Hannah Thornton knew instinctively the sound of her son’s footsteps, but was taken aback by the expression that came over the betrothed girl’s face. The vicar’s daughter fairly glowed with tender adoration as she welcomed her intended with a soft smile and reverent eyes. Mrs. Thornton cast a backward glance at her son, whose own face seemed to radiate in answering accord. She raised her brows in astonishment at this sudden insight. Perhaps their feelings ran deeper than she had allowed. A disquieting feeling tugged at her heart at the thought that she was to be displaced from his affections.
“Oh, John, it is quite astounding … you are to be married by the end of this month! And for so long I thought you would never stand at the altar!” Fanny declared, still nonplused at the rush of events.
“I had not yet met the right woman,” he replied smoothly with a grin, his warm gaze resting on Margaret. His heart lifted to see her situated so naturally in his home, and beat in fervent anticipation to imagine coming home to such a scene every day.
Margaret dropped her gaze at his intimate tone, a warm rush flooding her with timid happiness.
“Why have you come at his hour?” his mother directly inquired, still studying the transformation of her son in Miss Hale’s presence with a discerning eye.
“I’ve come to escort Miss Hale to the vicar so that we may arrange the date of our nuptials,” he answered, unable to restrain the joy that charged through him upon voicing his intent.
“Forgive me,” Margaret demurred to the women seated before her. “I asked Mr. Thornton to come at this time. I thought it was imperative that we visit the vicar so that we may set the date and time in order to send out the invitations quickly,” she explained as she rose to her feet. “Thank you for being so obliging to my requests. You have been very helpful.”
“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Thornton replied, now examining closely the woman who would be her son’s wife. The skeptical mother was pressed to admit that Margaret’s charms seemed genuine. No longer the haughty girl who looked down upon her son’s position, she had been all grace and conciliatory kindness, soft-spoken yet bravely resolute. There was reason to hope that Miss Hale might make a good match for her son.
Fanny watched with some surprise as her brother fondly stretched out his hand to take Miss Hale’s hand in his. Such a display of gallant affection seemed wholly out of keeping with her brother’s usual stiff demeanor. She looked to her mother, who seemed equally nonplused.
*****
The couple beamed happily as they walked arm-in-arm to the vicarage. They exchanged a few words about Mrs. Thornton’s reception of their news, and lapsed into quiet contentment as they ambled down the streets together toward their destination. They stole silent glances at each other, their faces illuminated in shared joy and wonderment whenever their eyes met.
Mr. Thornton rung the bell at a handsome brick house near Milton’s grandest church and was greeted by the vicar himself at the door.
“Mr. Thornton, I received your message. I’m glad I can be of service,” a sturdy man with kindly eyes and graying hair replied with vigor as the two men shook hands.
“Reverend Talbot, allow me to introduce Miss Hale, who has done me the great honor of agreeing to be my wife,” the Master announced, smiling broadly as Margaret demurely bowed her head.
“Miss Hale,” the vicar acknowledged, extending his hand to Margaret before gesturing for them to join him in his library.
A little while later, seated behind his desk, Rev. Talbot peered over his spectacles to survey the young couple seated attentively on the small sofa in front of him. A knowing grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he noted the respected manufacturer’s hand clasped gently over the dainty hand of the girl beside him. His wife would be eager to learn that the long-sought-after bachelor had finally been won, he mused with satisfaction. A devoted husband himself of many years, he reveled in the pleasure of these moments, when his duties called him to witness the sacred beginnings of a lifetime of devotion.
*****
Stepping out into the daylight again, the couple flashed each other a delighted smile, buoyant in the knowledge of what they had just done. Time was the only obstacle remaining to their eventual union.
They walked in silence, content in the simple pleasure of being together, each consumed in joyous, dizzying contemplation of their converging future. When they reached the point where their paths must part, Margaret slowly slipped her hand from his arm.
Mr. Thornton grasped at her hand, reluctant to relinquish contact with her just yet. “We will be wed three weeks from this very day,” he stated quietly in awe, seeking her assurance that he was not walking in some fantastical dream.
“Yes,” she answered softly, no longer able to hide the affection that shone in her eyes.
Love, wonder, and desire blazed in his answering stare, causing something deep within her to ache with emotion. She knew that he, too, yearned for the time when they could be alone, never to part again.
Mr. Thornton’s every impulse screamed to take her in his arms and kiss her, but he reluctantly released her hand as nameless figures passed them by, heedless of their private strain of emotion.
Margaret gave him a final look of tender sympathy and turned to go.
Mr. Thornton stood rooted to the ground, watching her go for a brief moment before forcing himself to follow the path to his familiar solitude. He took a few steps and then craned his neck to take one last glance, entranced by the sight of her graceful figure retreating down the street.
Against all her well-trained sense of propriety, Margaret stopped to look back at him. A smile illuminated her face as she met his adoring gaze for a moment, then she demurely turned to resume her course.
A flood of strong feeling washed over him as he continued toward his mill. Her tender glances, soft whispers, and fond embraces were all for him — and promised to him forevermore. The corners of his mouth lifted in irrepressible happiness.
*****
A strange silence charged the atmosphere at dinner that evening at Marlborough Mills as Mr. Thornton began to partake of his soup, unaware that his mother and sister were exchanging glances and surreptitiously studying his light-hearted manner. Nothing could diminish the bounding joy that surged through him this momentous day. He cared nothing for what others might say concerning the rapid development of events when they were so decidedly in his favor. He reveled in contemplation of the time when Margaret would lend her grace and buoyant presence to their mundane family dinners.
Fanny could not stomach the torturous quiet of her elders and spoke as if to break their reluctance in discussing the difficulties of their new situation. “I still do not see why everything should be so rushed! How can Mrs. Hale expect to create a decent wedding with so little time to prepare!” she complained, shaking her head in haughty disbelief.
“Fanny, Mrs. Hale is gravely ill,” her brother sharply scolded, his eyes flaring with anger. “I’m certain that even you can understand her desire to see her daughter married,” he finished coolly, his indignation roused at her thoughtlessness.
He turned his attention to his mother. “You have planned our great dinner party every summer for years. Cannot the wedding be arranged in similar fashion?” he queried honestly, laying great faith in his mother’s efficiency and attention to detail.
Hannah’s eyes widened in doubt at her son’s assumption, but felt the confidence he placed on her ability. “There are a great many more incidentals to consider for a wedding. I have been asked to help, John, not to usurp the decisions which rightly belong to the bride and her mother,” she countered. “But I will do everything in my power to ensure that everything is done well,” she added, seeing the gathering crease of concern on his brow. “No one will speak of your wedding as anything common. Everything must be done in a style that befits your standing. It will be the talk of the season — and beyond,” she declared with conviction.
“But I can’t imagine that Margaret will be able to
go to London for her dress at this late date. I shall hardly have time to have a new gown made for myself. It is all still very distressing,” Fanny declared, jutting her chin aloft in proud defense of her original opinions.
Mr. Thornton’s face changed as he gave this concern his full consideration. He did not wish to see his betrothed packed off to London to secure a gown. Nor did he wish for her to settle for anything beneath her exceptional beauty. “You must know the best dress-makers in Milton,” he responded, looking back and forth between the two women. “I wish for the services of the best seamstress to be secured for Margaret’s gown — exclusively, if necessary. Will you see to it, Mother?” he implored decisively.
“Yes, of course, John. If you wish it,” she replied, knowing well that her son would brook no argument.
Fanny peered at her brother in wonder at his firm command over matters that had never interested him before.
Silence ensued for some time until Hannah Thornton began to consider other changes that must shortly come about. “We must also make arrangements for Miss Hale at our home. There will hardly be time to set up a room for her with all the wedding details to attend to,” she said, certain her son had little idea of the tasks that lay ahead of her.
“Surely, there is no need …” Mr. Thornton replied, hiding his alarm at this startling notion.
Hannah Thornton looked at her son in some surprise. “She will want a sitting room at the very least. We have the space to afford her a proper lady’s quarters,” she explained.
“Very well,” he conceded with reluctance, glancing anxiously at his sister, whom he knew was listening to every word. He would not press the matter further, but felt a stab of panic at the thought of being separated from his wife after a long day at the mill.
When the evening came to a close, and Fanny and the servants headed for bed after listening to passages from the Old Testament, Mr. Thornton stayed in the drawing room to talk to his mother.
“Will you meet with Mrs. Hale tomorrow?” he asked, impatient to know that all would be done without delay.
“We must first compose our guest list, although I cannot conceive that the Hales are prepared to receive a grand portion of Milton’s society on a tutor’s meager income. So, you see that I am already constrained in my ability to help,” she explained, giving her son a pointed look.
“I will speak to Mr. Hale tomorrow. He should not bear such a burden at this time. The expenses will be our own. Let us have no complications over money,” he firmly declared.
“Can we afford it?” she asked bluntly, relieved to have the freedom to spend as she saw fit for such an occasion but still concerned about the mill’s stagnant progress.
“We are secure at present. We shall see our profits return when business resumes a more reasonable pattern,” he assured her.
She nodded, refusing to voice her lingering doubts.
“It is a singular occasion, after all. I am to be married, Mother!” he exclaimed in whispered astonishment as the reality of all that had taken place that day washed over him anew.
“Yes,” she acknowledged with a weak smile, her heart twisting at his open exuberance. He would never know how much she treasured the years of being his sole companion.
*****
Alone in his room, the Master could not subdue his elation, scarcely able to comprehend his fortune. He paced the floor, absently running his fingers through his hair as he recalled every word, every glance that had passed between himself and his beloved that day. That she loved him still seemed a thing incredible, filling him with bounding joy. That she seemed almost as eager to wed as he was sent him into a dizzying passion of excruciating expectancy. How he ached to hold her fast to him and show her his love!
He stopped to gaze around the room with new eyes. It was sufficiently furnished, but sparse enough that he should make new accommodations. He mused over the possible changes that could be made. There was space enough for a second wardrobe. A dressing table might be situated along the front wall. He smiled to imagine Margaret brushing her unpinned hair in the privacy of a shared bedchamber.
A wave of ecstatic wonder and fervent longing flooded through him as he thought of coming home to find her in this very place. Her presence in this room would brighten his most wearying days. Nothing could surpass the sublime privilege of being able to spend every evening with one who filled his heart with such vibrant joy.
He could not bear the thought of her living apart from him, in her own room. He was determined to speak to his mother. A sitting room could be arranged for her comfort, but she would sleep and wake with him. Without her close by his side, he would not truly be living.
Inevitably, his eyes roved over the smooth expanse of the large oak-framed bed. He had spent countless nights in it by himself, some of them in an agony of despair that he would live his entire life alone — without the love of the one woman who had touched his soul.
Soon, it would no longer be a place of solitude, but a haven of shared tenderness, soft caresses, and such blissful pleasures as he had heretofore only imagined. Every manly desire rose in fierce longing for the moment when he would finally take her as his own. How he yearned to hold her in his arms every night!
Heaving a sigh, he resumed his pacing, determined to patiently rejoice that the days until she was his could now be counted.
*****
Exhausted, Margaret lay in the dark in her small bedroom, marveling at how much had been accomplished in one day. She had awoken that morning with no knowledge of how long she would be engaged. With one fell swoop, her mother’s fervent wish had cast her headlong into preparations for a wedding that was to take place in a matter of a few weeks!
Nervous excitement tingled through her arms and limbs. At times, she was uncertain if she was prepared for such a life-altering change, but at other times — when she was with him — she felt that nothing could feel more natural or right.
Fear rose to unsettle her, however, as she thought of her mother’s earnest request and the unspoken, horrible truth that lay behind it. She tried to push her thoughts away from it, but dread weaved a subtle strain of anxiety around their plans for joyful celebration.
And what of Fred? Although she had been compelled to beckon him to England, terrifying images haunted her, in which he was captured and the gesture that had intended to bring him home to his mother would become the final stricture on his life.
Her father would never recover, should he lose Frederick. It was unclear if he should even survive the loss of his wife. Margaret winced in painful sympathy at her father’s determined ignorance. He steadfastly refused to believe that his wife should be taken from him. He could not comprehend the cruelty of it. And she knew he affixed upon himself the blame for her current decline, which in turn would make her death a mortal blow.
In this darkness of despair, the happiness of her coming marriage served as a beacon of hope. All was not bleak. She would have Mr. Thornton’s tender solicitude throughout all her trials. He would care for her. He had promised it in his letter, and she believed it every time she looked into his eyes.
It was no small measure of comfort to imagine putting herself under the care of one as powerful and commanding as John Thornton. His mind was quick and his resolution indefatigable. No matter what lay ahead, she felt a strange, new feeling of peace to remember that she would not have to face it alone. She had never felt more secure or happy than when his strong arms were around her.
She smiled to remember his jubilation upon hearing her proposal and gave a puff of laughter to recall how he had swept her up to twirl her about in the unromantic setting of his workplace. It thrilled her to know that he was eager to wed.
The contemplation that such a man could love her never ceased to fill her with amazement. And although she could not quite comprehend how or why, she knew that he needed her. She could sense it in the urgency of his touch and in the way that his pure blue eyes searched hers, seeing through to the very depths of her like
no one else ever had.
She yearned to love him in return, to fill that need which clutched at his innocent heart. He had suffered much in his life and had had little ease. For as much as he promised to care for her, she wished to care for him — to shower him with all the tenderness he deserved.
She would soon have her chance to prove her love, she thought as her eyes traced the shadowy forms of the familiar objects in her room. Her nights in this bed were limited. It would not be long until she belonged to him. A shiver of unknown anticipation drew her muscles taut within her belly.
Soon, she would begin a whole new life as Mrs. John Thornton.
Chapter Thirteen
Mr. Thornton stood alone in the late morning light in the Hales’ parlor. Clutching a bouquet of white roses, he anxiously looked to the stairs where he had directed the maid to send for Margaret.
A door closed and a flurry of steps sounded above before he heard the patter of creaking boards as she made her way quickly down the stairs. She was dressed simply in a dark skirt and white blouse, but her hair was freshly swept up on her head and her face shone radiantly. He had never seen her look lovelier.
“John,” she exclaimed with unhidden joy as she bounded toward him, her skirts rustling in her haste.
He opened his arms instinctively to receive her, and by some miracle of heaven, she rushed into them. He held her close, careful not to crush her, his muscles quivering in his desire to bind her tightly against him.
He could not move or speak, so precious was this moment to him. Her utterance of his name resounded through him like a balm, reaching every recess of his wounded soul, banishing the aching loneliness of the years with a single call from her lips.
After some time, she stepped back. “Are these for me?” she asked with a demure smile as she gazed upon the roses in his hand.
“They are,” he acknowledged, transfixed by the warm glow of her face. “There are no words to tell you how happy I am,” he endeavored to explain, his deep voice quavering with emotion.
In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South Page 23