by Elaine Owen
“Little Thomas, the youngest. Higgins said he came down with the putrid throat two days ago and has been failing ever since.”
At once Thornton chided himself for his selfish reaction, picturing Thomas’ childish face in his mind’s eye. How anxious Higgins must be, knowing that life in the rough neighborhood of Princeton took many lives before their time! How anxious he himself would be if one of his own children were to become gravely ill. Suddenly he was grateful that Margaret had such a compassionate heart, even if it meant he would sometimes have to share her attention with others.
“Would you like me to serve you dinner now, Mr. Thornton?”
“No. We will eat when Mrs. Thornton returns.”
Famished though he was, he would still gladly wait for her. Briefly he contemplated going to Higgins’ house to find her, but since he did not know which way she had taken they might pass by each other without knowing it. Instead he walked restlessly into his study. There was always correspondence to tend.
In his imagination he pictured how he and Margaret would come together tonight. He would hear her footstep on the threshold and go to meet her. With any luck she would come straight into his arms and he would greet her properly, the way a husband should greet the wife he had longed for all day. He would lift her face to his and taste the delights of her lips again. With neither mother nor sister in the house he could hold her as long as he wanted, with no fear of interruption. If Dixon happened upon them and had any sense at all, she would simply turn and walk away.
Then he would take Margaret’s coat and hang it up. They would go into the dining room together and sit down for dinner. While they ate they would have pleasant conversation, but they would also share tender looks and eloquent silences. And after dinner they would go upstairs together for the first time. Thornton silently blessed his mother for her gift of privacy. There would be no interruptions over dinner and no embarrassment at the breakfast table tomorrow. They were finally free to be together the way they should have been long ago.
He realized that he had been daydreaming and shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. The letters he needed to write would not take long, but hopefully he could draw them out until it was time for Margaret to be home. He pulled out the chair in front of his desk, the same desk where Margaret had sat the day before, and reached for his quill and a piece of foolscap.
∞
Daylight was long gone when Margaret managed to pull herself away from Nicholas and his young charge. The child was still sick but the canker root Margaret had placed under his tongue, a remedy she had learned from her mother, seemed to open his throat and relieve his symptoms. Margaret had stayed with him until the child fell into a natural sleep, his deep breaths coming evenly and without a struggle. Then she gave Nicholas detailed instructions for his care, accepted his effusive thanks, and hurried home through the darkened streets, anxious to see her husband again.
Only an urgent request from Nicholas could have pulled her away from Marlborough Mills on this momentous day. If it weren’t for his urgent message she would still be anxiously awaiting Thornton’s return from the mill office. Was it selfish, she wondered, to gaze down at the young boy at such a time and wonder what her own children would look like one day? Would they inherit Thornton’s strong chin, or perhaps his deep blue eyes? For surely, now that she and John were going to be truly united, they could look forward to a family! Life would be very sweet, now that she and Thornton were finally on a firm footing!
Margaret’s heart leaped in anticipation as she opened the front door of her home. The entryway was empty, with no sign of her husband. She quickly removed her coat and handed it to Dixon, who had come to meet her. “How is the child, Miss Margaret?” the servant asked.
“He is well. I expect he’ll make a full recovery,” Margaret answered almost mechanically, looking past Dixon into the darkened parlor. There was no sign of Thornton there either. “Did the master come back from the mill yet?”
“Oh, yes, he’s been back for two hours! He asked about you and I gave him your message.”
“Thank you, Dixon. Where is he now?”
“Sitting right there in his study. In a strange mood, he is.”
Margaret gave her a curious look. “What do you mean?”
Dixon lowered her voice as she took a half step closer. “He seemed well enough when he first came home. I gave him your message. He said he’d wait for you for dinner and went into his study. I kept on cooking and next thing you know, when I looked in on him to ask if he’d like a cup of tea, he’s pacing about the room like a wild animal. Didn’t hardly hear a word I said! Took me calling his name three times to get his attention, and when he finally did answer he near bit my head off! Then he sat down again with his head in his hands, like it’s hurting him or something. I can’t rightly understand him.”
Margaret’s heart ached for her husband. What a dreadful day this had been for him. “Don’t be too harsh on him, Dixon. He has had troubles that you know nothing of.”
“So you know what’s going on, then? Is there any truth to those rumors I’ve been hearing?” Dixon looked at her fearfully.
“I don’t know what rumors you mean, and it’s not right to gossip about the master in any case.” Margaret kept her voice firm. “We will have dinner in a few minutes. Please do whatever needs to be done before then.”
Dixon nodded and bustled away but not without several furtive glances back at her mistress. No doubt she was fearful for her job if she had heard any rumors about the mill’s demise.
Margaret went into the study, noticing at once that most of the room was in the dark. Only one lamp was lit; the others had either been allowed to go out or had perhaps not been lit at all. The room had a chilly feel to it and she realized that the fire, too, was burning low. She had to wait for her eyes to adjust to the dim before she made out her husband standing by the window. His back was to her, his arms folded over his chest.
“John?” she called hesitantly, taking a step towards him. “John, I am home.” His mannerism was odd, she thought. After the warmth of their embrace this morning, she would have expected him to be waiting at the door.
Thornton turned to face her, his arms still folded. She could barely see his face in the dark. “Yes, I can see that.”
“I am glad to see you,” she offered, stepping eagerly towards him. She had a vague idea that he would move to meet her and sweep her into his arms, but instead he remained still, watching her. She stopped in her tracks. “Did Dixon tell you where I was?”
“You were with Higgins,” he answered flatly, and Margaret nodded, not understanding his reserve. Was he angry that she had not been waiting for him when he came home? “How is the boy?” he added.
“He is better. We feared for his breathing but he seems to have made a turn now.”
Thornton nodded once and Margaret took another step towards him. “I am sorry that you had to wait for me to come back,” she said. “I wanted to be here, but I could not turn away from a child in need.”
“Think nothing of it.” Thornton’s voice was cool, distant. “You went where you were needed. You should get dinner. You must be hungry by now.”
“Dinner? But – “ she faltered. She could not comprehend the distance he was keeping. It was far more than the six or seven feet between them. “I thought you would be waiting to see me.”
“It has been a long day and I am tired,” he answered. “I only stayed downstairs long enough to make sure you came home safely. I am going to retire now.”
It was as though a door had been slammed in her face. “What is wrong?” she asked, taking the final steps to his side. “After this morning I thought things were different between us.”
Thornton flinched as if he had been struck. “I have had time to think. We both said things this morning that we did not mean. It would be better if we forget them.”
“What?” she cried. “I do not agree with you! I meant every word of what I said!”
/> “What, exactly, did you say?” he demanded, his voice colder than ever.
“That I wanted to be with you, that I want to be your wife!”
“But not that you love me,” he rejoined.
Margaret stared at him, speechless. “Surely you understood that,” she finally answered. Hurt and bewilderment were beginning to course through her. “Perhaps I did not speak as fluently as you, but you understood me well enough. And I understood you!”
Thornton shook his head. “I was overwrought this morning, distraught at realizing what has happened with the mill. I overreacted when you offered me your support. For that I apologize. When we married I promised that I would never impose myself on you, yet I did not keep my word. Rest assured I will honor it from now on.”
“But it was not an imposition! I love you, John. I want to be with you!”
“Margaret,” Thornton said warningly, “do not say things you do not mean.”
By now tears were in her eyes. “I do not know why you are behaving this way, but I know how I feel about you! What must I do to convince you?” She placed her hand on his arm, pleading with him to believe her.
Thornton did not move. He stared down at the hand on his arm and swallowed hard. When he spoke again his voice was so low she had to strain to make it out. “Margaret, is there anything you wish to tell me?”
She could not imagine what he meant. “Nothing I have not said already.”
He covered her hand with one of his own. For a moment it stayed there, lingering; then he removed her hand and put it away from him. “It would be best if we pretend this morning never happened.” Hastily he left the room and went up the stairs; but as he brushed by her, Margaret was almost certain that there were tears in his eyes.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Margaret lay awake for hours that night, replaying the scene with Thornton in her mind over and over again. After the first burst of tears she lay awake and restless, with his cold words echoing in her head. The strip of moonlight that pierced between the curtains in her room moved slowly across the floor as she strove to understand what had gone wrong.
It was clear that some event had occurred to make Thornton think differently of having a real marriage with her, but what that event was, she could not imagine. The anger she had sensed under his cool facade indicated that his passions were deeply aroused. His eyes had flashed in a way that made her think she had offended him somehow. But try as she might she could not recall anything she had said that would provoke such a strong response. Was he really so petty as to resent her not being at home when he came back from the mill? That would not be like the man she had come to know. And anyway he had asked how little Thomas was faring without any sign of pique.
As far as she knew the only thing that could possibly have caused such a change of temperament was the loss of the mill. But his business failure had not caused anger in him this morning, only a profound sadness.
It must be as he said – he had had time to consider his reaction to her and to think differently of it. He had accepted her affection in a moment of weakness and now regretted his actions, and they would never have a real marriage. She wept into her pillow again at the unbearable thought.
She missed her father more tonight than she ever had since he passed away. How would he advise her if he were here?
Her father had thought highly of Thornton. Surely he would not have asked John to care for her if he had believed him capable of such inconstancy. His words came back to her now. A man like John does not give his heart lightly, Margaret. If you could learn to care for him, he would be a most excellent husband for you. What would her father tell her to do?
He would tell her to talk to Thornton, she realized. He would want them to be happy in their relationship. He would advise her to go to her husband, find out what the problem was, and do everything in her power to make things right between them. And he would tell her to be brave. He would tell her not to be afraid, to have faith in her husband, and to believe that all would be well. She could almost hear his voice in her ear, urging her not to lose hope. With her father’s urging in her mind and a prayer for courage in her heart, she was finally able to fall asleep.
The next day, however, did not bring any immediate improvement.
Thornton was sitting at the breakfast table when Margaret entered the room and greeted him. He nodded once but gave his complete attention to the newspaper in front of him, barely acknowledging her entrance. Margaret was not sure how to react to this. Normally her husband would have set aside his paper and given her his undivided attention, but clearly his mood had not changed since last night. She moved tentatively to the sideboard and filled her plate, frowning as she tried to decide how to start the conversation. But she might as well have saved herself the effort. No sooner had Margaret seated herself at the table than Thornton stood and reached for his jacket. “Do not hold dinner for me. I will not be home until late.”
Margaret blinked, dismayed. “Can you not stay for just a minute?” she asked. “I would like to speak with you, if I may.”
Thornton looked pointedly at the clock on the wall, then back at her. His expression was suspicious. “About what?”
He had never been so cold to her before, and Margaret felt herself shrink inside. “About – ” she faltered. “That is, I think we should talk about yesterday.”
“What about it?”
“About what happened between us, and why you are so changed.”
“We already had that discussion. I see no reason to revisit it.” Thornton’s voice brooked no argument. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” Margaret could only shake her head, unable to speak for the cold that was sweeping over her. “Then I will bid you good day.” In one motion he swept his hat onto his head and left the room. Margaret heard the front door close firmly behind him on his way out.
This was a blow, but Margaret was determined not to give up. By noon she had prepared a basket to take to Thornton’s office, hoping that the passing of a few hours might have softened his attitude. But when she entered the mill and climbed the stairs to his office she found Huely standing expectantly, apparently waiting for her. “Good morning, ma’am,” he said, inclining his head courteously as she approached. “Master Thornton is in a meeting. He asked me to extend his compliments, but he is too busy at present to stop for a noon meal.”
So her husband had not relented. “Is he all right?” she asked anxiously. “May I not see him for myself?”
Huely hesitated. “He is well, but I believe he prefers not to be distracted at this time. There are difficult matters under consideration, you know.”
“I take it you are referring to the mill’s financial difficulties.” Huely nodded. Quick tears rose in Margaret’s eyes, but they had nothing to do with the mill. “Please give Mr. Thornton my regards in return. And do give him the basket, whether he wants it or not. Perhaps he can find time for it when other matters are less pressing.”
“I will be sure to tell him, ma’am.” Huely accepted the basket and turned away. As he opened the office door Margaret caught a quick glimpse of Thornton standing tall and straight with his back to her. He was staring out the window at the courtyard below, his hands clenched tightly behind him. He did not turn to look at her. Then the door closed firmly shut and Margaret was left outside.
∞
Thornton heard the office door close but he remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the courtyard below. Margaret would cross the yard again on her way back to the house and he could not bring himself to turn away, even if that meant she might look up and see him in the window. With luck the bright sun would be in her eyes, blocking her view of him, and she would not know that he could not stop thinking about her.
What a fool he had been to think that he could win his wife’s affection in just a few weeks’ time! Despite what they had shared together, Margaret’s heart was as untouched as ever. She still loved the man in Spain, the man whose name Thornton could not even bea
r to think of right now. But the name came in spite of himself: Frederick. Dearest Frederick, Margaret had called him in her letter. And she had called herself his own dearest Margaret!
Thornton knew he was being a coward. For the first time in his life he was shrinking from doing what must be done. Margaret did not love him; she had never loved him. Steadfast though she was, committed to doing as her father wished, her heart would always belong to this other man. Sooner or later he, Thornton, would have to confront her with this truth. He would have to tell her that he knew her secret and then he would have to do the impossible – he would have to let her go.
∞
It was well after the usual time for dinner when Thornton finally returned to the house that night. Margaret had almost decided that he was not coming at all when she heard him open the door. He removed his hat and coat and hung them in their places, letting out a heavy sigh as he did so. For a moment he stayed motionless as he rested his hand against the wall, his whole demeanor speaking of deep dejection. Then he turned and saw her standing in the parlor doorway. Immediately he straightened. “Margaret. I told you not to wait up for me.”
“I wanted to.”
“Have you been holding dinner this whole time?”
“It was no trouble.”
Thornton frowned and Margaret wondered what he was thinking. “Come and eat before you go to bed,” she urged him. “The food will go to waste if you do not.”
He wavered and for a moment Margaret thought he was going to make another excuse. But then he gave another sigh and followed her into the dining room. While Thornton seated himself she retrieved the dishes from the kitchen. Thornton looked at her curiously when she came back into the room.
“Where is Dixon?”
“She asked for the night off in order to visit a friend. I did not think you would object.”