by Elaine Owen
Had it been only hours ago when he held her in his arms as they waltzed together, just the two of them alone in the room? He had not intended to take advantage of the moment by pulling her close to him, but she had been so sweetly yielding, so wondrously trusting as she rested her head against his chest. The moments when the music was silent and she stayed in his arms, when he thought she must truly care for him, had been the sweetest in his life. He wished he could save them forever.
Those few moments might have to last him the rest of his life.
Margaret, too, could not stop thinking about the events of the day before. She pushed food across the surface of her plate while she avoided Thornton’s eyes as much as possible, afraid of what she might see in his face.
She had thrilled to her husband’s touch when they danced together in the empty room. She could still recall the heady sensation of the two of them circling each other in the small space, brought closer and closer together by the strains of the music until finally he was holding her against him. She could still feel his arm around her shoulder, her cheek nestled against his chest, ensconced in his warmth and tenderness. In that moment she had been suffused with happiness, astonished to realize that his affection for her had never died.
It had seemed like the right time, then, to ask him about his feelings for her, to have him confirm what she finally dared to hope: that his affection for her was abiding and deep. To hear instead that he had, in fact, loved someone else was a soul crushing moment.
Now she felt both sorrow and shame. Sorrow, that she had not realized earlier the depths of her feelings for Thornton. And shame, that they were both now locked in a marriage they should not have entered.
“Margaret, you did well yesterday, meeting so many new people in such a short time.” Hannah’s voice spoke into the silence, jarring both of the others from their thoughts. “I trust you are not too tired today.”
“I am well.” She forced herself to take a bite of her toast, trying to behave as normally as possible.
“Was everyone kind to you? Were all the people polite? I thought I detected a note of jealousy now and then from some of the older ladies.”
“Jealousy?”
“The matrons are not always welcoming towards outsiders, especially those who make fine marriages among the leaders here. You must tell me if there were any unkind comments.”
Margaret wiped her mouth with her napkin before answering. “Everyone was pleasant enough.” She could feel Thornton’s eyes on her, boring into her, but she would not look up.
Hannah turned to her son. “I saw you speaking with the other masters last night. Was there much discussion of business?”
Thornton grimaced. For one day, at least, he had not had to think about the mill’s continued financial straits. “Not very much. It was not an appropriate venue for money matters, you know.”
“I suppose not. I was just wondering if the other mills are facing the same difficulties we are.”
“Some are, especially the other masters who invested in new equipment. The strike hit us all hard.” Thornton wished his mother had not raised the topic. “At least I was able to meet our loan this month.”
“Even with the expenses of Fanny’s wedding?”
“Even so.” Thornton’s voice held quiet relief and pride. He was thankful he had been able to protect the livelihoods of everyone who worked for him, especially Nicholas Higgins.
“What about next month?” Hannah asked, narrowing her eyes shrewdly. “Will you make the payment then?”
“Time will tell. We have to be hopeful.”
“You have banked with Latimer for years. He ought to be willing to make allowances for you.”
“He has to answer to the underwriters, and I am only one of his customers. There is no reason for him to show me any particular favor.”
At that very moment Margaret choked on her tea, coughing and gasping in an embarrassing display. She clutched her napkin over her mouth, hoping she could avoid anything worse.
“Margaret, are you all right?” Hannah exclaimed. Margaret managed to nod, the napkin still over her mouth, but she was not able to speak. If Thornton had married Anne Latimer his business might not be in danger right now.
Hannah looked at her son, expecting him to echo her concern, but Thornton remained silent. He watched Margaret without speaking, keeping his distance from her.
Hannah sighed in frustration. She had known since last night, by the awkward silences between her son and his wife, that something was wrong between them. But it was not her place to interfere in their marriage, if that’s what their relationship could indeed be called. She wondered again if they would ever be able to overcome the barriers between them and establish the true bond they both needed.
The short meal appeared to be over. Thornton was already pushing his chair back, beginning to stand, as Margaret started to gather the dishes together. Hannah realized that they were anxious to be out of each other’s company. But they were about to get quite a surprise.
“Before you leave the table, there is something I need to tell you.”
“Will this take long, Mother? I have a great deal to do today.” Thornton glanced impatiently at the clock.
“There are some things you need to make time for, John. Sit down, both of you.” Something in Hannah’s voice caught Thornton’s attention and he slowly sank down into his chair again. Margaret, too, ceased her actions and looked at Hannah with a puzzled expression. Hannah waited until she had their full attention before speaking.
“I have made a decision. Today is my last day at Marlborough Mills. I am moving into Fanny and Watson’s house while they are on their wedding tour.”
The other two stared. “Are you serious, Mother?” Thornton finally asked.
“Decidedly so.”
“But why?”
“Watson was a bachelor too long, and his house shows it. Fanny and I discussed it before she left. The pantry is all wrong, and the dust in the parlor is thick enough to write your name in. The duvets must all be replaced. And the servants! The servants are the worst of all. They have not known the supervision of a real mistress in years. They want setting to rights before Fanny comes back from her wedding tour.”
Margaret still gaped. “Will you come back after Fanny returns, or will you live there permanently?”
“That depends on how things go,” Hannah answered, rather cryptically. “I shall take Jane with me, of course. Dixon will stay here with you. And I shall need your help today, Margaret, packing up my belongings. I hope you do not object.”
Poor Margaret could not decide whether to object or not. She had grown rather to depend on Hannah’s presence in the house, acting as a lightning rod whenever matters grew too intense between her and Thornton. Besides, with only the two of them living in the house, people would assume that they were truly a married couple. Of course they undoubtedly assumed such a thing already, having no reason to believe otherwise. Margaret’s cheeks flamed at the thought, and she did not answer Hannah. Instead she took up the dishes she had gathered and fairly fled into the kitchen.
Thornton confronted his mother suspiciously, his arms across his chest. He knew as well as she did how flimsy her excuse was. “What is this all about, Mother? What game are you playing?”
“There is no game, son.” Hannah moved towards the hallway, preparing to go up to her room and start packing her things.
“Then what are you about?”
“I am trying to make you and Margaret speak to each other. If I am not here you and Margaret will have to give up your pretense of indifference. You will not be able to use me in order to avoid each other. If you’re going to be a married couple, then you need to start acting like one!”
“We are not avoiding each other!”
“I am glad to hear it. Then you will have no problem talking to each other when I am gone.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
If his mother’s plan was to get him and Margaret to talk t
o each other, Thornton thought, then she had sadly miscalculated. Since the day of her departure they had barely spoken at all.
Oh, they were unfailingly polite to each other. Some of the tension from the day after Fanny’s wedding had dissipated, enough to allow them to say please and thank you at mealtimes and to pass items back and forth. They studiously commented on the weather. They inquired about each other’s day and even made an appropriate expression of interest or concern when called for. But there was no warmth. They said nothing beyond the disinterested sort of talk that might have occurred between acquaintances at a dinner party. There was no discussion of current events or sharing concerns for the mill or hopes for the future. Their relationship was foundering, sinking under the burden of silence.
The stilted intercourse led Thornton to one unshakable conclusion: the fault for the current unhappy state of affairs was his. He should never have asked Margaret to marry him, not when he knew that she was still in love with her young man in Spain, that Frederick fellow. He should have honored his promise to Hale by booking immediate passage for Margaret and Dixon to Spain and seeing them safely off. That would have satisfied his obligation to the old tutor. Instead he had selfishly taken advantage of the moment, thinking of his own desires instead of Margaret’s needs, and now he and Margaret were in an untenable arrangement. There could be no happy outcome when her heart was engaged elsewhere.
Though she did not know it, Margaret’s thoughts were similar to Thornton’s: she blamed herself entirely. Her father had, with only the best of intentions, trapped Thornton into a most undesirable situation with his dying request. Why had she not asked Thornton what he preferred at the time he made his second proposal to her? Why hadn’t she asked what he wanted to do, instead of thinking only of her own needs? If she had asked more questions, would he have admitted that he was already courting someone else? And if he had, would Margaret still have married him?
The answer to that last question was an emphatic no. It was one thing to agree to marry Thornton when it was only a business arrangement. Marrying Thornton had seemed like a safe, logical step, a way for him to continue his comfortable domestic arrangements and forward his business while she championed her own charitable causes. Their partnership was supposed to be utterly practical and utilitarian.
Then she had begun to fall in love with him. She had started to discover the strange sympathy between them, the similarities in how they perceived the world, the way their minds took in new information and reached the same conclusions at lightning speed. She had seen the splendid nobility of his spirit, the way he inspired those around him with visions of the future, describing a future only he could see. Most of all, she had experienced the tender care and patience he had bestowed on her, putting her needs before his own.
It she had not known about Anne Latimer their present situation would not have troubled her. She would have been content to live with Thornton as friends, fulfilling social obligations with him even as they both pursued their own activities and hobbies. But knowing that he cared for someone else changed everything. The prospect of a partnership now seemed faded and worn out, like an old dress pulled out of storage and held up to the light. There was no longer any appeal.
Did Thornton love her? Did he have the same strong feelings for her that she had begun to have for him? Or was he merely fulfilling the obligations of a loyal husband, carrying out his duty with marvelous self-denial as he set aside his yearnings for another? Had he sacrificed that much for her sake?
She briefly considered going to Thornton and telling him what was on her heart – that she no longer wanted a marriage of convenience – but what would she say after that? That she wanted a more conventional marriage? That she wanted to be his wife in every sense? She could never be so bold. And if she did manage to make such an offer and Thornton accepted, she would never know if it was because of true affection for her or simply making the best of the situation he was in.
Hannah had been gone for three days when Dixon returned from errands late on a blustery afternoon. The wind threatened to pull the door out of her hand as she crossed the threshold, gasping for breath.
“There’s been an accident at the mill.”
“An accident!” Margaret looked up sharply from the lamp she was trimming.
“Not to worry, it’s nothing to do with the master. Not directly, anyway. Seems something broke off one of those looms and struck someone in the head. They’ve called for a doctor.”
“You’re sure it was not Mr. Thornton?” She held her breath.
“As sure as I can be. I heard about it when I was walking through the yard just now. They say the master went himself to tell the family what happened, about half an hour ago.”
Margaret sighed with relief. She felt sorry for the unknown employee, but at least her husband was uninjured. “I hope the man is not seriously hurt. I suppose this means Mr. Thornton will not be home for dinner.”
“Like as not. Oh, I almost forgot. There’s a letter here for you. Looks to be from Master Frederick, if I don’t miss my guess.”
“From Frederick!” Margaret set the lamp down and came to Dixon eagerly.
“I hope he’s written to apologize!” Dixon sniffed. Margaret had not made Dixon her confidante, and the servant could only guess at the state of her relationship with Thornton. But Margaret had told Dixon about Frederick’s letter. For once Dixon had sided with Margaret over Frederick, who had always been her favorite. “He had no business scolding you! Men always think they know better than women what’s good for them.”
“You mustn’t be too harsh on him, Dixon. He is the only family I have left, you know.”
“That doesn’t give him the right to treat like you’re a child, instead of a full-grown woman who knows her own mind!”
Margaret ignored this last remark and took the envelope from Dixon’s hand. Frederick’s letter had no weight to it. Would it contain yet another scolding? Perhaps it was another plea to join him in Spain. She sat down at Thornton’s desk to read it.
My dearest Margaret,
I owe you my deepest apologies, my dear sister, for the things I wrote to you in my previous letter. Dolores and I have discussed your situation at length, and she has made me see that I judged you too harshly, with complete disregard for your feelings. What a selfish beast I have been!
I see now that it was too much to expect that you would gladly follow in my steps into exile and deliberately leave behind all that was near and dear to you. Of course you would choose to stay in familiar surroundings, especially at such a time. You were wise to remain in the land that bred you, where the constant presence of those you know and love would help to comfort and sustain you in your loss. It was wrong of me put my wounded vanity (for vanity it was, to aspire to be the sole means of your support from now on), over your wishes and desires. I will do so no more.
A great weight seemed to fall off of Margaret’s shoulders. She folded her arms on the desk and let her head sink down onto them. The relief of knowing that her brother was restored to her was just too much to take in all at once. Taking a deep breath, she picked up her head again, wiped the tears from her eyes, and continued.
Please give Thornton my best greetings. He is my brother now, and I wish that I had had the opportunity to meet him when I came to visit Mother. He must be a splendid chap if he has managed to win your heart.
If you can forgive my rash words perhaps someday we can meet again. You and Thornton might travel here from England, or maybe we could arrange to meet in some other country. Or it is even possible (though I hold it highly unlikely) that this sword hanging over my head will be removed, and I will be able to return to England someday.
Write to me, I beg you, and tell me I am forgiven. I will count the hours until I hear from you again. “Hasta nos vemos de nuevo,” my dearest one. Until we see each other again, I am
Your own loving
Frederick
N.B. Pray pay no attention to my request not
to tell Thornton of my existence. That was yet another example of my own selfish disregard for your needs. Secrets have a way of tearing couples apart. If you have not yet told your husband about me, do not feel compelled to withhold such vital information on my account. I know you will do as you think best.
“Is everything all right, Miss Margaret?” Dixon was passing through the room with a basket of laundry on one hip; she paused to look at Margaret in concern.
“Yes.” Margaret wiped away more tears, feeling happier than she had in several days. “Something very good has happened, Dixon.”
“What’s that, miss?”
“Frederick has apologized.”
“Hmph! Seems to me that’s the least he could do!”
“He meant well, Dixon.”
“Did he now? All that trouble with your father’s passing and you not knowing where to go or what to do, and all he could do was blame you for marrying a rich man!”
Margaret could not help giggling at Dixon’s characterization, her relief making her a little giddy. “It was more complicated than that, Dixon. Frederick thought I should be his responsibility.”
“Well! It’s good to have things patched up but it took too long in my view. Has he anything else to say?”
“Just that he hopes he can meet Mr. Thornton one day.”
“Mr. Thornton doesn’t even know he exists,” Dixon answered shrewdly, and she left the room again, the basket bouncing as she went.
“Mr. Thornton doesn’t even know he exists,” Margaret repeated to herself, still holding Frederick’s letter in her hand. That was not entirely true, was it? Thornton knew that she had lied to protect a gentleman, a gentleman he had seen her out with after dark, and he had not forgotten the incident in all the months since. Before they were married he had even asked Margaret if she would go to her young man in Spain rather than stay in England. He had no way of knowing, of course, that the young man was actually her brother.
