Sometime later, Margaret put on her bonnet and shawl. She hesitated uncomfortably as she looked once more at the letter in her hand. Cadiz, Spain. What she was about to do was portentous, fraught with an element of danger, and she wished she had had the opportunity to speak to her father about taking such drastic action. But Mr. Hale was at the Lyceum today and she could not wait for his return.
She stepped out into the mild September air and shut the door behind her. The street was filled with the usual merchants and perusing buyers. The gray sky overhead went unnoticed as these northern people scrabbled for a fair price, embroiled in the all-consuming pattern of daily strife. No breeze stirred as she wended her way through the crowded streets. The morning fog had lifted and the early afternoon was as bright and colorless as any day in the city. There was nothing in the surrounding sights or sounds to indicate any deviation from the ordinary, yet she felt the impending changes to her world with every advancing step.
Upon dropping her missive in the post box, she paused for a moment and then bravely pushed forward to her next task. She walked briskly toward Milton’s center, where industry churned in sovereign power, her subjects toiling in ceaseless obeisance to the demands of production and profit, and the promise of progress. A tug of apprehension pulled in her stomach as the first distant sounds of clanking machinery and the din of the steam engines reached her ears. Memories of panic — and of surprising tenderness — flashed through her mind as she approached the wooden gates of Marlborough Mills. Once trodden underfoot, they now stood restored and erect, creating an imposing entranceway to the massive factory of brick and glass ahead.
Her eyes opened wide with new fascination and awe at the expanse and enormity of the property and activity under the command of the man who would soon be her husband. She glanced up at the windows of the great stone house that would be her home and felt the knot in her stomach tighten in uncertain anticipation of the role she would fulfill. A fierce pride rose up at the thought of becoming his wife. She was determined to prove herself worthy of the title, which would require all the best of what she could give — of heart, and mind, and soul.
No one peered from the windows, much to her relief. She would meet with her future mother-in-law soon enough, she thought as she made her way to the factory door nearest the house. First, she would tell John.
Her nerves tingled uncontrollably as she neared the door of his office, remembering the last time she had ventured to visit him at his workplace, and the burst of passion that had ensued.
The door was open, but the ledgers and papers on his desk lay unattended. The room was vacant.
Undaunted, she walked through the corridor towards the loud hum of machinery. Pushing aside the heavy sliding door with determined strength, she was at once transported into another world — his world, which seemed to whirr, clatter, and bound with a thousand points of ceaseless energy in magnificent power. She stared in glorious wonder at the cotton ‘snow’ suspended blithely in the air that turned the vast, deafening scene into an ethereal vision of tranquility.
She breathed in the vigor and purpose that permeated the atmosphere. The chaos that had assaulted her senses in the first instance transformed into a din of precision and efficiency before her eyes. She drew her shoulders back and raised her head as it occurred to her that every sweep of the loom and every man at his task had been put in motion by the authority of one man.
Taking a few steps into the cavernous room, she spotted him a short distance away beyond a row of black iron machinery. She stopped to gaze at his back, even this glimpse of him enough to stir palpitations of adoration and awe in her breast.
The worker with whom he spoke alerted the Master to the lady standing in the factory’s midst, and he turned with swift interest to discern her identity. His breath stilled at the vision of her in this place and he stood in mute amazement for a moment at her beauty. A shiver of thrilling pleasure traced his spine to realize she was there for him. He gave a parting command to his employee and made his way to the woman who held his future in her hands.
Margaret held her breath as she watched the Master’s dark expression transform into one of tender recognition as their eyes locked together across the expanse. The soft smile he gave her made her heart flutter. She felt her knees weaken as he approached her, spellbound by the magnificence of his masculine power.
“We can speak more clearly in my office,” he said above the noise, studying the rose tint of her lips now that he stood next to her. “Will you follow me?” he suggested gently, still marveling at her presence in this place.
Margaret nodded her accord and followed him through the passageways to his private office. He held the door open to allow her entry. She stepped into the quiet room and felt an unavoidable shiver of anxiety as the door clicked behind him, leaving them alone in his domain.
“You wished to speak to me?” he asked, a twinge of concern hovering on his brow while his eyes fondly grazed over her feminine form. The bonnet that framed her cherubic face called to his mind everything that was lovely and innocent about her, even as he strained to keep from pulling her into his arms to ignite the passion he knew lay beneath.
“Yes … you made me promise … that I would tell you as soon as a date was set,” she replied falteringly, grateful for the distance between them, although her heart beat furiously just to stand in his presence.
His eyes lit with torrid zeal. “You have set a date for our wedding?” he asked with barely contained eagerness.
“Yes … that is … my mother and I have decided upon a time that we think may suit …” she stammered, suddenly hesitant to appear so forward as to thrust upon him a rushed wedding.
“Yes?” he prodded tonelessly, suspended in the anxious desire to know whether he would count the fulfillment of his deepest desire in weeks or months — praying fervently for the former.
“My mother wishes very much to attend,” she endeavored to explain as she averted her eyes from his intense study. “And it would accommodate her wishes to set the date for the twenty-eighth,” she finished, bravely bringing her eyes back to his to see the effect of her words.
He stood speechless for several moments as he tried to comprehend her statements, a crease of stubborn incredulity marking his forehead. “Of this month?” he asked in stupefied confusion even as his heart began to beat strongly in expectation.
“Yes,” she answered, swallowing in sudden fear that he would not welcome the plan.
“The banns …” he equivocated reluctantly, struggling to make the simple calculations of time as a flood of emotions overwhelmed him.
“The banns will be read if we marry three weeks from this day,” she carefully informed him.
“Will you not need more time to prepare?” he warned, unwilling to release the growing elation he felt until he was certain she had considered well the implications of her decision.
“There is little time, it is true. Although I don’t wish to impose upon your mother’s time, I believe she may be a great help in arranging everything.”
“Nothing would please her more than to assist in planning my wedding,” he assured her, knowing well that his mother would desire to make a grand affair of this occasion. “But …” he uttered with lingering doubt. He wished with all his might that he could concede to her brave confidence in this plan, but could not relinquish the worry that a hastily-contrived event should rob her of everything she deserved for her wedding day.
Margaret felt her heart quicken with suspended uncertainty, watching every twitch of his face for his acceptance.
“Will there be time to acquire all that will be necessary … a dress … such as you should have?” he stammered even as his body began to quake with the eagerness to cast aside all care for considerations of display and tradition so that they might be wed without further delay.
“I have several fine gowns that might be made into something lovely,” she responded thoughtfully in a hopeful voice.
Overjoye
d at her steady resolution, he swept her up into his arms and spun them both about in a dance of jubilation. “You are so eminently practical!” he declared with glowing adoration, a beaming smile illuminating his features.
Margaret held fast to his arms in overflowing delight and relief at his exuberance. “I did not think my practicality should please you so!” she teased him as he set her down again, his arms still fastened tightly around her.
“Everything about you pleases me,” he murmured in a throaty voice, thick with longing. His eyes roamed the contours of her bright face in rapturous wonder before leaning forward to capture her lips with his.
His possession was fierce, yet tender, and a frisson of tremulous desire rippled through Margaret’s body at the thought of becoming his.
She answered his kisses with sweet fervor and felt his grip tighten. Gently, but firmly, she pushed him away to wrest her lips free from his ardent attentions before they were both swept away in a tide of passion.
“I must go speak with your mother,” she whispered as she caught her breath, absently running her hands along the front of his waistcoat as she studied the dark fibers of his fitted attire.
He fairly groaned at the tremors of sensation aroused by her fond touch and kept her close. “I will accompany you,” he rasped, straining to breathe in measured control. It took all of his will not to crush her to him again and taste the sweetness that would be his to claim forevermore.
The corners of her mouth lifted into a sweet smile. “No, I should go alone. You are busy. Besides, we shall talk of many details that cannot be of great interest. In fact, I’m afraid I shall bore you by talking of nothing else these next few weeks,” she related, partially in jest.
“I could never tire of hearing you speak of our marriage,” he replied in earnest.
Margaret blushed under his heated scrutiny. “We will need to meet with the vicar …” she began, thinking aloud of the tasks that must befall him.
“We could go at once,” he suggested, loosening his hold on her.
Margaret stifled the laugh that rose to her throat at his boyish eagerness. “Perhaps we could go after I speak to your mother. Will you come for me in an hour?” she asked, her eyes glowing with loving tenderness.
He could only nod as strong emotions stirred in his breast, comprehending at last what was occurring. “Are you certain? I do not wish you to feel in haste …” he asked with creased brow, giving her one more chance to consider the magnitude of her decision.
“I was a little unsettled at first,” she confided timidly, averting her gaze. “But I believe for my mother’s sake, it will all work out well. I … I have no wish to delay,” she admitted with bashful hesitation.
He took her face into his hands and kissed her soundly, exulting in her honest wish to marry him speedily.
A few moments later he watched transfixed out his window as Margaret made her way to the stately house across the mill yard. A sense of awe and tremendous contentment overcame him at the sight of her gracefully mounting the stairs to his home. Soon, she would belong there. The very thought of it made his heart contract in fierce longing.
*****
Margaret’s eyes roamed the still, formal drawing room in hushed wonder of the surroundings that would shortly become part of her home. Not a candle was askew, nor a book or object out of place. The room was as cold and immovable as the woman who reigned over it. It was little wonder to her that John should wear such an impenetrable mask of detached manners when there was no place where he could put aside all outside cares and formal postures and truly live.
She was determined that he would find such comfort when she was his wife. He would not find his home a barren structure of perfect elegance and efficiency; she would bring color and vibrancy to this place with a love so full it would permeate the walls.
A twitch of nervousness jolted her from her musings as she heard her future mother-in-law descend the stairs.
“Miss Hale, how kind of you to call on us,” Mrs. Thornton greeted her as she entered the room. “I’m sorry that Fanny is not here at this moment, but I believe she will return shortly from her errands,” she explained as she examined Margaret’s modest attire in one sweeping, comprehensive glance.
“I hope I will see her,” the young woman replied sincerely. “Please, call me ‘Margaret’,” she added bashfully as she took a seat at the elder woman’s gesture.
“Margaret, then,” Mrs. Thornton confirmed with a thin smile as she took a seat opposite her. “Have you come with some news?” she inquired, discerning a note of resolution in the young girl’s demeanor.
“Yes … I ...” Margaret stuttered momentarily. “First, I must thank you for your kindness in visiting my mother while I was in London.”
“And I must apologize for not inviting your family to dinner. But I was not certain your mother was well enough …” the staid widow began.
“No, you are quite right,” Margaret was quick to reply, but then dipped her head in sorrow as she recalled the underlying reason for her visit. “I pray you will allow me to be quite honest with you, Mrs. Thornton. In truth, although she has rallied somewhat, Dr. Donaldson gives us no hope that she will recover,” she explained, her voice trailing weakly at this admission. “So, you will understand that it is her fondest hope to see me married before … too much time passes.”
“I see. I am very sorry to hear it,” the aging mother acknowledged in solemn tones. She was silent a moment before she continued. “You have set a date for the wedding, then?” she calmly ascertained.
“Yes,” Margaret replied, anxiously wringing her hands. “Since you so kindly offered to help with arrangements, Mother suggested we might be able to plan the wedding for the twenty-eighth … of this month,” she hastened to add, gulping in relief to have made this singular announcement.
Hannah made no movement, but her eyes flashed briefly in surprise. She swallowed, endeavoring to formulate the proper response. None was forthcoming. “Have you told John?” she asked blankly as she attempted to draw upon her stolid composure.
“Yes, I’ve just seen him,” she answered quietly, a faint blush coming to her cheeks.
Mrs. Thornton nodded. She could imagine that in his besotted earnestness, her son had had no compunction in agreeing to this sudden development. She took a deep breath in resignation. “Well, there is much to be done if we are to plan a fitting wedding in such short order. However, if your mother requires it to be so, then we must make haste to begin,” she announced with reluctant conviction. Disconcerted that she should be forced to give up her son so soon, she nevertheless accepted her unwavering duty to do all that was in her power to ensure his happiness and maintain the great stature that he held in Milton.
“Will there be a wedding breakfast?” the proud mother asked with sudden interest, hoping for the opportunity to see her son regaled in finest splendor.
Margaret faltered, overwhelmed to think of the fuss and formality that such an occasion would engender under Mrs. Thornton’s providence. “I don’t know … I suppose there ought to be, but my mother….”
“Surely, your mother will want everything done to show John’s high standing in Milton society,” Hannah Thornton assured, eager to remind the girl of the social obligations her new stature would require.
“Yes, of course,” Margaret conceded helplessly as any dreams of a simple, uncomplicated affair began to swiftly dissipate.
Mrs. Thornton asked a great many questions to which Margaret felt less than adequate to reply. It was decided that Mrs. Thornton should visit Mrs. Hale to apprise the mother of the bride of all the details in planning. However, the first order of the day was to compile the guest list.
Fanny entered the drawing room as this conversation ensued, and cast an inquiring glance at her mother before greeting their guest. “Miss … Margaret,” Fanny began politely, “have you come to tea?”
“Margaret has come to discuss details concerning the wedding,” her mother answered.
“They are to marry before the month has passed,” she informed her daughter with a wary glance.
“So soon!” the younger girl burst forth with an incredulous flick of her blond curls as she flounced down onto the sofa next to her mother. “But there is so much to prepare … your trousseau, your gown, the wedding breakfast! How will you manage to be ready in a few weeks? I should imagine it would take months to settle everything just as it ought to be,” she declared with certainty.
“I realize it may seem hastily planned, but ...” Margaret began to explain.
“Mrs. Hale has requested the date, Fanny. We will respect her wishes,” Mrs. Thornton intervened, giving her daughter a reproving look.
“Oh … I see,” Fanny responded despondently, although a crease of confusion lingered on her dainty brow.
Margaret breathed a silent sigh of relief, grateful for the elder woman’s discretion. With a brighter smile, she addressed her future sister-in-law. “I will need your help, along with that of your mother. I will be very grateful for whatever assistance you can offer. I’m certain you both know much better than my mother and I where to find the best goods and services in Milton.”
“Oh yes, we buy only from the best dealers in all things,” Fanny assured her, jutting her chin faintly aloft with a confident smile.
Margaret smiled politely. “I’m glad you arrived home, for I have a favor to ask of you,” she began, gazing at her hands which were clasped tightly in her lap. “It will please me very much if you will consider being one of my bridesmaids,” the bride-to-be invited, looking at her future sister-in-law with a kindly gleam in her eye.
A beaming smile lifted Fanny’s features as she held her head higher with self-importance. “Of course, I should be glad to accept,” she answered formally, already anticipating the occasion to appear before all of Milton in a sumptuous new gown.
The three women were soon consumed in enumerating the tasks that must be accomplished and the best way to divide their efforts when Margaret raised her face at the sound of footsteps approaching the room.
In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South Page 22