In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South

by Trudy Brasure

  A rueful expression changed Mr. Thornton’s countenance. “No. I had dreams of attending one day, but unfavorable circumstances arose in my family that required me to forgo my studies and enter business.”

  Margaret’s heart twisted at the touch of melancholy she discerned in his voice. The others did not know how much he had suffered and struggled to reach the stature he now held.

  “I had assumed the workers in your mill would be largely uneducated. Do you mean to tell us that the men who tend your machines are well-read?” Captain Lennox inquired, rather confused. “Some believe, of course, that we increase the danger of riots and upheaval if the underclasses are too learned.” Aunt Shaw’s brow creased at this common concern.

  “I am not opposed to the education of my workers. Far from it, I should prefer more acute minds to tend to my machines than the dullard and slacker who has no interest in bettering himself. However, it is not my business to know what my employees do with their own time,” the Master responded evenly. His eyes flew to Margaret. “I believe Miss Hale may have a more open opinion on the matter,” he stated carefully, giving her a look of encouragement and respect.

  Margaret met his gaze briefly before directing her answer to those gathered at the table. “I certainly do not condone leaving grown men and women in ignorance. Many of the workers can read and write, but they have not the benefit of further instruction that would perhaps lead them into being more useful. I do not suggest at this time that the masters provide for their education, but I cannot help but believe that it would be beneficial to all if these people were accorded more respect and brought into some understanding of the masters’ decisions in matters that greatly affect them,” she declared with confidence.

  Mr. Thornton glowed with pride at her ability to aptly contribute her thoughts to the issues at hand.

  Henry observed with discomfort the silent understanding that seemed to exist between the two. He began to feel the hollow futility of dissuading Margaret from her decision.

  “You may be right, Miss Hale,” Mr. Colthurst commended her. “Sometimes the observations of a newcomer can discern the crux of the matter. I daresay I had not expected to hear such an insightful recommendation from a woman,” he added with a cheering smile. He raised his glass to her and took a swig.

  *****

  Margaret listened with increasing impatience to Edith’s chatter about setting up a nursery for the babe that would arrive in half a year’s time. She had already endured the long rehearsal of the shopping she should do in preparation for her wedding.

  The men had remained in the dining room for some time now, and Margaret found herself glancing at the drawing room entrance often, straining to hear the low timber of muffled sound behind the heavy oak doors across the hallway.

  Her head snapped to attention the instant she heard the door click open. The clear tones of Mr. Colthurst’s voice tumbled out. “I must say I did not know half of the issues that you must contend with in your industry. I don’t believe I’ve ever had it explained to me in such a precise way. It is really quite extraordinary to learn it first-hand from one such as yourself. I appreciate your patience in answering the tedious questions of a member of the old guard,” he thanked Mr. Thornton heartily as they entered the quieted atmosphere of the drawing room.

  “I’m pleased you found the subject engaging,” the Master replied smoothly without a trace of self-aggrandizement.

  Margaret gazed at him in wonderment. Not only did he speak with easy confidence among the masters in Milton, but he conversed with figures of prestige and power with a natural grace and eloquence refreshingly free of false meekness or tiresome vainglory. He walked among men as one true to himself, needing no verification from others as to his dignity and worth.

  As she regarded him thus from a distance, his eyes met hers and she felt her belly flutter in response.

  “You must excuse me, Anna, for taking leave of your dinner party so early,” Mr. Colthurst apologized as he approached Aunt Shaw. “I promised my wife I would return home before erelong and I do not disown that I have been a gadabout recently. It was a great pleasure to see you again. I am now assured that the Beresford line lives on in elegance,” he said, bowing to his hostess.

  “Mr. Thornton,” he declared when it came time to address the Milton manufacturer, shaking his hand firmly. “I hope to one day visit your mill and see Milton for myself,” he declared.

  “You are welcome at Marlborough Mills at any time,” the Master assured him.

  “Miss Hale. Delighted to make your acquaintance,” he said, bowing over her hand. “I hope we shall meet again.” He quickly glanced at Mr. Thornton then back to Margaret. “A splendid match, I am sure,” he offered with a hearty grin, causing heat to rise to Margaret’s cheeks as the Master smiled his agreement.

  After Mr. Colthurst departed, the remaining party continued to talk of the sights they had seen that day and the crowds that had invariably come from all parts of the country. Both visitors from Milton readily joined in the discussion, although their minds were more distracted than usual by the proximity of being seated next to each other on the velvet covered sofa.

  When the clock from the mantel chimed the tenth hour, Mr. Thornton reluctantly stood to take his leave, apologizing for needing to catch a morning train to Milton.

  “Oh, must you leave tomorrow, Margaret, at such a dreadfully early hour?” Edith complained. She had hoped to keep Margaret in London one more day, but Mr. Thornton had happily offered to have Margaret join his company in returning to Milton the next morning.

  “I don’t wish to stay away from Mother long. She is not well,” Margaret reminded her cousin in soft tones, although her reasons for wanting to return home were not so easily explained.

  After Mr. Thornton had given the proper goodbyes, Margaret followed him to the grand entrance hall, the sound of her swishing skirts accompanying them.

  “Are you certain you wish to return tomorrow?” he asked quietly as he turned to face her near the door. “I cannot help but think you are well-suited to such surroundings,” he uttered with reticence. Indeed, as she stood there before him in her elegant gown, she seemed to match the sophisticated grandeur and beauty of this place. Nothing in Milton could match the ease and style which seemed so becoming to her in this society.

  “What, will you leave me here where fashion and display are mistaken for substance and men are satisfied to expostulate and theorize over what others have accomplished?” she asked with a playful gleam in her eyes. “No, I much prefer to return home with my northern manufacturer,” she answered, openly meeting his startled gaze with an enchanting smile.

  “Margaret!” he exclaimed hoarsely and instinctively took a step nearer. The force of her declaration touched him to the core, taking away all power of speech. Captivated by her bright upturned face, he could think of only one way to reply.

  With reverent care, he took her face into his hand, feeling the soft silkiness of her cheek against his skin. He reached out tremblingly to place his other hand at the curve of her waist.

  He waited; she did not move nor resist, but kept her eyes fastened on his in breathless expectation.

  His heart hammered as he slowly brought his mouth closer to the cherub lips that he ached to posses. He hesitated one last time, but she had already closed her eyes in anticipation of his touch.

  His lips found hers and a shock of a thousand tiny explosions coursed through his veins, bringing his whole body to life as it never had been before.

  He kissed her again and again, gently at first and then with increasing fervor, hungrily seeking to fill his need. And when he felt the brush of her lips moving against his own, a cry of desperate ecstasy resounded within him to feel the tenderness for which his soul had ached so long. His hand slid around her waist to pull her closer.

  He felt his self-control swiftly unraveling as the intoxicating bliss of her kisses made him dizzy with desire. His pulse raced and he sought her lips with more aban
don until a firm pressure against his chest bade him stop.

  He dropped his hand from her cheek as she gently pushed him away, her face flushed with a rosy glow. “You should go,” she whispered, glancing nervously toward the drawing room.

  “Yes,” he heard himself answer unsteadily, although his entire body palpitated with the urge to take her in his arms again and never let go.

  He let his hand fall from her waist and took a step back, at once aware of the cold emptiness of the space between them. “I hope that nine is not too early tomorrow morning,” he stated formally, feeling his pulse slowly return to normal.

  “No, I shall be ready. Thank you,” she replied in a voice of feigned control.

  “Then I shall see you in the morning.” He glanced at her hands with longing but quickly decided he should take his leave. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” she echoed faintly.

  He turned to take up his hat and with one more lingering glance opened the door and stepped into the night.

  Margaret swayed, her limbs faintly trembling beneath her. Catching sight of her reflection in the gilded mirror, she raised her fingers to her flushed cheeks and gazed at her lips, remembering the tender intensity of his kisses. She felt a rush of frightened confusion and shame as she contemplated how reluctant she had been to halt his amorous attentions.

  She closed her eyes to regain her composure, the rushing pattern of her heartbeat beginning to subside.

  When she opened her eyes, she straightened her back and bravely lifted her chin before reentering the drawing room. She reclaimed her seat and listened to the continuing conversation with affected interest.

  Henry frowned as he studied her. Her pink countenance was still, but her eyes strayed about the room in a vacant haze.

  Mr. Lennox let out a silent sigh of defeat. Margaret had given her heart to the northern manufacturer.

  *****

  Mr. Thornton dismissed the cab that had been called for him, unable to confine himself in stilted stillness on such a night.

  He walked with an exuberance he could not contain down the city street toward his hotel. The faint sounds of voices coming from opened windows, the occasional clattering of a passing carriage were distant and vague as he took the darkened path before him, thinking only of the woman who had chosen him above all others.

  The light from the gas lamps cast shadows on his face, dimly revealing the upward curve of his mouth.

  Chapter Nine

  The quiet of the morning was infused with an air of excitement as Margaret threw back her covers and climbed out of bed to prepare for the long journey home. Bright sunshine already poured through the eastern windows while she padded about in her bare feet, hurrying through the motions of her toilette.

  She stopped in front of the long mirror to study with new eyes the womanly curves revealed by her thin white nightdress. Spiraled tresses of auburn hair fell past her bare shoulders to rest on the pattern of lace and embroidery at her chest. Every pulse point began to pound with rising fervor as she imagined how she would feel presenting herself thus to her husband.

  The entrance of the chambermaid broke her reflective stupor, and she hastened to lay out the clothes to be packed in her small trunk.

  She took a few sips of tea, but the toast on the breakfast tray turned cold and hard as the maid helped Margaret lace her corset and slip into her petticoats.

  The thought of spending hours in close confinement with the man she had kissed last night stirred butterflies in her stomach and made her head feel light. She endeavored to think of other things while her hair was brushed and set prettily in twisted coils upon her head, but as the hour approached when Mr. Thornton would arrive, she was scarcely articulate enough to utter heartfelt sentiments to Edith, who had appeared in her dressing gown at Margaret’s door to mournfully say her goodbyes.

  Not long after, the footman announced Mr. Thornton’s arrival. Margaret took pains to descend the stairs with stately grace, quelling the schoolgirl zeal that beckoned her to hurry down the stairs.

  “Good morning,” he greeted her, his tall figure standing by the open doorway.

  The familiar timber of his voice, the bright sparkle in his eyes, and the slightly crooked smile — meant only for her — sent an effusion of warmth coursing through her body.

  “Good morning,” Margaret returned airily, catching her breath at his ardent study of her.

  She wondered if he, too, was thinking of what had passed between them hours before in this very location. Her gaze dropped to the soft curve of his mouth and she remembered with tingling clarity the tender mingling of their lips in the shadowed hallway. Her lips twitched.

  His eyes darkened, and she knew at once that he well remembered their kisses last evening. She cast her eyes to the floor, feeling a flush rise to her face.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked, proffering his arm to take her to the waiting carriage.

  “Yes ... yes, thank you,” she stammered. His question seemed at once casual and intimate and did nothing to calm the quaver in her voice. She threaded her arm through his and they stepped out into the sunlight.

  Mr. Thornton assisted Margaret in climbing into the coach and then duly took his seat beside her. Fanny and the Lawrensons, seated across from them in the spacious cab, exchanged morning pleasantries with the newest arrival before Fanny began to mutter a litany of complaints as to why they should return home so early.

  Margaret listened politely, although with divided attention. She was more aware of the seating arrangement within the cab. Unaccustomed to being seated next to any man other than her father, she felt keenly the significance of her new relationship to the Master. From now on, this would be her place: beside him.

  The notion of becoming a wife was daunting enough, but the thought taking on the role of the Master’s wife was even more intimidating. She hoped to prove herself a worthy figure for the part she would play in his life, for whoever would be Mr. Thornton’s wife would wield an influence far beyond the average housewife. The importance of his position in Milton society was undeniable, and in his hands lay the welfare of hundreds.

  Margaret surreptitiously studied Mr. Thornton’s face as he gazed out the window. The shape of his jaw and the strong angular lines of his profile were as perfect and defined as a sculpture cut from marble. Truly, there was no one like him in the world. The force and power of his character could be seen in one glance.

  A small smile lifted the corners of his mouth. She held her breath and felt a stirring in her breast as she considered how it was that she should be the recipient of his ardent affections. She wondered if he knew how much his very presence affected her.

  If Margaret had been privy to his thoughts, she might have been surprised to discover that the man that exuded so much confidence in all his doings was still struggling to discern the success of his most earnest goal: to win the affections of the woman who was to be his wife.

  Mr. Thornton could not contain the joy he felt. The events of the day before, culminating with that ecstatic taste of the physical affection he craved, sent his hopes above the clouds. To earn her love had for so long seemed a dream, he dared not believe it could be bestowed upon him this easily.

  He recalled with a twinge of shame the way she had been compelled to stop his amorous attentions to her soft, beguiling lips. He knew a lady of such fine upbringing would never feel the dark, passionate need that swirled deep within him. He renewed his resolve to be patient and gentle, as she deserved, for he was secretly frightened that she would grow wary of him if he should continue to allow his passions to overrule his self-control.

  He could not imagine a more perfect way to spend the day than in her presence. In the public eye, there would be no opportunity to test his resolve, and he would be free to relax and enjoy her company with equanimity for the duration of the trip.

  Alighting from the carriage at Euston Station, they were immediately surrounded by the bustle and commotion of London’s grand
terminal.

  The women gravitated toward the railway platform while Mr. Lawrenson headed for the ticket counter and Mr. Thornton attended to the cab and called a porter for their luggage.

  Fanny and Miss Lawrenson sauntered off to purchase a few magazines, promising Margaret they would return in a moment. Margaret nodded in acknowledgment, but her eyes were riveted to Mr. Thornton many yards away. She watched every movement of his tall, dark frame and the subtle expressions on his face as he hailed a porter and gave his commands. His bearing and manner exuded an authority and dignity all his own.

  When he finally turned to stride toward her, he caught her gaze and returned it with a smile that made her belly flutter. She stood in mute wonder at how it was that such a man had chosen her above all others.

  A look of concern creased his brow as he reached her side. “How is it that you are left alone?” he asked.

  “Fanny went to ...” She had scarcely uttered her reply when a shout filled her ears and she found herself pulled abruptly against the strong, clothed barrier of the Master’s chest.

  A crashing thud behind her made her body jolt. The protective arms around her tightened as the voice above her ear barked an angry warning. She felt the vibration of his vociferous speaking resonate from the depths of his broad chest, and she rested there willingly for a brief moment, nestled securely in his firm embrace as though a child taking refuge from the onslaught of the world.

  “I ... I’m sorry.... I didn’t see ...” the frightened young porter stuttered, trembling at the sharp remonstrance of the commanding stranger and scrambling to recover the trunks that had fallen from his hand trolley.

  Margaret gently pulled away from her protector’s grasp to observe the scene around her.

  Mr. Thornton’s eyes grazed over her form with tender longing as he reluctantly loosened his hold and let her go.

  “Take care not to stack your portage too high!” the Master cautioned the blundering porter, his harsh tone lessening slightly at the sight of the boy’s blanched face. “Do you not see what injury you could have caused?” he added with foreboding.