Northern Rain

by Nicole Clarkston

  She blinked the drops from her briefly exposed lashes and discovered that she was looking directly at his chest, where a very soggy handkerchief dangled uselessly from his breast pocket. Bravely she raised her eyes to meet his face, which was also thoroughly drenched from the rain. He, too, was blinking rather rapidly as more droplets trickled in stubborn rivulets down from his hair.

  Still without a word, she held out her own handkerchief to him. It seemed only the right thing to do, she reasoned. No matter how tempestuous their relationship had been, she could not simply walk away from another person whose pain was so obviously raw.

  She dropped her gaze again discreetly as he hesitantly accepted the article from her, and so she was unable to witness with what feeling he received it. She was the intruder upon his solitude, and though she found it within her power to offer some simple comfort, she would never betray his vulnerability or seek to encroach more deeply where she was not welcomed.

  “Thank you, Miss Hale.” At last the first words were uttered. Succinct, but sufficient.

  She dipped her head in acknowledgement. “You are welcome, Mr Thornton,” she murmured softly.

  ~

  Mr Thornton stared at the top of her head, reaching just to his shoulder. Those glorious eyes would not look up at him again.

  They had been the first thing he had noticed about Margaret Hale. She had from the very beginning met his gaze freely, with a refreshing frankness, and idiot that he was, he had looked right back.

  Now, even that tenuous connection had been severed. Of course it had. He disgusted her by the gritty realities of his life. The very force of character and willingness to labour which had borne him to his position- placing him at the pinnacle of Milton society- had sullied and defiled him in her scornful eyes, locking him forever out of that coveted place in her company.

  Yet, here she was. Why must she torment me? He had looked to this day’s homage as a temporary escape from the regrets haunting him. To get away from his thoughts of her, and every room of his house where she had once set her foot, and from each street corner where he had ever caught fleeting glances of her; if only for an hour to retreat from those memories, that had been his hope. Despite his efforts, here she had found him out in the most unavoidable of ways.

  What could she have been thinking to stop? Would that she had simply walked on, pretending quite properly not to have taken notice of his presence or posture! Not Margret Hale. Oh, no, he thought bitterly. Never she. She would think to offer some paltry succour to her fellow man, claiming to owe it to her own sense of feminine dignity.

  That was, after all, what had once led him on to the agonizing folly which even now he longed to forget. There was a righteousness about her, compelling her to extend her gentle touch in refuge and defence to anyone in need. Yes, anyone- even if that particular one was a man she detested.

  He glued an iron gaze to the top of her hat brim, daring her to look up at him again. He could not decide whom he despised more- her for avoiding his eyes, or himself for desiring the fleeting contact. Her head had tipped fractionally, and he intuitively determined the trajectory of her gaze. He tilted his own chin back to the flat stone over his shoulder. She absorbed the cold script in silence, then the corner of his eye caught movement as that hat brim finally lifted.

  Her clear eyes studied him, boring into his very thoughts as she held him breathless in her grasp. She needed no snare or noose. He was helpless and utterly at her mercy. Those expressive eyes spoke volumes of her empathy without resorting to words. She, so familiar with grief herself, looked into his brokenness and acknowledged their shared bond.

  If that were only the sum total of the pain he carried! Curse her! I don’t want her pity! She thought she understood. She knew nothing of it! She could not know how this moment, sharing the same space and the same air with her, was equal parts anguish and ecstasy to him.

  He stared back unflinchingly, refusing to allow her to know the full measure of the emotions drowning him. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, she dropped her eyes.

  “Excuse me, I beg you, sir.” Her voice was scarcely audible. “I have been too long from home.” Her fingers, still resting lightly on his forearm, lifted and broke their faint connection. She began to withdraw herself.

  “This is yours,” he stopped her, moving to return the umbrella.

  She shook her head slightly, beginning to protest. She would not easily take what she had previously offered to him, though the rules of civility absolutely demanded the item’s return. He sighed. “May I see you home then, Miss Hale?”

  Her eyes flashed back to his. She clearly wished to deny this as well. Exactly as he would expect. She had made it plain enough before that she never voluntarily sought his company... yet, had she not done just that? He firmed his resolve. She had been more than forthright with him in the past. She ought to bear a little of the same from him.

  “Miss Hale, I thank you for sharing the shelter of your umbrella, but if we are to part company you must take it back. I need hardly be reminded that you do not think me a gentleman, but I cannot suffer a lady to leave with me her protection from the elements.”

  Her eyes flared indignantly. “I meant no insult, sir! I only wished to offer… I at least have a warm coat. You look very cold, sir.”

  His determined hand, thrust toward her, dipped somewhat at the unexpected concern in her voice. His tone softened. “And much do I appreciate your offer, but one of us must be so. It is my own lack of foresight which brought me out thus.” He firmly pushed the contested article back to her.

  She glanced disinterestedly at the handle of her father’s umbrella, then back to his face. To take it would be to admit that he was in the right, and that, he knew, she was not pleased to confess. She lifted her chin. “Mr Thornton, I would be grateful if you could see me home.”

  Chapter Two

  The rain increased. The only way to comfortably walk together under their small shield was for Margaret to tuck her arm under his, avoiding his steady gaze as she did so. She kept her eyes forward and on the path.

  Neither knew of anything appropriate to say. She would not relive the discomfort of that little scene in the cemetery by bringing the subject up again, even in the form of an offered consolation.

  He, however, was busily admiring her light and easy movement as she walked beside him. No stranger to exertion was she! Her flushed cheeks glowed with radiant health and her steps were firm and untiring. He repressed a little sigh of aggrieved pleasure as he watched her striding next to him, falling neatly into step at his side. This singular event would live long in his memories, but was destined never to be repeated. More was the pity.

  After some moments, he had cause to steer her gently around a large puddle in their path. If it was all the thrill to be afforded him, he would exult in her easy responsiveness to his guiding touch. If only he could think of something to say!

  Sighing again, he tried to resign himself to the awkward silence. He would go to his solitary chamber that night having been in her sweet, torturous presence this day, and that, at least, was something in which he could take a small measure of perverse satisfaction.

  “May I ask, sir,” she ventured, breaking the silence at last, “how does your mother today?” That, she hoped, would be a safe and civil few words they could exchange.

  He hesitated before replying. “She never comes with me,” was his blunt response.

  Her eyes swept up to his in surprise. “Excuse me?”

  “To the grave. She never comes.”

  Her gaze returned to the path. “I see, sir.” Her forehead creased. Not such a safe topic after all.

  He bit his upper lip. “Forgive me, Miss Hale, I fear you find me somewhat agitated at present.”

  She considered silently a moment. Though she had been unwilling to return to the melancholy setting in which she had found him, he appeared not to have left it yet. “You come often, then?”

&
nbsp; “Only once a year.” He studied her reaction, wondering if he were causing her much unease. “I gather you must come more often?”

  She flicked a pained expression up to him. “It is a good place to be alone,” she answered softly.

  He thinned his lips and nodded in wordless commiseration. That was a longing he could understand. In the absence of a true companion of the heart, there were times when the next best thing was complete solitude.

  Did she come here for the same reasons as he? Surely her grief over her mother was still fresh, but did she yearn for a shoulder to lean upon in her sorrow? She found one once, he remembered bitterly. Where is that fool now? Some vengeful spirit hoped viciously that she had been spurned and rejected by the one she had turned to in favour of himself. Perhaps she does know some measure of what I feel!

  Even as the thoughts were born he angrily shoved them away. He had made his decision, and he made it again every day. He would not despise her for loving another instead of himself. How could he, when the mere sound of her voice took his breath away? He felt like some wandering, homeless knight of old, who devoted his unrequited fealty to a distant and unattainable Lady Fair. That was what she was, was she not? Always holding his undying allegiance, occasionally dropping her errant devotee a token, but otherwise completely beyond his reach.

  They had walked on several more paces during his reticent musings. Her musical voice, an even alto, floated to him again, though her face remained turned away. “Why does your mother never come?”

  He stared briefly, wondering if she were simply making polite conversation or if she truly wanted to know the answer. He recklessly decided in favour of the latter. After all, what did it matter if he gave offence? It was not as though relations between them could grow any worse. “She does not acknowledge my father. He is never mentioned in our home. She wishes to forget… a good many things, Miss Hale.”

  His voice had been so soft, so devoid of his recent brittleness, that it caused her to look him full in the face and half draw to a halt. She opened her mouth as if to reply, then, sucking in a deep breath, closed it and looked away again. He wondered at her reaction. The mere death of a parent or spouse would not normally engender such a response as his mother’s, but Margaret seemed to take it in stride, as though she knew more than he had once told her.

  “Father made some mention of the matter to me,” she confessed after a moment, as if she could read his thoughts. She halted her strides and looked up to his face again, those green eyes offering her whole sympathy, and perhaps even a speck of contrition. “I am very sorry, Mr Thornton.”

  A reluctant smile softened his lined mouth for a moment. “Thank you, Miss Hale.” He paused. Did he dare say more? “And if I may, I would also thank you for your company. It has been most welcome to me just now.”

  Those bright eyes flashed again. She fixed him with a careful expression, tilting her head ever so slightly. “I had thought, Mr Thornton, that we had declared our mutual dissatisfaction with our acquaintance. Was I mistaken? If so,” she forged ahead before he could interrupt, her ears turning pink, “I might receive your thanks with complaisance... with goodwill.”

  “I…” he tried to respond, and broke off, his throat suddenly quite dry. Was she trying to ask forgiveness or extend it? “I do remember words to that effect, Miss Hale, but have since had sufficient time to regret them.”

  She focused her gaze intently, in the most unmaidenly attitude he could imagine. Bewitching. She reminded him of some of the toughest negotiators he had ever encountered as they prepared to unbendingly broker high-stakes transactions.

  “I realize, Mr Thornton, that you have reason to despise me, and I accept your censure if I must. Know, however, that in light of more recent events, I consider my own judgement of yourself to have been somewhat in error.”

  His heart lurched. She did not regret…? Could she? “In error?” he croaked.

  “I… I abused your good name when I spoke with Mr Higgins. I spoke prematurely, and I owe you an apology. You are very noble to have taken him on after everything, and I ought to have said as much sooner.”

  His hopeful breath left him. So, that was all. He began walking again, drawing her reluctantly along. “Think nothing of it, Miss Hale. I was in need of experienced hands, and so far I have no regrets in his employment.” He unconsciously quickened his pace, not noticing that she had to lengthen her strides considerably to keep up.

  “Also, Mr Thornton…” she tugged his arm, dragging him again to a grudging halt. He faced her unwillingly, waiting as she battled for whatever shocking statement was next to come forth. “As I may not have another opportunity,” she took a trembling breath, “I must beg to offer you my gratitude in one other matter.”

  His eyes narrowed, his tones hardened as he brushed her hand from his arm. “I said before that no thanks were necessary!”

  Her rosy lips puckered in annoyance. “Then in that, I suppose we are even! We, neither of us, are able to accept the other’s gratitude! There can really be no reason for us to go on walking together, Mr Thornton. I will bid you good-day!”

  She shrugged her arms further up inside her cape, out of the cold rain, and marched off, squaring her shoulders. His face crumpled in bewilderment. Aggravating woman! Contrary, exasperating, obstinate, provoking female! Magnificent.

  He caught up to her in a few quick strides, his jaw set. He could be just as stubborn! Without speaking, he paced beside her, holding the umbrella awkwardly aloft so that she might still reap the benefits of its shelter without forcing either of them to endure physical contact.

  She ignored him, her eyes fixed ahead and her sculpted cheek muscles twitching as she walked on without slowing. She really had quite a ground-covering stride for a young lady. Idiot. Stop looking!

  It was in this manner that they gained the outskirts of Margaret’s neighborhood. Anyone with eyes could detect some spat had taken place between the unlikely pair, and Margaret at last halted. “This is ridiculous, Mr Thornton! I offer you a choice. Allow me to have my say, or let us part company!”

  He tightened his grip on the umbrella. Neither seemed a safe option. “I yield to the lady’s pleasure,” he answered stiffly.

  “Very well.” Her tone was clipped, irritated, and not at all grateful. “I would thank you, Mr Thornton, for your actions to prevent damage to my reputation. It was most unlooked for, I assure you. Yet my thanks are not primarily concerned with myself. Had an inquest taken place, another would have been compromised, and I speak of the sort of injury which is far more serious than a mere slight to my honour.” She narrowed those brilliant eyes, daring him to respond.

  Oh, how her words galled his raw feelings! This was why he had not wanted to hear what she had to say. He had somehow done a service for that reprobate, that scoundrel who put her at risk! His very dignity as a man rankled by the association.

  “I suppose I am to say now that you are welcome!” he returned icily, his voice threateningly lowered so that she had to strain to make out his words. “You are welcome for your own sake, and for your father’s. The gentleman, if he can be such, I take no notice of. I wonder at the kind of man who would cower behind a woman!”

  He glared right back at her, his tall, powerful figure squaring off in the middle of a public street during a rainstorm with a mere slip of a woman. Had he been able to see himself in that moment, he would have been horrified, but blinded and baffled as he was, all he could see was the livid woman seething before him.

  “You know nothing of the matter!” she lashed out hotly.

  “Nor do I wish to! Are we finished here, Miss Hale?”

  “One thing more, if you please sir!” She clenched her little gloved hands into fists, her eyes blazing with righteous indignation.

  He bit back his temper. Awareness of his surroundings was slowly registering, and John Thornton had never in his life raised his voice to a lady. He locked his jaw. “Proceed, Miss Hale,” he grow
led between his teeth.

  Her form, rigid and potent with the fury of a moment ago, withdrew somewhat as her face softened. She had not expected him to relent. “Simply this, sir. Had you never considered that my mother may have had those cherished loved ones who would risk the very gravest of consequences, simply that they might see her once more?”

  His mouth gaped. What could she be speaking of? “I have not the pleasure of understanding you, Miss Hale.”

  “Nor, I fancy, will I be able to enlighten you further. I only demand of your justice that you allow the possibility of… of other explanations for what you believed yourself to have witnessed. We both know of my failings regarding that event, and you have been good enough to keep the matter to yourself. I am not afraid of my shame- I quite deserve it- but you have shown yourself to be a man of the very highest honour in this business, Mr Thornton. I feel I owe you what explanation is within my power to offer without compromising another. Things are not as they likely appear to you. I am in your debt, Mr Thornton.”

  He stared dumbly, not realizing that his hand had begun to slacken and the heavy umbrella tilted rakishly to the side. Both of them stood once more unprotected from the rain. That blinding flash of her ire had spent itself, and she was looking back at him almost beseechingly, begging him to accept her explanations.

  He blinked and swallowed, making some effort to command himself. “Come, Miss Hale,” he murmured huskily. “I promised to see you to your door.” Her petite frame relaxed somewhat, and she meekly accepted his escort once more.

  ~

  “John! How pleased I am to see you!” Mr Hale’s gentle voice surprised him through the door as Miss Hale offered her cool parting civilities.

  Mr Thornton tore his longing eyes from her downturned face to greet his friend. “Mr Hale,” he nodded in acknowledgement.

  The father turned his curious gaze on his daughter. “Margaret?”

  “Mr Thornton was good enough to walk me home, Father.” She removed the drenched cape from her shoulders, hanging it to drip dry. With an uncomfortable little dip of her head, she bid Thornton her farewell and stepped behind her father.