Margaret of the North

by EJourney

  "Oh? I am still me. Anyway, it is a bit too late to change your mind now, isn't it?"

  "You are right, of course," he replied, grinning.

  He held her closer and she laid her head on his shoulder. After some minutes of silence, he said softly. "If you would like to draw and paint again, then you should do so. Perhaps, we can set up a place for you to paint in and that way, you will have no excuse not to."

  "I would like all that, but all in good time. I think I have many things to learn and adjust to as your wife and, for now, those will occupy much of my time."

  He smiled, conjuring up a very pleasing image of her as mistress of his household.

  "I will confess, though, that I much prefer sketching to needlework. Do you suppose people would think painting an inappropriate occupation for a master's wife?" She lifted her head and faced him. She paused, searching her memory for the proper expression and, in a quivering high-pitched voice, imitated a woman gossiping with another. "Did you see Thornton's wife? Her face is smudged and her apron is stained with paints. Scandalous! Can she not embroider or play piano instead?"

  She giggled self-consciously at her bad mimicry and he laughed at both her unsuccessful attempt and her embarrassment. "It seems acting is not something you will attempt," he said.

  "No," she answered, bowing her head and pouting in mock shame.

  He was entranced by her flirtatiousness, and amused at himself for being so. She did learn feminine wiles, after all, and could use them when she wanted to. He had never seen her wield them until after they became engaged, certainly not when they were newly acquainted nor thereafter when everything seemed hopeless between them. Her artlessness was one reason he fell for her and yet, now, he tingled and willingly succumbed to all the flirtatious, seductive gestures she directed at him. If she so chose, he could be putty in her hands, he who prided his will, strength of mind, and imperviousness to influence especially of the feminine kind. She had thoroughly penetrated that special spot in his heart and he felt himself vulnerable to all the joy and pain she was capable of giving him. Still, he thought, the greatest pain he could imagine would come from losing her, now that he knew the bliss of living in their love for each other.

  He was about to clasp her closer again when she raised her head and said coyly, "I'm glad you did not marry me for my reputation because, with all the gossip I seem to inspire, it is probably in tatters by now."

  "But, of course, I did," he replied, chuckling. "When I met you I realized I wanted someone unlike the ladies I was acquainted with in Milton, a lady with an uncommon beauty but also a mind of her own that sometimes got her into a bit of trouble. Was that too much to ask?" He reconsidered what he just said and asked, raising a dark eyebrow mischievously. "Are there many like you in London?"

  Margaret glared at him and thrust her lower lip, pretending displeasure. She retorted with a haughty lift to her chin, "What if there are? You have been spoken for and you can never go back to the way things were."

  He appeared hesitant for a second but she broke into a bewitching smile, wound her arms around his neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him. "But bless your heart for being constant through my inexperience and confusion."

  He smiled and said nothing but he lifted her face and kissed her.

  She leaned against him and spoke again, slowly, "You asked me once if Henry Lennox had ever proposed to me and I did not answer. I was grateful then that you did not press the matter. I felt remorseful about Henry because I believe I hurt him twice. Years earlier, before we left Helstone, he did propose. I think he misunderstood a remark I made at Edith's wedding."

  "You rejected him then? I am glad to know I was in good company."

  She gave him that half smile. "In London, after my parents died, I believe he was waiting to renew his proposal. I like Henry. I have known him for a long time and I feel at ease in his presence. He is clever and sophisticated and with his ambition, he will go far."

  She looked down, thoughtful, before continuing. "But Henry did not make me feel the thrill, the fluttering in my breast that I did, even at such a naive age, with my young Frenchman."

  Again, that pang of jealousy hit John and, for a moment, he compressed his lips and scowled but he was smiling once again when Margaret said, her eyes fixed on his earnestly, "It was not until I met you that I felt that way again."

  "Yes?" John's face lighted up.

  "It did take me some time to see it. After our early encounters, I convinced myself that I did not like you but, later, when I finally admitted it to myself, I realized I had been attracted to you long before I saw it. Anyway, it was the sort of attraction I could not deny for too long. It was certainly no longer just a child's fascination."

  John's whole being was suffused with a pleasurable warmth but he remained silent, his jealousy flung aside as silly. He hoped she would say more.

  She went on, her eyes cast down once again. "I think I have changed since I met you particularly these last few weeks that we have been together. You have awakened so much in me, stirred up memories and feelings that were dormant all these years. I had actually buried those memories of Monsieur Fleury rather deeply, maybe because he was the first loss I suffered of people I cared about and I was then so young."

  She raised her face, looked deeply into his eyes again. "With you, I learned what love is. Do you know that you actually began to interest me not too long after we met."

  "At my mother's last dinner party?"

  "Yes, certainly," she replied and then, in a saucy tone, added "but even before that, I thought the shadow your scowl cast on your eyes made you seem dark and mysterious. Dark and mysterious always arouses my desire to know more."

  He laughed, a spontaneous merry laugh that had been relatively rare for him. "I knew that scowl would eventually attract the woman I would want to marry."

  It delighted Margaret to see him in such mirth. He seemed more spirited and younger despite the deeper lines around his mouth and his eyes. Since the day they married, she found him evolving before her eyes in many wonderfully complex ways. For a few more moments, they smiled quietly, happily at each other. Then, she said, "But seriously, I thought we started out so far apart in our beliefs that it seemed impossible, in my mind, that I could ever like you. Later, after the riot, that was what I told myself. In any case, I would never marry just for money or to save my reputation."

  "I don't blame you for rejecting me that first time. When I look back at my behavior then, I am heartily ashamed. I did expect you to accept me and was convinced that you could not do otherwise. I was arrogant—no, insolent—and did not really listen to what you had to say. I interrupted you several times, concerned only with what I thought and certain that my perceptions mattered more. But the irony was, hurt as I was by your rejection, you made me look more closely at you, at myself and I came away from that unfortunate meeting painfully aware that I loved you even more."

  Margaret caressed his cheeks and pressed her lips to them, whispering in a tremulous voice. "And I love you even more each day. You make everyday something I eagerly look forward to." She settled her head against that comforting niche on his neck and added, "Believe me, that is quite a change, not just from the trying time when I first lived in Milton, but also from those safe, pleasant dull days in London. Thank you again for being so constant."

  "Margaret, my love." He tilted her face up to his and kissed her. Then, he pulled her down on the bed on top of him. That night, he took his time making love to her, gazing into her eyes, whispering into her ears, caressing every part of her and relishing each touch. And, once again, he was thrilled at how ardently she responded to him.

  IX. Reunion

  Margaret and John arrived at the Port of the Bay of Cadiz on a blazingly bright day in mid-June when temperatures could easily exceed 30 degrees Centigrade. They stood on the top deck, watching the approaching city of Cadiz—a small peninsula jutting out like a tongue into the vast blue Atlantic Ocean and separated from the
rest of Andalusia by the less imposing Bay of Cadiz. As the ship slowly entered the bay, John and Margaret waited among the dense crowd of passengers for the ship to come to a full stop and dock at the Port. Everyone listened intently for the announcement that they could disembark.

  Margaret held on to her hat as the warm persistent sea breezes threatened to blow it away. She did not mind the breezes at all. They tempered the nearly unbearable heat that would, otherwise, have made her sweat profusely by now. Margaret wanted to present her best self or, failing that, at least to appear calm and collected. In fact, she was trembling a little, anxious to see and hold her brother close again and to make a good impression on his wife whose beauty and perfection she had heard so much about.

  She had taken some care dressing up that morning and, the night before, she envisioned the meeting vividly in her mind and even planned how she should act. She looked up at John, standing by her side, and smiled a simultaneously anxious and joyous smile. He smiled warmly back at her and pulled her closer in a gesture of reassurance. She was shaking a little.

  Margaret, surveyed the mostly dark-haired, colorfully-dressed crowd on the pier from her higher perch on the ship and saw her brother at once. His brown hair shone like bronze under the bright coastal sun and he stood at least half a head taller than most of the crowd waiting to welcome passengers from the ship. A petite woman with abundant curly dark brown hair that cascaded down her back clung on his arm. Margaret waved at Frederick and then turned to John. "Frederick. Do you recognize him?"

  "Vaguely; I saw him only for an instant in a dark train station but, in this crowd, he looks unmistakably English and does stand out. That must be his wife."

  "Yes. Dolores. Isn't she beautiful?"

  He nodded with a smile and then he grasped her around the back of her waist and led her towards the ramp to join the other passengers who had begun to disembark.

  With so many passengers on the ship waving at those on the platform, Frederick did not immediately see his sister but he did see John's tall dark figure looming a head above the largely Spanish crowd that slowly moved towards the ramp. He waved his hand frantically in their direction and Dolores, taking her cue from him, waved more daintily. Margaret kept her eyes on her brother as she took her turn down the ramp, impatient to reach him right away. She had forgotten all the preparation she had done in her mind for this meeting. John, behind her, held her arm in a steady grip, concerned that she was heedless of the danger of the steep ramp in her impatience to reach the platform.

  As soon as Margaret stepped on the pier, Frederick ran toward her, oblivious that he was leaving his wife behind. He clasped his sister in a long tearful poignant embrace, kissing her repeatedly on both cheeks. They held on tightly to each other, bound by the remembered sorrow of the not-too-distant losses they suffered in common, but apart. For Frederick, the memories were laden with guilt that he was not there to share the pain, to comfort his younger sister, to assume the burden of unpleasant decisions that needed to be made; for Margaret, they unleashed the grief she had already bottled securely within her but which now once again flooded her whole being as violently as it had done when it was fresh. This time, however, there was an unburdening, a pouring out of her grief, of the desolation and the uncertainties that battered her spirit for too many months. She was shaking in his arms, her face wet with tears. He was not trembling any less than she was and his eyes were equally brimming with tears.

  John stood nearby, watching and waiting, so drawn in by the emotional meeting playing out in front of him that he almost missed the faint "hello" coming from behind him. Before he could turn, Dolores was there, standing in front of him, smiling engagingly, and he heard her introduce herself in foreign-accented English. In a spontaneous move that surprised John, she placed her arms around his shoulders in a brief but tight hug, and then she stood on her toes to offer her cheeks to him. Unused to such exuberance, he gave her a quick embarrassed buzz on one cheek and introduced himself.

  Margaret and Frederick, eventually roused from their emotional reunion, turned simultaneously towards their spouses. Frederick, his eyes red and puffy, smiled tremulously at his wife and, looking contrite, whispered an apology into her ear. She kissed his tear-stained face. He placed an arm around her waist and, turning to John, he reached out to him with his other arm. John had been rooted in place, bewildered, hesitant, and watching his wife with concern.

  He grasped the offered hand with both of his but in a quick gesture that he did not anticipate, Frederick clasped him in a tight embrace. "John, I feel as if I have known you for a long time from Margaret's letters. Welcome to our family! Muy encantado, as we say in Spanish. You have met my wife Dolores?"

  John nodded and smiled warmly at both of them, "Yes, she has already taught me one of your charming customs."

  Frederick turned to his sister who was finally regaining her composure, and presented his wife. Margaret, cognizant of Spanish customs from her brother's letters and already predisposed to like Dolores, embraced her for a long moment and kissed her on both cheeks.

  "I feel that I know you quite well from Fred's letters. His letters are often short and to-the-point but he fills pages talking about you."

  Dolores blushed and smiled with some embarrassment, "I hope I meet your expectations." Self-conscious about how her English sounded, she glanced at Frederick who nodded in approval.

  "Dolores is unsure of her English but, in fact, she does quite well. Her English is better than my Spanish." Addressing John, he added, "Margaret and my father were the ones good in languages."

  Margaret smiled warmly at Dolores, "You are even more beautiful than I imagined from Frederick's description and you make English sound lovelier and more musical."

  Frederick nodded gratefully at his sister for her reassuring words. Dolores had agonized for days, anxious for the approval of the sister-in-law she was meeting for the first time. Dolores, pleased at Margaret's remarks, hooked her arm around Margaret's and led the way. "Fred—he does not explain well. Like most men. He said, my sister, she is strong and her spirit, formidable." Dolores hesitated on the last word and glanced at Margaret for approval.

  Margaret nodded with a smile and Dolores continued, "He made me anxious with his words. Now I see you. You are kind, sweet and you have the most beautiful large blue eyes I have ever seen, more beautiful than his."

  "I can see we will get along well for we are both anxious to like each other." Margaret replied, smiling.

  Frederick and John followed their wives and, as they walked behind, Frederick said, grinning widely, "You know we have seen each other before? At a train station at night, I believe, more than two years ago. I recognize you from that time, even hidden somewhat by the shadows. You have a rather memorable countenance although you look much younger under our Andalusian skies."

  John grinned back at him, somewhat embarrassed, uncertain what had passed between brother and sister when they talked about him. But determined to be pleasant to Frederick to secretly atone for having been jealous of him for a long time before learning that he was Margaret's brother, John answered in a self-deprecating tone. "It must be that I appear less stern without a scowl. But then, you must understand, to me you were, at that time, a stranger embracing the woman who meant the world to me."

  Frederick laughed and gave him another hug, "I like you already. I hope you were not left out of our family secret for too long."

  John shrugged, "I would have liked to have known about it earlier but I am here now and that's all that matters, I believe."

  **************

  John and Frederick got along almost as well as Margaret had hoped for. Frederick, having lived in Spain more than seven years, had adapted to the slower, informal pace of life and the warmer, more spontaneous demeanor of Southern Spain. He was as casual, open, and affectionate with John as he was with his sister. John initially felt uncomfortable with such informality and warmth. At home, Frederick and Dolores were even more demonstrative, touc
hing, holding and kissing each other with a loving playfulness that John felt free to engage in with Margaret only in the privacy of their bedroom. But Frederick and Dolores acted so unreservedly towards each other, even in company with him and Margaret, that their natural ease began to have an effect on John.

  The constant balmy heat was made for loose informal attire and Margaret was unprepared for it in her full skirts and long-sleeved blouses. She considered getting rid of her crinoline when she noticed that not all the women of Cadiz bothered with them. Before she could do so, however, Dolores insisted on giving her clothing more appropriate to the sultry climate. She said, "The skirt and your blouse, they are too hot for this weather, no? Also, your body, it is beautiful. You do not need the………" She groped for the words as she gestured with her hands around her torso.

  "Stays," Margaret said with an encouraging smile.

  "………stays, yes. It is cooler without them, you think?"

  "Yes, you are right. I am burning in these clothes." Margaret agreed with a laugh and accepted the offered garments gratefully.

  That afternoon, Margaret emerged from her siesta wearing her new outfit, a relatively sheer short-sleeved deep rose blouse, a forest green flowing skirt that clung to her limbs when she moved, no stockings, and a pair of sandals open at the toes. John was a little taken aback. Up until that time, he had only seen his wife dressed formally in company and seeing her in scantier clothing outside their bedroom bothered him somewhat. And, yet, he thought she looked so beautiful in them and they showed her graceful figure to advantage.

  Frederick, who was pouring drinks, saw the scowl that passed almost imperceptibly through John's brow. After serving everyone their drinks, Frederick sat down next to John. "Isn't my little sister beautiful? You know, when we were children, she hated wearing petticoats because she could not run fast enough to keep up with me. So, she would drag me to the fields away from Dixon's watchful eyes where she could take them off. Without them, she did sometimes outrun me, partly because of sheer determination, I think." He laughed a little as he finished with another recollection, "Unfortunately, after she was sent to London, she started acting more like a lady when she came home and she was not as much fun anymore."