Nicholas shrugged. “Says ‘e likes the childer, and isn’a often ‘e can sit with’em. ‘E’s not a’ bad, Miss Marg’et. Even ‘ad some idea ‘bout a kitchen a’ the mill. ‘T’would never work, but me and the lads, we talked it o’er some, ‘ad some ideas.”
“In other words,” Margaret smiled knowingly, “you like his idea, but you do not want him to be the one to see it carried out.”
Higgins’ bristling cheeks plumped into a grin. “Mr ‘Ale, sir, you ‘ave a right clever lass ‘ere.”
Chapter Eleven
The evening of the dinner party came at last. On his arrival, Thornton had quickly found Watson and Hamper, and it had seemed safe to cloister himself with them. Their conversation would demand very little of his actual attention and at the same time deter any unwanted feminine company.
He tugged uncomfortably at the wider cravat he had worn this evening and surveyed the room. Fanny had instantly taken up with a foursome of other young ladies at the far end of the house. One was the very Miss Hamilton who had him so flustered.
He watched discreetly and from a safe distance. Genevieve Hamilton had a fine figure- slim in all of the right places, generous in others. She carried herself with an easy grace, and the rich wine-coloured gown she had chosen lent warmth to her lively features. There could be no argument that she was a very beautiful woman. Clever enough, too, he remembered. He had determined to spend much time this evening observing her, to decide if his mother were correct and if his own traitorous feelings were truly leading him astray.
It was possible- no, probable- that a marriage into the Hamilton family would secure not only the immediate survival of the mill, but its long-term future. Indeed, that was only the beginning! Stuart Hamilton would one day pass the reins of his little empire to his pampered son and coddled daughter, neither of whom had a steady enough hand for such an undertaking. No doubt, whomever Genevieve chose as her husband would truly end up as the power behind the accounts.
He tried to imagine marriage to her. His face pinched in revulsion. It felt unfaithful, somehow, to even consider the notion when his heart was already sworn to another- the one who would not have him. He closed his eyes and swallowed. His mother was right. He had to make some effort. Perhaps his stubborn heart was truly doing him a disservice.
He made up his mind to talk to her, and had only just excused himself to make his way across the room when he saw her break off from her companions. Another guest had arrived. As she went to greet the newcomer, Thornton followed her movement and froze, his face alight. Suddenly, there was only one woman in the room, and she was not Genevieve Hamilton.
~
Margaret forced herself not to clutch her father’s arm nervously as they entered the large antechamber. Silly, she chided herself, this house is no grander than any I have known in London, and the family of considerably less standing than some of Aunt Shaw’s friends! She was taught better than to cower before finery. She glanced worriedly at her father, but his expression so far was open and cheerful, with no symptom of distress or fatigue.
At the entrance, she once again met Mrs Hamilton and was introduced to her husband. Margaret spared him little attention, though her father remained some minutes getting reacquainted with his host. Margaret arched up to her full height, searching the room for any familiar faces. She found Genevieve and caught her eye.
“Margaret, darling, I am so pleased you could come!” Genevieve wove through the swirl of guests and made her way to Margaret’s side.
“No more than I,” she took her friend’s hand. “I am honoured by your invitation.”
“Oh, Margaret, you will not believe- why we are all talking about it! Only look at old Mrs Smith’s headpiece. It looks like a peacock landed in a nest!”
Margaret’s gaze followed Genevieve’s indication and saw, indeed, a truly memorable work of art adorning the woman’s hair. Her eyebrows rose. “I am sure it took a great deal of trouble to arrange.”
“Ah, I knew you would find some tactful comment! You are too good, Margaret. Oh, but come, let me introduce you around. Let me see- oh! Mr Thornton, good evening!” Genevieve quickly lifted her hand for him to take, and this time she was not disappointed.
Margaret’s wide eyes flew to his face. How foolish of her not to have expected him to be in attendance! It was easier now to speak with him in private, or if she were prepared, but an unexpected meeting in public was a great deal more than she had anticipated. She took a deep breath, calming herself. Who was she to be so rattled?
“Good evening, Miss Hamilton,” he returned the greeting smoothly, but his attention moved to Margaret even as he withdrew his hand from Genevieve.
Extending it in his customary handshake to Margaret, his voice carefully measured, he smiled. “Good evening, Miss Hale.” Before he could stop it, his gaze swept from her strong, delicate arms to her bare, sculptured shoulders, held square and proud, and brushed lightly over her exposed décolletage before returning to her face. It was a treat to again see her so attired.
Margaret caught her breath at his warm touch. The way he was looking at her… it was like his own dinner party all over again. She forced herself to speak, but her voice trembled slightly. “Good evening, Mr Thornton. How does your mother this evening?”
“Very well, Miss Hale. I believe she is just through the next room.” He stopped short of the quip he had been about to make regarding his mother’s intentions to keep a close eye on Fanny. Margaret might, perhaps, have found it amusing. He would admit to a nearly insatiable desire to see her laugh again, but he had to remind himself that he was not alone with her.
Genevieve, watchful now, observed the shy smiles and tense greetings the pair exchanged with a twinge of displeasure. Goodness, they were both nearly blushing! She had looked for such a reaction from Margaret, but not from Mr Thornton himself. Clearly Emmeline was right, that there was, or had been, something between them. A diversion was certainly in order.
“Oh, look, Margaret, just over there!” She placed a hand on her friend’s arm. “That is Mr Draper, the gentleman you wished to meet. You will excuse us, will you not, Mr Thornton? Come, let me- oh! Mother, what is it?”
Mrs Hamilton, looking greatly disturbed, approached and leaned near to her daughter with low words. The others watched her face change to a look of annoyance.
Genevieve at length turned back to them, after a brief struggle to compose her features. “I beg you would excuse me, there is a matter my mother in which my mother begs my assistance.” She smiled at Margaret and dipped gracefully to Thornton as she took her leave.
Thornton was elated to have Margaret all to himself for the moment. Never before had it required his concerted efforts not to stare at a woman, but when Margaret Hale was at his side, he could not drink in her presence enough. Everything from her rich, heavy coils of shining dark hair, framing delicately around her angelic face, to the form-fitting white gown he remembered so well… ah, here was the Creator’s masterpiece. Except… yes, except that she was not quite perfect. He must remember that, and not make a fool of himself again!
He led her to the sideboard. “May I help you to a drink before dinner, Miss Hale?”
Margaret glanced hesitantly over her shoulder before answering.
“Your father is still talking to Mr Hamilton,” he supplied. “I believe he has already seen us and will find us again shortly.”
She looked back in mild surprise. “Of course. Thank you,” she said as she accepted the drink he offered. She took a hurried sip, for no other reason than to break his intense eye contact.
“I was pleased to discover that you and your father were in attendance this evening,” he continued lightly. “It is always agreeable to find good friends in such a gathering, is it not?”
Her eyes darted back to his strangely. She swallowed hard and lowered her glass. “It is, indeed, Mr Thornton.”
“I did not realize that you were such intimates with Mis
s Hamilton.”
“I have only just become acquainted with her. I believe we shall come to be very good friends.”
“Do you? I would not have imagined her to your taste,” he mused thoughtlessly.
“I beg your pardon!” she set her glass down a little more roughly than she had intended. “What business is it of yours?”
“None at all, Miss Hale,” he backpedaled quickly. “Perhaps I am mistaken in the sort of company you prefer.”
“What can possibly make you think I would not be pleased to know an educated, well-traveled, and intelligent lady of nearly my own age?”
“It is not the peripherals, but the particulars I think of. Her disposition strikes me as quite different from your own.”
Margaret was truly becoming irritated now. “If you know her so well, then, do enlighten me! I am curious about the nature of your relationship with the lady, Mr Thornton.” She tipped her chin up and stared him down.
His eyes widened and he wished he could tug at his collar again. “I can claim no such intimacy as you presume, Miss Hale. My opinion is merely based on observing you both. I make it my business to learn characters quickly.”
She cocked a brow. “And have you never been mistaken, Mr Thornton?”
He gulped and set his drink down to purchase him a second. “I have, Miss Hale,” he murmured quietly. He raised his eyes again to hers. “I hope I have in some measure made amends for my wrong assumptions.”
Her expression softened. She inclined her head gently, allowing him the point without a verbal concession. Thornton reclaimed his drink and began swirling it as a distraction, and soon Margaret did likewise. They stood uncomfortably for a moment, looking anywhere but at each other.
Margaret was about to make her excuse when he spoke again. “Did Miss Hamilton intend to introduce you to Mr Draper?”
She looked up in surprise. “Yes, he apparently operates some sort of a charity. I asked to learn more of it.”
He pressed his lips tightly together, looking back at his drink.
Margaret lifted that delicate brow again. “You do not approve of Mr Draper,” she observed.
“I think he could do better with his time,” he answered in a neutral tone.
“Better than helping his fellow man?” she challenged.
He looked down without speaking for a moment. At length, he replied, “There are charitable organizations which are useful, and those which are not, Miss Hale. I would not like to think of you wasting all of your worthy intentions.”
“Something is better than nothing,” she insisted. She glared blankly across the room, seeking to control her tongue. “You may take books to one family, Mr Thornton, but what of the others?”
He turned sharply in mute surprise.
“It was good of you,” she continued more gently, “but there is so much more to be done. I must applaud Mr Draper’s efforts, even if they yet bear little fruit.”
His face darkened. “An organization such as that is no better than the man at the head. You gain little by condescension and compromise.”
Margaret felt a swell of fury. “You speak so of another gentleman! You, who have done so little yourself! How do you dare, sir?”
Little! He bristled. “I only try to warn you, Miss Hale! Do you presume to have never been deceived or misled?” He leveled a significant gaze.
She narrowed her eyes and stepped nearer. “Never, sir. I will thank you to allow me to depend upon my own judgement!”
He rolled his eyes and turned away in disgust. She, who had so many times proven herself wise and mature beyond her years, could be so naive! She seemed to have a terrible knack for trusting the wrong people.
A laugh from another corner of the room brought him the sudden realization that they had once again been standing toe to toe in a heated debate. Their voices might be low, but all of the room could see if they cared to. “Let us speak of this another time, Miss Hale. I do not wish to argue with you at such a gathering as this.”
She glared at him. “You are correct, sir. It is so much more pleasant to argue in privacy.” She handed him her drink, reclaimed her elegant bearing, and swept away.
His shoulders sagged and he chewed his lower lip in frustration. There, he had gone and done it again! He had only intended to help, but Margaret was furious with him. Blasted was any hope of asking to accompany her at dinner. He watched in helpless vexation as Genevieve Hamilton and Margaret once again found each other. A moment later, he saw Genevieve introduce her to Rupert Hamilton, who was making his first appearance of the evening. This did little to improve his mood.
“Oh, there you are, John!”
He tore his attention from the white gown across the room. “Good evening, Mr Hale,” he greeted with as much enthusiasm as he could summon.
“I thought I saw Margaret with you. I expect she must be mingling.” The old man glanced about, searching for his daughter.
Thornton indicated in the direction which still held his interest. “She is with Miss Hamilton.”
“Ah, of course. Margaret seems very taken with her. It was very thoughtful of her to have invited us this evening.” He searched the mass of young people until he found his daughter.
“What a lovely group of young ladies! I declare, John, it does give a man pleasure to see it,” Mr Hale beamed in satisfaction.
Thornton sighed and looked away for good. “Indeed, it does.”
~
Rupert Hamilton instantly attached himself to Margaret. He made it his sworn purpose to make the sophisticated and thoughtful Miss Hale laugh as many times as he could that evening. So far, he was up to four.
“...And so Williams bet the sorrel, though his jockey swore the horse was lame, but wouldn’t you know it, Miss Hale, the nag lagged in the backstretch but caught them just at the wire and won! Jackson- you remember, my friend who lost his shirt- he says old Williams paid them off, but I said he could not possibly have afforded to, after allowing his wife to redecorate!” Rupert’s little audience burst into gales of laughter, many of them well acquainted with tales of Rupert’s extravagant friends from London.
Margaret chuckled softly, more at Rupert Hamilton’s expressive storytelling than his actual tale. It troubled her that he would be so coarse as to laugh at the expense of his friend’s marital harmony, but that was the way with some of Edith’s friends too. She had convinced herself that while it might be in poor taste, it did little enough harm.
“Miss Hale, you are very quiet,” Rupert boldly claimed her hand and linked it through his arm, leading her a little away from his audience. “I realize I must not be very interesting after all of the dreadful matters you people in Milton have had to suffer of late.”
She smiled. “No, I find your tales amusing, sir.”
“Ah,” he guessed, “you do not think I can be serious. I see it! Come, Miss Hale, try me. What shall we speak of next?”
“What can you tell me of Mr Draper over there?” She flicked her gaze across the room to a middle-aged man who appeared engrossed in conversation with Mr Smith.
“Draper! Oh, he’s a brick. Solid chap, Miss Hale. Oh, of course, Gen told me you met his wife Emma! She’s a doll, is she not, Miss Hale? Did you want to meet him?”
“Very much.”
“Easily done.” He walked her across the room.
As they passed by, Fanny Thornton could hardly keep from glaring daggers in Margaret’s direction. While Rupert Hamilton’s attention had been distracted, that oaf James Watson had caught her alone. She’d had no choice but to agree to be his dinner companion. She pouted into her drink. This was not how she had imagined the evening turning out.
“Such a shame, darling,” Genevieve Hamilton murmured as she sidled close.
“I simply do not understand what he could see in her,” Fanny grumbled.
“Oh, you know Rupert! He is only playing the gallant because she is a new acquaintance. You’ve nothing to worry
about, for I declare he will be back in your drawing room within the week.”
Fanny, somewhat encouraged, tilted her head with a little “Hmmf.” She glanced about as though she were about to share a great secret, but her voice could be clearly heard. “Do you know, that is the very same gown she wore at our house months ago! She has done something at the neckline and I think that is new lace about the bodice, but I declare it is the very one. Can you believe it?”
Genevieve tipped her shoulders and smiled. “I expect she must have to make do. What a mercy that we do not have such a difficulty! I always feel I look my best in something fresh and new, do not you?”
Fanny frowned in Margaret’s direction. “Your brother finds the old one interesting enough.”
“As does yours,” Genevieve mused.
“John! Not at all! Why, anyone could see earlier that they can hardly stand to talk to one another.”
“Is that what it was?” Genevieve wondered.
“Believe me, he is quite taken with you. I know him well, you know. He would never marry Margaret Hale! She is always so grave. I always feel as if she is looking down on me. Me! I do not care for a lady who puts on airs,” she sniffed.
“And what are you two talking about?” Emmeline Draper sashayed over to them, looking terribly sultry in her new green gown. Neither had to answer before she picked upon the cold looks Fanny was sending across the room. “Ah, I see my husband has met your friend. I am sure he will find some pamphlets for her to distribute or something.”
Fanny snickered. “Did you see her shaking hands with all of the men like a tradesman? I think she tries a little too hard to fit in in the North.”
Emmeline pursed her lips. “Your brother was the one who moved first, I saw. There you have it, Gen. The gentlemen treat her like one of their mates from the club, not a lady.”
“Absolutely,” Fanny agreed with a definitive jerk of her head. “They will find her tiresome soon enough.”
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