In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (17 page)

As he relinquished possession of her hand, he saw her gaze at him with open wonder before casting her eyes to the floor.

He stood silently for a moment before turning to gather his hat. “If there is anything I can do — anything at all, you will not hesitate to call on me?” he offered, his eyes pleading with a tender earnestness.

She nodded her head faintly, a grateful smile on her lips.

He took on
e last glance at her before taking his leave. The door shut firmly behind him.

Margaret stood transfixed for a moment, her breath coming more easily now. Relieved and yet in some way disappointed that the evening was over, she felt the swirling power of his presence begin to dissipate.

She glanced down at the gleaming object on her finger, remembering with a shudder the feel of his warm breath on her hand.

“Margaret?” her father called tenuously from behind her.

“Yes, Father,” she answered dutifully, snapping to life again.

“Would you look in after your mother a moment?” he asked with an anxious tone.

“Of course,” she replied, giving her father a comforting smile.

*****

Mr. Thornton walked through the darkened streets with an easy stride, the cool night air a welcome balm to the day’s end. He was in no hurry to get home to the inquiring glances of his mother and sister, and spent the time leisurely savoring the remembrance of her beautiful blushes, the soft glimmer of uncertain trust in her eyes and the feel of her smooth, delicate fingers on his lips.

Although no one would see it, his face glowed with satisfied pleasure as he dwelt upon the evening’s events. He knew he would sleep well tonight.

Chapter Seven

Mr. Thornton smiled as he rolled to his side, turning his roughened cheek into his pillow. Emerging gently from the languorous ecstasy of a dream, he felt the blissful touch of his lover’s soft arms around him. Her long hair spilled over them both as they embraced. His eyes fluttered open as he drifted into a hazy state of semi-consciousness. Shadowy forms began to take shape around him, but he willingly lingered in the warmth of unfettered love that drowsily besotted him.

The dream images slowly yielded to the reality of solitude. He reached out to touch the empty space next to him, the cool cotton smooth under his hand. His smile lingered. Although it was only fantasy, he basked in the glow of utter contentment at the notion that his dreams might not be so far from coming true. A week ago, he would have awoken with a somber realization of his lonely fate. But now ... now he knew it was quite possible to hold within his arms the vision of his dreams. Yet a few months hence, everything he imagined might be fulfilled.

He stretched out lazily in happy contemplation of it.

*****

Although the day promised neither brilliance of sun nor an anticipated event, Margaret awoke with a sense of contentment that she could not define. The sorrow and burden of the past few days had lifted to allow gleams of hope to buoy her spirits. Her mother might still be ill and Nicholas might remain gruffly aloof, but her worries seemed somehow lessened this morning.

She held out her hand to study the ring on her finger, twisting and turning it to examine every feature in renewed awe, as she had done countless times the evening before. She wondered how he had chosen something so perfectly matched to her taste. The ring was unique in its design, yet still simple and elegant. The intricate tendrils of leaves in the setting and the emerald stones reminded her of
Helstone. Had he thought of her fondness for the Hampshire countryside? She felt a nervous tingling of warmth to consider the depth of his affection and her head spun as she endeavored to recount how she came to wear such a jewel. She was incredulous at how quickly everything had happened.

As she washed and dressed for the day, her attention was continually drawn to the strange feel of the shiny adornment on her hand. The thought of him caused her heartbeat to quicken and her stomach to tense. Afraid to delve too deeply into her emotions, she could not fathom why she felt so shaken and disoriented in his presence. She only knew that he held some mysterious power over her, which often rendered her nearly incapable of speech.

She dismissed any further contemplation of her feelings, resolving with hopeful energy to tend to her mother that morning.

As Margaret entered her mother’s sitting room, Mrs. Hale smiled sweetly at her daughter from her reclined position on the sofa. Margaret noted with gratitude that her mother looked
well-rested, although a trifle pale.

After exchanging their morning pleasantries, Mrs. Hale directed her daughter to read aloud the letter she had recently received from London. Margaret obediently complied and, taking the missive in both hands, situated herself across from her mother to read.

“Margaret!” her mother exclaimed, stopping her before she had barely read the opening lines. “Are you wearing a betrothal ring?” she demanded with rising excitement.

“Yes, Mother,” Margaret softly answered, and bashfully extended her hand toward her mother for her examination.

Mrs. Hale eagerly studied the diamond and emerald gemstones. “Oh, it’s exquisite!” she said approvingly. “Dixon, come look at Margaret’s ring.”

Embarrassed that her ring should be the focus of so much attention, Margaret shifted her gaze away from the examined object.

“I’m sure it’s very pretty,” Dixon weighed in, with a twinge of reluctance. “A fine piece for a young bride, very fine,” she admitted, although wary that expensive gifts were often a substitute for good breeding. She would not say a word against Mr. Thornton, however, knowing how pleased her mistress was with her daughter’s betrothal. Dixon let out a silent sigh of helplessness.

“Perhaps this may impress upon your Aunt Shaw that a manufacturer can be a worthy match,” Mrs. Hale mused, still holding her daughter’s hand captive as she examined the new acquisition. Maria Hale knew that her sister had very traditional views of social distinction and that she held those of high birth and social standing in great esteem.

Mrs. Hale had once held such proud views herself, but she was determined that her daughter would not suffer the deprivation of marrying a man of modest means as she had done. Her sister would not be able to dismiss Mr. Thornton’s wealth; money spoke its own language of respect and command.

“I suppose we must send an announcement, mustn't we?” Margaret responded, gently retracting her hand from her mother’s grasp. “I don’t believe Aunt Shaw will quite understand the stature which Mr. Thornton is accorded here in Milton. She is altogether too narrow-minded in her views, having lived in the same circles of London for so long,” she remarked with sad resignation. She felt a strange surge of stubborn pride rise within her for the cotton manufacturer who would be her husband.

“I believe you may see her very soon,” Mrs. Hale responded with an enigmatic smile.

“Whatever do you mean?” Margaret retorted, wrinkling her brow in confusion.

“Read that letter and you will see,” her mother said, leaning back into the sofa.

Margaret obediently took up her aunt’s missive and began to read it aloud. Edith was back from Corfu and wished very much that Margaret should visit
her as the Great Exhibition would only be open a few more weeks. Aunt Shaw proclaimed that all of London was abuzz with the unprecedented drama and excitement of what was surely destined to become the event of the century. Edith insisted that her cousin come to join them in seeing the spectacle.

“You must go, my dear,” her mother declared when Margaret had read the final words.

“But, Mother, you are not well. I could not leave you ...” her daughter protested weakly.

“I have been feeling much better lately, as a matter of course. It sounds so exciting! I do wish you would go and tell me all about it,” Mrs. Hale returned with a convincing smile.

Margaret could only smile in response to her mother’s pleading, not at all certain she wished to go.

*****

Early in the afternoon, Margaret set out to visit Mary. As she neared the high street with its bustling crowd of merchants and shoppers, she heard someone call her name.

“Miss Hale, over here!” Fanny Thornton sang out from the draper’s shop front, beckoning eagerly with her gloved hand.

Margaret drew near to where Fanny and the lovely Miss
Lawrenson stood. Both looked very fashionable in day dresses of pale blue and lavender.  “Miss Thornton, Miss Lawrenson,” Margaret acknowledged with a congenial smile.

“Oh, no need to be so formal, for we shall be sisters soon enough!” Fanny insisted. “I hope you don’t mind that I told Miss
Lawrenson of your engagement. Mr. Lawrenson is John’s banker, and Claire has known John for years,” she continued animatedly without any pause that might allow Margaret to reply.

Miss
Lawrenson gave Margaret a weak smile which never quite reached her eyes.

“Oh, do let us see your ring!” Fanny enthused, craning her head to see what her brother had purchased for his bride-to-be.

Margaret obligingly allowed them to inspect the jewels on her finger, feeling somewhat uncomfortable as Fanny paid her compliments on the handsomeness of the acquisition and Miss Lawrenson nodded politely in meager approval of the ring that she had once purposed to be hers.

“Have you set a date for the wedding?” Fanny bluntly asked. “I have always wanted a spring wedding myself,” she added with aplomb.

“No, we have not spoken of it,” Margaret replied falteringly, feeling a slight blush come to her cheeks.

“Oh, I would have thought it would be the first thing to do. How else will you begin making all the arrangements?” Fanny asked wonderingly, a furrow of confusion on her dainty brow.

“I’m sure I will manage once the date is settled,” Margaret returned, eager to escape any further questions on the subject. “I’m sure you must be busy. I hope you won’t mind if I continue on my way. It was very nice to see you again, Fanny, Miss Lawrenson,” she kindly concluded.

“No, of course we do not mind. We are very busy — aren’t we, Claire? —
looking for the best fabrics for our fall ball gowns,” Fanny replied with flippant congeniality.

Margaret nodded in acknowledgement before resuming her course down the lesser street toward the other side of town.

“She has no one to accompany her, but wanders the streets alone,” Fanny whispered to Claire disapprovingly, her smile vanishing. “John will put a stop to that. What would people think to see her roaming all about town in that manner?” she added, scandalized at the thought.

Miss
Lawrenson grinned at Margaret’s indiscretion, disdainfully considering that perhaps Mr. Thornton would come to regret his choice in selecting such an odd girl. “And her clothes leave much to be desired,” she readily chimed in. “Did you see her dress? It is not the thing for this season.”

“Good heavens, no! She does not take pains to keep herself in fashionable appearance. But, of course, her father is only a tutor. The Hales are of very modest means,” Fanny elaborated scornfully.
“She must be pleased to have John’s ring, although it isn’t quite as dazzling as the one I should like to have one day,” she related, as the two girls strolled to their next shopping haven.

*****

Margaret’s encounter with Fanny turned the direction of her thoughts to the impending changes in her life. As the newly betrothed girl made her way toward the more crowded and dirty streets of town, she contemplated how much her daily habits must alter once she was the Master’s wife.

She knew Edith and Aunt Shaw would be appalled to know she roamed unescorted through all parts of this industrial city. Henry, she was certain, would have insisted she not take such liberties if she had married the London barrister. She did not know what to expect of Mr. Thornton.

She suspected that he would not readily approve of her solitary walks to the workers’ neighborhood, but she could not stop thinking of his letter where he had so ardently proclaimed that he wished to make her happy. She wondered if he would truly allow her the freedom to do as she pleased, which she deemed essential to her happiness, when it seemed that half of Milton was under his control.

His mother would undoubtedly disapprove, Margaret thought. An unsettling sense of dread came over her at the realization of the scrutiny she would certainly endure living under the same roof as the severe Mrs. Thornton. Margaret was sure that his mother held her in no especial esteem, and most likely did not consider an outspoken girl from the South an ideal match for her son. The corners of her mouth lifted in wry humor, though, to realize that it was more than probable that Mrs. Thornton did not think any girl a worthy match for her son.

She endeavored to cast aside these thoughts as she walked through the narrow alleyway leading to the Higgins’ dwelling.

Upon entering the darkened house, Margaret was surprised to find a small gaggle of young children within. The oldest lad, not yet seven, sat in a chair at the table, watching Mary make water-porridge. His brothers and sisters sat or lay sullenly on the very bed where Bessy used to lie. A young girl held a baby in swaddling clothes, listlessly rocking it.