In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South

by Trudy Brasure

  He let out a low sigh in incredulous wonder of all that was offered to him. Marble and canvas had been inadequate to capture the full glory and beauty of the female form, which now lay before him. He brought his mouth to hers to kiss her, valiantly struggling to contain the furious urge to devour her whole.

  He caressed the tender skin of her breast with hands and fingers and then, much to her surprise, with his mouth.

  She gasped and gripped his neck, delving her fingers into his dark hair. An explosion of sensations left her breathless. All power to resist or deny ebbed away as he ravished her until she arched her back in utter surrender to his amorous possession.

  Enflamed by her response, he sought her mouth again and kissed her hungrily, pressing the weight of his body upon her in growing desire. She wrapped her arms around him in rapturous accord, the burgeoning need to pull him closer banishing all maidenly inhibitions.

  His need could no longer be suppressed. Lifting himself from her, he gave her a desperate look of love as he slowly entered her the second time.

  His tender communication dissolved the fearful tension she had held. In incredulous wonder of what they were doing, she slid her hands helplessly down his back. The world beyond disappeared. She was lost, her senses engulfed in the bliss of receiving his ardent affection. He was above her, pressed to her, and loving her, arousing in her feelings she had never known.

  She tried to catch her breath as his gentle, fervent rhythm pulled her deeper and deeper into unknown suspension. Her body was under his command, craving for something that was just beyond her reach. She clutched at him tighter, dimly aware of the faint sounds that were her own gasps.

  Electrified by her amorous reaction, his ardor increased. He bound himself more boldly to her, transported to a place beyond the grasp of reason and at the very edge of ecstasy.

  His passionate lovemaking consumed her. The rising ache to be one with him was answered in the strain of his own fervent yearning until they reached that place where all barriers between them were broken and she cried out as wave upon wave of crashing sensation flooded through her.

  He cried out above her in echoing rapture as her body quivered in the ebb of release. Silence ensued for a moment before he brought his face to hers.

  “I felt it, too,” she quietly confessed in innocent wonder, her eyes searching his.

  He let out a breathy laugh in the joyous discovery that she would find equal pleasure in their union and bent to reward her with a rain of kisses over her flushed and glowing face.

  He collapsed to the bed and she nestled into his arms. They touched and adored in the unhurried luxury of their first morning as husband and wife until a sharp rap at the door startled them both.

  Holding the covers tight to her breast, Margaret was astonished and perplexed to watch her husband climb out of bed to swiftly pull on his trousers. Donning a shirt without bothering to tuck it in, he headed for the door.

  “John!” his wife called out in horror, not only for his own shocking state of undress but for her own.

  He merely grinned at her outcry and opened the door.

  Much to Margaret’s relief there was no human figure in the hall; instead, her husband rolled in a tea cart laden with a tray of covered dishes and fine china tea service.

  “I thought we might like to eat breakfast alone,” he stated, his mouth curved into a mischievous smile as he looked to his surprised wife. She could only blink as a smile slowly formed at his thoughtful foresight.

  “Will you please recover for me my nightgown? I believe it has slipped to the floor,” she asked with timid embarrassment.

  “And if I should not oblige?” he teased as he approached the bedside, taking devilish delight in her helplessness.

  Her face pinked at his taunt. “Then I shall be forced to remain in my bed,” she declared in brave defiance, recognizing at once her mistake as a wicked grin stole over his face.

  He gathered the abandoned garment from the patterned carpet and held it out to her. “Take care, or I shall be obliged to keep you in bed all day,” he warned in sultry tones, his eyes boring through hers with an intensity that sent shivers over her flesh and roused heat from the pit of her belly.

  She turned her flushed face from him. “The tea will be getting cold …” she murmured in distraction as she clutched the recovered gown to her breast.

  Reluctantly, he stepped to the small table to set out their breakfast, his back to her. He would allow her to set the boundaries upon this new arrangement of intimacy between them, for he was certain that if all were left to his instincts, they might remain in this room all day.

  She dressed quickly and, tightening the sash around her dressing gown, joined him at the small table near the door.

  She studied him in mute amazement as he poured a cup of tea and reached out to hand it to her. “Thank you,” she mumbled, blinking her confusion. How was it that the Master of Marlborough Mills was serving her tea? She peeked at him over her cup with new adoration. A flood of feeling swelled in her heart. There would be no formal boundaries to constrict how they should care for each other.

  She took a long breath of deep contentment to have been matched to such a man.

  *****

  The early morning mists had cleared, and golden sunlight chased away fading patches of gray as the lovers stepped out to explore the sights of the harbor town.

  The beauty of nature surrounding them burst forth with exhilarating energy. Lush green grass spread to the cliff’s edge where the wide-open sky reflected the sea in vibrant blue.

  A brass band played on a rounded stand built in the center of the front esplanade as patrons took their morning walk in the salty air. Mr. Thornton and his wife joined the small crowd at the bandstand for a time before sauntering off to take the path to the cliff.

  The strains of a ballad followed them as they reached the magnificent view of town, sea, and sky. To the left was the town of Scarborough and her harbor. Beyond rose a towering cliff where the ruins of an ancient castle stood prominent guard over nature and man below.

  To the right, lay unmarred grass-covered cliffs that curved to gather the sea in silent splendor.

  The newlyweds bid good morning to other strolling guests as they continued their pleasant walk. Mr. Thornton beamed his contentment. The corners of his mouth were lifted in buoyant happiness and could not be constrained this day. But Margaret kept her eyes lowered as she nodded her greeting upon each encounter, discomforted by the notion that every stranger could divine by the blush of her face what had transpired in private last evening and again this morning.

  Her gaze lingered on other women led about by their husbands, marveling that she now shared the secret of what it meant to be a wife. Did all new brides feel the same tingling warmth and exuberant joy that she did this day?

  On their way to Scarborough, they crossed an iron pedestrian bridge that spanned a verdant gorge. Spectacular views of the city, sea, and arbored gardens below surrounded them and they stopped to take in the sights before reaching the other side and wending their way down through garden pathways to the foreshore promenade along the sandy beach.

  A few water carts stood near the wet sand not far from houses and lodgings that arose six floors from the sea. Brick and stone structures lined the shore of the town rising up to the distant Castle Hill.

  They strolled toward the far harbor, where a lighthouse stood at the end of a curving pier and the masts of fishing boats of all sizes cluttered the skyline. Several herring girls worked by the docks, gutting the day’s catch and tossing the shiny fish into barrels according to size.

  Margaret looked upon their splattered aprons and dreary appearance with a pang of sympathy. Doubtless the gruesome work would help feed and clothe their families, but she could not help but feel hope well up that they would someday be able to give up such employ.

  The couple turned to follow winding cobbled streets through the Old Town, past terraced brick houses that had weathered years of
sun and storms.

  Treading gradually uphill, they at last reached the stone stairs that led to a small medieval church with blackened spires. Mr. Thornton carefully assisted his wife up the steep, worn steps to the open graveyard where the newlyweds could look back over the harbor to the green South Cliff where their hotel stood.

  Margaret spent a few moments of solemn contemplation at the grave of Anne Bronte, whose promising young life had been cut short only two years ago. Then, after wandering a while on the lonely church grounds, they continued up the lane to the castle beyond, through the arched entryway to the long abandoned domain of earls and kings.

  Tall stone walls stood in crumbling testimony to a majestic medieval keep, ravaged by the wages of time and civil war. The newlyweds followed the ancient fortress walls, high above the harbored town below, as they continued to walk the grassy summit where nobles and sentries had trod through the centuries.

  The occasional sound of a gull overhead pierced the windswept silence of the desolate plateau. Mr. Thornton stopped to examine the astounding integrity of the stone walls, built so long ago, while Margaret ambled toward the cliff’s edge.

  Mr. Thornton turned from his distraction to see the solitary figure of his wife standing on the vast horizon, her skirts swaying in the breeze as she looked out over the endless ocean.

  Framed against the open azure sky, she was the commanding queen of all living things and the innocent girl from the quiet Hampshire countryside. He hastened to bring himself to her side, his eyes riveted to the sight before him.

  The ambition of barons and kings, the lure of industry’s power and wealth, were naught compared to the force he now knew moved the spheres in alignment with the divine. To love with all your being and to be loved in return — this purpose and pleasure of life had the power to lift the misery of this world into the light of heaven.

  It was an exalting freedom to love her without restriction. The memory of the morning’s amorous beginning was never far from his mind, filling him with a joyous peace he had never known. He counted himself blessed beyond measure to be forever linked to one who radiated goodness.

  He studied the beauty of her rapt countenance as he drew near and observed the glow of happiness fade to a sterner contemplation.

  “You’re thinking of your family,” he mused, not forgetting the serious circumstances from which they had escaped for a time.

  She gave him a fond smile before retuning her gaze to the horizon. “I cannot help but think of Fredrick … and mother. Perhaps he has already arrived, since we departed,” she suggested.

  His brow creased at her anxiety. “Do you wish to go back?” he asked softly, albeit with great reluctance.

  “No. No, it is just that we have this time together … alone,” she answered, looking to him with eyes of sparkling honesty.

  No other soul being in sight, he took her face into his hands and gave her a tender kiss. Then, taking her hand in his, they both turned to the open sky and sea below.

  *****

  “Did you say cotton mill? Why, you’re in the textile industry,” declared a white-haired gentleman to Mr. Thornton upon introductions at the dinner table that evening. An elaborate mustache and lengthy beard lent the animated man — Lord Whillougby of Leicestershire, as he had announced — a distinguished air.

  “Yes,” the Milton manufacturer answered tentatively.

  “Then you have heard of Sir Titus Salt’s venture to build his very own town here in Yorkshire, a mill town with decent houses and all manner of facilities for the edification, enrichment, and general health of his workers. ‘Saltaire’ he has called it.”

  Margaret listened with great interest and looked to her husband, curious to discover his thoughts on such an idealistic enterprise.

  “I’ve read something of it in the papers,” the reserved Master replied, aware of the surrounding attention drawn to this conversation. “Sir Titus has the advantage of great wealth. He has the luxury of combining his philanthropic aims with the more unforgiving and tedious principles of business. Unfortunately, I have neither resources nor time at current to accommodate such ideals, as worthy as they may be,” he explained, stealing a cautious glance at his wife, who looked to him only with steadfast admiration.

  “The problem of the working masses is troublesome,” interjected a lean middle-aged man with thick reddish hair, a retired captain of the Bengal Rifles. “It is a subject that Prince Albert has put his mind to.”

  “I’ve not seen it yet. Construction has just begun this year, but it’s on the rail line. You might take time to tour it on your return to Milton,” Lord Willougby suggested.

  “Perhaps they may, but I’m quite certain the Thorntons are here for their leisure, Charles,” his wife politely countered her husband’s eager sway, her eyes twinkling at Margaret in sympathy. The seasoned lady of leisure had perceived the secretive aura about the young couple from Milton, and was confident she knew the celebratory reason for their stay at this seaside hotel.

  *****

  “Will you want to visit this Saltaire?” Margaret inquired thoughtfully from behind the paneled screen as she dressed for bed later that evening.

  “I don’t know,” the soft-spoken answer came from across the room. “Do you wish to see it?” It pleased Mr. Thornton to think that she would share with him her opinions on matters that interested her.

  “I … only wished to know if it was of interest to you,” she stammered in deference to his authority.

  Margaret emerged from her dressing place to find her husband tending to the coals in the fireplace. He wore a paisley patterned dressing gown of crimson silk that shimmered in the glow of the firelight.

  She padded toward the small sofa behind him with hesitant timidity. Trousers still peeked from beneath his more casual wrap, while she wore only her nightdress and ruffled dressing gown.

  He turned suddenly, sensing her approach. The appraising gleam in his eye caused a warm blush to spread through her whole body.

  She took a seat. “Scarborough is lovely. What made you decide to come here?” she asked, turning their conversation to more casual subjects.

  He settled down beside her. “My father used to talk of it with great fondness. He spent summers here as a young boy. I believe my great grandmother was from York.”

  “I can imagine that this place would suit children well with the sea and the sand, the boats, and the castle.”

  He smiled at her reply. They watched the dancing flames of the fire in silence for a few moments.

  “What was he like?” Margaret asked, her voice small and tentative.

  His eyes flashed to hers in cautious surprise, but her face only glowed with a yearning to know more of him. He turned to the fire again and drew a slow breath.

  “He was a happy man, at least from what I could tell. He had a ready smile and was always hopeful that things would work out for the best,” he offered. “Perhaps he was too trusting….”

  Margaret reflected on this and wondered at the great contrast between the cheerful vision he painted of his father and the rigid solemnity of Mrs. Thornton. “It must have been very hard on your mother,” she offered weakly after some time.

  “It was … but it was not the first time she had met with tragedy,” he revealed, his brows knitting in some solemn memory. He was suddenly compelled to share with her a long-ago grief, almost forgotten but sore to his child heart.

  “I had a sister, before Fanny, but she died when she was only a few months old. I had the fever as well … I was seven or eight … but she did not survive it. My mother was devastated, but tried to bear up well for my sake.” He spoke to the fire, in hollow recollection of the grip of death that had first withered his mother’s soul and left a small boy in uncomprehending grief.

  Moved by his evident pain, Margaret put a comforting hand to his roughened cheek. “What was her name?” she whispered.

  “Emma.” He took her hand and kissed it before setting it down upon his lap, fi
rmly in his grasp.

  “I am very sorry for your loss. It is a terrible tragedy that is wrought on many families,” she uttered in solemn sympathy.

  “I pray we will be spared such a hardship,” he stated gravely after some time of silence. “It is my hope we will have many children.” He brushed his thumb languidly over the back of the delicate hand in his lap.

  “Many?” she faltered in a high-pitched voice. A spread of warmth rose up from deep within at the thought of bearing his children.

  “Several?” he amended, his lips quivering with amusement at her bashful trepidation.

  “You will want a son,” she muttered, averting her gaze from him.

  “I will. But I confess I should very much like to have a daughter. I am curious to see if she will learn to speak her mind freely and blithely devastate all her admirers in due course with her lofty airs,” he said with a mischievous grin.

  She smiled at his teasing description. “And if you should have a son perhaps you will observe him learn to stubbornly cling to insufferable logic to hide a tender and caring heart,” she returned, her eyes sparkling in loving challenge to his accusation.

  Her words arrested him with their poignant honesty. He pulled her face close and clasped his mouth to hers as his fervent reply.

  She grasped the fabric at his chest, quivering at the unbridled passion in his kiss.

  He drew her closer, and she clung tighter to him in answering desire.

  A muffled groan sounded from his throat. He would wait no longer. He lifted her into his arms with one swift motion and carried her to their bed.

  *****

  The newlyweds lingered in the blissful sanctuary of their gold-tinged room the following morning. With no schedule to hurry them, they indulged in the luxury of rediscovering each other, taking pleasure in the newfound delights of the marriage bed.

  Tomorrow’s return to Milton would come soon enough. Both Master and wife knew that the time spent in this magical world where obligations and routines were suspended would be cherished forever as one of the most sublime experiences of their lives.