by Nancy Klein
Mrs. Thornton had no sooner written her note of invitation when a similar note was delivered to Mr. Thornton, inviting him to dinner at Crampton that night. I have invited Nicholas and Mary and the children, she wrote, and hope you are able to join us. Mr. Thornton smiled as he read this—as if he would have anything better to do than spend this evening with her! He sent his response directly, and looked forward with high anticipation to a pleasant evening with Meg.
He found it difficult to concentrate on business for the remainder of the day, but in spite of all going on about him, was able to complete paperwork, and send word to his business acquaintances in London that he must postpone their meeting for several weeks due to personal business. He had no intention of letting Meg out of his sight—it was going to take time for him to trust that she was here to stay. He had felt a sense of absolute panic as he watched her leave that afternoon, and it had taken every shred of his strength not to call out to her to stay.
When he returned to his office, he had the mirror that hung upon the wall packed away and stored in a remote area of the warehouse. He believed Meg had no intention of going through the mirror again, but wanted to leave nothing to chance. He feared some unscrupulous Fate might reach through the glass and snatch her away from him. Better to be safe, he thought as he watched Williams supervise the packing and removal of the looking glass.
Well before the appointed time that evening, unable to help himself in his desperation to be with her again, he knocked on the door of her house in Crampton. He heard a heavy tread down the hallway, and smiled pleasantly as Dixon opened the door. She eyed him sternly and he knew that she must be aware that he was now betrothed to her young mistress. Her face softened as she saw the bouquet of yellow roses in his hand.
“Please come in, Mr. Thornton,” she said politely. “Miss Meg has asked that you wait in the parlor for her—she will be with you directly.” He followed her obediently up the stairs, and, stepping into the parlor, found Nicholas Higgins sitting awkwardly on the edge of a wing chair. He nodded at Mr. Thornton, rose to shake his hand, and said, “Good evening, Thornton. I understand congratulations are in order—I wish you all the best.”
Mr. Thornton returned his greeting with warmth. “Thank you, Higgins.” His stern face relaxed into a soft look of affection as he thought of his bride-to-be. “Where are your daughter and the children?”
“In the kitchen with Miss Dixon, helping with the meal—I was asked to leave, as I was in the way.”
At that moment, Meg came hurrying into the parlor. She had wanted to greet him when he arrived, but his early appearance thwarted her plan. John stared at her in deep pleasure—as on that evening many months before when he had come to take tea with the family, her hair was plaited down her back, and she smelled of lavender. A lump formed in his throat. She stood before him, her smile blossoming with pleasure as she spied the roses. Wordlessly, he handed her the bouquet, and she buried her face in the blooms. They continued to gaze in silence at each other until Nicholas cleared his throat and announced that he would see what was keeping dinner.
“Thank you for the flowers,” she said. She felt shy and uncertain of a sudden, not knowing how to act. As she set the flowers on a table, he watched her with a hungry look that made her quiver in anticipation.
“You did this for me,” he said softly, his voice a warm caress. “You bathed and dressed as you did that night.” Stepping close to her, he fingered the thick braid that hung down her back, enjoying the silken feel between his fingers. He moved slowly behind her and, lowering his head, lifted the braid and lightly kissed her nape, enjoying her sharp intake of breath.
“I—I think we should go down to the kitchen with the others,” she stuttered, and he smiled in satisfaction to think that he had the power to move her. As they departed the room, Mr. Thornton noticed a large package propped against the parlor wall, swathed in brown paper and tied with string. At his inquiring glance, she explained, “It is the mirror that I came through yesterday. I have asked Nicholas to move it to the attic—I don’t ever want to risk the possibility of moving through it again.”
********&********
Mr. Thornton sent the carriage to Crampton the following evening to convey his betrothed to Marlborough Mills. Meg was in a high flight of nerves—she who cared little for the opinions of others wanted to make a good impression on Mrs. Thornton for her betrothed’s sake. She recognized that Mr. Thornton was the center of his mother’s universe and that any discord between mother and wife would cause him unhappiness. She resolved to be as pleasant as possible, and to strive to forge a good relationship with the woman who would soon be a member of her family.
Unbeknownst to Meg, she had already done much to make inroads into Mrs. Thornton’s affections by presenting her son with the deed to Marlborough Mills. Mrs. Thornton was duly touched and impressed that such a young girl would sacrifice the means to an enormous income; she was doubly impressed that it was because she loved and honored him. She had watched her son grow grave and silent over the past month, as if he were sickening for something he had lost. She had realized at the time that he did indeed love Miss Hale, and worried about what he would do since Miss Hale had left town indefinitely. His entire demeanor had changed upon her return, and Mrs. Thornton recognized that she had Meg to thank for this transformation. Since the couple had been reunited, he radiated joy and hope. In light of the deed to the mill and the regard her son had for this young woman, Mrs. Thornton was determined to be pleased with Miss Hale, and set out this evening to show her how highly she was regarded.
When Mr. Thornton (who had loitered in the courtyard, awaiting his beloved’s arrival) ushered Meg into the parlor at Marlborough Mills, Mrs. Thornton was waiting at the entrance to greet her warmly and escort her into the room. Inside, Meg found Fanny and Mr. Watson waiting, Fanny highly curious and Mr. Watson nearly asleep in a comfortable wing chair. Upon hearing of Meg’s recent inheritance, Fanny’s feelings toward her had undergone a fairly radical revision. Fanny had little use for a poor clergyman’s daughter, but an heiress of significant property was a vastly different matter. Fanny was all attention and flattery toward Mr. Bell’s goddaughter and moved with alacrity to greet Meg and engage her in conversation. She clucked over the idea of a simple wedding ceremony, and offered to help with the arrangements, but found to her surprise that Meg was not to be swayed.
“We would prefer a simple ceremony,” Meg explained yet again in response to Fanny’s effusive ideas for flowers and decorations and festivities. “Given my father’s recent death, a large ceremony is out of the question.” She sought Mr. Thornton’s reassuring glance, and found him smiling warmly at her. For a moment, she lost the thread of her thoughts.
“Ahem,” Fanny cleared her throat irritably—honestly, this pair could not take their eyes off of each other—from whence had this sudden affection sprung? “I understand your wish, but you will at least allow my dear Watson and me to hold a small luncheon in your honor after the ceremony?”
Mr. Thornton opened his mouth to object, but Meg interjected, “That would be very kind of you, Fanny.”
Fanny was somewhat mollified, and asked in a less astringent tone, “Who among your family will be invited?”
Meg thought for a moment, and said slowly, “My aunt and cousin should be abroad at the moment—they had plans to go to Italy with friends. My only guests would be the Higgins family and Doctor Donaldson.”
Fanny’s eyebrows soared, and she turned to her brother. “Higgins—that hand that works for you?”
“Yes, Fanny,” Mr. Thornton responded, holding a tight rein on his temper. “He and his family are friends of Margaret’s, and have become my friends as well.”
His sister sniffed, but did not reply; she wanted to have her luncheon, and would invite whatever hoi polloi her future sister desired in order to keep the peace. I will sit them as far away from the Hampers and Slicksons as possible, she resolved as she began to envision the seating arrangemen
ts.
Before dinner, Mrs. Thornton pulled Meg aside in an attempt to get to know her better. “Miss Hale,” she asked with some hesitation, “if you don’t mind my asking, why did you gave the deed to Marlborough Mills to my son? I must admit that I thought it was a ploy to win my son’s affections, but you left town immediately afterwards. I am curious as to the reasoning behind your actions.”
Far from being displeased at the question, Meg admired Mrs. Thornton for speaking her mind forthrightly. Meg was plain speaking herself, and preferred to address issues in a forthright manner. She replied, “I gave him the deed to the mill because I believed—and still do believe—that there is no one who deserves it more.” She impulsively reached for Mrs. Thornton’s hand. “I love your son with all of my heart, Mrs. Thornton. During my…travels, I realized this, and that is why I returned. You told me once that I did not know whom I had rejected, and you were right. I realize now what a superior man he is, and how lucky I am that he loves me and wishes to make me his wife.”
Mrs. Thornton felt her heart soften toward this strange young woman. She was not at all what she would have chosen for her son, but there was more to her than Mrs. Thornton had originally believed.
“Miss Hale,” she continued in hesitant tones, “once you are married, I am certain you will not want me to continue living at the mill….” Mrs. Thornton dreaded the thought of leaving her son and living with Fanny, but she would do what was necessary to ensure her son’s happiness. She was certain that a new bride would not want her husband’s mother lurking about, interfering with her housekeeping.
Meg tilted her head to one side and smiled. “Why do you believe that?”
“Because…” Mrs. Thornton sputtered in some confusion. “You will want to set up your own house, select your own servants, and establish your own ways.”
Meg said in a gentle voice, “Has John not informed you that I intend to work at the clinic after we are married?”
Mrs. Thornton was shocked. “No, he did not—I—I assumed you would not….”
“My nursing is very important to me,” Meg explained firmly. “It is a part of who I am, and I would like to think it is an important asset to this town. I have every intention of continuing my work with Doctor Donaldson; in fact, I resume work tomorrow. I will have little time for housekeeping or selecting servants or performing many of the day-to-day household activities. I was hoping you would continue to live with us, and tend to these matters in the same efficient way you always have.”
The older woman stared at her in mingled astonishment and relief. “If you are certain that is what you want….”
Meg squeezed her hand. “It is what I want, and what John desires as well, I am certain,” she replied briskly. “Is it settled?” Mrs. Thornton nodded, her face soft with pleasure and relief. She could live with her son and not with her mercurial daughter. As she rose to see if dinner was ready, John, who had been surreptitiously watching their exchange, wandered over and sat by Meg.
“Mother looked happy—what did you say to her?” he asked lightly. When she related their conversation, he gazed at her with deep admiration. “You are a remarkable woman. Thank you for reassuring my mother that she may live with us and continue to manage the household. She has been cast down at the thought of leaving us.”
“If she has been cast down, it is at the thought of leaving you,” Meg retorted. “I did it for both of us. If I am to spend time at the clinic, I must be sure that you have meals on the table when you are hungry, and a tidy and well-provisioned home.” She lifted anxious eyes to his face. “Are you certain you do not mind my work at the clinic? I care for your happiness above all else—if the idea displeases you, I will not do it. I am certain Doctor Donaldson will understand.”
His smile was heartbreakingly tender as he reached out for her hand. “Of course I want you to continue your work with Doctor Donaldson—it is part of who you are. I know how much it means to you, and I have seen your skill. Milton would be so much the poorer without you. I would not dream of asking you to make such a sacrifice.”
Overcome with love for him, she leaned forward and lay her head against his chest, and he pulled her to him, holding her close against his heart. They sat in contented silence for a few moments before he asked teasingly, “But you will occasionally cook for me? Bake bread, and put the sugar in my tea?”
She leaned back on his shoulder and smiled up at him. “I promise to fix dinner for just the two of us often—so that we may eat in our room—alone.” His eyes flashed, and she could tell that he would hold her to her promise.
That night, John escorted Margaret home, despite her entreaties that she would be fine on her own. She had walked home from the clinic many a night, and did not understand the need for him to undertake such a long walk to Crampton and back. For the first time since she had returned, she saw a spark of anger in his eyes and realized that by walking her home, he was asserting his right to protect her. Before he could frame a reply, she threaded her arm through his. “Come, let us go—I will be glad of your company.”
Mollified, he led her from the quiet courtyard and through the streets of Milton. Glancing up at his forbidding countenance, she thought, I will have to curb my independent ways. I will be a married woman soon, and must keep reign over my impulses to go where I want and do what I want. As if realizing her thoughts, Mr. Thornton glanced down at her as a rueful smile crossed his face. “You must let me do these things for you—escort you to your door, help you into carriages, bring you flowers. How else can I demonstrate how much I love you?”
She stopped and turned to face him. “I know how much you love me,” she said in a fierce, low voice. “You have no need to prove it.” She could say no more; her heart was so full of love for him that it rendered her speechless. He regretted that they stood in a public street and he could not take her into his arms. Wordlessly, he offered her his arm once more and they proceeded to her home in Crampton. She remembered the night he escorted her home from the Princeton district, and how she had longed for him. To think that she would soon belong to him drove all rational conversation from her head.
She turned at her door to bid him good-night, but he reached around her and turned the doorknob, forcing her into the darkened hallway. Closing the door behind them, he swept her into his embrace and bent his head to kiss her. His kisses filled her with pleasure, and she surrendered herself so totally to his seductive ministrations that when they parted at last, she had a foolish and besotted expression on her face. “Oh, pray do not stop,” she exclaimed.
A flush rose from his neck to his face, and with a violent move, he pulled her into his arms to kiss her again. She shuddered and melted against him, and he gently opened her jacket and undid the top buttons of her blouse, sliding his hand into the neckline to feel the hot satin of her skin. As he continued his hypnotic caresses, he could feel her quickening breath, and increased his exploration until she moaned softly. She was lost in the wonder of his hands and his mouth, until a sound behind them caused both guilty parties to spring apart.
Dixon stood at the end of the hallway, arms crossed on her chest and a fierce expression on her face. “It is just as well that you are to be married soon,” she exclaimed, “seeing as you can’t keep your hands from each other. It’s time for you to go to bed, Miss Meg—and time for you to go, Mr. Thornton.”
Turning her back on Dixon, Meg moved into his arms once more and kissed him with a soft, open mouth that teased and taunted. “Good night,” she whispered, a wicked smile on her face. He stood gazing up the stairs until her slim form was swallowed by the darkness.
“Good night, Miss Dixon,” he said softly, having the grace to look simultaneously chagrined and pleased.
“Good night, Mr. John.” Dixon smiled indulgently before following her mistress up the stairs.
Chapter 25. Wonderland
The sun shone brightly on Meg’s wedding day, burning off the morning mists. When she came to awaken her mistress, Dixo
n was surprised to find the bride standing by the window, gazing out on the street below. She turned as Dixon entered and smiled brightly. “It is my wedding day, Dixon,” she said softly.
“Indeed it is, miss. I am glad to see you are up and about. I have water heating for your bath, and have laid out your clothes in the spare bedroom.” She set the tea tray down and said briskly, “Drink your tea. By the time you are done, I will be ready for you downstairs.”
As Meg slowly fixed her cup of tea, she thought of all that had occurred since she had first come on her incredible adventure through the looking glass. She remembered her first awkward days with Mr. and Mrs. Hale, cautiously feeling her way about Milton and learning her place in her family. She recalled meeting Bessy and Nicholas and Mary, and thought of her first encounter with Doctor Donaldson, when she had sewn up the hand of the worker from Marlborough Mills. She remembered the deaths of those she had known and loved, of her warm relationship with Mr. Bell, and of the work she did and would continue to do for the poor of Milton.
Most of all, she thought of the man she was to marry, the man whose ardor and passion for her had reached across time to return her to her proper place with him. They would seal their commitment to each other today, but in her heart she had pledged herself to him long ago, and she knew that he felt the same. Today was a formality for their family and acquaintances—in reality, nothing, aside from death, would ever rend them apart again.
She smiled as she recalled the first time she saw him, on the workroom floor of Marlborough Mills. She had been struck then by his raw power and dark good looks. Little did she know how much there was to love about him—his quiet intelligence, his thirst for knowledge, and his fair treatment of the men who worked for him set him apart from other men she had known. She loved his strong hands, the small line that formed between his eyes when he was perturbed, the sheen of his raven-wing hair, the brilliant blue of his eyes, and the way his shy and charming smile transformed his austere face to one of devastating handsomeness. She loved everything about him. Setting her tea cup down, she hastened to her toilette, anxious to join him at the church.