In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South

by Trudy Brasure

  Mr. Thornton’s expression changed instantly, and he abandoned his work to take the missive from the boy’s hand. He fished for a few coins and dropped them in the lad’s hand with a twitch of a smile, engendering eager praise from the lad as the boy nodded his thanks before dashing off.

  He greedily examined the note, recognizing with quickening nerves the script from Mrs. Hale’s hand. He barked a few more commands to his workers before speedily heading inside to the privacy of his own office.

  The mounting anxiety of waiting for such a communication had been excruciating. He tore open the letter with conflicting pulses of dread and anticipation.

  His eyes swiftly scanned the folded paper to determine his fate, and he let out his breath as glad relief washed over him. She would keep her promise. The taut muscles in his shoulders and back relaxed, lifting the heavy weight of apprehension that he had carried since the last message had been delivered. The corners of his mouth turned upward as he thanked the powers above for granting this all-important wish.

  He sat down in his chair to peruse the letter more carefully. He was invited to dine with the Hales tomorrow evening. His heart resumed its more vigorous pattern, sending fervid hope and expectation coursing through his veins. She would marry him! The realization of it staggered him once more. The fear of losing her had been so great that he had almost convinced himself she would not have him. Now, he could not contain the happiness that rose from the depths of his being. He would no longer live his life alone.

  With long fingers, he carefully pulled out the ring in his waistcoat pocket to examine it, as he had often done in the quiet privacy of his office. He ached at the thought of putting it on her finger and sealing the commitment they had made. He stared with rapt amazement at the delicate beauty of the precious object which was now in his grasp.

  *****

  The next evening, Margaret nervously appraised the sloping neckline of her gown in the oblong mirror as Dixon pinned up her hair from her bare shoulders. She would have felt more comfortable wearing her usual day dress, but secretly agreed with her mother’s insistence that she appear at her best advantage.

  Margaret gazed at the translucent skin of her reflection and the shimmering emerald green silk that clung to her curvaceous form. She studied the round shape of her face, the slight protrusion of her full lips and the gentle slope of her nose. She had never considered herself a great beauty, but was well pleased with her likeness. She stared back at the wide, blue-gray eyes of her reflection, incredulous still that she had attracted the attention of Milton’s most sought-after bachelor. The tall, dark, brooding man who had asked for her hand was still a mystery.

  Her stomach fluttered and clenched in a curious mixture of excitement and trepidation as she imagined the intensity of his approving gaze upon her, and she worried about how she would retain her poise in receiving him.

  “There!” Dixon announced with satisfaction as she finished affixing a few white rosebuds from the morning’s bouquet into the elegant coils of copper hair on Margaret’s head. “You’re a fine prize for a manufacturer, I’ll say that much,” she added haughtily, admiring the young lady whom she had once cared for as a babe.

  Margaret swallowed in slight discomfiture at such a remark, but remained transfixed at the vision before her as she bewilderingly tried to recall when he had suddenly become so much more to her than a mere tradesman.

  *****

  Hannah Thornton watched from the drawing room window as her son crossed the mill yard. Her heart twisted to see the exuberance in his stride as he made his way toward Crampton.

  His face had fairly glowed when he showed her the diamond and emerald ring he intended to give to the vicar’s daughter. She had not said a word, but had wondered at the wisdom in such an expenditure when the mill was still recovering from the effects of the strike. He had read her thoughts, for he had felt the need to justify his actions; he eagerly reminded her that such a purchase was made once in a lifetime. She had felt a pang of guilt to hear his explanation, for she could not deny him this one extravagance, when he had never asked for anything else during the many years of deprivation.

  She hoped that the girl knew how fortunate she was to be the recipient of his affections. She did not know if Miss Hale had planned to catch her son for his position and wealth, or if she might truly have some feelings for him. She would not be certain until she discerned it with her own eyes.

  As his figure disappeared from view, she cried out silently to the girl who awaited him. “Be kind to my son; he has a gentle and good heart. Love him; he is the best you will ever find.”

  *****

  Mr. Thornton was impatient to see Margaret again, and this impatience was reflected in his long strides to reach his destination. Aware that his pace matched his eager anticipation, he could not force himself to slow his gait. He was astounded at the power that she seemed to wield over his mind; although the mill required his strict attention, he had scarcely been able to think of anything else but her all day long. He could not wait to look into those innocent, expressive eyes to see what chance he might have of gaining her affections.

  The past twenty-four hours had been torturous; that she had kept her promise seemed to him a small miracle, so tenuous had his fortune seemed in attaining her acceptance. He could not help but wonder if his message had helped calm her misgivings. He found that his hope could not be contained. He could not think of a more sublime way to pass an evening than to spend it in her presence.

  As he bounded up the stairs to the familiar residence, a tingling shiver of electric anticipation traced his spine and flowed to his fingertips. Mr. Hale warmly greeted him at the door and ushered him into the drawing room, where Mrs. Hale and her daughter were seated upon a cream-colored damask sofa.

  His very heart-pulse arrested as Margaret lifted her luminous eyes to his with timid uncertainty. Her full pink lips quivered but remained silent.

  She was unutterably beautiful! Fine tendrils of auburn hair cascaded from her temple to her neck where the curve of her ivory shoulders beckoned his eyes to rove over the burgeoning mounds of silken flesh which rose and fell with each breath. It suggested a hidden softness so intimate and inviting that his veins flowed with molten desire.

  Margaret quickly averted her eyes, feeling a warm blush creep up her neck to be so ardently admired.

  Seeing her timid response, Mr. Thornton reluctantly directed his gaze to Mrs. Hale, who greeted her guest with great animation as he took a seat.

  His eyes inevitably returned to Margaret, taking in the voluptuous shape of her figure, clad in form-fitting emerald silk that seemed to display every feminine curve with the intent of holding him spellbound. His mind wandered, as he errantly imagined tracing his mouth down the bare curve of her neck. His breath quickened in response to his thoughts.

  The vision of his guilty pleasure entangled all coherent thought as he dazedly returned his attention to Mrs. Hale and fumblingly answered her polite inquiries concerning his mother and sister.

  He was somewhat relieved when Dixon announced that dinner was served. Stepping forward to escort Margaret to the dining room, he suddenly recognized the flowers in her hair to be from his morning gift to her. Hope swelled in his breast at the thought of her receptive gesture and as he caught a demure glance and smile from the woman that so beguiled him, his spirits soared to perilous heights.

  He delighted in the gentle pressure of her delicate grasp as she threaded her arm through his, and he was amazed once again that such a rough, unpolished man as he had won the hand of a woman so divine.

  He relished every moment of their physical contact and felt a pang of loss when, upon arriving at her chair, she withdrew her hand from his arm. He happily assisted her seating at the table, and the sweet fragrance of roses and lavender enticed his senses as he glimpsed the narrow hollow at the back of her neck.

  As Mr. Thornton took his seat across from her, he exalted in quiet satisfaction at his surroundings, pleased t
o be welcomed into the company of Margaret’s family. The atmosphere was close and inviting; the room was small but elegantly and comfortably arranged. A few bookcases lined the walls, accommodating the overflow of volumes from Mr. Hale’s collection. On every available surface were placed either flowers or burning candles which bathed the walls in warm tones of pale yellow light. Wholly unlike the grand, glacial effect of his mother’s decor, this room suggested a place filled with an unalloyed pleasure in beauty, learning, and love.

  Margaret listened with amusement and not a little relief as her mother engaged Mr. Thornton in idle conversation, augmented by the occasional word from her father at the other end of the table. Tucked away for years in her country setting, it now seemed the cork had come unstopped from the social graces and exuberance bottled up within the once-heralded Beresford belle. She delighted in receiving one of Milton’s wealthiest and respected citizens as her daughter’s intended.

  While Mr. Thornton was thus engaged, Margaret’s gaze roved approvingly over his broad form in a gray woolen waistcoat, and lingered to notice how the crisp white collar of his shirt and the flourish of his burgundy cravat accented the strong line of his jaw. When he suddenly returned her gaze with a piercing glance, she cast her eyes to the table, feeling her cheeks burn.

  Her attention was quickly diverted to the unfolding discussion, however, when Mrs. Hale blithely remarked that their guest must be glad that the recent strike was over. Margaret tensed in foreboding at this turn in the conversation.

  “I was horrified to hear that you were injured during the riot at your mill. I’m glad you were not seriously hurt,” Mr. Hale interjected, unknowingly heightening Margaret’s anxiety.

  Mrs. Hale’s mouth opened in shocked surprise. “I had no idea you were hurt. How utterly dreadful!” she exclaimed.

  The corners of Mr. Thornton’s mouth twitched at the memory of that day. “Thankfully, it was not grievous. I will admit that to all outward appearances, the day seemed disastrous, but I’m now quite certain that the confluence of events was wrought with a fortuitous end. I believe both masters and men will work harder in the future to avoid such violence. As for me, I was well taken care of,” he added with soft smile and knowing glance at Margaret.

  Margaret met his gaze with flushed embarrassment and turned her concentration to the gleaming silverware at her place, her heartbeat skittering wildly.

  “I certainly hope a better understanding can be won between both sides,” Mr. Hale commented with earnestness, recalling Higgins’ vehemence against the masters.

  “Margaret has always been so very upset with violence of any kind,” Mrs. Hale reminisced of her daughter’s gentle sensibilities.

  “Yes, yes. As I recall, Margaret once stopped two strapping boys from coming to fisticuffs in Helstone. I believe she placed herself between them,” Mr. Hale remarked as he searched his memory.

  “Oh, Richard,” Mrs. Hale lightly chastised her husband for bringing Margaret’s rather unladylike traits to the fore.

  “She couldn’t have been above ten years,” Mr. Hale continued, undaunted. “And as I understand it, she proceeded to lecture the older lads on the principles of kindness and pointed out their foolishness until they were compelled to return to their homes. Do you remember, Margaret?” her father asked expectantly.

  “Yes, it was a long time ago,” she answered meekly with lowered eyes, acutely aware of Mr. Thornton’s scrutiny.

  The Master’s eyes danced with mirth at the thought of a youthful Margaret’s righteous storm.

  “But, truly, she has always had such a tender heart,” her mother intervened. “I was thinking of the time she nursed the Neeland’s lamb back to health. No one else expected the poor creature to live,” she relayed, smiling sweetly at her daughter.

  “It just needed some special care, and I was happy to give it,” Margaret replied, remembering fondly the time she tended to a gentle creature and how that had been the extent of her worldly concerns.

  She glanced up to find Mr. Thornton studying her with such tenderness that she stilled in breathless wonder at his intensity. “I’ve no desire to be the object of her righteous wrath,” Mr. Thornton said with a growing smile, “but I’m certain that whoever receives her compassion must be blessed indeed. Milton, I believe, will be all the better for her presence here,” he finished, his eyes meeting hers with steady admiration.

  Margaret ducked her head to hide the blush she felt at meeting his heated gaze.

  “I should like to see Helstone some time,” he continued in a lighter tone, speaking to the family as a whole.

  Margaret looked up at once in some surprise. “It is a lovely place, although it is quite small and remote. You may not find anything of particular interest ...” she began to explain.

  “It would be of great interest to me,” he stated simply in a low voice, his sincerity undeniable.

  Stunned, her lips parted but no sound issued forth.

  “Truly, it is a most out of the way place, but the air is clear and the countryside quite serene,” Mrs. Hale remarked, breaking the momentary silence with praise of her old home.

  Margaret began to elaborate upon the beauty and pleasures of the place she had always held dear to her heart, and her father readily joined her. Mr. Thornton watched with fascination as Margaret’s countenance glowed with contentment as she described the aspects of the country life she had obviously so enjoyed.

  Conversation flowed freely amongst the small gathering while the courses were served and the dinner consumed. When the last bite of Dixon’s delicious custard had been taken and the candles burned lower, Mrs. Hale led Margaret to the drawing room as custom dictated.

  Enslaved by her tremendous beauty and the graceful manner of her every movement, Mr. Thornton’s eyes helplessly followed Margaret as she left the room. Impulse bid him to jump from his seat so that he might trail in her wake, but propriety demanded that he remain calmly situated where he was.

  “May I offer you some port?” Mr. Hale suggested as the door clicked shut, bringing Mr. Thornton’s attention back to his host. “I think Dixon has unearthed a bottle from the cellar. You know I’m not much of drinking man. I’ve seen too much of what evil it can cause,” Mr. Hale explained.

  His paragon pupil shook his head. “Do not trouble yourself. I’m of a mind to always keep my senses clear. I understand your reasoning. Unfortunately, for many, small indulgences often lead to greater,” he remarked gravely, remembering the drunken chaos that could be heard in a nearby dwelling when his family had lived amongst the working classes.

  “Exactly so,” Mr. Hale agreed, leaning back comfortably in his chair as he looked admiringly at his younger friend. “I can’t tell you how much I shall enjoy having you as a son-in-law.”

  “It will be an honor and a pleasure for me as well,” Mr. Thornton readily responded, the very thought of it filling him with a warm contentment.

  “I must confess I was not aware of your interest in Margaret. I assumed she had rather put you off with her forward manner of speaking,” Mr. Hale admitted, his curiosity revealed in his eyes.

  Mr. Thornton’s calm smile broke into a wider grin. “She speaks her mind, and has a care for others’ suffering. I can only admire her for that. It was her grace and beauty which first attracted me. I have not seen the like. And there is a tenderness there, underneath ... which I hope she will bestow upon me,” he revealed, his last words trailing off softly in dazed remembrance of the fleeting moments when she had lavished her care upon him. “I count myself privileged to have won her hand,” he admitted, looking to his future father-in-law with profound respect.

  “Indeed,” Mr. Hale replied, as he surmised with dawning recognition how much affection the Master had for his daughter.

  The room fell silent for a brief moment.

  “Well, we have enough time to ourselves on a weekly basis, don’t we? Shall we rejoin the women?” Mr. Hale suggested with a kind smile.

  When they entered the dra
wing room, Mrs. Hale smiled weakly from her chair by the fireplace while Margaret looked up from her sewing. Mr. Hale noticed his wife’s complexion had changed to one altogether more pale and sickly, and he went to her side at once.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Thornton, to cut short this lovely evening, but I’m afraid I’m feeling a little weary. I’m so very glad you could come. It has been most pleasant,” Mrs. Hale managed to announce.

  “I thank you for the invitation and wish you a restful night. Do not take any more thought on my account,” their guest replied, standing somewhat awkwardly near the sofa on which Margaret was perched.

  Margaret moved to attend to her mother. “Let me help you …” she offered somewhat guiltily, having been too preoccupied with her own thoughts to have noticed her mother’s sudden weariness.

  “No, I will help her, Margaret. You stay and tend to our guest,” Mr. Hale interjected. “Here, let me assist you, my dear,” he insisted as he gently helped his wife to her feet and guided her steps upstairs.

  Margaret obediently lowered herself onto the sofa. The newly betrothed couple watched silently as husband and wife disappeared up the stairs. Both felt keenly the developing atmosphere of nervous apprehension between them; it was the first time they had been alone since the morning of the proposal.

  Mr. Thornton glanced hopefully at Margaret who sat quite still on the half-empty damask sofa, her head bowed slightly. His heart beat thickly at the thought of his intended purpose. All that he had hoped for and dreamed of seemed suspended in breathless uncertainty before him. The moment for which he had desperately waited had arrived. He would not wait a moment more, and let this precious opportunity slip through his hands.

  “May I?” he asked, the tenor of his voice scarcely hiding his tremulous vulnerability.

  “Of course,” she whispered, too afraid to gaze upon the earnest pleading of his eyes that she heard in his voice. Her pulse raced madly as he sat near her, the strong, clean smell of sandalwood mingling with the fragrance from the magnificent flower arrangement he had sent.