“I know, Father,” she whispered. She raised up to kiss him on the cheek, and slowly- very slowly- the glowing anguish in his eyes subsided, and he was her quiet, serene father once more.
“Well,” he smiled bravely, patting her hand. “We must not be late.”
Chapter Forty-One
John Thornton had never in his life found so much difficulty at patience. His fingers twitched anxiously at his side. He could sense his mother’s dark eyes boring into him, but his own gaze never left the door- the portal through which his whole future would momentarily arrive.
He had not long to wait, which was well. A sliver of light appeared, then was filled with shadowy figures. The light soon vanished again, and there was only her. She came to him veiled in her innocence, but boldly did she hold up her head to meet his breathless adoration. Each heartbeat of his own brought her closer to her rightful place, and to that moment when he would deliver up to her everything he was or ever would be.
Through delicate lace, he sought her clear, honest eyes, and saw nothing else through the remainder of the short ceremony. Mr Hale gave her hand into his, and he clasped it solemnly as the words of the service began. Gladly, he pledged away all that was his own and bound himself to her, promising to cherish her to his last breath and to receive humbly what she swore unto him in return.
At the minister’s blessing, and with one final, respectful glance toward her father, he at last drew the veil from her face. She was his! His ring sparkled upon her finger, a solid testament that she would now willingly share the name which he had so long borne alone. In awe, he paused for one last, loving look before tenderly taking her to himself.
The church was scarcely populated on this glorious day, which was as Margaret had wished it. It had seemed too sacred and holy a thing to sully it by obligatory invitations, and so only a handful of those dearest to them were in attendance. One such sat in excruciating solitude, on the right side of the church. Her daughter had abandoned her to sit with her own intended, and her son… her light, her cheer, her comforter… was no longer hers. Through blurred eyes, she blessed him as he gave himself to another, and silently commissioned that young woman to bear his heart in faithfulness.
For one wicked, piercing second, her own heart’s voice had cried out to bring the proceedings to a halt, to return back to the way things had always been. It happened to be just then that John lifted his bride’s veil, and the jealous mother was privy to all that he beheld. Shining back was the equal of his fervent love, a devotion as fierce as her own. Her son had indeed cast off her exclusive maternal embrace, but in return for her heartbreak, he had brought to her another to share in her affections. She had not lost love today, but gained more. Chastened once again, she bowed her head in silent gratitude.
When she lifted it, she found her new daughter’s laughing, jubilant eyes searching for her, in defiance of the custom for bride and groom to look only forward. John, too, had turned round, and something in his face made her gasp in wonder. She had not witnessed such unbridled joy since he had been yet a child.
Perhaps it was her own wishes, perhaps some flash of insight, but for half a moment, she saw him again as he had been- before years of want and worry, before the bitter struggles of manhood. The face she looked into was simply her boy, though it seemed to her that she could almost envision his own youthful features blended with another’s. She nearly laughed for astonishment imagining her little John- but a John with brilliant green eyes and freckles dusted over an upturned nose. Unashamed, she beamed proudly over the new couple as tears pooled in the corners of her eyes.
Margaret could never have fancied all that passed through Hannah Thornton’s mind. She knew only that she had been welcomed. Content in that, she turned her face once more up to the man who was now her husband. In speechless delight, he impulsively kissed her again before the assembled witnesses, and then took her hand under his arm.
“Come, my love,” he whispered, and together they made the long walk to the church doors- leaving behind them the safety of all that was known, and facing together all that lay ahead.
~
Hannah had insisted upon a wedding breakfast, though Margaret, and even John to a certain extent, had objected. “It seems wrong to put out so much just now, when so many others are presently going hungry!” Margaret had reasoned.
“Margaret,” Hannah had patiently explained, “you are an heiress now, and all of Milton knows that you are to be the owner of the mill property. You must show yourself to be… receptive,” she had finished uncomfortably.
As Margaret had still looked unconvinced, she suggested further, “This is a hasty wedding, which means all the more that it must be done properly! You must not look as though you are marrying in secret.” Margaret had relented, but it was not until Mr Bell and John had heard of her misgivings that a happy solution to her concerns had been found.
Thus, when the wedding party had returned to Marlborough Mills, it was for several hours of festivities. Many of John’s business associates came to wish the couple well. Mr and Mrs Smith offered their congratulations, Watson proudly dandled his own fiancée- with her stunning engagement ring- on his arm, and nearly every mill from the city was represented.
There was even a lovely gift and a personal note to Margaret from Genevieve Hamilton, which touched her very much. Showing it privately to John, she informed him very firmly of her intention to keep up the acquaintance. Poor Genevieve’s adored brother was now imprisoned, and her parents hiding in disgrace. She would certainly need a friend.
After the proper breakfast guests had departed, the wedding party joined in processional once more. Mr Bell and John walked on either side of Margaret and met a growing crowd of former Marlborough Mills employees at the site of the boiler explosion. At the fore, quite as they expected, stood Nicholas Higgins, and on his arm- much to their surprise- was Mildred Sacks. Margaret thought she had never seen such a pleased twinkle in Higgins’ eyes, but whether it was from the day’s event or the company he kept, she could not be sure. When the new Mr and Mrs Thornton were first sighted, a cheer rose from those gathered.
Mr Bell, admirably holding back his rasping cough, made a short speech in which he conferred the mill property to the new couple and gave to them the deed. Margaret had begged not to speak, so John humbly accepted Mr Bell’s gift on her behalf, then turned to address his men.
“I have not the gift of eloquent speech making. I expect, however, that you came here today not to hear platitudes, but to know the future of Marlborough Mills. I have already sent orders for four new combers and three new looms, and we can expect deliveries to begin within four weeks. A new boiler is to arrive within the fortnight as well. I have high hopes that before that time, we will have completed the repairs on the buildings.
“You may also be interested to know that the rebuilding process has garnered us some little notice within the industry. I have on my desk four large new contract offers from established textile merchants throughout the kingdom. These will help to immediately ensure orders to get the mill working again!” He paused as shouts of general approval arose from his audience.
“Unfortunately, little more can be done until the rebuilding is complete. However,” here he turned to offer his new wife a wink, “Mrs Thornton asked only one thing for a wedding gift, and I was glad to bring it about for her.
“Starting today, and continuing until the mill re-opens, every man, woman, and child previously on the payroll may come to the new kitchen for a hearty meal each day. Mr Higgins shall administrate the kitchen. It is not charity, lest any should feel grieved in his pride. Such is a noble sentiment, but consider this rather my effort- poor as it is- to enable those who would choose to return to Marlborough Mills as soon as the repairs are complete to do so, rather than leaving Milton to seek employment elsewhere. It would honour me very greatly if you should decide to place your confidence in this mill for your future livelihoods.”
He looked once more to his pretty young wife, whose kind smile and earnest generosity were already well known to many in the crowd. The knowledge that John Thornton had chosen such a woman as his wife, and that his marriage to her had not only restored the viability of the mill, but also had softened the toughest mill master in the city, brought perhaps more good cheer than his generous offer of support during hardship.
He glanced again over the hopeful expressions assembled before him. One meal per day was scarcely enough to keep them alive for that time, and well he knew it. He had already budgeted and disbursed two weeks’ additional pay to each worker. Other masters had berated him publically for it, but he firmly believed that the sudden loss of employment constituted a breach of contract between himself and his men. As he was now able to make some amends, he had determined to do so. He bitterly regretted that he could not do more, but Higgins had assured him that the Union had pledged a little more support of their own, once they had been assured that Marlborough Mills would reopen. It was, Higgins had persuaded them at last, to everyone’s benefit.
Wishing to draw his little speech to a close and to steal Margaret away for good, he tugged her gently to his side. Jeers and good-natured heckling rose from the crowd, but though his face grew hot, he chose to ignore it. “My wife and I are humbled by your well-wishes. Today, I consider myself the most blessed of all men.”
One taunting voice- suspiciously like Higgins’- called out, “Prove it, Master!” The cry was taken up, and within seconds the assembled throng was clamouring the same.
Red to the tips of his ears, Thornton peered uncertainly to Margaret. She was blushing and laughing merrily, her arm crooked intimately through his. The hoots from the audience had grown intense, and she offered him a teasing little lift of her brows.
That settled it. He spun her into his arms for a quick but decidedly scandalous kiss, and Margaret’s willing reciprocation instantly fixed her as “a fair lass” among the rough weaver crowd. He released her and cast a suspicious eye about, hoping he had not caused any loss of respect for his wife among those gathered. Laughter at his own expense, he could handle, but at Margaret’s was not to be borne! All he noted were cheers of approval, and a number came to clap him on the back in congratulations.
His grin as brilliant as the one pair of eyes which held his attention, he waved them away in embarrassment. Let them go to the kitchen! He had better things to do.
~
It was not the wish of the new couple to embark upon an extravagant wedding tour. Indeed, Margaret had felt it quite unnecessary to go anywhere at all, feeling that John’s guidance would be needed during the rebuilding of the mill. John, however, would not hear of spending their first days together amid the distractions of his work, nor even in the company of others dear to them. The bricklayers would be the better part of a fortnight at their labour, and the new looms and combers would not arrive for long after that.
His argument had prevailed, and as soon as they could get away from their well-wishers, he fairly carried her off to the train station. To the coast they were bound, and he cared not how long it took to get there, so long as he was alone with his wife. He curled his arm possessively about her, exulting in the knowledge that she was now his. She nestled her head against his shoulder, and together they watched as the fading winter sun cast its receding warmth over the sky. This day had seen everything change, and it was now retiring in peace.
He secured a quiet little inn by the shore, and was not disappointed to find that they had arrived well past the evening meal. Neither were in the least bit hungry, nor did the couple wish to call attention to their status as newlyweds. They were shown to a private, airy suite of rooms, and very soon they were left completely alone. John sighed in relief and began to shed his restraining coat and cravat.
Margaret turned bashfully away, and made a great show of gazing out of the window at the sparkle of the moon over the waves. Logically, she knew that all was as it should be, but now that she had come to it, those long-held habits of maidenhood cried out in doubt. She was alone, behind closed doors, with a man! A bed stood not ten feet from her, and not one of their faithful chaperones were within thirty miles. This was no momentary circumstance- she was to stay here with him! What had she been thinking to agree to all of this? Her stomach fluttered and her pulse quickened when she heard his step behind her.
He said not a word, merely siding his arms about her waist and pressing his face into her hair. He seemed to sense that she needed a moment, and was, in fact, suffering from his own battle with nerves. They stood together some while, her arms wound over his, their bodies swaying imperceptibly together to the rhythm of the waves breaking over the nearby shore.
At last he whispered in her ear. “Are you well, Love?”
The calm that she had only just achieved vanished in an instant as her neck prickled with the thrill of his breath over her skin. Not trusting herself to speak, she simply nodded.
He closed his eyes, nuzzling her cheek. “I wanted to tell you how beautiful you looked today, my Margaret. You always are, but today you were an angel, my love. I have a special fondness for this gown.”
Margaret glanced down in confusion. It was only a walking dress; in fact, Hannah and Fanny had despaired of her when she had refused to have a special wedding gown made. This was one of her favourites, but it was not new at all, as she had felt such an expense in poor taste. It was not even the fine white gown she had worn to the dinner party, because that one had been suitable only for evening wear. This one had simply been a practical choice for a bride intending to board a train straightaway. “Why do you like this one so well?” she wondered.
“Do you not remember that evening in your kitchen?” He turned her around in his embrace, then lifted her hands in his own so that she stood poised before him like a dancer prepared to twirl. “This was what you wore, and seldom have I had an opportunity to admire it since. How I wanted to take you in my arms and kiss you that night!” he declared with feeling. “From that day, I began to hope for more than I had ever dared before.”
Margaret laughed at the memory. “I as well! I was glad to be on friendly terms with you at last.”
His brow furrowed in mock hurt. “Only friendly?”
A saucy light glinted in her eyes. “That is all I shall admit to, sir.”
“I will have to draw out a confession, I see.” He raised her left hand to his lips and, just as he had on that first evening, placed a soft kiss on her fingers. Another gentle kiss followed on the little diamond she now wore, and still more trailed up the back of her hand, while his fingers beneath began seductively unhooking the many buttons of her tight sleeve.
Margaret shivered. The quiet of this place, the sensuous touch of his lips on her flesh, the dim light of the room beyond him, all served to sharpen and focus her awareness. Her vision filled with his powerful shoulders, shrouded only in his thin white shirt, and his shining dark head bent low before her. He lifted his face, a playful smile teasing his mouth. “Do you surrender?” he asked softly.
Smiling, she shook her head, and thought he looked like he had rather hoped for such a response. He flipped the sensitive inner part of her wrist up to his mouth, and she trembled anew when the fresh stubble from his chin and upper lip tickled her skin. Slowly, deliciously, he worked his sweet torment over the tender place where her pulse beat the strongest. His fingers cradled the back of her arm, pressing her loosened sleeve ever more out of his path, and he seemed fascinated with the way her flesh dimpled at his touch.
He continued tantalizing her, the warmth of his breath swirling over her exposed skin in little eddies with the cool permeating through the window. Margaret’s eyes had fallen almost closed, but the exquisite sensations he created trembled over her whole arm and brought to life every vulnerable, responsive longing through her body. At one moment she gasped and opened her eyes in disbelief. Could he still only be kissing her wrist? Tingling thrills raced over her, awak
ening secret yearnings from deep within. Her entire being was alive and intent on that single point of his attentions.
His mouth caressed to the limits of her sleeve, nearly to her elbow; though in truth, she felt his presence long before his lips touched that delicate place. Once he had at long last claimed the length and breadth of her bare flesh, he drew closer and commenced a similar assault just below her ear. It was not the first time he had ever done so, but never before had she sensed the coiled desire slipping from his control, nor felt so clearly the promise of intimate pleasures to be discovered.
She shivered anew when he daringly explored the line of her collar, the immutable boundary which had always before defined the extremity of what he could see and touch. There was no stricture of morality or propriety to hold him back now. He waited only for her to answer his growing thirst for her sweetness.
“Margaret,” he breathed in her ear, “my Margaret, how I love you!”
She turned her face into his and captured his gaze. She looked up into those eyes she trusted so well; the eyes of the man who had opened to her the very deepest recesses of his heart. She brought her hand to his cheek. “And I love you, my John.”
He lowered his forehead to touch it to hers. Never before had she called him her own! Her arms came up around his neck, as they had on that first, fateful day of the riots and on so many memorable occasions since. Gently he slid his fingertips over the backs of her loving arms, still in awe that she had willingly taken him to her heart.
Margaret sensed clearly that he was waiting for some sign from her. Drawing back only slightly, she met his eyes and deliberately pulled the combs from her hair. It tumbled down in thick waves as she tugged free the coils.
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