by EJourney
When, finally, John pulled the sheets over their bodies, Margaret buried her face, flushed and moist, on his shoulders. Shy once again, she concealed from him her eyes, brilliant with lingering excitement. Everything that just happened was all so new to her and she wanted time to comprehend it. She had had no inkling how she would respond and she had felt anxious at her inexperience. But alone with John in their bedroom, she found herself reacting spontaneously and artlessly. She had been exhausted by all the goings-on of the day. By the time she sat in front of the dresser that evening, she felt herself wilting, uncertain of how she would hold up but when she heard the tap on the door, she sat up, a certain agitation infusing her with a second wind. When John came in, she felt confused, anxious, and yet expectant; she could no longer think, she could only feel. She allowed her mind to submit to her feelings, to her instinct and her impulses, to whatever her body willed her to do.
Margaret dreamily nudged closer to John as she drifted off to sleep, marveling once more at how tender he could be. This husband of hers was as intense in love as in anger, at least when provoked by the threat of danger, as he had been by a worker he caught smoking inside the mill. How remote that seemed to her now, how like an alien dream. As sleep finally arrested consciousness, Margaret was still in the middle of an increasingly foggy reverie about her tender, intense, complicated husband.
John lay awake a little longer, stroking her hair, relishing the memory, the wonder of how naturally she responded to him. He turned toward her sleeping face and kissed her closed eyelids and slightly parted lips.
Although aware that she was asleep, he whispered, "Good night, my sweet temptress, my Margaret."
He reached over to turn off the lamp.
**************
The next day, they awakened to a spring morning of characteristically hazy sunshine. Except for Dixon and two maids, nobody else was in the house. Mrs. Thornton was staying with Fanny while John and Margaret went on their honeymoon to the continent where they expected to stay for two months. They had no plans for the day but to rest from the hectic preparations and celebrations of previous days. This was the first day that they were practically alone and they intended to while away every moment of it together in aimless pursuits.
In two days, they would be in London on their way to Paris via Dover where they were boarding, first, a boat to Calais, France and, next, a train from Calais to Paris. Dixon was to accompany them to London and wait there until Margaret and John returned from Spain. From Paris where they were staying a week, they would head for Cadiz, taking a train to Marseilles and then a boat to the south of Spain. Frederick and his wife were expecting them in Cadiz in about three weeks. After a week in Cadiz, the two couples intended to travel together around Andalusia to enjoy Frederick and Dolores's favorite spots in the region. Frederick was anxious to show his sister what he found enchanting about Spain and was certain that she and her new husband would see his affection for his adopted country.
John awoke first and opened his eyes to an abundant mass of dark hair draped on his right arm and shoulder. Margaret had slept through most of the night in his arms, her arm draped on his chest. He smiled, saying to himself, "Margaret, my wife," as he kissed the top of her head and laid his cheek softly on it.
For a little while, he listened to her calm regular breathing, remembering its more frantic pace when he made love to her the past night. Then, he planted another kiss on top of her head and, imagining that her lips were thrust at him ready for his, he kissed them ever so lightly.
She began to stir. Just waking up, she opened her eyes slowly, slightly disoriented. She turned her head up to his and, her eyes still glazed from sleep, she was greeted by loving eyes and a voice just above a whisper. "Good Morning, Mrs. Thornton. Did you sleep well?" She blushed deeply, her eyes fluttering, and John knew that she was remembering the past night.
"Good Morning, Mr. Thornton. Yes. Indeed I did—well and long. I was exhausted," she replied, looking away and blushing some more. She saw the bright light outside the window and said, attempting some levity in her voice. "I must have slept so deeply that I think I did not dream at all. How late is it?"
He gently lifted her arm off his chest, sat up, and reached for a watch on a chain on the bedside table, "Five past nine. Should we ring for breakfast? We can be as lazy as we want today. We have the house to ourselves and no one is scurrying about."
"Yes, let's." Margaret acquiesced readily. She pulled the sheet to her chest, sat up, and asked, "Do you know where my nightgown is?"
John smiled, somewhat diverted by her attempts at modesty after her ardent response to his lovemaking the night before. He playfully tugged at the other end of the sheet to cover himself as he reached for her gown on the floor on his side of the bed. The sheet slipped off her hand when he bent over so she tugged back at it to pull it over her breasts. As he came back up, she pretended to glare at him, eyes flashing and pursed lips turned up at the corner.
Still holding on to the gown, he asked, "Shall I help you put it on?"
She regarded him for a long moment, her eyes half-closed and her chin turned up in the air. She crossed her arms in front of her and in as haughty a tone as she could muster, answered, "I suppose so although I am perfectly capable of dressing myself."
He hesitated and studied the impish look on her face. While it seemed that she was enjoying watching his hesitation, she also regarded him cautiously, waiting to see what her sauciness would lead to. He countered her manner with a scowl and held the gown out to her with both hands, amusement barely concealed in his eyes.
"Shall I come closer or will you?" The question was meant to provoke her.
She stared back at him in silence, lasting long enough, that he wondered if he should do something else. But then, she inched closer, stopped abruptly, and turned her back to him. He eyed the smooth ivory back and nape of the neck with pleasure, grinning to himself. Without hesitation, he tossed the gown back on the floor on his side of the bed, seized her by the waist, and pulled her closer. The sheet drifted of her breasts and down her lap but she made no move to pick it up again. He pressed his lips on the nape of her neck, then down her back.
"You realize this is a dangerous game you're playing?" He whispered hoarsely in her ear.
"How so?" She asked just as softly, refusing to grasp his meaning.
"You know this is a game of seduction?"
"No, I merely want to put on my gown so we can ring for breakfast." She countered coyly.
John grinned once again, intrigued and willing to play along although all he could think of was making love to her again. But he was hardly averse to their little game, curious about where else it might lead.
He raised his head and let her go, "All right, then. I will get your gown."
He reached down on the floor to retrieve her nightgown, straightened, gown in hand, and found himself face-to-face with her once again. "Come closer so I can help you into it."
She stared at him suspiciously this time but gingerly moved closer, her eyes focused on his face. She did not turn around but when she was near enough that she could have reached for her gown, he had swiftly thrown it back on the floor. Before she could react, he had clasped her close and laid her on the bed underneath him, caught between his arms. She had squealed as they both fell on the bed but she cupped her mouth to suppress the sound she made. She was still panting with subdued laughter when he bent over her shoulders, pressing warm eager lips there, then up her throat and her mouth, until her laughter quieted down and she returned his kisses. He whispered in her ears, "I warned you that this was a dangerous game."
She did not reply right away, then with her lips brushing his cheeks, she whispered. "What if nobody loses and we both win?"
He did not answer, apparently ignoring her question for the moment, as he continued kissing her. Once again, she yielded but with little of the shyness that she began their romp with the night before. She seemed more flirtatious, beguiling him by match
ing his kisses with soft nibbles on his face and neck. He groaned under his breath and murmured, his lips against hers, "But you win. You have me under your spell." He muttered between kisses that grew more passionate. "And, yet, I can keep playing this game with you."
It was late morning when, famished and flushed, they finally rang for breakfast. They were both dressed but still perched on the bed when a knock on the door announced the arrival of their delayed repast. Dixon, trailed by Jane, brought in a tray brightened by a small Chinese vase of fresh red and yellow roses left over from the wedding decorations and brimming with settings for a meal and servings for tea and toast. On Dixon's arm draped a table cloth that she laid on the table by the window before unloading the tray and setting the table.
Jane carried the tray with the sustenance John and Margaret could hardly wait to feast on, their appetites sharpened by both sweet and savory aromas from raspberry jam, ham, eggs, butter, and a bowl of mixed berries. Although smiling broadly, both Dixon and Jane only bowed their greetings and retreated stealthily from the room with empty trays, closing the door as noiselessly as they could behind them. John and Margaret looked at each other. She giggled and he grinned, diverted by the behavior of the two who just left. Margaret asked, still giggling. "Will we be in the next tittle-tattle when the maids of Milton get together?"
"You can bet on it. Jane wastes no time. I am sure she thinks it is a benefit we owe her for serving us." He answered laughing.
As she poured his tea, she remarked. "That is an interesting word, tittle-tattle. Quite modern, I think. I do not remember ever hearing anyone use it in Helstone nor in London."
He chuckled at her observation. "We invent a great many things here in the north."
After the late breakfast, they dressed more properly and went out for a very long walk. By midday, a light wind had blown away enough smoke and the world outside beckoned. It was too beautiful to waste indoors, within the grayness of the massive spaces in the house that clashed too jarringly with the ecstatic state they were in and were reluctant to relinquish. They were in no hurry to go anywhere or do anything but relish each other's presence, each other's thoughts as they talked, and the tingling warmth of each other's touch when they stopped to embrace and kiss.
With hardly anyone else around the park, they paused frequently, free in their expressions of affection. They meandered through the hilly paths overlooking the city and situated on its edge, seeking out sections that they had not explored before and lingering in many spots to admire the wild flowers that had begun to bloom. Apart from the pinks and greens on Margaret's shirt and shawl and the rosy undertone that exercise had infused on her cheeks, only the widely-scattered wildflowers imparted colors in the landscape, still somber in late May.
After bending over to inspect one of those flowers, Margaret remarked. "Cotton is not the only thing that Milton produces. Isn't it wonderful that even in this air and the want of sunshine, wild things do still grow bright and beautiful?"
John smiled, gazing at her. "Yes, bright and beautiful."
His eyes glowed with such ardor that she blushed and looked away. "I was talking about the wildflowers."
John laughed. "I know but can I not admire my wife as well? There was so much I wanted to say to you all these years I have loved you and I had never felt free to say them. Until now."
She did not answer and continued their slow progress towards another small patch of wildflowers. She stooped to pick a red poppy and offered it to him without a word.
He smiled as he took it from her and twirled the stem to inspect the flower closely. "Yes, I agree it is beautiful." He followed her along the path, relishing the sight of her lovely figure moving fluidly in front of him, his eyes glowing, a quiet happy smile on his lips. After a short distance, he caught up with her. "I never stopped to look at these things before. My days have been filled with machines and chemical dyes and keeping up with new inventions to make the mill more efficient and productive."
She detected a hint of regret in his voice and stared at him thoughtfully for a few seconds. "Yes. But are they not exciting? Inventions, I mean, new ways of doing things—those are all part of becoming modern, are they not? And you embrace them. There is something wonderful about that, I think."
He smiled warmly at her enthusiasm and approbation and answered, half-teasing and half-serious. "Yes and the things we cannot grow like this poppy, we can mimic or, perhaps, we might even invent something entirely new and strange at first but serves the same purpose."
She took the flower back from him, her lids half-closed, hiding the slight displeasure in her eyes. She retorted jauntily. "How could any invention of man create a flower as fresh and delicate as this? And would that invention, if indeed it were possible, wilt as gracefully but sadly as this one?"
He frowned, somewhat perplexed by the change in her tone that he thought intimated at a rebuke for something he believed in. They walked in silence for some distance before he placed his arm around her waist and drew her closer. "You are quite right. The best things about life are still those that we have been blessed with since the beginning of man." He paused in his steps and pulled her against him. "A kiss, an embrace," he whispered as he pressed his lips on her forehead, the tip of her nose, and her lips.
They began their descent from the hill just as the dusky orange sun sank slowly in the smoky evening fog.
VIII. Rapture and Discovery
A couple of days later, John and Margaret reached Paris in early evening. The journey had been long and exhausting, the first leg from Dover being particularly rough, as the steamer to Calais rocked its hapless passengers violently and nearly incessantly for about two hours. Dazed, lethargic and too queasy to ingest even a mouthful of food or drink, they boarded the train to Paris shortly thereafter, almost grateful for a long ride that gave them time to recover. Margaret, who had never travelled on a boat, looked very pale and barely able to hold herself up. She fell asleep in John's arms within minutes of the train leaving the station and woke up a couple of hours later, revived and famished for some nourishment.
The rest of the train trip to Paris was uneventful but long. By the time they descended at the train station in Paris, they were listless and weary until, ensconced alone inside the carriage taking them from the train station to their hotel, the exhilaration of finally arriving at their destination infused them with renewed energy. Before long, as they surveyed the city from their carriage, what they saw astounded them. They gawked, dumbfounded but with great interest, at the spectacle of a city undergoing massive renovation. Debris from the demolition of old structures lay next to new construction, vast areas were being cleared apparently for gardens and parks, and new gaslights illuminated more and more streets as they approached the heart of the city where their hotel was located. Most impressive to them, however, was the widening and extending of roads within the city and the new residential and commercial buildings that were springing up on both sides of stretches where wide boulevards had been completed. They were to learn later that the construction of these boulevards was quite extensive and that whole neighborhoods were being razed to the ground to make way for them.
"I have never seen such concentrated reconstruction of a major city." John said as they surveyed the chaos that awed them into silence.
"Why do you suppose they are making streets so wide?"
"To improve circulation within the city, I assume. This rebuilding is exciting but it must have meant quite an upheaval for many Parisians. It is controlled chaos, in any case."
"Perhaps, it is exciting but what happened to what was here before? They must have torn down a lot of old buildings. I read about the narrow curving streets of Paris, teeming with life and people, about neighborhood cafes where they met and talked. It sounded so vibrant, a place where lives touched and crossed paths everyday. Why, much of it might be gone!" Margaret felt increasingly sad as she spoke.
"That may very well be but after this is all done, I will wager on Par
is developing into one of the most, if not the most, modern and vital city for some time to come."
"But what do you think became of the residents of those old narrow streets, displaced from a way of life they were accustomed to? And what of the old buildings that were on those streets?" Margaret persisted, her voice subdued with sadness.
"I don't know. Perhaps, we can find out at the hotel."
John had arranged for a hotel conveniently situated on rue de Rivoli, in a prosperous commercial district, a short walk not only to the river but also to some of the city's major monuments, the Musée du Louvre and two well-known Gothic churches, the cathedral of Notre Dame, and the Sainte Chappelle, famed for its colorful glass windows. The concierge also bragged about the new gaslights recently installed in the area and how beautiful the city was at night when those lights were turned on. On this, their very first visit, such inducements were too strong to resist and as they finished a light supper at their hotel, Margaret declared. "I would like to go for a walk tonight."