by Elaine Owen
As for himself, it had taken a supreme act of will not to reach down and kiss her when her face had been nestled against his shoulder. He had been sorely tempted to take advantage of her position, just to see if she noticed the gesture and how she responded to it. But Margaret had once accused him of being less than a gentleman, and he could not indulge in such behavior with her, not even as her betrothed. He would rather die than give her any reason to reject him again. He would have to wait before once again proclaiming his affection to her – wait for her to marry him, to move past her immediate grief over her father, and to give her time to forget the gentleman in Cadiz.
With this thought in his mind he blew out the lamp and lay down to sleep, holding Margaret's handkerchief close to his heart.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
It was now the day of the wedding and Margaret, who had been restless all night, startled when she heard a gust of wind strike the side of the house. As she peered out her bedroom window she saw that the wind was blowing heavy clouds over Milton. The clouds had dark underbellies, and she wondered how she would manage her skirts and hair if rain began to fall by the time she left for the church. She was grateful that Hannah had suggested ordering a carriage to make the short journey. As a young girl Margaret had dreamed of walking to her wedding down a tree-lined path, but this was the time for practicality, not wishful thinking.
Margaret and Hannah were back on speaking terms. Hannah had offered Margaret a stiff apology for causing offense with the dress, which Margaret accepted as she expressed regret for taking leave without saying goodbye. Since then Hannah had maintained a strained courtesy with Margaret, almost as though Margaret were going to be an honored guest instead of the new mistress of the home. And she must have prevailed on Fanny as well, for the girl maintained a sort of watchful fascination in Margaret's presence and managed to keep her thoughts to herself. Margaret doubted the new mood would last long, but she would not quarrel with it in the meantime. She and the Thorntons would have to find ways to accommodate each other in their new living arrangement, and awkward politeness was better than open friction.
As for Thornton himself, Margaret had thought about him a great deal in the days since their encounter in the churchyard. She was not entirely sure what to make of him.
On the one hand she knew that he remembered the lie she had told for her brother's sake. She was certain that he still resented the insulting way she had refused his first offer of marriage. She had seen the anger in his eyes and felt the bitterness in his manner too many times to easily set those recollections aside. It was too much to hope that a man with his pride would simply forgive and forget.
On the other hand there was no denying that Thornton had behaved with tremendous consideration since her father's death. He had stood up to Hannah for her sake and made it clear that he intended to be a diligent provider for Margaret's needs. His generosity was likely the result of his regard for her father, but at least it was there. She was encouraged when she remembered his assurance of his support in this marriage of convenience, and vowed to repay his thoughtfulness by thoroughly fulfilling her side of their unusual bargain.
Margaret dressed and completed her final preparations quickly, and when the carriage arrived she was waiting patiently, sitting quietly in a lone chair where she could look between the parlor and her father's study. The rooms were bare; not even the curtains remained. But she fancied she could hear her mother's low tones making conversation in the parlor, and she could almost see her father still sitting at his desk, the lamplight shining off his glasses as he worked. How she wished they could be with her on this momentous day! Tears pricked her eyes and she had to swallow the lump that rose in her throat. It would not do to arrive at the church with a tear-stained face. She took one long, final look at the last home she had occupied with her parents. Then she rose, made her way to the front entry, and closed the door of Crampton behind her forever.
The wind nearly knocked Margaret off her feet as she stepped up into the carriage, but at least it was not raining. In keeping with the quiet ceremony the carriage had not been decorated in any way. But on one bench inside the vehicle she noticed a delicate nosegay of pink roses. Margaret seated herself, then reached for the bouquet and breathed in their fresh fragrance. The sweet scent helped to soothe her nerves. A small folded note fell out of the buds and into her hands.
Margaret,
Please accept this token from me on our wedding day. I will see you soon.
Your obedient servant,
John
Thornton had never used his first name with her before, and Margaret ran her finger over the four letters on the page thoughtfully. He had addressed her as Margaret, she realized, ever since they had become engaged, but she had continued to use the more formal surname with him. Now his familiarity startled her. Thinking of him as John instead of Mr. Thornton somehow changed the mental picture he occupied in her mind. Mr. Thornton reminded her of a master, stiff and forbidding, unapproachable. But John was just a man, human and vulnerable. Though she knew they were the same person, it comforted her to think of marrying the man instead of the master.
Dixon climbed into the carriage behind her, heavy and clumsy. She looked at the flowers in surprise when she saw them in Margaret's hand. "Where did those come from?"
"Mr. Thornton sent them." She bent her head and sniffed them again.
"I wouldn't have thought he had it in him. He always seemed rather cold and formal to me."
"He is a good man, Dixon. You mustn't say otherwise."
"If you say so, miss." Dixon gave a dismissive sniff and looked away. She did not entirely approve of Margaret marrying a man in trade, even a man who had been friends with Mr. Hale. But she had even less voice in the arrangement than Margaret did.
It was a short ride to the church, and when they arrived the two women stepped inside briskly, Dixon holding her hat to keep it from blowing away. She took Margaret's coat and set it aside; then she arranged her gown and adjusted the girl's hair one last time. The housekeeper's eyes were suspiciously moist as she smoothed away some imaginary wrinkle on her skirt. "You're a beautiful bride, Miss Margaret, even without a veil. I wish your mother and father could see you now. They'd be right proud of you, they would."
"Thank you, Dixon." Margaret wondered what her parents were thinking, if they were looking down on her now. Her father had liked and esteemed Thornton but her mother had held cherished views of manufacturers and their place in the world. Likely her mother would have opposed this match, if she had had a voice. But her father would certainly have been pleased, and the knowledge that she was carrying out his last wish gave Margaret the strength to do what she must. "You can go sit down, Dixon. I will start as soon as you are seated."
Thornton stood nervously at the front of the church, shifting his weight restlessly from foot to foot. When he heard a carriage pull up in front of the church his heart jumped in his throat. It had to be Margaret; the few guests expected to witness the ceremony were already inside and seated. Quickly he tried to calm his nerves by assuming his most upright posture, holding his hands firmly behind his back. He kept his eyes facing forward and did not turn until a little stir in the air told him Margaret had made her entrance. Then he allowed himself to turn around and see his bride begin her short walk down the aisle.
Thornton would always remember that walk. He was glad Margaret had chosen not to wear a veil; he wanted to gaze upon her loveliness unhindered. Margaret's simple yet elegant white dress, though it was now trimmed in black, brought back memories of the night of the party at Marlborough Mills, when he had first admitted his feelings for her to himself. The same sensations of wonder and admiration that had overpowered him then swept over him again now.
Margaret was not smiling as she had that night; that was perhaps too much to ask under the circumstances. But her eyes were glowing as they always did, and she radiated her marvelous serenity as she moved steadily up the aisle towards him. When she drew close h
e held out his hand, palm up, and she placed her own in it without hesitation. She finally offered him a small, tentative smile, and he nodded once in acknowledgment. Then they turned together to face the minister.
Afterwards Thornton could scarcely recall any of the ceremony. He was aware that he and Margaret had repeated their vows to each other. He was conscious of slipping a wedding ring onto Margaret's slim finger and feeling Margaret do the same for him. But to him these actions and words were unnecessary. They were merely a token, a symbol of the promises he had made to Margaret in his heart long ago, stamped there as indelibly as holy writ. He would love and cherish this woman standing beside him. He would remain faithful to her as long as there was breath in his body, and nothing would separate them from this day forward.
For Margaret the end of the ceremony was a relief. She had carried out her first social obligation as required by her agreement with Mr. Thornton, and all had gone well. From now on she was Margaret Thornton, under this man's protection and care, a part of his family. Thornton was leading her back up the aisle, past the gaze of the handful of friends and family who were present, to sign the church register. All she had to do now was greet their well-wishers and then she would go to Marlborough Mills, there to begin her new life.
She and Thornton did not speak to each other until they stopped in the entry of the church, where Thornton looked down at her, his eyes examining her face carefully. "Are you well, Margaret?"
"I am perfectly well, thank you. Why do you ask?"
"It is a momentous thing, this getting married. It means everything will change from now on, for you much more than me."
Margaret shrugged. "I have had more than a week to prepare myself. I think I am as ready for this arrangement as you are."
"Are you?" Thornton raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I'm not sure anyone can really prepare themselves for marriage."
"It is a marriage of convenience, Mr. Thornton, nothing more," she reminded him. "Surely managing your household will not be terribly different from managing my father's."
He gave her a look she could not quite decipher. "Is that how you think it will be?"
"Of course. You will tend to the mill while I oversee the house and social occasions. We will have our separate duties and responsibilities and appear together in public when necessary. Is that not what we agreed on?"
"Yes," he said, slowly. Again came the strange look that Margaret could not quite interpret. "But I think we can be more than just partners in a marriage of convenience, don't you? Surely we will get on better together if we can be friends as well."
"Friends?" she echoed. "Yes, of course we will be friends, Mr. Thornton, just as you were friends with my father. I think he would have liked – " She was prevented from saying more by the arrival of Hannah, who had followed them out of the sanctuary.
"John, Margaret, that was well done," she interrupted, approaching from inside the church proper. "A small and dignified ceremony was most appropriate, considering Margaret's circumstances. Fanny will have her fancy wedding in a few weeks, but it is good to have this settled with so little fuss. You can sign the register now, and after the guests have come through we will go home and get Margaret settled into her room."
The guests came through quickly to shake their hands, and soon it was only Margaret, Thornton, and Hannah left standing in the little entryway. Fanny and Watson had already left in Watson's carriage, and Dixon had already been conveyed to Marlborough Mills, to help prepare for Margaret's arrival. Hannah looked at the couple standing awkwardly side by side.
"It seems we are finished here. Are you ready to leave?"
"I believe so." Thornton reached for Margaret's coat and turned to her, ready to put it on her shoulders, but Margaret shook her head.
"If you could give me a moment, please, there is one other thing I would like to do."
Hannah nodded curtly. "Very well, but do not take too long. I will wait for you in the carriage." She passed through the front door and Thornton looked at Margaret curiously.
"What is it you mean to do?"
"Your flowers are lovely, Mr. Thornton, but I think I would like to leave them here, if you don't mind."
Thornton's face registered confusion for a moment, but then comprehension dawned and he nodded in agreement. "Here, take your coat first. The wind is bitter."
He helped her put the coat on, and she looked up at him gratefully. "I will only be a minute."
"May I accompany you?"
"This is something I need to do myself."
Quickly she stepped back inside the sanctuary and ducked out a small side door, into the graveyard. This side of the church was sheltered from the winds that were still moving the tree branches overhead. At her parents' graves she split the roses evenly, placing one half in front of her mother's headstone and the other in front of where her father's would be. With that finished, she was satisfied that she had done as much as she could to honor her parents on this day. Thornton was waiting for her when she came back to the church entrance. "Thank you for sending the flowers, Mr. Thornton. It was kind of you."
Thornton's mouth tipped up with a gentle smile she had not seen before. "You know, Margaret, if we really are to be friends, you could start by calling me John."
"Of course," she amended. "Thank you, John."
He extended his arm to walk her to the carriage and Margaret accepted it. As they walked away together Margaret looked up at the sky again. She was surprised to see the clouds retreating. The sun was shining brightly, and the strong wind, instead of blowing clouds into the area, had actually chased them away.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
In the first days after their wedding Margaret and Thornton saw little of each other.
Margaret was determined to make a success of this new life, to learn all she could about the workings of the household and manage it as efficiently as possible. Her motives were two-fold: first, to be able to resume her charitable work as soon as possible after her mourning period, in whatever form it might take as a member of the Thornton family. Secondly, to prove to the observant Hannah that she could uphold her end of the bargain and relieve the older woman of her most tedious responsibilities.
She kept to the same pattern she had followed at Crampton, rising before the rest of the family and going downstairs to see that the fire had been stirred up and the daily routine begun. Together she and Dixon started breakfast. Then she returned to her room and prepared for the day. By the time she had arranged her hair and otherwise made herself presentable, it was time to join Hannah, Fanny, and Thornton in the breakfast room for a hasty meal at the table.
When the meal was done Thornton went to the mill, while Fanny went upstairs to have her maid do her hair. That left Hannah and Margaret to sit down together and arrange the day. They decided on the chores for the maids, discussed the evening menu, and planned whatever shopping trips were required for food and other necessities. Margaret’s quick mind enabled her to soon learn what needed to be done to manage the house. Within a short time she took over the daily responsibilities, which left Hannah free to manage the innumerable details of Fanny's upcoming wedding.
The afternoons generally saw Hannah and Fanny calling on the mothers and wives of other mill owners. In her current state of mourning Margaret was excluded from these activities, which suited her preferences. She was glad to have the house to herself for a few hours and to finish, in restful solitude, whatever little chores had not been completed in the morning.
In the evening there was dinner with the family and then a short time sitting together in the parlor. Hannah and Fanny carried on most of the conversation at such times, while Margaret sat quietly sewing and listening. If Thornton was present he sat nearby, reading and writing letters to and from his associates. He seemed to be greatly preoccupied by his business concerns.
When it was time to retire Margaret was generally exhausted, glad to excuse herself from the rest of the household and collapse into bed. But night times
were the hardest, for it was then that she would be most affected by grief for her father. She kept these moments private, and her tears were swallowed by her pillow as she fell asleep. In the morning she faced the rest of the family calmly and they had no idea of the sorrow she had faced in the night.
She was aware that Thornton watched her closely whenever they were together. Often Margaret would look up from her place at the table to find his keen eyes silently fixed on her, his brow furrowed. Or she would walk into the parlor after dinner and realize that he had been watching the door, waiting for her entrance. But he did not speak to her beyond the most general greetings, and he did not approach her. Whenever their eyes met he quickly looked away. He gave no hint of what he was thinking during those moments, but minutes later she would feel his gaze on her once again.
As the days went by she began to grow accustomed to his furtive glances. They were not meant to be oppressive, she decided. Rather, he was observing her to check on her welfare, to reassure himself that her needs were met and that she was well. This conclusion was confirmed one Sunday afternoon when she was coming out of the kitchen and chanced to overhear Thornton and his mother in his study. It was after services on a Sunday, and they most likely thought she was upstairs resting.
“I promised I would take care of her, Mother.” Thornton’s deep tones caught Margaret’s attention. “I do not recall her being this quiet when she was at Crampton. Do you think she is doing well?”
“It is hard to say, John.” Hannah’s voice was as serious as her son’s. “I am not her confidante, and she does not share Fanny’s flare for dramatics. Whatever she feels she tends to keep inside.”
