by Elaine Owen
“Your imagination has gotten the better of you, Thornton,” another man in the group protested. “You are a dreamer, not a businessman.”
“Businessmen must be dreamers, if they want to keep their places in the world. We need more dreamers, men with vision, men who have the courage to press forward into the future!”
“Hear, hear!” exclaimed a third man, raising his glass in salute, and the others in the little group followed suit, even the ones who had scoffed.
Margaret shrank inside as she listened, fascinated and a little overwhelmed. Her husband was such a sophisticated man! His knowledge of the world put her own small store of education to shame. He was a natural leader, one who would draw men to him wherever he went. He could compel a crowd not by his reputation or wealth, but simply by the strength of his own forceful personality. She and Thornton were as different as the fields and factories from whence they had come. It was astonishing that a man such as this had chosen to ally himself with a plain and simple woman such as herself.
It was late in the day when the hotel manager asked the guests to clear the floor. At his direction the servants from the hotel pushed back tables and chairs, and an open area appeared in the middle of the room. The quadrille was announced. Fanny and Watson took their places in the open area, and as other couples joined them, the little group of musicians began to play a lively tune. In short order the floor was filled with gentlemen and ladies swirling and stepping their way through the dance.
Margaret was sitting in one of the chairs at the edge of the room, watching the celebration wistfully, when Thornton came to her side. For the moment they were by themselves, with nobody else nearby waiting to claim their attention. “Do you not care to dance?” she asked him, wondering why he did not take his place on the floor.
“The only lady here I would care to escort is unable to join,” Thornton answered, with a smile that made Margaret’s heart flutter unexpectedly. “But more seriously, it is not an area in which I show any proficiency. I have been accused of having two left feet.”
“Impossible that there should be any activity in which you do not excel!”
“Nevertheless, you should be grateful that you will not have to stand up with me. It is not an experience I wish on anyone.”
“Except Fanny!” They laughed together.
“You look tired,” Thornton commented, when their laughter had passed. “How do you feel?”
“Not too fatigued. But I am looking forward to peace and quiet after we get home.”
“If you need peace and quiet, there are several small rooms in that direction that are not being used.”
“Thank you, I will keep that in mind. But I am enjoying watching the dancing, even if I cannot join in. It has been so long since I could indulge in such an activity myself.”
Thornton stood looking down at her, enjoying the shine in her eyes and the way her foot tapped lightly to the music. It was clear that she would rather be out on the floor than sitting quietly by. But the laws of society were clear.
“I am going to get a glass of punch. May I bring you one as well?”
Margaret accepted his offer, grateful that she would not have to press through the crowd to retrieve her own refreshment. Thornton turned and she watched his retreating form walk away and disappear on the other side of the dance area. As she did so she heard two feminine voices coming from behind her and a little off to one side.
“There! I told you she was here. She has no sense of shame about her at all, sitting there as bold as brass!”
“Why shouldn’t she sit there? I do not understand.”
Margaret wondered who the two speakers were, and if they were aware that they could be overheard. Between the noise from the dancing, the music, and the other conversations in the room, they probably thought they could speak freely. But their voices carried through the din.
“It is clear that you do not understand anything,” said the first woman, who sounded like one of the many stately matrons in the room. Margaret wondered if this was someone she had met earlier in the day. “In the first place, she is not from Milton. She is not even from Darkshire! She is from the south and has no idea what makes an industrial town run. She was quite an agitator in that sad strike business last year, and not on the side of the masters! Clearly she does not understand the role everyone must play in a city like Milton.”
“Strange, then, that Thornton would make her an offer. What was he thinking?”
Margaret’s face flamed and she felt a strong urge to look behind her to see if she recognized her critics. But she remained facing forward. The only outward sign she gave was that she sat up a little straighter and lifted her chin in her customary proud attitude. Not for the world would she risk turning and letting the two women see that she was affected by their words. Their conversation continued.
“It is strange, and even stranger when you remember that she was poor as a church mouse until they married. He is one of the wealthiest men in town! None of his friends understand it at all.”
“She has a pretty face,” said the second voice, after a moment. “I suppose that might atone for the lack of fortune.”
“Not as pretty as Anne Latimer’s!”
“Why, whatever do you mean?”
“My dear, I have it on good authority that Thornton was pursuing Miss Latimer before he married Miss Hale.”
Margaret’s eyes widened. Quickly she opened her fan and fluttered it before her. She had been introduced to Anne Latimer once. She was a handsome, genteel sort of girl, but Margaret had no idea that Thornton had ever been interested in her.
“The banker’s daughter?”
“The very same. Both families wanted the match, you know! Such a handsome couple, and two of the first families in town! It would have been a splendid union. But then along came this upstart using who knows what means to entrap a rich husband and he was lost. Poor Thornton.”
“Poor Miss Latimer!”
“Oh, you needn’t worry for Miss Latimer, my dear! She will find a new suitor and be married herself soon enough. But Mr. Thornton! He is the one who has no escape now!”
The voice faded away and Margaret could tell, from the direction of the final words, that the two women had moved off. For a minute or so she remained sitting where she was, continuing to fan herself as a cover for her agitation. Then, with as much dignity as she could muster, she rose and walked blindly away. Thornton would be back at any moment with her glass of punch, but she did not think she could bear seeing him just then.
Margaret half-walked, half-stumbled through the crowded room, ignoring the curious looks she received from onlookers as she pushed past them. By the time she reached the private rooms Thornton had told her of earlier she was desperate to be somewhere she could pant out her surprise, cool her flaming cheeks, and regain her composure. She needed, more than anything, to be alone. The door of the first small room she came to yielded when she pushed on it, and she slipped inside gratefully.
It was quieter here, with the noise from the music and dancing next door shut out. The sun was low on the horizon and shone its dying light through the windows on the far side of the room. It was enough to see that she was alone in a room with a small grouping of chairs and a low table. There was no other decoration visible. Margaret leaned with her back against the door for a moment, putting her hands to her cheeks to try to cool them. Then she began pacing back and forth across the small room, taking small quick steps over the hardwood floor.
Why, oh why had she stayed in her seat and listened to the two gossipy women? To be sure, she had not had a chance to avoid their talk when they first started their conversation. But after that she could have simply risen and walked away, refusing to listen to words not meant for her. Now their words were burned into her mind and she could not avoid thinking about them.
It was difficult to sort out which comment caused her the most distress, but she thought the observations about her status before marrying Thornton were dr
eadfully unfair. The Hale family was poor, at least when compared to the Thornton family. There was no denying that fact, but Margaret refused to see any shame in it. Anyone could fall into reduced circumstances, as Thornton himself had when he was a child. If society were determined to look down on her because of her pedestrian background, they would have to look down on her husband as well.
The next charge was more serious. She had not stopped to think about the consequences to Thornton of allying with someone who had been such a critic of the masters, of his own friends and colleagues. She should have foreseen that his friends and colleagues might be reluctant to accept someone like herself, a known friend of Nicholas Higgins and other union members. Perhaps he had made a dreadful mistake in marrying her.
But it was the final revelation that made Margaret’s breath come quickly. She fanned herself frantically as she continued her pacing. How was it possible that Thornton had been pursuing Miss Latimer before proposing to Margaret, and that she, Margaret, had not known about it?
She cast back in her memory, trying to remember any mention of Anne’s name. Nothing came to mind. Nothing before or since their marriage had suggested that Thornton had been interested in anyone in that way. After his first failed proposal he had said that he was too busy to love, and Margaret had no problem believing it. But that had been many months ago. Was it possible that her husband’s sense of honor and affection for her father had driven him to make Margaret an offer even though his heart was engaged elsewhere? If she had come between Thornton and the woman he truly loved, the misery of all involved would be lifelong.
To be sure, she knew that she was not being rational. Thornton was honorable, but to make such a sacrifice was too much to expect from anyone. His sense of loyalty would not allow such an action. And her heart told her that Thornton’s actions towards her, especially over the past few days, were not those of a disinterested husband.
And yet, in all the months between Thornton’s first proposal and her father’s death, had he given Margaret any hint that his feelings for her had survived?
The door to the room opened, startling her. Thornton stood in the doorway with a glass of punch in his hand. “Margaret? Did you decide you wanted to rest after all?”
Margaret dropped her fan and it fell to the floor, clattering as it did so. She leaned over to retrieve it but Thornton was there first, handing it to her as they both stood up again. He regarded her with a concerned air. “Are you all right? Has something upset you?”
She had no idea how to answer him. Any truthful answer she might give would just engender other questions. “It is nothing. I will be all right in a few minutes.”
Thornton frowned at her, the brilliant blue of his eyes visible even in this dim light. “You do not look well.”
Cowardly, she said the first thing that came to her mind. “I have a megrim.”
It was not a lie; the heat and press of so many people close together, the noise of the orchestra, her pacing and fanning and above all, the words she had heard, were all making her head ache. But it was not the whole truth, either.
Thornton tilted his head as he glanced at her fists clenched by her sides. He was still not convinced. “Shall I take you home? Do you need to lie down?”
“No, I just need to be alone for a few minutes.”
He did not take the hint. Instead of leaving he closed the door of the room behind him, shutting out the rest of the world, and then extended the glass of punch to her. “Here. Perhaps this will help.”
“Thank you.” She was terribly thirsty; the warmth in the other room had seen to that. She took the glass and drained all the punch in one long, unmannerly swallow. “You are very considerate.”
Thornton was still staring at her in his searching, inquisitive way. He must have found her behavior odd to say the least, but when he spoke his voice was sympathetic. “Margaret, I can see that something has truly upset you. What is it? What made you suddenly decide to come in here?”
She sighed. What could she tell him that might make him go away? Perhaps a partial truth would be enough to satisfy him. “If you must know, I overheard some silly gossips talking when they thought I could not hear them. I had no desire to hear any more, so I decided to get away from them.”
Thornton’s lips tightened into a straight line. “What did they say?”
“They were talking about me – and you. They said that I am beneath you, being from a poor family and from the south. They could not understand why you wanted to marry me, and they said I must have entrapped you into marriage somehow.”
Thornton scowled. “Who were these gossips? I take it they were ladies. Do you know them? Did you recognize them?”
“No. They were ladies but I could not see their faces. I do not know who they were.”
“A pity. If we knew who they were I would speak to their husbands and stop such talk right now.” He paused, his brows furrowing together. “What else did they say?”
“That I cannot understand a town like Milton, and that you might come to regret making an alliance with me.”
“Margaret.” He stepped forward and looked down at her anxiously. “You know that could never be true!”
“How do you know that?” she cried passionately. “How will you not come to resent me some day, when your association with me puts a barrier between you and your friends? Will you never wish you had married someone else, someone who can speak to you as an equal, someone who is already of your sphere?”
Thornton’s face looked suddenly stricken, as if her words had wounded him in some way. To her horror she felt tears prick her eyes, and she turned away quickly, hoping he could not see how deeply she was affected.
Her efforts at evasion were no good. Thornton gently grasped her elbow to turn her back to face him. “You are weeping.”
“Am I?” She had not been aware of it before, but now she could feel the tracks down her cheeks. She brushed first on one side, then the other.
“Here, allow me.” As he had done once before, in the churchyard, Thornton found a handkerchief for her in his coat pocket. But this time he dabbed at her cheeks himself, removing all trace of tears first from one side and then the other. Slowly he replaced the handkerchief, never taking his eyes from her face. Margaret waited, trembling, to see what he would do next. They were scarcely inches away from each other.
The sounds of a waltz from the room next door drifted in as they looked at each other for long moments. Then Thornton held out his hand to her. “Would you like to dance?”
Margaret looked down at the black trim on her dress. “I cannot; I am in mourning.”
“It is just you and me here. Nobody else will see.” Carefully he took her left hand and placed it on his shoulder, waiting to see if she would object first. When she remained silent he took her other hand in his. His free hand went to her waist, pulling her closer, and then they were dancing.
Thornton’s eyes gazed into hers as they moved together, boring into her as though he wanted to see through her. She could not bear the intensity of it, so she turned her head to the side as she moved closer to him, avoiding his gaze. Her face brushed against his chest. At the same time she felt Thornton’s hand move carefully across the small of her back, pulling her closer still.
Gradually their steps slowed until they were standing together with his arms around her, her head resting where she could hear his heart beating strongly, reassuringly.
The music stopped and still they stood together, as though reluctant to break the spell.
He loves me, she thought, waves of delight and awe washing over her. There could be no other explanation for the way Thornton was holding her now, comforting and cherishing. She felt Thornton’s hand under her chin, lifting it up till he could see her face.
“Margaret,” he whispered hoarsely, “the only woman I have ever made an offer of marriage to is standing with me right now.”
“Those women were wrong then?” she nearly whispered back, daring to hope.
“You never thought of marrying anyone but me?”
A shadow fell across his face. “I did consider someone else, but – “
At that moment the door of the room swung open. Light and sound poured in from the room next door, just as Margaret felt her heart break. “John? Margaret?” called Hannah’s voice. “Are you in there? I have been looking for you. Fanny and Watson are about to leave, and we must see them off!”
“We are here, Hannah,” Margaret called back. “We are coming!”
“Hurry! Everyone is waiting for you.”
Margaret began to move towards the door, but Thornton caught her hand. “I married you, Margaret, not anyone else. Surely that is all that matters.”
Margaret gave him a brave, bleak smile. “You owe me no explanation, Mr. Thornton. I have always known this was a marriage of convenience, and there is no reason for it to be otherwise. We should join the others before we give them even more cause for gossip.” She walked out of the room before Thornton had a chance to object.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The next morning, the day after the wedding, a subdued trio sat at the breakfast table together at Marlborough Mills. The mood was quiet and somber rather than joyous.
Thornton was seated directly across from Margaret, on Hannah’s right side, but she might as well have been on the other side of the world. He glanced at her furtively while he cut the meat on his plate, silently urging her to look up at him. She focused her attention instead on the food on her plate. When she did happen to glance up her eyes seemed to glide over him rather than meeting his gaze. She was silent and kept to herself, as distant as a passing cloud.
Why? he wanted to ask her. His mind replayed the events of the evening before. He had as good as told her that he loved her, only her, when she suddenly stepped back and away. He would have sworn that she was responding to him, that she was on the verge of returning his affection. Was she embarrassed by what had passed between them? Had she been carried away by the romantic atmosphere, the music and the dancing? Or perhaps she had suddenly remembered her lover in Spain, the one he hoped had no further claim on her heart. Whatever the reason, that one moment between them was now gone. He yearned to know if it would ever come back.
