How Far the World Will Bend

by Nancy Klein

  At Marlborough Mills, John Thornton awoke early, although he lingered in bed. He gazed at the ceiling, relaxed but alert, and considered the momentous day ahead. He would not feel easy until his ring was on Meg’s finger and she had spoken her vows—no, that was not true, he thought with a small smile. He would not be easy until he had possessed her, until he was able to slake his hunger for her with his mouth and hands and body. He had never met a woman who challenged him as she did, who made him want to be a better man just so he could see her eyes light with love and admiration when she gazed at him.

  He was happy she intended to continue her work at the clinic, although he knew his mother disapproved. He vowed he would never prevent her from doing what she loved. It was part of who she was, and he loved her every trait, even the ones that occasionally maddened him. Thank you, God, for sending her back to me, he prayed. Thank you for our future together. Throwing back the bedclothes, he stood and stretched. It was time to start the day.

  While Mr. Thornton went about his morning ablutions, Dixon clucked and fussed over Meg like a mother hen. She did not approve of Meg’s plan to wear her hair down, and argued and objected until Meg finally acquiesced and let her arrange her hair in a braided twist. Meg had decided that rather than have a new dress made, she would put off mourning for this one day and wear the dress that she wore to the theater in Oxford. Dixon had surprised her that morning with her mother’s veil, and attached it to a small tiara that Mrs. Hale had worn at her debut years before. The long lace veil flowed down Meg’s back, while a portion would conceal her features until the time her groom removed it.

  As Dixon fussed over her, Meg recalled the set-to she had had with the servant the previous evening. Meg had presented Dixon with the deed to the house in Crampton, anticipating the joy that such a gift would give. To her surprise, Meg experienced the full brunt of Dixon’s anger. “If you think I mean to let you move into that big house by yourself, with no one to care for you or look out for your interests, then all I can say is you don’t know me at all.” Dixon insisted she had no need for a house; she would live where Meg lived.

  Meg was touched by the servant’s loyalty and determination. “I did not mean to insult you. I thought you would not care to live in that ‘mausoleum,’ as you have called it numerous times.”

  Dixon sniffed. “I would live in a lean-to if you were there. I know your Mr. Thornton will be all attention, but he cannot care for your clothes or dress your hair, or keep your things the way you like them. No, miss, I am coming with you and that is all there is to say on the matter.”

  At last, Dixon stood back and surveyed her work with satisfaction. Meg was beautiful; the shimmering gold threads and deep amber hue of the gown made her skin glow, and served as a foil to her darker hair. The gown left her neck and shoulders bare, and her mother’s diamond necklace encircled her neck once more. The veil shimmered and hinted at the lovely, flushed face beneath it. “How proud your mother and father would be,” Dixon exclaimed, and both smiled sadly at the thought of the loved ones who would not be with them that day.

  At a knock on the front door, Dixon bustled down the stairs with Meg at her heels. Doctor Donaldson awaited them, nattily attired in a new suit and top hat. He swept his hat off and offered a gallant bow to the women.

  “Good morning, Meg, Miss Dixon,” he said in a jaunty tone. “I am here as requested to escort you to the church.” He indicated the hired hackney behind him. Gazing at Meg, his face softened. “You look lovely, my dear. I am pleased to stand in your father’s stead today. I would not do so if I were not convinced that Thornton is worthy of you.”

  Meg and Dixon hurriedly gathered up their reticules and gloves, and hastened to the carriage in the summer sunshine. Meg felt as if her heart were lodged in her throat; she was on edge and the least little word or gesture brought tears to her eyes. Glancing at her with trepidation, the doctor implored her not to cry. “I have no sympathy for feminine histrionics. I would hate to turn you out into the street to walk the remainder of the way.”

  When the hackney halted at the front of the church, Doctor Donaldson instructed Meg and Dixon to stay where they were. As he disappeared into the church, Meg smiled at Dixon. “I dare say you never thought you would see the day that I would wed,” she said ruefully, and Dixon laughed.

  Dixon scoffed. “As if none of us had eyes in our heads to see how you and Mr. Thornton felt about each other. I remember the night he came to tea, and you had just come from your bath. He looked as if he wanted to devour you right then and there. I said to myself, ‘That man is in love with our miss, and mark my words, he will do all in his power to win her,’” Dixon concluded with a smug expression.

  “And you were right. I am so lucky, to have won the love of such a man.”

  “And he is a lucky man, to win the heart of such a one as you.”

  Meg leaned forward and tenderly kissed Dixon’s cheek. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am to have you with me today. Besides Fred, you are my last true link to Mother and Father.”

  Dixon waved her hand. “Get on with you! We’ve a wedding to get through.”

  Before Meg could reply, Doctor Donaldson opened the carriage door. “All is ready—shall we?” He offered Meg his arm and helped her from the carriage. Dixon fussed with her veil and skirts before she bustled inside to join the congregation.

  Meg gazed up into her escort’s face. “Thank you for giving me away.”

  “I am greatly honored. I only wish your father could be here to perform this office. However, I will do my best by you.” He patted her cold hand in reassurance.

  As they entered the church, he turned to a table at the back of the church. “Mr. Thornton asked me to give these to you.” Meg saw that he held out a small bouquet of yellow roses and purple larkspur. She ran her fingerd down the stem of one rose—the thorns had been removed. Oh, how I love him, she thought as she clasped the bouquet to her breast.

  Doctor Donaldson slowly walked Meg to the altar, where Mr. Thornton awaited her. As she moved forward, she met and held his gaze. He was dressed in his finest suit, with pristine linen and neckerchief, and a yellow rose in his buttonhole. Meg has a sudden urge to race down the aisle to him; she could not bear to wait a moment longer to be his wife. However, Doctor Donaldson’s steady clasp on her arm kept her in check and she proceeded at a respectable pace.

  Mr. Thornton recognized her gown from the night at the theater in Oxford; seeing it once more conjured up memories of the moment when she mouthed Juliet’s words across the space of the theatre to him, and lifted her hand to her heart. It thrilled him to realize that she had traveled across the years to be his bride. She had chosen him rather than any future possibility, and he was humbled by the thought. Beneath the sheer veil, he could see her eyes shining and her lips curved in a joyous smile, and he felt his own mouth curve in response. When she finally reached him, Doctor Donaldson adroitly moved aside and John stepped forward and clasped her hands to lead her to the altar.

  They recited their vows in clear, confident voices, and John bent his head after he slid her wedding band upon her finger to kiss the ring into place. When the vicar pronounced them man and wife, the jubilant groom lifted her veil, smoothing it back from her radiant face. Gazing at her for a moment, he kissed her tenderly, his mouth a soft seduction. When they parted at last, they turned hand in hand and proceeded down the aisle and out into the sunshine.

  At the wedding luncheon, John found himself in such high spirits that Fanny’s fussing and fretting made little impression upon him. Watson rose and gave a rambling, incoherent toast. He was followed by Doctor Donaldson, who sincerely wished the couple all good things in their coming years together, and spoke effusively of their sterling characters and stellar accomplishments in Milton. Meg blushed, and felt many speculative pairs of eyes upon her as the doctor expressed his hopes of continuing to work with Mrs. Thornton for many years to come. She held her head high; let them stare and talk—nothing could annoy her
today.

  At length, the luncheon concluded and the guests began to depart. Meg received effusive congratulations from hugged by Nicholas and Mary, invited the couple to their new home in Crampton. “I hope you enjoy—” Nicholas began enthusiastically, but a frantic motion from Mary cut his words short.

  Meg wrinkled her forehead in confusion. “Enjoy what?”

  Nicholas ran his finger around the inside of his collar and exclaimed, “Ah, the rest of your day, Meg. I hope you have a pleasant evening.” Hearing the words come from his mouth, he reddened and walked quickly away.

  Meg turned to Mary, mystified. Mary smiled and hugged her friend. “Come visit us soon,” she requested before following in her father’s wake.

  Meg turned to look for John. She was glad that the ceremony was over and that they might return to the mill to begin their lives together. She found him outside the hotel, speaking with Doctor Donaldson. Both men turned at her approach.

  “Well, Margaret,” Doctor Donaldson said in a pleased tone, “I wish you very happy. Both of you deserve it, after all that you have been through. Enjoy your first few days of married life—and then hurry back to the clinic. You know what a mess I make of supplies when you are gone.” Meg laughed and rolled her eyes—upon her initial return to the clinic, it had taken her a week to reorganize the supply closet. She smiled warmly at their friend as he left them, and snuggled into Mr. Thornton’s arms to watch the doctor stroll down the street.

  “Let us go in and hurry our other guests upon their way,” Mr. Thornton whispered in Meg’s ear, and she shivered at the note of anticipation in his voice.

  The remaining guests left within the hour, including Fanny and Watson. With exquisite tact, Mrs. Thornton informed her son that she would spend the night with Fanny, returning to Marlborough Mills on the morrow.

  John helped Meg into the waiting carriage, and they hastened home. Now that they were alone, an awkward silence fell over them. Meg was not nervous, but was feeling a bit bashful at what she knew would come that night. She prayed she would not disappoint him; she knew so little of love.

  John seethed with impatience for the night to come; whoever had devised the scheduling of weddings in the morning surely intended to torture the parties involved. He sat opposite Meg in the carriage, ostensibly to avoid crushing her gown, but in reality to keep himself from pulling her across his lap and kissing her. He pressed his hands together to quash his desire, and gazed out of the window at the streets of town. He did not want to frighten her, fearing she might find his passion distasteful. He vowed to act with propriety.

  Meg wondered if she had said or done something to upset him; he seemed so stiff and uncomfortable. She reached across the space between them and slid her hand between his. A winsome smile lit her face as he turned his head to look at her. “Is anything the matter?” She thought with some anxiety that he might be having second thoughts, and hoped fervently that she was wrong. He had struggled with so many demons over the past few months—the troubles with his business and her disappearance—that she feared he grappled with some strong emotion.

  At the feel of her soft hand within his own, he turned and gazed at her with slumberous eyes. She felt a stab of desire at his expression. As her own eyes widened, he dragged her across the carriage and onto his lap. The hell with propriety, he thought, and bent his head to ravish her mouth.

  When they arrived at Marlborough Mills, John smiled. “I have a surprise for you—when I spoke to the doctor earlier, I asked him if he would be willing to spare you for a few days so that I might take you away on a wedding trip.” Seeing her surprised expression, he continued. “I have rented a cottage in Blackpool, along the seaside. I have never been to the sea before, and hoped you might go there with me.” He watched with relief as a smile spread across her features. Her heart rejoiced at the idea of spending time alone with him, away from the mill and his mother. There would be time enough for taking up the threads of their lives, she thought with excitement. But to travel to the seashore with her husband, and spend time alone with him! The thought delighted her.

  “What a marvelous idea! I love the seashore, and even more so the idea of going away with you.” As she slipped her arms about his waist and lay her head upon his chest, he heaved a sigh of relief—he had been uncertain if she would regard his solitary planning as welcome or officious.

  The afternoon crawled along at Marlborough Mills. John apologized that, in order for him to be able to leave the mill for several days, he must spend time that afternoon reviewing the books with Williams. Meg reassured him that she understood; in fact, she was a bit tired and planned on resting in her room. Satisfied with her response, he showed her to her bedroom, pausing to ensure that she was pleased with the room before he retired to his own to change his attire.

  After changing into a simple cambric dress, Meg settled herself on the large bed in her room and attempted to sleep. However, between the strange surroundings and her racing mind, she found that she could not rest. Rising and smoothing the bedclothes, she decided to wander about and explore the various rooms. She experienced a slight sense of melancholy—the house was so austere and cold, without the small niceties that made her old home in Crampton so pleasant and inviting. She devolved a scheme to transport some of the pieces from Crampton to the mill house, envisioning how the chintz chairs, small side tables, and charming paintings and decorations would soften the austerity. In order to avoid offending Mrs. Thornton, she would start with their bedrooms, and then proceed to introduce other pieces into the common rooms. She guessed that John would approve, as he had always admired the décor at Crampton.

  She wandered into her husband’s room later in the afternoon, curious to see where he slept. Although much less ornately decorated and furnished than the other rooms in the house, his bedroom was dark and gloomy. The walls were a grim shade of gray; Meg wrinkled her nose in distaste. If it were up to her, she would have the walls papered a soft shade of yellow, to better reflect the morning sunshine that would stream into the room from its eastern exposure. She walked idly about, touching his hair brushes, and peering into the closet at his garments, several of which were hung askew. She picked up the neckerchief he had discarded from that morning, and breathed in his masculine scent—bay rum, she thought, and an underlying tang that was distinctly his own. At the scent, she felt desire course through her.

  She heard a small sound behind her and turned with a guilty start to find Mr. Thornton standing in the doorway, his arm propped on the door frame above his head. His face was somber, but there was a decided gleam in his eye. The entire time he had discussed business with Williams, he was distracted by images of Meg on her bed, flushed and tousled from sleep. His business concluded, he had returned to the house, hoping to surprise his wife in her bedroom. As he walked down the hallway, he had noticed the door to his own room ajar—and found Meg moving about within, idly touching his possessions. A languor spread through him at the sight of her holding his neckerchief, as he imagined her soft hand sliding up his neck.

  “What are you doing here, Meg?” he asked. “I thought you were resting.”

  She blushed and dropped the neckerchief onto the dresser. “I—I was l-looking about,” she stuttered, feeling a flutter which was a combination of embarrassment and anticipation. “Have you returned for your tea?” she asked. “Given the little you ate at the luncheon, you must be starving.” I should be seeing to his meal, not poking about the house.

  He dropped his arm and moved toward her, stalking her like a barely constrained panther. She had the impression that he was holding his emotions in check. “I am starving,” he murmured, “but not for tea. I asked Cook if she could delay dinner for an hour or so.” His eyes captured and held hers. “I would like to take you to bed—now, if you have no objections,” he said in a deep, hypnotic voice that was rough with suppressed passion. He reached out and captured one of the curls that had come loose from its pins, rubbing its softness between his fingers.


  Now was the time for her to blush deeply, to feign embarrassment, to put him off. He must be patient with her, he reminded himself. To his delight, although she blushed rosily, she closed the gap between them and encircled his waist with her arms, resting her head upon his heart. “I should like that very much,” she responded simply, and raised her flushed face for his kiss.

  He captured her lips, and his own were so firm and persuasive that she quickly opened hers to his questing mouth. He kissed her, deep, soul-wrenching kisses that caused a spill of sensation in her breasts and lower abdomen. She stood on tiptoe and he pulled her against him so that she could feel his urgent need. They broke apart momentarily, and he rested his forehead against hers. “Should I send for your maid?” he asked in a breathless tone.

  She shook her head. “I believe that you are perfectly capable of assisting me out of my gown,” she said in a silken voice, and thrilled to see his eyes flair with passion. Without saying a word, he stepped to the door, closed it, and turned the key in the lock.

  “I would hate for us to be interrupted,” he explained as he began to undo the long row of buttons down her front, kissing the exposed skin as he released each button. She thrilled at the feel of his mouth on her heated skin. When he finished, he gently lowered the gown from her shoulders and torso. She stood shivering as he fumbled with the ties and fasteners holding up her heavy undergarments, and sighed with relief as she stepped out of the massive pile of clothing, standing before him in her thin chemise.

  He rose slowly from his knees and gazed at her lovely figure. “No corset?” he asked in bemusement, and she shook her head.

  “I cannot stand the constriction—when I returned from the future, I stopped wearing one.” She looked at him anxiously. “Do you mind?’