On Monday morning, Margaret entered the neatly arranged, quiet atmosphere of her mother’s sitting room at her usual time. It was not often that Dixon was absent from her mother’s side, and Margaret rejoiced to feel that she was drawing closer to her mother during the portions of the day during which they were alone together.
“Margaret, dear,” Mrs. Hale called out, giving her daughter a faltering smile. A pale, dainty hand reached to pat the empty sofa space next to her own skirts while her gaze drifted to the floor.
“Good morning, Mother,” Margaret returned as she seated herself at her mother’s side, feeling a faint tingling of apprehension at her mother’s manner.
Mrs. Hale studied her daughter’s youthful complexion with bittersweet affection. Her child was just beginning her life’s journey, while her own was rapidly coming to an end. “In another week, you shall be married,” she declared with reverence.
Margaret nodded as the corners of her mouth turned upward.
“You are a good girl, Margaret,” Mrs. Hale began, dropping her gaze to her lap where she wrung her hands impatiently. “You can be quite spirited and very…strong-minded. Sometimes you remind me of Frederick. He was always so full of life, fervent in feeling and not always careful in uttering his opinions,” she added with trace of affection for her long-absent son.
“I know that you have had differences of opinion with Mr. Thornton in the past," her mother stated with solemn purpose. "I trust they have been resolved since. You know well, of course, all the Biblical instruction we are given concerning marriage.”
Margaret felt creeping trepidation tighten in her stomach. “Yes, Mother,” she answered dutifully.
“I wish only to remind you that he will be husband over you, and you must submit to him in all things….wholly to him,” she emphasized, glancing nervously at her daughter to discern whether she understood the import of her final utterance.
“Yes, Mother,” Margaret repeated with bowed head, scarcely able to breathe as she comprehended the implication of her mother's words.
“You will share his bed on your wedding trip,” the elder woman posed to make certain her daughter understood her obligations, her own face nearly as flushed as that of her daughter.
Margaret could not answer, but kept her head bowed as a furious blush warmed her face and made her pulse quicken in uncertain apprehension. Questions she would fain have asked her mother swirled within, but the notion of uttering them stifled her with painful mortification.
Relieved to have discharged this vague counsel to her daughter, Mrs. Hale took a long breath. “The Thornton house is quite grand for Milton standards. I’m certain you will be given your own bedchambers upon your return, my dear,” she added, wishing to relieve the girl of any undue anxiety.
Margaret could only nod, as a baffling melange of thrilling thoughts and startling images constricted her ability to speak.
“Now then, hand me my sewing. We must finish our work before your aunt comes to town,” she commented, putting the uncomfortable discussion firmly behind them.
******
By Wednesday, Margaret longed for a day of reprieve from the sedentary task of sewing and the endless talk of her wedding. Eager to find some freedom before her London relations arrived and the preparations took a dizzying pace, Margaret determined to go out of doors as soon as her mother took her first rest.
Having decided to exert herself with purpose, she carefully folded one of her older dresses, a simple muslin dress of faded lilac, to take to Mary Higgins. Although she could have given the gift to the quiet girl on any of the days which she came to the house as a servant, Margaret wished to present it to her when the distinction between them was less in evidence.
As she envisioned the route that would take her past Marlborough Mills, Margaret could not help thinking of the man who managed the great cotton mill and how sorely she missed him. The contours of his face, the timbre of his voice, and the remembrance of how his lips had travelled the curve of her neck were never far from her mind.
She thought of the long hours Mr. Thornton worked with a swell of pride, and felt a zealous desire to offer him a respite from his burdens and succor for his ceaseless toil.
She plucked several of Dixon’s delicious scones from the kitchen platter and placed them in a basket with a small jar of jam before she headed out the door, as she wondered if the Master ever took the time for proper nourishment.
Margaret relished her invigorating walk to the Princeton district, taking in the sights and sounds of all around her. She no longer felt like a stranger to the bustle and noise of the streets as she had a year ago. It was her city now, and she was proud to be a part of its promise.
When she arrived at the Higgins’ home, Mary blinked back tears at Margaret’s insistence that she take the offered dress to wear as a proper guest to the wedding. “If only Bessy could ‘ave come,” she moaned with wistful sorrow at her sister’s untimely death.
Margaret nodded in perfect sympathy. “Please tell Nicholas that he must come as well. Mr. Thornton has given his word that he may abdicate his duties at the mill for the morning,” the Master’s future wife explained, placing the printed, formal invitation to the wedding on the rustic table.
Mary nodded as she stroked the soft fabric and lace edging of the dress. She had never owned anything so delicate or pretty.
Margaret stayed awhile to talk and was pleased to discover that Mrs. Boucher was being treated for her ailments. If she seemed only a little better, it was well that she no longer took to her bed for days.
She bid a fond goodbye to her friend before long, eager to accomplish her final errand. The anticipation of seeing Mr. Thornton quickened her steps as she walked the streets to Milton’s largest mill. Her pace slowed as she entered the side of the factory near the Master’s office, as she suddenly questioned the propriety of her unannounced visit.
The door to his office was ajar. She knocked and pushed it gently open, her pulse hammering at her boldness. He was scribbling at his desk.
He looked up from his ledger to see who requested his attention. “Margaret!” he breathed as he began to rise from his chair.
“No, don’t get up!” she commanded with some force, gesturing for him to remain seated. “I do not wish to disturb you from your work,” she added as she secured the door behind her and drew closer.
“I thought perhaps you might not have taken the time to eat. I’ve brought you some scones. Dixon learned to make them from her mother in Dorset; they are truly delicious,” she babbled as she came around to set the basket on the desk beside him, doubting her own motives in coming now that she stood within inches of him.
She pushed back her loosely tied bonnet, letting it fall carelessly on her back before she began her task.
He watched her pull back the napkin and place it carefully beside the ledgers and documents that no longer held any interest for him. He stared, entranced, at the graceful movements of her slender fingers and hands as she laid out the small repast, handling each item she touched with a gentle finesse that spoke of everything soft and feminine.
The notion that these were the hands that would tenderly care for him in the days and years to come enthralled him. His gaze travelled up her arms, the form of which could nearly be seen underneath the gauzy fabric of her feminine blouse. Her full pink lips were loosely parted as she bent over her task, intent upon her purpose.
It was not merely desire but a palpitating need to feel her soft form against his that bade him to act. He grasped her wrists, and before he knew what he was doing, pulled her steadily toward him across his lap.
Mr. Thornton’s pulse pounded at his audacity and he closed his eyes to grasp at self-restraint. He had not been prepared for her appearance; her very nearness had been his undoing.
To hold her so intimately close to him after two long days of loneliness was a delicious torture. Moved by forces beyond his control, he began to nuzzle the skin behind her ear, breathing in her sweet scent as if he drew his very life force from her being. He kept still, one hand at her back, determined not to frighten her with any further claims upon her person, yet eager to gain her trust with utter tenderness.
Margaret’s heart beat wildly. Never before had she been so intimately situated with a man. She could not move, but closed her eyes to feel his warm breath on her neck, which caused shivers of anticipation to ripple through her every nerve.
Moments passed. He did not stir. She felt the weight of his arm lying across her lap and fluttered her eyes open to observe it. She studied with fascination the sinewy strength of his forearm, noting how masculine his dark-toned skin appeared against the white cotton of his sleeve, which was rolled nearly to the bend of his elbow.
Instinctively, she sought to touch what her eyes feasted upon. Her fingers hesitantly traced over the skin at his wrist, brushing over the fine hairs of his arm as she slid her hand along his bare skin.
She heard his breath catch with an inarticulate sound as her own breathing grew ragged and uneven at the sensations that the simple feel of his skin under her hand aroused in her.
The muscles of his arm grew taut as he tightened his grasp on her. His lips, once still, now began to nip and brush against her neck with excruciating slowness.
She was lost in the headiness of his soft touch, the nearness of him drowning out everything around her. She gripped his arm to steady herself.
His lips traced the path of her jawline, inch by inch.
Delirious in her need to feel his kiss, she turned her face haltingly towards his as if moved by magnetic force to the pull of his sensual power.
At last his lips slowly slid over hers, brushing them tentatively before he fused his mouth to hers with an urgency that was willingly met by her own desperate need.
He felt her delicate arm reach up to wrap about his neck, and his whole body shuddered at her willing submission. The notion that she had sought his kiss - wanted his touch - shattered any expectation that he would receive tempered love from the woman that would be his wife.
Their kisses deepened. His body was on fire, his passion ignited by the unquenchable yearning to be one with her. The promise of what was to come sent every emotion into an agonizing frenzy of desire to claim her.
It was well that there was no surface on which to comfortably recline, or he would be sorely tempted to take her as his own, casting aside five days as naught against the years of their binding union.
They were lost in the all-consuming ecstasy of sensual communion, starved from their days of separation. The emptiness they had endured in each other’s absence had only increased their latent passion. Mr. Thornton fleetingly prayed for strength to halt the outpouring of his amorous affection before it reached a perilous brink.
A rap at the door brought them abruptly apart. Margaret scrambled to her feet, taking up her place beside the basket she had brought.
“Come in,” the Master called out as he leaned over his desk, his voice taut with forced brusqueness.
The door opened and Higgins took two steps into the stifled quiet of the room.
“Nicholas,” Margaret breathed in a quavering voice. The bloom of shame tinted her face as she flashed her eyes to his. Bowing her head again, she busied herself emptying the contents of her basket.
A comprehensive glance at the flushed girl’s manner and the Master’s rather evasive and guilty expression gave the intruder a fair picture of what he had interrupted. Higgins contained the sly smile which pulled on his mouth.
“What is it?” the Master demanded with creased brow, a trace of annoyance in his voice. He tried to muster some semblance of authority as he sat behind his desk, trapped in his seat at such an untimely interruption.
Higgins looked to him, endeavoring to hide the spark of amusement in his eyes. He swallowed as he recalled the seriousness of his purpose. “I’ve the names of a round of men who would work after hours,” he revealed.
“I should go,” Margaret interrupted in flustered haste, her body still quivering from the passion that had been so abruptly halted. She had no desire not to intrude upon business affairs.
Mr. Thornton shot her a desperate glance, unwilling to let her go without further words between them.
“My aunt arrives on Saturday. Perhaps you could join us for luncheon on Sunday,” she posed as a parting hope to arrange their next meeting.
“It would be my honor,” he replied with some relief at her wish to secure his company. He watched helplessly as she nodded and disappeared through the open doorway.
“She’s the pick of the crop. There’s none like her in all of Milton,” Higgins offered after she had gone. “You’re a lucky man,” he appraised, studying the forlorn lover’s face.
The Master’s lips twitched. “Fortune has not always smiled upon me. I believe luck comes most often by hard work and self-sacrifice. But I do not, and will not, take for granted what is given to me,” he uttered in solemn tones as he returned the steady gaze of the man before him.
“What of this list?” he added, turning the conversation to business once again.
“Aye, there’s more than on here that’s looking to put a few more coins in their pocket. I’ve got men from Hamper’s and the like who’ll work for yo’. You said yo’ll give us Monday morning if we got the work finished by Saturday,” he reminded him, eyeing hungrily the good-smelling ware laid out on the desk.
“I’ll give you all of Monday if the work is done by the last whistle on Saturday,” the Master offered with dubious hope. “You’re welcome to a morsel of food,” he added, noting the laborer’s longing glance at the small pile of scones.
“I’ll not take what’s meant for thee,” Higgins politely countered.
“Go on,” his employer encouraged, gesturing with a quick jerk of his chin.
“I reckon we can finish that order if we work every evening ’til then,” Higgins proposed, taking a bite of scone. “I thank yo’," he added with a rueful grin. "I’ve not eaten a thing since this morning, as my belly is sorely aware.”
“You’ve not taken lunch?” Mr. Thornton inquired, his brow knit in perplexed interest.
Higgins met the Master’s inquiring gaze with a sheepish expression. He’d let his stomach rather than his brains govern his mouth and now he would have to out with it. “I gave what I’d brought wi’ me to another who was starving hisself to feed his family, so his children would have a bit o’ bread and meat,” he answered, satisfied to have revealed to the wealthy mill owner the hard choices some of his employees faced every day.
The Master’s gaze shifted from the Union leader’s scrutiny and his brow furrowed deeper. He took a long breath. “When can the men start? Have you got the list?” he asked, pressing forward with the issue at hand.
“I told ‘em to come today, after hours. I figured you’d not want to waste time. I’ll give you the names then, when we can count ‘em,” he returned.
Mr. Thornton could not suppress his inclination to be impressed by Higgins' prompt diligence and quick initiative. “I’ll commend your boldness this time if it will not grow your head. You’ve got a mind to get things done which I like; as long you still take your orders from me I think you’ll be a fair help,” he assessed, giving his collaborator a wry smile.
Higgins’ eyes sparkled and the corners of his mouth quirked upward in response. He nodded in acknowledgment of his usefulness and turned to leave.
Higgins,” the Master called out as he reached the doorway. “How many of the workers go without sustenance at midday?”
“More than yo’d suspect, I reckon,” he replied without cavil.
“But a man cannot attend well to his work if he’s hungry,” his employer returned.
“I know,” the long-time laborer replied soberly, giving the Master a penetrating look before he turned back into the mill.
The Master sat and stared at nothing for several long minutes, a crease of concern etched on his forehead.
*****
Sunday, the day before the wedding, would be a day spent with guests from out of town and quiet rest for Mrs. Hale to prepare herself for the events of the morrow.
Mr. Thornton joined Margaret and her relatives to have luncheon in the hotel’s elegant dining room. Conversation was pleasant and Maxwell enjoyed relating his enthusiasm for the energy and scale of enterprise in Milton with one of the town’s most influential men.
Shared glances between the betrothed couple revealed that although they were chagrined to forfeit their coveted walk today, they were content to remember that tomorrow their paths would be forevermore forged into one.
Careful of her mother’s delicate health, Margaret soon returned home to ensure that all was prepared for her aunt’s visit to the Crampton house later that day.
*****
Mr. Thornton’s eyes glossed over the newspaper in his hands although he comprehended not a word. Sitting, but not truly relaxing in his accustomed seat in the gas-lit drawing room of his home, the groom-to-be endeavored to treat this Sunday evening as any other when the next morning would bring the most significant day of his life.
It would be the last night he would spend with just his mother and sister. For his mother’s sake, he was present with them although all his thoughts centered upon the girl who lived two miles hence. Fanny’s chatter about expected wedding guests, apparel, and the spectacle of every arrangement did nothing to alleviate his distracted nerves.
Throwing down his paper at last, he walked the room aimlessly before returning to the long windows overlooking the mill yard. He stared through the panes of glass to the darkening night scene. It was here, on the portico below him, where everything had begun to unravel between them. The electrifying moments that they had shared the day of the riot were as vivid to him as if they had transpired yesterday. The mere thought of all she had done to save him, her touch and the way she had looked at him, still evoked powerful emotions of amazement.
Although he did not claim to comprehend how it all had happened, he would be forever grateful for the dizzying succession of events that had led her straight into his waiting arms. All that he had vainly dreamed of had tumbled into his hands; he had only to wait hours before everything he had hoped for - longed for, waited for - would be his.
At times, it seemed too perfect. Gathering clouds of uncertainty began to form in his mind, his impatient anxiety to hasten the morrow instilling the fear that something might mar this happiness. Mrs. Hales’ declining health and Frederick Hale’s intrepid arrival loomed over the bright image of the day that was planned. He prayed with all his soul that every contingency would work in their favor, leaving the morrow unscathed by calamity of any sort.
His mother silently eyed his restlessness as she sewed to calm her own nerves, enduring the prattle of her young daughter on this auspicious eve. Startled when he broke his reverie to briskly gather his coat, she called out to him. “Where are you going?”
“To Crampton,” he replied crisply, pulling on his long frock coat.
“It is growing late. I’m certain Mrs. Hale will wish to retire early tonight,” she returned in a calm voice which belied her agitation at his impulsive intention. Fanny looked to her brother curiously for his response to their mother’s reasonable objection.
“I will not stay long. I only wish to ascertain that all is as it should be and that Mrs. Hale is well,” he answered, unmoved by her persuasion.
Hannah Thornton let out a small sigh. “Very well, but I hoped you would be here for our readings tonight,” she pleaded with a hopeful countenance.
“I will be back by ten,” Mr. Thornton promised, giving his mother a fond smile.
*****
Margaret sat in the upstairs drawing room, relaxing in the company of her father and Mr. Bell, who had arrived in Milton for the wedding. As she listened to the comforting sound of the congenial conversation between the two old Oxford friends, she reflected upon the events of recent hours. Her mother had just retired, weary from entertaining Aunt Shaw with cheery smiles and pleasant talk.
The visit had gone very well, Margaret mused, concerning her mother’s embarrassment in their less than fine dwellings. Margaret had noted the secret, disparaging looks that occasionally passed over Aunt Shaw and Edith’s faces as they noted the cramped quarters and simple decor of the Hales’ house. But her mother had not seen these disparaging looks, and remained assured that the grandeur of the wedding would impress them about the status of wealth attached to the Thornton name.
Margaret had been dismayed, but not wholly surprised, that Aunt Shaw was unconvinced that Maria could be courting death. Her remarks to her slight sister were sympathetic encouragements that suggested that the cure for her ailments and any unhappy disposition could be found in travel or temporary adjournment to more scenic environs. The rich widow refused to believe that Mrs. Hale suffered from anything more serious than the lethargy and peculiar bodily aches that plagued her own existence.
She was involved in such sobering thoughts when the tall, dark figure of the man she most adored walked through the doorway.
“John!” she exclaimed with open affection as she sprang from her seat to meet him. They clasped hands in fond greeting, unaware for a fleeting moment of the others in the room as their eyes flashed in ardent joy at this impromptu reunion.
Mr. Bell raised a brow in some surprise, but was well pleased to observe the developing relationship of such an intriguing match.
“Thornton! I didn’t expect to see you until the morrow,” the visiting scholar declared.
“I came to ensure that all was well here,” the younger man offered as his excuse for the unexpected call. “I would invite you to stay at Marlborough Mills, but I believe my mother is much absorbed and I confess that the conversation at my house consists largely of contingencies and arrangements concerning the wedding which would not be of interest to you,” he added with a rueful grin.
“No, no! Think nothing of it. I’ve happily made arrangements at my regular establishment, I thank you,” Mr. Bell replied vociferously.
“Is there anything I can do?” Mr. Thornton asked, looking to the man who would soon be his father-in-law.
“I don’t believe so, John. Maria has just retired, and I think everything is well settled,” Mr. Hale returned.
“If your mother is well and all in order, then I will leave you to get your rest,” Mr. Thornton directed to Margaret.
“I will see you to the door,” she offered eagerly after he had bid the elder gentlemen goodbye.
“I say, Hale, I never expected that my suggestion to come to Milton should have resulted in such a pairing! They are both quite content with this arrangement, are they not?” he queried the former vicar.
“Yes, indeed. I was astonished at first, but it looks to truly be a very fine match. I cannot tell you how pleased I am to give my daughter to a man such as Mr. Thornton. I’ve no longer any need to worry over her future at all. I am most assuredly grateful,” Mr. Hale confessed.
Mr. Bell dismissed his small part in the design of fate with a subtle shake of his head and a flick of his hand. It was a great satisfaction to know, though, that his kind-hearted friend had found some measure of good fortune in coming to Milton.
The Oxford scholar silently studied the downcast eyes and flushed cheeks of the betrothed girl when she slipped back into the room some time later. He could well imagine their tender goodbyes. A knowing smile spread over his face. He would look forward to this particular wedding for he had long believed Thornton would not find his equal in vigor and intellect among womankind. He was certain now, though, that the Milton master had finally found his match.
******
Finished with his attire, Mr. Thornton took several paces about his room and glanced about as if to discover anything left undone. His trunk was packed and all the preparations for the wedding trip were in order.
In one hour he would stand at the altar with her. The restless impatience to secure her as his wife and begin his life anew threatened to overwhelm him, as it had every since the day she had promised herself to him. His only duty now was to wait for the appointed hour, but insufferable idleness had mocked his weakness all morning.
He grew irritable at the faint sound of Fanny’s high-pitched voice down the hall as she fretted over some calamity in preparing herself for a perfect presentation. Throwing open the door, he fled his room to seek the quiet of the lower living area.
Drawn to the windows, he took a long breath as he gazed over the still mill yard. Never before had he given his workers paid reprieve from their work. A crooked smile lifted one corner of his mouth. But then, he had never before bargained with his employees to make such a extraordinary deal. Higgins had been the lynchpin in this surprising contrivance, which only served to remind him of all that had changed - and all that was to change - since Margaret had entered his realm.
It would do well to have the engine room silent today, he mused, as he turned to observe the transformation of their formal living space into an elegant reception room. The long table, decorated with a profusion of roses and draped in white linen, was pulled to the back wall where all manner of delectable offerings would be served. The furniture was arranged to allow ample room for guests to mingle while a small table was set near the windows for the bridal party.
His mother had left no detail unattended and spared little expense. He was proud of the elegant opulence of the room on this singular occasion, for he greatly desired to provide Margaret with every beauty and comfort of wealth which befitted her. Concern for his full financial recovery he could thrust aside for today, although the disquieting fear that he should fail in providing his bride every comfort inevitably remained in the periphery of thought.
He heard the familiar sound of his mother’s descending footsteps before she entered the room.
“Mother….you look very well,” he appraised, breaking into a warm smile at her appearance in a pale lavender gown with black trim, which seemed to soften all her features, erasing the bitterness of the years of mourning.
“Are you ready?” she asked, brushing away a speck of lint from his lapel as she endeavored to hide the waver in her voice.
“You have taken care of the rest. There’s nothing for me to do but count the minutes,” he teased her with a wry smile. “Thank you, Mother,” he said for time and effort she had expended on arranging this day to perfection. “Thank you for everything….” He added more seriously, feeling the depth of his debt to her at this junction, when all he could ever wish for seemed to be laid at his feet.
Hannah Thornton dipped her head to avoid his steady gaze, discomforted at any display of deep gratitude for what she had willingly done for such a son. She had lived for him during those dark, early days after her husband’s death - and no less so as the years had worn on and he had proved himself a great man. She could not have asked for a more noble son.
She cast her gaze distractedly about the decorated room, the silent scene surrounding them lending import to these last moments alone. “I always knew this day would come,” she murmured solemnly in wistful remembrance of the years she had been her son’s sole companion. He would look to Margaret now for consolation and encouragement - as was only right. Her own role would fade into uselessness. But she swallowed her jealous pride, knowing what her son deserved - what she had always professed was his due for all his years of struggle.
“I only hope you will be happy,” she declared with absolute conviction. A mist of tears began to cloud her vision as she observed her son - a man who had earned the admiration of the entire city and filled her mother’s breast with fierce pride and a love so profound she could not utter it.
“She loves me, Mother. I cannot ask for anything more,” he breathed in awe of the blessing he had been made fit to receive.
Her heart twisted to see his eyes alight with vibrant eagerness; the glow of expectant hope turning him once again into the boy of his careless youth. She reached up to touch his cheek, but could find no words for all she would say. She prayed fervently that the girl knew his true worth.
“Mother!” a shrill voice summoned her from the upper chambers.
Hannah raised her eyes heavenward in exasperation at her daughter’s interruption, then dropped them to see her son’s sympathetic grin.
*****
Margaret stared at her reflection in the long mirror of her bedroom with tingling anticipation. She was ready.
A veil of gossamer lace flowed from a wreath of orange blossoms on her head, framing her in a glow of delicate beauty. Fine net covered her skin from her neck to the gentle scoop of her brocaded bodice. Rich folds of creamy white satin fell over the wide crinoline, nearly brushing the floor with a scalloped lace trim.
She was grateful that Mary had come early to help her dress. Dixon had put up her hair in a beautiful coil, but had spent most of the morning helping her mother prepare for this occasion. It was only right that her mother was given every care this morning, for it was of paramount importance to Margaret that her mother be able to enjoy the long-awaited day with every possible measure of comfort. The young bride still worried that the excursion to the church and the excitement of a gala event would be too much for her mother’s weakened condition. She would hope for the best and remember her mother’s fond desire to see this day.
A fleeting sense of panic unsettled her as she thought of her mother’s other fervent wish. As much as she wished to see her brother, Margaret prayed that Frederick would not appear today and throw into chaos the meticulously planned schedule of events. She hoped he would consider the date and realize the wisdom of remaining distant at a time when much of Milton would be watching her family.
Margaret took a few soft steps to the window of her small bedroom. The early mists had lifted and the glow of sunlight could be seen through thin patches of clouds in the gray sky. It was as fine a Monday as any other in this working city, where many would herald the dawn with a familiar shrug of care as they shook off their slumber and rose to fill their niche in the intricate cog wheels of this industrial town’s great drive toward the future.
It would not be so for those that worked at Marlborough Mills. She smiled to think of how pleased the workers might be to stay in their beds a little longer this morn. It was not often they had respite from their daily habits of near-constant toil.
A swell of love and fierce pride came over her as she thought of the man who had released them from their duties today. He had surprised her with his willingness to forge new paths of collaboration with those who worked his mill. How sorely she had judged him those many months ago, when she had looked down upon him as a mere tradesman who bartered and contrived for selfish gain!
She recalled with certain shame how brazenly she had accused him of having no heart for his fellow creatures. She had risen against his indifference to their plight and had even sent him to face the rioters in the heat of their anger. She shuddered to remember the stillness of his closed eyes and unmoving lips as he had lain unconscious before her on the cold stone porch of his home.
It seemed so long ago that they had been in such conflict, but in truth it had been little over a month since that day when her whole world had begun to shift. It had all happened so quickly, she could scarcely trace the path her heart had taken falling in love with him. She had been startled, but not at all repulsed by his ardent proposal the very next day.
He had won her answer with his tender, fervent declarations. She had never before seen irrefutable strength of purpose combined with humble honesty. She had since learned the complexity of the man that appeared so unmovable and confident. He had been alone, as she had been - struggling to do right amid the vicissitudes of circumstances thrust upon him.
She looked around at the familiar furnishings and objects of her room. The oak spindle bed frame and honey-colored chest of drawers had been hers as a child in Helstone. The enameled brush and comb lying upon the dressing-table she had acquired during her London days.
How she had hated leaving Helstone! Milton was so far removed from the life she had imagined in her father’s country parish. But now she could not think of anything she wanted more than to share the adventure of a life beside him as he helped forward the progress of England in this very town.
“Margaret?” her father’s gentle voice called as he stood at the threshold.
She turned to give him a brilliant smile.
“Look at you!” he exclaimed in whispered admiration as he stepped forward to take her hands into his. “I hardly know when it was that you became a woman,” he confessed with a shake of his head at time’s swift passage. How fondly he remembered the days when she tripped along beside him, holding his hand! And now, he was to let her go.
“Your mother and I could not ask for a finer daughter. You are wise beyond your years, my dear - bright and good. You’ve been a great comfort to your parents,” he praised her as she dipped her head in humility. She was a worthy girl for any honorable man.
“You’ve come to care very much for Mr. Thornton, haven’t you?” he asked candidly, remembering the earlier months when his daughter had not seemed to esteem the Milton manufacturer very highly at all.
“Yes, Father,” she admitted, feeling a faint blush at how much her feelings had changed since she had first arrived in this town.
“And I know he cares for you. It would have been very difficult for me to give you away to just any man, but John…I’ve not met his like.”
“Nor I,” she added with reverence.
Mr. Hale observed his daughter’s face hopefully. “Perhaps it was God’s hand that led us to Milton after all,” he posed.
“I believe it was,” she answered.
Wrinkled lines of worry etched in the aged parson’s face melted with relief at her pronouncement. Margaret felt a pang of compassion for her father’s struggle with guilt and leaned forward to give him an affectionate peck on the cheek.
His daughter’s gesture moved him, for though he loved her dearly, such tokens of tenderness between them had been far too rare. “Come, now. The carriage will be here shortly. I will escort you downstairs,” he muttered with a heart full of bittersweet longing to return to those years when she had been his little girl. He wiped a tear from his eye as he offered his arm to the woman dressed in resplendent wedding attire, full of purity and promise as she awaited her future.
Margaret waited as Dixon and her father first assisted her mother when the carriage arrived. With blue satin ribbons of her bonnet under her chin, and a smile of satisfaction to be ready for the day in her new gown, Mrs. Hale appeared quite well even if her cheeks were a little hollow and her eyes not as bright as they might have been months ago. She remarked upon the garlands adorning the coach that would herald the arrival of the bride with white roses and pale pink ribbons.
At last, seated next to her father, Margaret was happily on her way to the church. The passing scenes, so familiar to her, seemed more clear and beautiful than ever..
A lightheaded excitement kept her keenly alert to every sight and sound, but as they drew nearer to the crowd of parked carriages and the stream of people entering the church, her muscles tightened. It would be no trifling affair to marry the Master of Marlborough Mills. Church bells pealed to announce the occasion and her stomach felt leaden with sudden trepidation to appear before so many gathered strangers and a lingering apprehension that she should be a worthy bride to one of Milton’s most respected sons.
Her father squeezed her hand, which lifted her spirits, and her mother’s happy smiles at the grand outlay warmed her heart even as a tinge of sadness endeavored to enter her mind. She cast it firmly out, resolved to enjoy the day to its fullest.
Edith and Fanny, dressed in white confections of silk and tulle with blue ribbons, descended the granite stairs to meet the bride while Capt. Lennox, the second groomsman, escorted Mrs. Hale to the church.
Fanny jerked her chin towards a group of laborers, in the their best clothes, who were clambering up the steps to see the Master marry. “Mother wished to discourage them from coming, but John said they had as much a right to come as anyone as long the invited guests had their seats,” she explained, apologizing with a slight sneer for her brother’s casual attitude at such a time!
Margaret felt a warm pride swell in her breast to hear his fair judgment, remembering their banter upon this very subject a week ago. She looked up to observe the poorer men and women who had come to the spectacle of her wedding. “I’m sure they mean no dishonor. I think it rather a fine thing that they are curious to see the Master wed,” she replied, much to Fanny’s surprise.
Inside the church, Watson’s easy banter fell on deaf ears as Mr. Thornton waited near the altar for the wedding to start. Every palpitation of his heart beat in anticipation of the fulfillment of the promise she had made.
He had once thought marriage a pleasant convenience or luxury for other men, who had not the concentration and self-sacrificing diligence that had driven him to success. How swiftly his former purpose had been swept to dust when the Fates had placed before him the fiery girl from the south! He now knew he lived to hear the sound of her voice, to receive her tender looks, and to feel her arms clasped around his neck. He could no longer bear his life without her.
The bells still pealed as the bride entered the church on her father’s arm. The arched, open structure was nearly filled to capacity; the quiet murmur of hundreds could be heard echoing in the sanctuary. Margaret gripped her father’s arm more tightly, feeling faint at the magnitude of the impending moment.
When the organ announced the time to proceed, her courage almost failed her and she was grateful for her father’s gentle lead. A quick glance towards the altar made her heart patter as she glimpsed the tall figure of her beloved. She resolved not to meet his gaze lest she lose her footing as she began to traverse the aisle, leaning closely upon her father’s strength.
She recognized few faces among the sea of strangers she passed, the multitude of curious onlookers reminding her of his stature in this rising town. For a moment, she feared to live up to the role required of her, so far from the home she had known in the south.
She smiled to glimpse Nicholas and Mary amid the seated crowd and felt her confidence return with every step as she remembered her purpose. When she reached the front, she acknowledged Aunt Shaw, Dixon, and Mr. Bell with a warm smile and beamed to see her mother’s happy face as the small woman dabbed her eyes with a dainty handkerchief.
At last, she raised her eyes towards the man who had stood patiently, awaiting her arrival. All extraneous thoughts - every fleeting hesitancy and self-doubt - vanished as she met his searing gaze. The full force of the meaning of this occasion, and the depth of emotion he placed upon it were apparent with one look into his eyes.
He had never appeared so stunning to her as he did now. He was dressed in a formal black frock coat with a deep burgundy waistcoat that contrasted strikingly with the crisp white of his shirt and tie. Her knees weakened to recognize her attraction to the strong outline of his handsomely-drawn features and the commanding masculine power of his presence.
From the moment the organ had sounded its signal strains, he had watched her approach with steadfast fascination, his eyes enslaved to her as they long had been and would forever be.
Never had he been more aware of her beauty and innocence as when she had glided toward him in white satin and lace, the essence of all this regalia distilling into this astounding fact: that she would stand today before God and man to willingly give herself to him.
And now as he looked into her eyes, a flood of joy so profound washed over him that it was as an aching pain. He felt the solemn responsibility of this gift keenly and doubted his worthiness to give her all that she would need to remain happily at his side.
He had long understood the great capacity to love that she held within. He knew that whatever man would be worthy enough to win her heart would receive it not in part or measured effort, but with all the power of her being. He had suffered acutely to believe he would never be that man.
It was still a thing incredible to him that she had chosen him - that he should clasp hold of this part of heaven here on earth. He longed to reach out and take her hand so that he might feel the solid form of her flesh and know that it was not all a dream.
So involved in his strong emotions was he that Mr. Thornton was suddenly aware that the service had begun. The vicar smiled at the display of affection apparent between the couple before him as he gave his familiar homily on holy matrimony.
When the time came to ask the congregation if any impediment was known to impede this marriage, a solemn silence ensued through the vast church.
It was broken by the vicar’s question of intent to marry, to which the groom answered with a resounding, “I will.”
Mr. Thornton watched his beloved’s face in breathless awe as she hearkened to the vicar’s similar inquiry and breathed aloud her promise to love, honor, and obey him in dulcet tones that made his body tremble.
“Who giveth this woman to be married by this man?”
Mr. Hale proudly stepped forward to answer and gave his daughter’s hand to the vicar with a nod of friendly trust to the grateful groom.
At the vicar’s direction, Mr. Thornton reached out to offer his hand, and marveled at the profound feeling of satisfaction that welled up inside him as the slight hand of the woman he loved slipped into his strong grasp.
Margaret placed her hand in his and looked up into his loving eyes. She knew she had found her perfect home.
As their spoken vows echoed through the stone church, the depth of their meaning resounded through their souls. Wholly apart from the surrounding crowd, their eyes communicated with one another in sacred sincerity of the words that promised them one to another ‘till death do us part.’
One more pledge remained. As Mr. Thornton slipped a gold band on her finger and repeated his troth, Margaret felt her body respond tremblingly to the deep of resonance of his voice.
With this ring, I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow; in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost.
Searching her face, he saw her eyes brim with tears and used every power of self-control to refrain from gathering her into his arms.
Hannah’s impassive face, although yet unsmiling, softened at the sound of her son’s conviction and the look of innocent trust glowing from the girl’s face. She swallowed to remember a similar scene long, long ago.
The vicar joined their hands together and began his solemn peroration. “Those whom God had joined together, let no man put asunder. Forasmuch as John and Margaret have consented together in holy wedlock….”
All else faded into dim oblivion. They two, alone, existed as they stared at their clasped hands and then into each other’s eyes in incredulous wonder at the sacred bond being created between them. Their lives would be bound together for as long as they moved and breathed in this earthly existence.
“…. I pronounce that they be man and wife together, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
They shared a smile of utter delight at this formal declaration and then patiently endured the prayers and blessings that followed until at last they signed their names in the registry and, exchanging beaming smiles at their accomplishment, linked arms to sweep down the aisle as husband and wife.
Emerging through the open doors into the daylight, the elated groom pulled his bride to him with one sweeping motion of his arm and kissed her soundly.
The first followers to appear caught sight of the couple adoring one another in a firm embrace. Edith and her husband smiled at their jubilation. Mrs. Thornton was discomforted by their open display, but was moved by the look of pure joy upon her son’s face.
Edith kissed her cousin, exclaiming for her happiness and then settled by her side as her mother did the same. Mrs. Hale emerged from the church in radiant pleasure to have witnessed such a grand wedding for her daughter. She clung to her husband’s arm as she descended the stairs, her weakness betraying her, but arrived to proudly embrace her new son-in-law and her daughter with tears in her eyes. Margaret’s heart lifted to see her mother’s jubilant face and tucked the vision away in the store of treasured memories she would keep from this day.
Mr. Hale found it difficult to utter his heartfelt congratulations without disintegrating into tears as he shook the hand of the only man he entrusted to his daughter’s happiness, and gave his precious girl a kiss to wish her all good things for the future.
Margaret’s heart brimmed with gratitude as she embraced her parents for all they had given her and for the unspeakable joy she felt in being able to share with them this wonderful day. She bade them a goodbye until after the wedding-breakfast, for it had been decided long ago that it would be too exhausting for her mother to attend the festive event, however much she would have desired to do so.
Margaret marveled at the pleasant appearance of her mother-in-law as the often grim-looking matron approached in fair attire, her countenance lightened with a smile of satisfaction. While Mr. Thornton bent to receive his mother’s embrace and proud commendation, Margaret waited apprehensively for the reserved woman’s blessing.
“I wish you every happiness in this marriage,” the older woman conveyed to her new daughter-in-law with a polite smile and kiss. “Care for my son,” she pleaded in lowered tones while the groom was occupied in receiving another guest. “He has given you his heart,” she whispered fervently, searching the girl’s face to see how much she comprehended its worth.
“And my heart is wholly his,” Margaret countered with vehemence, lifting her chin in defiance of any doubt. “I could not do otherwise than to devote myself to his happiness,” she answered more softly to the woman who had so faithfully cared for him during many hard years.
Hannah nodded her approval, heartened by the girl’s staunch reply, but still uncertain whether the girl was ready to stand fast by his side through the coming years. It was difficult to dismiss the memory of the girl’s impudence in refuting her son’s logic at the dinner party, nor could she shake the conviction that the girl had sent her son to face the riotous mob. Only time would tell if the girl’s adoration was lasting and true.
A little girl in the simple garb of the laboring class suddenly rushed up to the bride to offer a single wildflower. Margaret bent down to accept it with gentle thanks and a glorious smile, sending the lass racing back to her mother in excitement. Mr. Thornton was enchanted with the exchange, his mind inevitably turning to the very pleasant contemplation of having children of their own.
Just before the newlyweds were hastened to their carriage, Margaret spied Nicholas and Mary among the crowd now spilling from the church.
“Nicholas!” she called out with a modicum of refinement, as she stepped towards her friend without a further thought. The groom followed in her wake with amusement and pride at her freedom in abandoning the imposing strictures of class.
The Master and his wife shook hands with the former union leader and received hearty congratulations and well wishes from Higgins and his daughter as others looked on, which only encouraged the affirmation of the rumor that had spread throughout the town: that Mr. Thornton had been conquered by love and his convictions altered by the mere smiles of a southern girl.
The bride carefully pulled a white rose from her bouquet and handed it to Mary with a request that it be laid on Bessy’s grave. Mary nodded in compliance as tears gathered in her eyes.
Upon being whisked away to the Thornton home, the newly married couple spent the first hours of their marriage in a blur of social celebration. Standing by her husband’s side in the great, open room that teamed with flowers, Margaret was dazed to take part in receiving the formal congratulations of a vast number Milton’s most respected persons which included her husband’s fellow magistrates and manufacturers, many wealthy bankers, the mayor, and other notable citizens. Margaret felt a warm blush and rushing thrill at every enunciation of her new name - Mrs. Thornton - from the tongues of strangers making their first acquaintance with the Master’s new wife.
Mr. Thornton beamed happily at every offered felicitation and felt a swell of elation and pride to hear her bear his name.
Soon the room was filled with the murmur of voices and clinking china as guests helped themselves to the array of sumptuous refreshments served in shining silver dishes: galantines, stewed oysters, cold game, ices, and all manner of confectionaries. Margaret recalled little of the following hour, swept away by the dizzying thought of her new status as a married wife and dazzled at the notion of being seated in the elegant surroundings of her new home. She smiled to be woken from her bewildered state by the occasional squeeze of her husband’s hand to her own slight hand when he believed such a gesture would be undetected. His touch infused her with a warmth of shared secrecy, instantly recalling her to the strong bond of their deep affection.
When the tiered cake had been cut and the guests were busily engaged in their own portion, Mr. Thornton whispered to his bride that he would slip away to change into his traveling attire and then they would make their departure. Edith and Maxwell engaged the bride in conversation as soon as he had left the room, but Margaret listened distractedly as butterflies fluttered in her belly at her husband’s announcement and she felt the pang of his absence as if she had never before been apart from him.
He was soon to return and, making hasty good-byes to all in attendance, ushered his wife toward the door.
Hannah Thornton clung to her son for one last parting moment as she wished the couple farewell. She prayed he would return as happy as he now appeared, although her heart nearly burst with sorrow at this sundering of the familiar closeness they had shared. She would hold her tears until she was alone.
Fanny and several other guests took great pleasure in showering rice upon the newlyweds as soon as they emerged outside and made their way to the waiting carriage.
Seated beside her husband inside the coach, Margaret waved final farewells and smiled at the clusters of curious onlookers gathered outside the mill gates along Marlborough Street. She felt like royalty and glowed inwardly at the perfect beauty and joy of the day.
“Are you happy?” the new husband inquired of his bride. Her every movement and expression told him that she was, but he longed to hear it from her lips.
She turned to him in some surprise. “Yes.” She could scarcely speak the joy she felt. “Very much so,” she answered, regarding him with loving eyes.
The last hour of social restraint had been almost unbearable. He could no longer resist kissing her. Risking the possibility of being seen through the coach windows in broad daylight, he lifted her face to his to bestow on her a tender demonstration of his own rapture that they were now wed.
She closed her eyes to blissfully receive his ministrations. Utterly gentle, yet somehow electric, his kisses were magical, tingling through every nerve in her body and awakening it to strange new sensations which only his touch could ignite.
He pulled away carefully from the spell of her compliant mouth, his face hovering close to hers.
Fluttering her eyes open to stare into the darkening intensity of his deep blue eyes, she discerned that her kiss must stir a similar effect on his body.
They spent the remaining minutes in glorious contentment to clasp hands, their fingers intimately entwined.
Mr. Thornton would have bounded up the stairs upon their arrival to his bride’s former residence, but took proud care to assist his bride in her voluminous gown.
Her parents were sitting in the front parlor. Fresh embraces and handshakes were shared with hearts both exultant and filled with the sweet sorrow of painful parting. Mrs. Hale was worn and tired, but her eyes sparkled with wistful satisfaction, which gave Margaret cause to breathe a prayer of thanks.
Boxes of food from the bounty of the wedding breakfast were delivered to the kitchen and the bride’s trunk loaded onto the coach while Margaret repaired to her room to change her garments.
Mr. Thornton endeavored to answer all Mrs. Hale’s inquiries as to the grand fete, expending every effort to contain the bounding zeal that made sitting still a rigorous strain. From the time he set foot in the familiar Crampton home, he could not erase the upward turn at the corners of his mouth, jubilant that the time he had long awaited was near at hand. He informed his in-laws of the destination of their wedding trip, as yet undisclosed to Margaret, and promised they would return in a matter of days.
He halted his speech when Margaret silently appeared just inside the doorway. She wore a new merino ensemble of dove gray, which he believed she wore as elegantly as any satin gown. White ruffled lace peeked from her sleeves and along the high neckline of her closely fitted jacket. She bowed her head demurely under his ardent gaze, which merely roused within him every ardent adoration of her feminine loveliness and grace.
He rose to his feet and she lifted her eyes to his with hopeful trust.
His heart leapt at this supreme moment: when she would look to him as her sole protector and guide, and come away with him to be his lover and companion - his own true wife.
Final fond farewells were exchanged and Mr. Hale followed the couple to the door to watch with aching heart and lightened soul as his daughter bid him one last cheerful wave before the carriage started and she was taken away.
Settled snugly together in the closed compartment, Margaret lifted a beaming face of jubilant accomplishment to her new husband and received a lingering kiss in reward.
“Will you come with me to Scarborough, Mrs. Thornton?” he asked in the throaty urgency of his Darkshire accent, his own face beaming with an exulting happiness to call her by his name at last.
“Is that where we are going? I’ve never been there,” she replied in faltering tones, feeling her body weaken at the sensual sound of his voice. She smiled at his delight in trying her new name on his lips.
“I wished to go somewhere I had not yet seen.”
His boyish eagerness tugged at her heart. “I will gladly go wherever you choose. Everything will be new for us from now on, will it not?” she asked. Her eyes danced in expectant joy for his reply.
“It will,” he answered with a radiant smile. His world would never be the same again.
He bent to press his lips to hers, tasting in her kiss the promised bliss of a lifetime of love.