eyes entreating him to believe her. "I am happy," she whispered as a smile warmed her face. "I am so happy, John," she repeated as she gently caressed his neck and shoulders with her small hands.
His heart melted to hear her words. Satisfied that he had loved her well, he felt a profound joy to know that she rejoiced to receive his passionate attentions. Amazed that she should love him so, he rolled them both to their sides and drew her into his loving arms, nestling her head under his chin. "My Margaret," he murmured into her hair as they clung to each other. He stroked her back and whispered her name again before they both drifted into a peaceful sleep.
The sun slowly descended in the sky as the lovers slept, filling the room with the dimmer glow of late afternoon.
Mr. Thornton woke first, opening his eyes to find Margaret sleeping in his arms. He studied her face with reverent fascination, afraid to move lest he wake her. Her lips were slightly open, curved in a faint smile. She looked so peaceful; his heart swelled with love for this precious woman.
He was in awe at the thought that she had entrusted her care to him. He had never felt more determined to protect and keep her from any harm. He moved his arm carefully to brush aside a wisp of her hair that had fallen across her face.
She stirred slightly and her eyes fluttered open.
He watched as recognition slowly illuminated her face and she smiled at him.
He smiled in return, his heart twisting with the poignancy of her smile.
"Have we slept long?" she asked groggily, unaccustomed to napping in the middle of the day.
"An hour, perhaps," he surmised.
"We should get up," she commented as she began to fully waken, stretching her limbs out from the entangling company of his own.
"Should we?" he countered, his blue eyes questioning hers with a lustful gleam, not willing to relinquish such warm and intimate contact.
She smiled bashfully at his reply. "We cannot remain....indoors all day," she protested, her luminous eyes responding to him.
Mr. Thornton held his tongue, for at this moment he felt that he would like nothing more than to spend the entire week in this very location, but he did not wish to overwhelm her with his insatiable need to be close to her. "Perhaps we could linger a little longer," he suggested hesitantly as he buried his free hand in her hair and captured her lips with his in a tender kiss. Unable to resist the inviting feel of her soft lips, he returned for more, enraptured by the spell of her willing response.
As their kisses deepened, she began to rub the palm of her hand over the subtle contours of his chest, unaware of the frisson of desire she aroused in him.
He groaned to feel her delicate hands move sensuously over him. Moving his hand, he started his own exploration of her body - running his hand down her neck and over her shoulders to brush the sides of her breasts, her hips, and her thighs. She made muffled sighs of approval as he continued to caress her body with his hand, until his need could no longer be denied.
He rolled her beneath him and, breaking contact with her lips, gave her a steady look of love before entering her slowly again. He breathed a low sigh as he filled her to the hilt, and stilled a moment before moving with slow, steady strokes.
His gentle pace relaxed her and the love she saw in his eyes melted the tension from her body. She slid her hands along his back, reveling in the smooth expanse of his skin even as his steady rhythm seduced her to surrender to him, letting her feel the sensations beginning to build deep within her.
He lowered his head to hungrily kiss her mouth, and ran his fingers over the fullness of her breast, causing her to grip him tighter as she lost herself in a surge of ecstatic sensation. She was only faintly aware of the sounds she made as he intensified his movements in response.
At last, she cried out her rapture as something within her burst and spilt a warm flood of pleasure throughout her body. She heard him cry out his rapture in turn, and stilled as the feeling within her ebbed, her body quivering in response.
Margaret opened her eyes to look at him, astounded at what had happened to her. Searching his face for his reaction, she saw him regard her with wonder. "I did not know..." she began meekly, questing him with curious eyes.
"Nor did I," he acknowledged, amazed and delighted that her pleasure should rival his own; they smiled in shared secrecy at their new discovery.
They lay comfortably in each other's arms for a time, reverently exploring the features that innocently fascinated them. Margaret reached out to touch his face, gently running her hand over his roughened cheek and jaw while Mr. Thornton languidly pulled the silken tresses of her hair through his fingers.
"I should make tea," Margaret offered at length, noting the day's ebb by the light coming in the window.
"If you wish," he replied, allowing her the freedom to do as she pleased.
She rose from bed and hastily donned the slip that was crumpled on the floor. "Will you not dress?" she asked with a casual lilt, self-consciously aware of her husband's eyes on her.
He smiled guiltily but secretly rejoiced to indulge in the simple pleasures of married life. "I will," he promised with some reluctance, for he was loathe to leave the place that seemed such a haven of warmth and delight.
After a spot of tea in the kitchen, they moved outdoors to leisurely walk the surrounding property of their temporary home. The sun cast ever-lengthening shadows across the grass while a few crickets could be heard sounding the evening's preamble.
Behind the house was rolling heathland - a low stone wall the only mark of man's presence. A few large oaks grew near the house, where a chicken coop and a few other structures were strategically placed for the occupants' use.
The grandest oak stood majestically on the eastern side of the house, its larger branches thicker than lesser trees and stretching out to reach far beyond its solid source.
The view from the front of the cottage was expansive, revealing miles of grassy heath and distant copses. The edge of a wooded forest lay to the east and a dirt lane led west to the village.
As they wandered the front garden, Margaret delighted in pointing out her favorite flowers and colors, which seemed to her amused husband to be every last one.
The sound of an approaching horse and cart led them down the path to greet one of the village farmers, whose wife had sent along dinner for the newlyweds. Margaret asked him about his family and kindly thanked him for the thoughtful service. She had been told in advance by Mrs. Purkins at the inn that some of the villagers would assist them in such a manner - as a gift to the old parson's daughter.
After they ate and cleared the kitchen table, Margaret washed and put away the dishes while her husband started a fire in the parlor.
They spent the rest of the evening snuggled closely together on the burgundy settee, reminiscing about their grand day. They punctuated their conversation with kisses until, at length, their tender kisses become the only conversation between them.
The firelight cast a warm glow in the darkness of the quiet room.
"Perhaps we should retire," Mr. Thornton suggested, breaking the silence in a voice taut with kindling desire.
Margaret rose from her seat in agreement and, without a word, preceded him as they both climbed the stairs to their bedroom.
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They newlyweds woke early the first morning of their holiday, but did not rise from their bed until later.
Margaret was the first to rise, and entered the kitchen to prepare breakfast for her husband. She noted that dried herbs hung from the wooden beams above the window at the porcelain sink. A black-leaded stove stood in the large inglenook fireplace, and the gray flagstone floor held a sturdy wooden table with spindle-backed chairs.
She was tending the kettle at the stove when John appeared. He wrapped his arms around her waist from behind and nestled his face into her neck to kiss her.
"Good morning, husband," she delighted in greeting him with a broad smile, her insides flooding with a warmth of happiness.
"Good morning, my wife," he responded with equal satisfaction, reveling in the freedom of holding her whenever he wished.
"If you will fetch me some eggs, I will make you breakfast," she offered.
"Eggs?" he repeated quizzically, uncertain of how he should oblige her.
She turned to face him. "The chicken coop is out the back, if you will recall. You should find some fresh eggs there," she directed him patiently, recognizing his unfamiliarity with such a task.
He looked hesitant, but turned to go out. She smiled to think of the Master of Marlborough Mills at his wife's bidding amongst the chickens.
When he returned with a handful of eggs, she noted with tender amusement that he looked pleased with himself. He had rolled up his shirtsleeves, and she recognized how relaxed and handsome he appeared without his long, dark frock coat. It will do him good to spend the week here, she mused happily.
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The couple strolled arm-in-arm towards the village later in the day, intent on buying various sundries for a picnic lunch. The day was warming quickly as the noon hour drew close, and the long grasses had lost their morning dew.
She led him through the familiar fields that led to her old home as he remarked on the seemingly endless open verdure. "Did you ever visit the country as a child?" she asked curiously.
"My grandmother took me to the country a few times when I was a young boy. I believe we visited her sister there," he told her.
"What do you remember about it?" she ventured to ask.
"Running," he answered simply. "I don't believe I'd ever seen such open space. I would just run for running's sake," he recalled happily.
She smiled at his answer, trying to imagine the little child from the city running to his heart's content in the open fields. "Fred and I would race each other. He would always win, unless he pretended to fall," she remembered fondly as they approached the outlaying property of the parsonage.
"Here," she announced and set down her empty basket. "We would race to that old tree over there," she said, pointing to a thick elm many yards away.
"Ready? Go!" she called out playfully and, to his astonishment, began to run in the direction she had indicated. She looked back with a smile to see if he would follow and laughed to see his startled face as he made a start towards her.
She was no match for him with her long skirts and short limbs and he soon
caught up with her and pulled her flush against him as she laughed and caught her breath. Her playfulness incited his ardor for her. He studied her face with adoration and desire before regaling her with a powerful kiss.
She held her hat on and willingly accepted his attention before he relinquished her lips. "I should remind you that we are on the parson's property," she chastised him for his impropriety, her eyes sparkling with mirth.
"If you will not run away from me, then perhaps I should be able to control myself," he responded with a warning tone, holding her fast by the waist.
"But I would not have any fun," she protested as she suddenly wrested free from his grasp and darted across the grass once more.
He stood stunned for a second before dashing after her.
This time, as he reached for her, she swerved out of his grasp and forced him to change direction. She laughed at his quick turn-about, but could not keep her advantage.
When she attempted to evade him yet again, he was prepared for her feint, and snatched her by the wrist. He pulled her against him forcefully and held her firmly in his grasp as she laughed at her game.
My God, how he loved her! The combination of childlike innocence and womanly seduction he found in her threatened to drive him mad.
"You are a vixen, do you know that?" he declared vehemently, restraining himself from consuming her with kisses.
"And you married me," she responded to implicate him in her defense, still somewhat breathless.
"I did," he said, giving her a piercing stare that bespoke his deep affection. "And I shall never regret it. You are my heart, Margaret. I cannot be without you," he confessed with utter honesty, his playfulness vanished.
Margaret was at once serious, moved by his ardent admission. "And you are mine," she replied before leaning in for a kiss. At once tender and passionate, their kiss lingered longer than either had intended. Finally relinquishing their sublime contact, they stared at each other in silent adoration.
Remembering their purpose, they resumed their stroll toward the vicar's house on their way to the village.
"You must have many fond memories of your life here. It is a beautiful place," Mr. Thornton commented.
"Yes, there are memories everywhere," she said wistfully, recalling how happy her childhood had been. As she walked near a sunny knoll, the painful memory of Henry's proposal came back to her. He had found her lying in the sun in this very place. How she rued the day that her childhood had seemed to come crashing to a halt!
Mr. Thornton noted the look of sadness that crossed her face. "What is it?" he asked with gentle concern.
Margaret startled to be so openly read, and answered vaguely. "I was just remembering something," she said.
"It was not pleasant. Will you tell me?" he pleaded softly.
She looked at his tender expression and decided to relent. Perhaps it would feel better to confess all that had happened in the past. "Before my family left for Milton, Henry visited me," she began as she stared at the grass in front of her.
"Mr. Lennox?" he asked with some surprise, his interest piqued.
"Yes. I was not aware that I...I had no idea that he..." she stammered, not knowing how to tell him what had transpired.
"He had feelings for you," her husband quickly guessed.
"I suppose so. I..." she hesitated, still looking down in discomfort at the memory of it all.
"Did he ask for your hand?" Mr. Thornton inquired, recalling now, among other things, the bristling manner in which Henry had received the news of their engagement in London.
"I believe he would have, but I stopped him from speaking," she explained meekly as she looked slowly over to him, remembering distinctly how she had done the same to him.
The memory of his own failed proposal came flooding back to him and he recalled the bitter sting of her rejection when she had refused to hear him out. His world had collapsed into utter despair when she had snuffed out his hope and wounded his pride with her angry words.
It salved his pride even now to realize that she had attempted to be forthright in dealing with her suitors - that she had been unwilling to contemplate marriage without first feeling love.
"You had no feelings for him," he stated more as a fact than a question, but still yearning to hear her confirmation.
"No, not in that way," she explained awkwardly.
The corners of his mouth edged upward as the implication of her statement filled him with joy - she loved him as no other. He felt his heart swell with boastful pride as he recalled the painful confrontation with Mr. Lennox at the Great Exhibition. She had never loved the suave barrister from London who had attempted to humiliate him - she loved him, the simple manufacturer from the North!
"You are smiling," she noted with surprised curiosity.
"How can I keep from smiling, when I have won the affections of one who had a practiced habit of breaking men's hearts?" he asked teasingly.
"I did not!" she protested defensively.
"My heart was definitely broken," he insisted, although he still wore a smile at having roused her to such a staunch defense.
"And have I not mended it?" she asked gently as she tugged at his arm, at once repentant for her words that day.
"It has mended remarkably well, but now I shall require your frequent attention to ensure that it remains so," he informed her with a teasing smile.
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Leaving the village later, Margaret led them on a long walk to a grassy clearing near a forest where they might eat their picnic lunch. A lone tree served as their shade as well as a backrest as they took turns reading Burns' poetry to each other. Margaret reveled in the comforting sound of his velvet voice as she leaned against him and closed her eyes, his arm wrapped around her waist.
After it had been her turn to read for a while, she began to wonder if he was listening, for he was lying down with his eyes closed, his head comfortably situated in her lap. She brushed the hair over his forehead lightly with her fingers to elicit a smile from him and assure herself that he was still awake.
At length she let him nap whilst she dozed a little herself. When he finally stirred she woke as well and they arose to leave.
Margaret was eager to take her husband into the forest for a unique display of nature's beauty. She was certain that he had never seen the bluebell woods so popular to those who lived in the country. It was a singular treat of spring to go bluebell picking in the forest. The delicate blue bell-shaped flowers would cover the ground of the forest this time of year.
As they began to follow a narrow path into the old forest, she informed him that there was something she wanted to show him, but did not explain any further. When a blue carpet of flowers appeared in the near distance, he was intrigued, and as they drew closer the scene was enchanting. Sunlight filtered readily through the young leaves of the trees and the floor of the forest was covered with the vibrant blue flowers as far as the eye could see.
"It is truly stunning," he remarked in amazement as he took in the sight. "I did not know the woods could be so beautiful," he admitted.
"The flowers remain only for a while in the spring. You have to know when to come," she told him, pleased that he was appreciative of the view.
"I've never seen anything like it," he said, still in awe of the scene around him.
"I am very glad you like it. I don't imagine many people in Milton have ever seen the like," she commented.
"No, I am certain they have not," he agreed. "Thank you for showing it to me. I feel I have been shown a great secret, which many mortals may never discover," he remarked.
"Perhaps," she replied. "Shall we pick just a few for remembrance sake? They don't last very long, I'm afraid. They will wilt quickly," she remarked as she bent down to carefully collect a small handful.
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They enjoyed the freedom of reading and conversing at their leisure in the parlor at evening time. The fire was lit once more to chase away the chill of the cool night air. Eventually, they found themselves cozily situated on the plush sofa staring quietly at the fire as they held hands. Margaret smiled to note the sparkle of her engagement ring in the firelight and marveled again at the gold band around her finger.
"The bluebell woods were so lovely," she recalled happily, staring into the fire. "I am glad that you were able to see it," she added as she turned to look at him.
Mr. Thornton concentrated on the way her lips moved while she spoke, and his mind wandered as he remembered the feel of her silken skin against his. His breath deepened as he anticipated the pleasures that awaited them at evening's end.
"You are not listening to me," she gently accused him, feeling the warmth of his searing gaze.
"You mentioned something of the woods," he responded, rousing himself to remember something of what she had said.
"I was endeavoring to remind you of the beauty of nature, Mr. Thornton," she scolded him with a teasing gleam in her eye.
"And I was reveling in it," he declared ardently, his eyes scorching her.
She felt heat rise to her face to be so admired, and bashfully averted her eyes.
He gently lifted her chin up with a curled finger, and she raised her luminous eyes to his.
"You are beautiful, Mrs. Thornton," he stated in a low, resonant tone. He stared at her steadily so that she might know the depth of his sincerity, before leaning forward to taste the lips that beguiled him so. He kissed her gently at first, and then more urgently, until he swiftly slid his arm under her knees and lifted her off the seat.
She quivered in anticipation of his passion, and draped her arms willingly around his neck as he carried her to their bedroom.
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The angled rays of the early sun illuminated the curtains and warmed a patch of the wall in the bedroom. The birds had already begun their morning songs when the lovers stirred in their bed.
A pattern had emerged by their third day together. The newlyweds lingered in bed to enjoy the newfound pleasures of married life until mid-morning. Then, after a late breakfast, they would head out for a walk and picnic in a scenic spot. Evenings were spent in the parlor, talking and reading before they headed to their room at night to blissfully reacquaint themselves with each other after the long day's respite.
Mr. Thornton was enthralled to be a married man who spent every possible moment with his beloved. He was enamored of his new wife and could not get enough of her. Secretly, he feared she would soon grow weary of their frequent lovemaking, leaving him to suffer alone the pangs of desire.
Margaret thought herself well-suited to married life. Wondrously happy, she enjoyed the company of her husband and found the pleasures of the marriage bed to be to her liking.
By the time the couple emerged from the cottage in the late morning on Wednesday, clouds had begun to gather on the western horizon. The eastern sky was still blue and inviting, however, so Margaret led them east to sit near the brook that they had frequented on their wedding day.
The air was comfortably warm and a breeze sent small clouds scurrying across the sky as they ate their lunch. After reading to each other for awhile, they both fell asleep on the soft grass.
Margaret awoke to a strong wind and the sound of the fluttering pages of the book lying hear her face. The sky had darkened with gray clouds and she knew rain was imminent.
"John!" she woke him with a small shake of his shoulder, "it's going to rain," she warned.
They were both up in an instant to hurriedly gather their things and briskly make their escape. They were in sight of the cottage when the first ponderous raindrops fell. Breaking into a run, they dashed toward the broad oak as the rain began to fall faster, pelting them with droplets from the sky. The branches of the tree offered little coverage by the time they reached it, and they began to laugh as they ran the short distance to the front of the cottage.
As Margaret opened the door, the book in the crook of her arm fell to the stone steps. Mr. Thornton bent down quickly to retrieve it, spilling the contents of the basket he carried to the ground.
Stepping into the house, Margaret covered her mouth in surprise at his sudden misfortune, but began to laugh as he scrambled to pick everything up in the pouring rain.
Finally sweeping inside and shutting the door behind him, he set the basket down and grasped her arms. "Are you laughing at me?" he queried, with a tone of warning, a smile on his lips.
"You are all wet!" she declared, trying to stifle her laughter, but decidedly unsuccessful.
"You are wet as well," he reminded, noting with smoldering eyes how her blouse clung to her shapely form.
"But you are truly soaked," she countered, suppressing a giggle to see his hair and clothes dripping wet. "You should change clothes in the kitchen..." she began to instruct him before he silenced her with a kiss.
He pulled her against him as his tongue stroked hers, hungrily kissing her as if he would devour her for her guileless enchantment.
She held her arms away from him to avoid his wet clothes but soon succumbed to the seduction of his kiss and willingly wound her arms about his neck.
He groaned to feel her submit to him and slowly forced her to step backwards to the wall, pressing her against it firmly with his hips so that she should know his purpose.
She whimpered in response, feeling the firmness of his intent through the layers of clothes between them.
He scooped her off her feet and carried her upstairs, impatient to feel her beneath him again and to hear the high-pitched moans she always made that drove him wild with desire.
Mr. Thornton deposited her upright on the bed and swiftly took off her boots, while Margaret began to undo the buttons of her blouse. He stood to unbutton his wet clothes with alarming dexterity, casting the wet garments to the floor one by one as he peeled them off his body.
Margaret stood by the bedside, hurriedly working to free herself of her skirt and petticoats, her wet blouse already on the floor.
He approached her with decision, and the look in his eyes told her to lie down. As soon as she had done so, he hovered over her and, cinching up her chemise with several determined tugs, he grasped her drawers by the sides and pulled them over her hips and off her body.
Having removed all restraints, he thrust into her, groaning in relief to be at one with her. His firm and steady movements inflamed her desire even as he brought one hand up to undo the buttons of her chemise, desperate to have access to all of her.
She assisted him in freeing her bosom and he swooped down to taste and tease her until she lay back on her pillow in helpless surrender.
Lifting his head at last, he propped himself over her and worked with passionate abandon to bring them to completion, until they cried out their rapture in near unison.
She held him to her as their bodies quaked in the subsiding sensation of their union, the sound of their rapid breathing and the pattering rain filling the silence of the room.
He brought his lips to hers and gave her a gentle kiss of contrition. "I fear I was too rough with you," he apologized, his eyes filled with tender concern.
"I have no complaints," she replied with a knowing smile, running her hands along the columns of his muscled arms as he hovered over her. "Do you love me so much?" she asked, partially in jest, teasing him for his uncontrollable passion.
"I love you so much, I sometimes fear for my sanity," he answered in all seriousness. "And now..." he said, as his eyes roved over the glory her natural beauty, "now it is much worse," he confessed helplessly with a sigh.
Her eyes warmed with loving affection, but she spoke with a light tone. "For better or for worse?" she quipped with a smile.
He could not help but smile back. "Yes, for better or for worse," he declared, rewarding her comment with a kiss.
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The rain came down in torrents while Margaret hung up their wet clothes to dry in the scullery and John started a fire in the inglenook fireplace and lit the stove.
They talked about the storms they remembered and childhood fears as they sat drinking tea in the warm kitchen.
A loud crack and a following thud drew them hastily to the window to discover that a branch from one of the oaks had fallen. Margaret remarked with humor that they now had a story they could both remember.
Though the drenching subsided, the wind continued to rage outside throughout the afternoon and into the night.
Evening time found them once again in the parlor. Margaret leaned comfortably against her husband's shoulder as she sat thinking. Mr. Thornton perused the pages of a book on the Renaissance that he had selected from the cottage shelves.
"John," Margaret hesitantly began as she sat up straight to ask him something of import. "You never speak of your father. Will you not tell me more of your past?" she gently pleaded.
He closed the book and stared into the fire, his face somber with gathering memories.
"Father told me what happened," she cautiously revealed. "I admire you for all that you did," she encouraged him. "I don't know anyone who would have done what you have."
"I would not wish anyone to experience what I have," he replied quietly, his gaze still fixed ahead of him.
She acknowledged his emotions with respectful silence for a moment, before speaking again. "I see no shame in your past. It was not of your doing. You were only a child," she consoled him, conjecturing that his reluctance to speak was borne of the embarrassment that poverty engenders.
He blinked at her words, but still did not speak.
"What was your father like?" she ventured to inquire with some trepidation.
To her surprise he answered readily, though still directing his gaze to the fire. "He was a good man. He made a terrible mistake and was not strong enough to accept the consequences," he replied evenly. "I hated him for it," he remarked with no trace of the bitter emotion that he had held. "I hated him for his cowardice and what he did to my mother," he explained calmly, finally looking to his wife for her reaction.
She regarded him with great compassion. She could lay no blame upon him for the bitter feelings he had held in the past. Instead, she was impressed that he had not succumbed to it, but had seemed to have risen beyond it. "You have forgiven him?" she presumed.
"Yes," he answered simply. "It was not his intention to harm us, but I very much regret his selfish choice," he admitted solemnly.
Margaret was silent a moment before she spoke. "You said he was a good man. What do you remember of that?" she inquired, endeavoring to remind of him of his father's redeeming qualities.
A hint of a smile lightened his expression as he thought on it. "He told me stories many nights before I went to sleep - grand tales of adventures in faraway places," he related. "His voice was deep and soothing," he recalled.
Margaret smiled to hear his boyhood recollections. "And your mother...were they happy together?" she asked tentatively
His smile vanished at the poignancy of the question. "Yes, I believe so," he answered. "I can remember that my mother used to laugh," he told her, his eyes growing distant. She watched as a faint smile came to his face at the memory of it, and then observed it fade into solemn stillness again.
Her heart went out to them both - child and mother - for all that they had endured. She resolved that she would remember to be kind to her mother-in-law even when the elder woman was cold and unsmiling. Margaret knew that she owed a debt of gratitude to Mrs. Thornton for all that she had borne and done to raise such a fine son.
Both were silent as they watched the dancing flames of the fire.
She ardently hoped that she could be a comfort and help to him in all his endeavors. She did not wish for him to bear his burdens alone any longer.
"John, I wish to be an aid to you. Promise me you will not hide your worries from me. I could not bear it," she implored. "I wish to be a comfort to you, as you have promised to be to me," she pleaded softly.
He looked to her with a measure of wonder and affection. "Margaret...I do not wish to keep anything from you. There will be no secrets between us," he vowed.
She gave him a faint smile of satisfaction.
"You have suffered great difficulties and have worked hard to overcome them," Margaret remarked gently. "I fear you have not known much of joy these many years," she surmised sadly.
"No, I own that I have not," he admitted ruefully, reaching for her hand.
She turned to face him with feeling, wishing fervently that he should now only experience the good of life. "You deserve every happiness, John," she declared as she gently stroked the strong line of his jaw.
He deftly moved her onto his lap and she draped her arm around his shoulders.
"I have found it," he told her with tender honesty, staring straight into her eyes.
Margaret's eyes filled with tears as the looked at him. Her heart ached to love him as he had never been loved before. "Oh, John," she whispered, and hugged him tightly.
They held each other for a long time as the fire crackled and the wind wailed beyond the walls of their safe haven.
©2010, trudy, All Rights Reserved.