In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South

by Trudy Brasure

  A kindly gentleman and his well-rounded wife sat across from them. Married above twenty years themselves, the travelers quietly observed the young couple’s clasped hands and the soft glow of radiant joy that illuminated their faces. They noted with particular amusement the tender solicitude that the strong-looking man rendered to his lovely companion.

  Remarking upon it later, the couple from Leeds agreed that the two young lovers must have been embarking upon their honeymoon and reminisced with light hearts about the sweet bygone days of their own courtship.

  An exchange of passengers having been made midway on their travels, the Thorntons were next accompanied by a tight-lipped business man who disappeared behind his newspaper after gruffly acknowledging the traveling pair.

  The lovers spoke in low tones as the miles sped by and scenes of bucolic life spread outside to the horizon in unhurried glory.

  Margaret pointed out a small lake to her husband, who leaned closer for a better view.

  Tempted by her nearness and encouraged by the unyielding wall of newsprint guarding their privacy, Mr. Thornton began to nuzzle the soft, scented skin just behind her ear. She turned to silently scold him, glancing anxiously toward the hidden figure across from them, but her telltale smile only spurred him to continue his pursuit, and he became determined to win a clandestine kiss.

  Her eyes twinkled in merriment as she knit her brow and shook her head in disapproval of his amorous intentions. He was not to be dissuaded. Seeing his wicked grin, she swiftly decided it would be best to appease him and offered her lips to his.

  They dared kiss only a few seconds, but the fervency of feeling that made their lips cling longingly in secret communion left them both reeling in the quiet aftermath. They stared at one another in renewed awe at having found a matching soul.

  Mr. Thornton took her small hand in his and interlaced his fingers with hers. Satisfied with this firm connection, they both returned to happily gazing out the window.

  Margaret leaned her head against her husband’s shoulder in perfect peace and not long after fell asleep, more exhausted from the day’s activity than she had supposed. Mr. Thornton watched her sleeping form with reverent fascination for some time before he inclined his head near hers and followed suit.

  As the train screeched to a laboring halt at York, the newlyweds were roused from their light slumber and found, much to their amusement, that their seat mate was equally encumbered with drowsiness as he also awakened from a stolen nap.

  They changed trains for the last leg of their journey, and managed to keep awake to enjoy the passing views of the gently rolling hills of the Yorkshire Wolds, the gray ruins of an ancient priory, and the slow meandering of an old river. The train stopped at several villages along the way, but it was not long before they arrived at Scarborough station.

  A short cab ride took them to the largely uninhabited south side of town where the grand Crown Hotel perched majestically above grass-covered cliffs above a curved harbor below.

  The carriage pulled up to the elaborate columned entrance. A sculpted black iron balcony stretched elegantly along the length of the windows above, contrasting strikingly against the pristine, white-stuccoed structure that rose five stories high.

  The interior was just as impressive. In a sea of green with rose accents, innumerable upholstered chairs and sofas were arranged in a magnificent public Drawing Room.

  Stepping up to a gleaming mahogany counter, Mr. Thornton inquired after his reservations.

  The concierge found the name on his list. “Ah, yes, Mr. and Mrs. Thornton, from Milton.”

  The newly married groom nodded his head with a glowing smile while Margaret dipped her head in a rush of flustered exhilaration to hear a stranger’s enunciation of their intimate bond.

  After Mr. Thornton discussed a few details and signed the register, the couple followed a smartly dressed porter up the grand staircase.

  Their trunks were already waiting them when they arrived at the proper door on the next level. Mr. Thornton turned the brass key in the lock and smiled at his wife as he allowed her first passage through the threshold.

  Margaret smiled up at him and then hastened into the room, eager to take in the view. She halted in the center of the wide, airy space and surveyed with delight the color of the walls, which imitated the warm glow of perpetual sunlight. The furniture was carved from a rich brown wood. To her left, a sofa and soft chair were situated by a cream-colored fireplace and a desk was nestled in one corner. Toward the far corner, a paneled screen with painted scenes partially hid a small dressing table.

  Her eyes roamed to the blue and gold patterned surface of the broad four poster bed at her right. The thoughts that came to her warmed her cheeks, and she pressed hastily forward to the long windows where embossed curtains of blue brocade were swept aside to reveal a commanding view of the bay beyond.

  Mr. Thornton passed a few coins into the porter’s hands and shut the door firmly behind the departing lad. His mouth curved into a smile as he gazed about the room. He was well pleased with the comfortable suite; it would be their private home for a few short, glorious days. His eyes inevitably fell to the great canopied bed, whose imperious prominence bespoke its more illustrious purpose. A frisson of simmering yearning surged through his veins before he looked up to admire the vision of his beloved framed in the late daylight.

  He moved to stand beside her, sliding his arm around her waist as he scanned the panorama of land and sea before them.

  “The view is stunning,” Margaret murmured.

  He kept his gaze only a moment longer on the scene outside before he turned his attention to the beauty beside him. “It is,” he replied.

  She blushed at his implied appraisal and dipped her head, but he brought her about to face him and lifted her chin with a curved finger.

  Not a word was spoken as he sought to know from the depths of her blue-gray eyes if she, too, could possibly feel but a tenth part of the love which beat in his breast at this moment, the fulminating force of which made his every pulse race with the desire to take her into his arms and never let her go.

  A glimmer of affection from her unfaltering gaze gave him hope that she did, and he bent to capture her lips with his.

  She pushed gently at his chest to break free from his tight embrace before all power to resist his dizzying kisses should be completely dissolved.

  “We should dress for dinner. It is nearly time,” she murmured, clinging fast to reasonable behavior. She was not yet prepared to let the sweeping tide of passion engulf them, although her bodily senses tingled in her earnest desire to be melded to him.

  “Yes,” he agreed in a mindless tone, teetering on the brink of an impulse to abandon all reasonableness and taste again the maddening sweet compliance of her kisses. He was mesmerized by the vision of her plump pink lips, which yet hovered so near to his.

  But reason cried out for patience. He would not overwhelm her.

  She slipped from his slackened grasp and crossed the room in distracted haste to find her trunk and select a gown to wear.

  “Let me help you,” he declared, rousing to action as she fumbled with the latch of the trunk. He lifted the heavy piece of luggage and removed it to the ladies’ dressing space behind the tall paneled screen.

  “Shall I call for a maid?” Mr. Thornton asked in helpless uncertainty, knowing only that his sister required assistance on every occasion of changing dress.

  “No, thank you … I believe I can manage,” she murmured, keeping her head bowed as she disappeared behind the screen to undress.

  The soft sound of rustling fabric caught his ears, and he listened with measured breath for her every movement behind the barrier that forbid his curious view. He shrugged on his silver waistcoat while beguiling images of her in thin-clad slips and clinging undergarments chased through his thoughts.

  “John?”

  Her call pierced through the fleeting shadows of his fantasy. The sound of his name, wrung with in
nocent trust — with tentative intimacy — from her lips, shot straight to his heart. He could not speak, but gravitated toward her to obey her bidding.

  She heard his approach. Every step he took closer strengthened that magnetic, mystical charge that flowed so madly between them. His very presence could undo her. Gathering all her power of mind and purpose, she informed him of her need, careful to avoid catching his gaze. “Will you help me fasten my dress?”

  She stood with her back to him, swathed in silk except at her back where the fabric draped to reveal the tight binding of her corset and a whisper of gauzy cotton underneath that caressed the creamy skin of her upper back.

  He swallowed hard as his eyes hungrily took in the sight of her, marveling in the privilege of the task to which she entrusted him. He questioned the strength of his ability to resist the temptation of her nearness.

  “It seems I should have called for a maid after all,” she babbled. Her pulse pattered furiously as she felt him pull the fabric tight and begin to work the fastenings at her lower back.

  He did not answer as his fingers worked clumsily to accomplish this altogether alien function. His knuckles brushed against her warm body while the delicate scent of rosewater teased his nostrils.

  His hands grew reluctant in their employ when all he truly longed to do was to allow them to travel up the length of her arms and trace the gentle curve of her ivory shoulders. The impulse to taste the slender column of her neck, so near his lips, tempted him mightily.

  “If it were not for Mother’s condition, I suppose I should have arranged to have Dixon accompany us,” Margaret teased.

  “And I should have emphatically forbidden it,” he countered without hesitation. Her shoulders shook in a silent giggle and he grinned.

  He fastened the last hook and dropped his hands. She whirled around to face him, the gleam of mischief still shining in her eyes.

  “She means well,” she smilingly offered on Dixon’s behalf.

  “For you, perhaps,” he countered, unable to keep from grinning as he snaked his arms around her waist and pulled her closer.

  “It’s only that she is not accustomed to your Northern ways,” she quipped with her chin aloft, noting now with a ripple of warm sensation the notch at the base of his throat exposed by his open collar.

  “And what of you? Are you well acclimated to our Northern ways?” he demanded, placing kisses near her temple and grazing her cheek.

  “I don’t know,” she answered groggily, weakened by his tender assault. “I suppose I must. I’m a Northern girl now.”

  He brought his face to hers, moved by the implication of her affirmation. She would be his forevermore and dwell wherever he dwelled.

  He rewarded her with a gentle kiss before carefully pulling away to allow them both to finish dressing for dinner.

  *****

  Gilt-framed paintings hung from the high, pale blue walls of the great dining hall. At the far end, the wooden floors of the Music Gallery gleamed, awaiting the next concert or ball. Several long tables, elegantly set, were filled with notable figures from all parts of England and several visitors from abroad. Long established gentry and a few nobility dined with the nouveau riche as men in livery served the evening fare.

  The newlyweds joined in light conversation with the guests nearest them, a Major-General from Harrogate being the principal source of jovial entertainment. Little was asked of the Thorntons, and they offered little to the strangers surrounding them, but stole glances across the table from time to time in secret understanding of the significance of this day.

  Margaret found her appetite was at first quite generous, for in the flurry of the wedding activity that morning, she realized that she had hardly consumed a morsel all day. But as the courses presented came nearer to a delectable conclusion and the chandeliers twinkled more brightly in the darkening room, all thought of food vanished.

  Chairs scraped the floor when gentlemen began to rise from dinner. Margaret’s heart beat faster as she listened, head bowed in placid pose, to a squire from London invite her husband to the Grand Saloon.

  “Thank you, but my wife and I have travelled some distance today. If it is her wish, I will withdraw from joining you this evening so that we may retire early.”

  The smooth timbre of his voice, though couched in words of genteel formality, reached to her very depths as an intimate proposition and roused tingling excitement that tightened every nerve. “Yes, thank you. Indeed, I am quite tired,” she affirmed, raising her eyes to his briefly in silent acknowledgement of his wish, relieved to take their leave of all social diversion.

  They escaped outside to the front esplanade and walked arm in arm nearer the cliff to see the expansive view of the sea and town under the twinkling stars of the darkening night. They absorbed the scene in silence until Margaret exclaimed the tranquil beauty of the sight and Mr. Thornton replied in kind.

  Faint light from an outdoor lamp beamed from far behind them. All other guests were snugly situated in the comforts of the hotel.

  Margaret unwound her arm from her husband’s and turned to him with bashful resolve. His piercing gaze instantly searched her face, and she cast her eyes down. She could not think rationally while looking into his eyes.

  “Will you wait here awhile while I prepare myself for the night?” she asked, struggling in vain to keep her voice from wavering.

  “Of course,” he choked out, his own voice hoarse in sudden stupor. “How long…?”

  “A half hour should suffice … I believe,” she stuttered, her face aflame with a deep blush that she hoped was concealed by the darkness.

  He nodded, his throat tightened to the point that all speech was restricted. She gave him a timid smile and turned to follow the lamp-lighted path to the hotel.

  He watched her go, rooted to the spot where she had declared her intentions. She would go and prepare herself — for him! A thousand emotions rose in his breast and scattered his thoughts to the wind so that he was left as one dumb and insentient to his surroundings.

  How fervently he had yearned for this day when he should claim her as his own! Their unity had been proclaimed before all men this morning in the house of God. But tonight, between just the two of them, their union would be confirmed in the flesh, and the covenant of marriage forever sealed.

  Wildly he grasped for coherent thought as the fierce passions that he held deep within him swirled and struggled for release.

  He pulled out his pocket watch with an unsteady hand to check the time. In the space of an hour, his entire world would be changed.

  A crisp breeze swept over his face and ruffled his hair, awakening him in part from his trance. He turned his gaze to the town below where dim lights of tranquil homes nestled in perfect harmony against the blackening obscurity of endless sea. In the heavens, stars sparkled in patches of cloudless sky.

  The precision of infinity staggered him. Of all the villages and towns of this great country — of the vast multitude of people that populated them — she had been placed in his path. She had come to Milton to lift the shroud of loneliness that he unknowingly had borne, and dispel forever the calm reserve of his emotions.

  It was she, and only she, who had pierced the gloomy monotony of his life. Her beauty had dazzled him even as the irrepressible force of her character had sparked the embers of love, long dormant in his heart, into steady flame.

  He had wanted her for his own from the first, although he had struggled mightily to deny it, convinced that she would never have him. She had beguiled him with the soft feminine grace inherent in her every movement when he had first watched her pour tea at her father’s house, but with what vehemence had she denigrated his trade! He smiled ruefully at the memory of that night and the futility of his attempts to deny his attraction. He could almost laugh now to remember how stricken he had been when she had appeared at his mother’s dinner party in the glory and refinement of a stunning and seductive gown.

  He had seen the admiring glan
ces she had garnered from other men this evening with a sense of pride. Dressed in sumptuous elegance that revealed the perfection of her form, she had charmed them all with her innocent allure and regal grace.

  She was in the full bloom of her youth. A flame of lust flared deep within at the knowledge of it. He marveled that it should be his privilege to take such perfect beauty to his bed.

  Heat flooded through his veins at the ready images that rushed into thought. An anguished cry wrung from his lips. Raking his fingers through his hair, he began to briskly walk the path edging the sea, foundering desperately to command control of himself, lest he go mad in the waiting to take what was rightfully his.

  The sound of the ocean penetrated his consciousness and soothed the furor of his agitated state. He stopped to look back at the distant hotel, searching the row of windows that must include their own.

  Would she wait for him with the calm deportment so natural to her bearing? Or was she plunged, as he was, into the upheaval of emotions that threatened to undo him at the contemplation of what yet remained undone? His apprehension peaked to think of her in any turmoil of trepidation at his coming.

  He would love her as no man had ever loved her. How much his soul ached to prove the depth of his devotion with a profusion of tenderness that was her due!

  But the turbulent force of emotion that ever simmered in his blood rose up to evoke a tremor of doubt. What did he know of the ways in which to love a woman? He feared lest his inexperience cause him to fall blindly into furious passion that should cause her to raise frightened eyes at his approach.

  He thrust such fears aside as he recalled the perilous and thrilling moments in the dark, rocking carriage weeks ago, when he had felt the heat of her own passion rising to meet his.

  He clung to the hope that with every kiss — every commingling touch — she would understand that no one else could ever love her as he did. He would show her his love.

  With this vaguely comforting resolve, he took a deep breath. The smell of earth and sea salt filled his senses with a steadying vibrancy.