In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South

by Trudy Brasure

  The morning sun shone brightly when they emerged from the grand hotel to explore the surrounding gardens.

  They crossed once again the iron Cliff Bridge with its panoramic views and sauntered through the sylvan parks and pleasure gardens in the gorge below, stopping for a time at the Rotunda Museum, which housed a great collection of fossil specimens and rocks.

  The Foreshore promenade kept them in sight of the sea and harbor. They stopped to listen to a brass band for some time and then turned to meander the streets of the town. Margaret stepped into a bookshop to purchase one of Anne Bronte’s books, The Tenant of Windfell Hall. They continued their walk nearly as far as the Old Town, where they had explored the quiet, winding back streets the day before.

  After eating a light luncheon at a rustic old inn beside the harbor, they returned to the South Sands and sat down upon a dry spot to enjoy the activity and beauty of the wide beach. The surf rolled gently over flat expanses of wet sand, washing away the footprints of paddling children.

  A few young boys scampered about nearby, busily engaged in building a moat and connecting canal for their castle of sand.

  Entertained by their industrious antics, the newlyweds observed them with interest until the youngsters began to exclaim in consternation at their canal’s collapse.

  Margaret was surprised as her husband got to his feet and began to help the lads dig a better trench. Amused and heartened by his natural impulse, she watched the tall, dark figure of her husband crouched down among the children, plying a spade in the task of engineering child’s play. She smiled at his avid involvement in demonstrating his technique and laughed to hear the lads shout out a few directives of their own to the Master of Marlborough Mills.

  He flashed her a dazzling smile, and she nearly stopped breathing.

  As if she didn’t already love him enough, watching him drop all serious comportment to become the boy of his youth pierced her heart and made her fall in love with him more deeply than ever.

  He would make a splendid father. The thought of bearing his children made something within her twist and ache as a blush spread to her face.

  As she stared at him with dazed enchantment, the angle of his stooped position and the persistent west breeze gave her a glimpse of his lean physique beneath the traditional covering of his long frock coat.

  A frisson of heat rose from her belly at the thought of how intimately she alone knew his flexile form. Images of the morning’s amorous activity flashed through her mind. Her breathing slowed at the sensual memory of his skin against hers.

  She started at suddenly finding him approaching. His face shone with open joy and his tall, lithe figure exuded a relaxed confidence as he came toward her. Her pulse pattered in her breast, and she blushed profusely at the recognition of her own desire.

  “Are you warm?” he asked, a crease of concern wrinkling his brow as he sat down beside her.

  “No … yes! Perhaps a little … I’m just a little tired,” she stuttered, ashamed and confused at the strong yearning she had to hurl herself into his arms and feel the press of his body against hers.

  “We should go back, then,” he determined.

  She could only nod her head, feeling even more flustered to have won a step toward her goal with a faint fabrication of the truth.

  He helped her to her feet, and she threaded her arm through his. His apparent contentment at ambling juxtaposed awkwardly with Margaret’s anxious state. She followed his pace with a determination to enjoy the pleasant scenery around them, although she felt disconcerted by the faint throb of longing that persisted within her during their long, unhurried walk to the hotel.

  They climbed the great staircase to their room in silence. Mr. Thornton turned the key and opened the door, allowing his wife first passage through the threshold.

  Margaret set aside her bonnet and walked straight to the long window, seeking refuge from her distracted confusion and feeling afraid that the look on her face would reveal how her heart fluttered inside.

  John laid down his hat and took off his coat in the warm privacy of their room. He walked softly to where his wife stood, framed by the light, and deftly wrapped his arms around her from behind. “This is a glorious place, is it not?” he asked in that deep Darkshire voice which seemed to vibrate into Margaret’s very being.

  She nodded faintly, unable to speak as she melted against his firm chest, closing her eyes as a resurgence of longing washed over her at this close contact.

  He closed his arms around her more tightly and nuzzled near her ear, aroused and mystified by her reaction. She made no move to repel or chastise him but instead inclined her head obligingly to the side as he began to place kisses down the soft column of her neck. The scent of her filled his senses, and the warm feel of her skin under his lips tantalized him to the edge of endurance. His hands grew restless at her waist.

  “Tell me now if you truly wish to take rest,” he whispered a warning in her ear, his muscles quaking in restraint.

  She twisted around in his arms and shook her head, boldly meeting his gaze in helpless honesty.

  His eyes darkened at the recognition of her longing. The pleading look in her soft blue eyes sent scorching heat to his every nerve ending, fueling the flame of desire ever latent within him.

  He kissed her to discern the truth and found it in her hungering answer. With viselike strength, he clasped her to him so that she would know the unyielding ardor of his own potent need for her.

  She emitted an indiscriminate sound and held to him tightly.

  Still kissing her soundly, he slid one hand over her curves to begin unfastening the buttons of her fitted jacket.

  Her knees buckled at his haste. She felt dizzy in the expectation of what was to come.

  “I … cannot stand,” she mumbled weakly, grasping at him for support.

  He appraised her predicament with one comprehending glance and swept her off her feet to carry her to their bed. He set her down upon the edge and knelt to begin unlacing her boots with businesslike precision.

  All power to move drained from her as she watched him. A tumult of anticipation raged within her belly as he slipped one boot off and then the other. The touch of his hands sent fire racing over her skin as he tremblingly traced a course from her ankle to her knee in search of the rim of her silk stockings.

  “I … can manage the rest … on my own,” she stuttered, desperate to halt such perilous seduction before she fell into a swoon.

  He halted at once and, giving her a scorching look, moved to the other side of the bed to undress.

  He returned minutes later, wrapped only in his silk dressing gown, to help her remove the clothing still bound to her form. His fingers worked urgently to loosen her corset and slide it off her body. Not an hour had passed since the morning’s lovemaking that he had not longed to feel the press of her silken skin against his once more. His pulse hammered as he tugged at the thin cotton shift that remained a barrier between them.

  She shivered at being exposed to his ravenous gaze and sank back upon the bed to receive him.

  Casting aside his covering, he deftly moved to cover her body with his. Gentle, fervent kisses grew more tempestuous as both yearned to prove how adamant was their affection. His hands stroked the fullness of her flesh in rapturous awe that she should give herself so freely to him while her fingers grasped at his back to bring him ever closer.

  The realization that she wanted this as much as he did drove him into a delirious agony of longing to love her with furious abandon.

  He pulled back and, seeing only the hazy look of desire in her eyes, fit himself inside her with rapturous satisfaction.

  He made no delay and little restraint in loving her, his pace and fervency impelled by the intense need to be melded to her in body and soul.

  His pleasure was magnified by the soft sounds of her delight and the manner in which she clung to him.

  Their bodies moved as one, giving and yielding in a symphony of movement
that was unrehearsed, yet as natural and beautiful as any expression of the wonder of life on this earth.

  Their eyes met at intervals, revealing the depth of their emotion, all their desire and unwavering need laid bare before each other.

  The undulating fervor of their passion increased, culminating in that crescendo of ecstasy that wrung a cry from both their lips and left them exhausted and blissfully satiated.

  There was no need for words afterward as they lay entangled in each other’s arms. Their eyes conveyed the stupefying wonder at all that had been said in the power and glory of their intimate bonding.

  The time being too precious to be spoiled by any other diversion, the lovers spent the remainder of the afternoon in bed — quietly talking, touching, and loving. It would be a leisure seldom afforded to them once they returned to Milton.

  The declining sun coaxed them at length from the secluded comfort of their bed. For one last evening, they dressed for six o’clock dinner and descended the stairs to join the other hotel guests in the elegant surroundings of the opulent dining room.

  The Thorntons chatted amicably with the familiar faces gathered at their table. Margaret’s face lit with enthusiasm at an invitation to join several others at the theater later. Her eyes flew to her husband with demure but hopeful inquiry, tempering her zeal to abide by his wishes. He answered with a brilliant smile and accepted the offer at his wife’s behest.

  Margaret returned his smile, thrilling at the warm glance meant for her alone. After having been thrust into countless social gatherings during her days in London, Margaret neither craved nor loathed them. It was a particular pleasure on this occasion, however, to be surrounded by a host of relative strangers while communicating silently with the man who knew her best. She observed with pride how well he spoke and moved among the higher classes without the benefit of a similar upbringing. Yet she found it endearing that, although her husband commanded the respect and admiration of those around him, he was a very private man, preferring thoughtful, quiet evenings to the more mindless chatter of any social gathering.

  With their arms linked together, the newlyweds walked with the distinguished company down the winding paths of the South Cliff to a great rocky ledge. Here, overlooking the bay at the ocean’s edge, near the Spa Wells, was an entertainment hall built in the romantic style of a medieval castle. The stars began to appear above the darkening sea as they entered the stone structure and took their seats in the large concert hall.

  The production of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing enchanted Margaret, so that Mr. Thornton ofttimes struggled to pay attention to the players when the view of his wife’s animated countenance gave him such pleasure.

  When a witty line in a battle of words caused Mr. Thornton to throw his head back and laugh, Margaret observed the flash of his smile with poignant joy. It was his smile that she had first admired in her father’s pupil, the first symbol of his genuine nature that had pierced through her clouded vision of him as a stern and unforgiving man.

  During a quiet sequence in which lovers declared their passionate devotion, Margaret smiled to find the gloved hand of her husband reaching secretly across her lap for hers. She placed her small hand in his, and he clasped it warmly in silent affirmation of their own unshakeable bond.

  Much discussion of the performance followed as the theatergoers returned uphill toward the hotel.

  Margaret still chattered about the complexities of the plot as her husband ushered her into their dark room. He lit a bedside candle and doffed his hat as she declared what a terrible misfortune it would be for true lovers to be separated by such an aggregation of misunderstandings.

  The sparks of fiery dissent and attraction portrayed on the stage had only served to call to John’s mind the tumultuous history of their own brief courtship. With calm resolution, he took her in his arms and silenced her speaking with a kiss.

  She wrested her lips free from his after a delicious passage of time. “It’s late,” she weakly protested, ensnared by the pull of her own desire.

  “Yes, it’s time to bed,” he murmured, the sultry sound of his voice sending a shiver down her spine as his lips continued their sensuous intent up the length of her neck, his arms firmly locked around her waist. It had been a pure delight and a lingering torture to watch her sparkle and glow in the midst of social conversation and cultured entertainment while at every moment he had grown more impatient to have her to himself once again.

  “If we are to catch a morning train …”she whispered, feeling a duty to remind him of their plans before her limbs lost all strength to steady her.

  “We are at leisure to do as we please. I care nothing for timetables and schedules at present,” he fairly growled near her ear, longing for a sweet reprisal of their afternoon passion.

  She nodded in dizzy accord and offered her lips to his in complete surrender.

  *****

  Margaret hugged her dressing gown closer about her naked form as she stood at the window in the black darkness of the early hours, gazing at the shimmering glow of the starlit sea beyond. Woken inexplicably from her sleep, she had carefully extracted herself from the cozy spot next to her husband in a nostalgic urge to look out upon the place that would forever be magical in her mind.

  In the silent stillness, she could hear the distant roar of waves. Astounding in power and beauty, the ocean was unfathomable in force and depth — unstoppable— and flowed from an endless source. It was just so with their love. Although upon the surface it might crash and roil with turbulent fury, their lovemaking astonishing her with its intensity, there was beneath an underlying calm and strength — a constancy that would buoy them through the coming storms.

  A profound sense of peace rose from her heart and swelled to pervade the room. She could not imagine a more perfect contentment than what she felt at this moment. She looked to the heavens in grateful thanks for the man who slept quietly in the bed nearby.

  It seemed a thing incredible to her that she should feel so at home so many miles away from any place she had ever lived. But this was home — wherever he was — and she knew it would always be so from this time forward.

  A faint rustling of sheets sounded in the darkness behind her.

  “Margaret?”

  She heard the trace of panic in her husband’s sleepy call and rushed to allay his confusion.

  “I’m here,” she whispered softly as she reached the bedside. “I only wished to see the view at night.”

  “Are you troubled?” he asked, his gravelly voice laced with uneasy concern. Perhaps he had assumed too much concerning her happiness.

  “No, no. Everything is as it should be,” she said as she climbed under the covers to nestle against his warm body. “I have all that I could wish for.”

  He gathered her closer in drowsy agreement, and they fell asleep in each other’s arms while the sea beyond sounded its infinite refrain.

  Chapter Eighteen

  John’s gaze followed the unclad figure of his wife as she slipped out from under the bed sheets to hastily don her white dressing gown.

  “We must dress quickly if we are to eat breakfast downstairs,” Margaret muttered, tightening the sash at her waist, her back to her husband.

  The corners of his mouth lifted to observe her blushing modesty after such a spell of unhurried lovemaking as they had just shared in the morning’s gentle light. He drew a deep breath and propped himself against the pillows to luxuriate a few moments more in this dream-realm of perfect contentment. He would be loathe to leave the place where the glory and wonder of marital bliss had been revealed to him.

  Reluctantly, he climbed out of the bed to tug on his drawers and trousers. Throwing a shirt over his head, he turned to see his wife, now in her long chemise, laying yesterday’s garments in her trunk. No longer hiding behind a screen, she went about the mundane task of dressing and tending to her clothes. The sight of it entranced him, for here was a vision of the life that now lay before him, where the c
ommon routines of their existence would blend into new harmonious rounds, transforming the ordinary into something exquisitely wonderful and precious.

  She would come home with him, and live in his house. The contemplation of this simple fact caused his heart to contract in fervent longing, astounded for the thousandth time at his fortune.

  He crossed the room in a blaze of ardor.

  “At times, I cannot yet believe you are truly mine,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

  “I believe that has been made abundantly clear,” she answered softly, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. She felt the strong sinewy lines of his forearms beneath the clasp of her small hands.

  He held her closer, the implication of her answer sending a warm sense of satisfaction through every portion of his body. The joy he felt in the close, intimate bond they had created surpassed all his imaginings. He would never tire of their coming together, but feared that his own desires might overwhelm her more hesitant inclinations. “Are you happy?” he murmured with his cheek pressed near hers, wanting to hear the confirmation of his fondest hope from her lips.

  She twisted about to face him. “I thought that was also plain,” she returned, lifting her luminous eyes to his.

  His heart leapt up at her words. Although he rejoiced that their love had sparkled and dazzled in the bright dawn of these first days, he secretly worried that in time the life of a manufacturer’s wife would lose its luster.

  Margaret’s thoughts held no such misgivings. Settled securely within her husband’s embrace, she reached up to tenderly stroke his face, her fingertips tracing the spot near his temple where the stone had struck him on that terrifying and life-altering day. “It seems so long ago … when we hardly knew one another.…” she faltered, recalling with a pang of guilt how she had once dismissed him as a heartless tradesman.

  “Not so long ago,” he answered, taking her hands in his and kissing the fingers that had touched his old wound. He could well remember the months he had longed to gain her affection, and the thrill of hope that had overtaken him when he had seen the look of tender concern in her eyes that momentous day. “You captivated me from the very beginning. I knew there could be none other,” he admitted with conviction.