Chapter 2

Mr. Thornton sat in the quiet of his office in the mill, his eyes drifting over the room to finally rest on the clock, whose faint ticking had drawn his dazed attention. He felt strangely calm at the moment. He had offered his heart once again, and now he could only wait for her response.

When would she find the note? What would she do? He had acted so impulsively, he had not had time to consider all the consequences of his deed.

What if he was mistaken? Perhaps he had been too eager to see what was not really there. Whisperings of doubt began to grow louder in his unsettled mind. Her demeanor towards him had softened. He knew this much, but did it mean that she cared for him?  It was possible that she was just being kind to her father’s friend.

But she had not wanted to leave Milton. No, more than that, she had said she had grown fond of it. He wanted to believe that he was the reason, and she had looked at him in such a way that he had felt his hope soar. Had she affection for him after all? What of the man at the Outwood Station? Had she given him up?

He thought he had seen longing in her eyes, but was it just the despair and loneliness of her grief? Her father had just died; it would be natural that she should feel uncertain and alone. He had wanted so desperately to believe that she might care for him that perhaps he had imagined he had seen it in her eyes. What a fool I have been! he thought, as the onslaught of his doubts battered against his wounded heart.

A loud rapping on the door interrupted the train of his tumultuous thoughts.

“Who is it?” Mr. Thornton barked, annoyed to be disturbed in his private enclave.

“It’s me, Higgins,” Nicholas clipped. “I’ve a message from Miss Margaret,” he announced through the door.

Mr. Thornton was at the door in an instant, flinging it open.  Higgins wore a slight grin, as he surveyed the bewildered expression of the hopeful lover.

Mr. Thornton stood staring, his body frozen in anticipation. Had she found the note already? “What is it?” he croaked, finally finding the presence of mind to speak.

“She asked me to tell you that her heart belongs in Milton,” he relayed carefully, watching the master closely.

Mr. Thornton was thunderstruck. She had answered him! His heart clattered in his chest, and his breath quickened as he attempted to comprehend the meaning of her words. Her heart belongs in Milton. To him? He’d asked for a sign if her feelings had changed. She had sent a message to him as a sign! She did care for him! She was telling him that her heart belonged to him!

“You’ll want to be quick about it, if you mean to catch her,” Higgins prodded, his smile having grown wider as he watched the myriad emotions play over the master’s face.

Mr. Thornton’s head jerked up to meet Higgins’ stare, surprised to discover someone speaking to him. His brow furrowed slightly and his eyes were distant, as he faintly nodded in acknowledgement of Higgins’ words. He bolted out of the door, as Higgins quickly stepped out of his way.

“You’ll be wanting a horse, she’s well on her way to the station by now!” Higgins called out after Mr. Thornton’s retreating figure, hoping his words would penetrate the befuddled brains of the Master of Marlborough Mills.

Thinking only that he must reach her in time, Mr. Thornton’s hands trembled as he helped the flustered stable boy ready the chestnut-brown stallion. A moment later, he mounted the horse in one sweeping motion and galloped away from the mill.

The steady clopping of the horse’s hooves matched the drumbeat of his heart. As he rode on, he began to realize the enormity of what was happening. If she truly loved him, she would become his wife! He must ask her again. The expectation of her acceptance seized him with a joy so profound that his body ached. How long he had dreamed of receiving her tender affections!

The freezing air whipped through the thin cotton of his sleeves, and numbed his hands, but he gave little heed to the cold, vaguely aware that he had neither coat nor gloves.  Instead, he fought to concentrate on what he should say. He only knew that he must try her again, and that he must hurry.

As he arrived at the station, he recalled the last time he’d seen Margaret there and the fleeting image of her in the embrace of the other man came unbidden to his thoughts. He pushed the vision aside as he jumped off the horse, swiftly hitched it, and ran in search of her, looking franticly across and down the length of the station platform. He glimpsed her a short distance away, standing apart near the open train.

“Miss Hale!” he called, striding toward her with his heart pounding in his chest.

Margaret gasped to hear his familiar voice, and turned to see Mr. Thornton making his way toward her. She was arrested by the sight of his tall, commanding frame without the traditional black covering of his coat.  Her eyes were drawn to the shape of his firm arms visible through the snow-dampened cotton sleeves.  She lifted her gaze to admire the strong, angular lines of his face and noticed his dark hair was glistening with melted snow.  His blue eyes seemed to pierce through her with a heated urgency, and she quivered within to think that such a man should love her.

“I have received word from Nicholas,” he began, catching his breath. There was no time to waste. “Margaret, I have never stopped loving you,” he declared fervently, his eyes searching hers. “Will you marry me?” he asked, his voice cracking with the intensity of his emotion.

“Margaret!” Aunt Shaw broke in, arriving at Margaret’s side in a breathless flurry, confusion spreading over her full face.  “Mr. Thornton!” she exclaimed with considerable shock, as she realized he was not properly attired. “Whatever is the matter? Is something wrong?” she asked with increasing alarm, looking quickly back and forth between the two of them.

Mr. Thornton opened his mouth, but no words came out. Margaret hastily intervened. “Mr. Thornton had something of significance to relate,” she offered.

Aunt Shaw cast her attention to Mr. Thornton, her expression growing dour in dubious consternation.  Noticing the stunned reaction of Mr. Thornton to her quick reply, Margaret continued on. “You see, Mr. Thornton and I have recently become engaged,” she announced with some authority, not daring to look at Mr. Thornton.

Mr. Thornton’s heart leapt in his chest in exaltation. She had accepted him! He was dumbfounded to hear those words from her mouth. Her very boldness thrilled him, yet caused a shadow of doubt to cross his mind. Had she another reason to accept his offer? Had he won her heart after all? It seemed too much like a dream.

Aunt Shaw was speechless as she looked from one to the other in an attempt to verify such an incredulous statement. “What? Is this true?” she sputtered. “Why have we not been told?” she demanded irritably.

“We have not had the chance to tell anyone,” Margaret replied honestly. She bowed her head to avoid the gaze of her aunt. “Everything has happened so suddenly since father died,” she said quietly, remembering the sorrow of the past few days.

“I see,” Aunt Shaw mused, her agitation mollified a little by the mention of Mr. Hale’s death.

A smile crept over Mr. Thornton’s face as the full realization of what was happening came over him. She had announced her intention to be his wife!  He had won her at last!

Margaret looked cautiously to Mr. Thornton to see how he had reacted to her brave deception, and was rewarded with a glorious smile. She smiled in return to think of how she had pleased him.

“Really! This is most irregular!” Aunt Shaw exclaimed in some confusion, not quite knowing how to continue. “This is hardly the time to conduct such a conversation,” she chastised.  She turned to face Mr. Thornton. “You are welcome to visit us in London, Mr. Thornton. However, Margaret must be given proper time to grieve for her father. You must understand.”

His radiant smile evaporated, and his expression darkened. Careful to sound composed, he was able to formulate the appropriate response. “Of course, I understand,” he managed to say, while his entire being screamed in silent agony at the thought of being torn from her now.  He wanted only the chance to hold her in his arms and hear her tell him that she loved him.  He swallowed hard, forcing himself to exude a tempered manner he was far from feeling.

He slowly turned his gaze to Margaret, and his breath stilled in rapturous wonder to find her soulful eyes regarding him with tender yearning.

They remained locked in a breathless stare for a moment until the final call for the London train was announced and Mr. Thornton reluctantly moved forward to help them board. Aunt Shaw was safely inside as Margaret stood in the doorway, facing him. He reached out to her and taking her hand, placed a lingering kiss on the back of it. He wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and enfold her in his arms.

He watched in amazement as she brought the hand he had kissed up to her face and pressed it to her own lips. The gesture was at once so innocent and yet so sensual that he felt his heart melt at her beauty while a kindling of heat rose from deep within him.

She lifted her luminous eyes to meet his mesmerized stare. She smiled wistfully at him and quickly whispered, “Write to me.” Then she turned to go.

He took several paces back to keep her within his sight, his eyes riveted to the object of his adoration. She seated herself in the window to discreetly look out, with her aunt seated across from her. They gazed longingly at each other while the train hissed and creaked as it pulled slowly away.

He didn’t move for several minutes. It was the second time he had watched her leave him today. He felt trapped in some Greek tragedy, with the gods laughing in derision at his plight. But then the heady recollection of what had occurred dawned on him. She had accepted him! She would be his wife! He, a cotton manufacturer of Milton, was to marry the lovely Miss Hale of Helstone! He sighed and closed his eyes to allow the reality to settle within.

Chapter 1

Margaret sat staring blankly at her father’s books, unable yet to comprehend the fact that she would no longer see him, or hear his voice.  He had been her last anchor to the carefree childhood she remembered. Since coming to Milton, life had seemed an endless struggle.  She had tried so hard to keep her parents happy, to be cheerful in the face of the hardship and pain. It was all too much. She felt adrift, lost in a merciless sea, the waves of which were relentlessly dragging her down until she felt she would finally sink. 

Now she was alone.  Both her parents were gone.  Aunt Shaw had come to take her away. She had lost her family and now she would lose her home, to become a permanent guest in her aunt’s home.  She would be swallowed up in the daily routine of her cousin Edith’s comfortable and pretty life.

“Oh, my dear, how you have suffered!” Aunt Shaw emphatically declared. “Dixon will stay and arrange an auction for everything,” she announced with an air of great decision.

Margaret stirred from her reverie to amend her aunt’s command. “Not all the books,” she pleaded.  It was all she had left of her father, books he had spent so much of his life reading and thinking about. They had shaped his very life. Indeed, she felt they had, in turn, led him to leave Helstone for Milton.

Milton. She would be leaving Milton now that she had come to appreciate it. She had grown to admire the industrious pace of the city and the practical, hard-working people who lived there. She was comfortable with their simpler, unpretentious ways.  She would miss seeing her friends Nicholas and Mary and the Boucher children.

“We are leaving immediately,” Aunt Shaw continued, increasingly convinced that Margret’s recovery depended upon it.  She stood with her handkerchief at the ready, gazing agitatedly at the cramped and cluttered room in the Hale’s house.  How Margaret had borne living here she could not imagine! This dirty, smoky town was offensive and utterly unsuitable for a proper family.  And to think her poor sister had been forced to move to this wretched place - no wonder she had died here!

“What suffering your father has caused,” she castigated, feeling quite justified in disparaging the man her sister never should have married.

Too weary to respond, Margaret thought of how her father had also suffered, bearing the burden of guilt for bringing his family to such an unfamiliar place. He had watched his wife descend into despondency and become slowly weaker with disease.

Her mother had hated coming to Milton, and her father had been well aware of it. Margaret had tried to mend her mother’s spirit and had outwardly kept a light heart for her parents’ sake.  There was no helping her mother, though. She succumbed to resentment and bitterness.

Oh, Father!  I do not resent you. I will not regret the time I lived here, where you brought us.  It had opened up whole new worlds for her. Everything had been so different from Helstone, she had been overwhelmed by the stark change.  But father had embraced the change, had seemed to thirst for it.  He had been so hopeful to begin a new life as a tutor and scholar.  And she knew he had thrived on his discussions with Mr. Thornton.

She would no longer see Mr. Thornton.  The realization of it cast a shadow of desolation over her.  She told herself it would be proper to visit the Thorntons before leaving. They had been her parents’ only friends. She must let Mr. Thornton know how much his friendship had meant to her father. 

“I must say good-bye to all our friends,” she requested plaintively, a faint glimmer of her usual self-determination coming to life.

 “I can’t see what friends you could have here!”  Aunt Shaw exclaimed with disdain.  “I will help you say good-bye and then we are leaving this horrible place for good!” she decided with authority.

Margaret stood up unsteadily, glancing around the room.  It came to her then what she should do.  She furtively perused the titles of the books piled on the furniture surrounding her.  Grabbing the object she sought, she slowly headed for the door, somberly casting her eyes over the Crampton home for the last time.

***

Margaret looked dazedly out the window as the carriage clattered through the streets to Marlborough Mills. She did not want to think of Mr. Thornton, but found herself inevitably drawn to his image time and again. In her mind, he was unsmiling, his stern brow creased in displeasure. It grieved her to think she was the cause of it. Oh, everything had gone so horribly wrong! If only she had not been tempted to lie, he might have still held her in some esteem. She dared not ruminate upon what he must think of her now.

She hated to leave Milton before she had a chance to redeem herself in his eyes. Why did she care so much for his good opinion? She felt the awful irony of her plight. She who had held him in contempt now desperately wishing for his kind judgment.  How ignorant she had been! And how harshly she had treated him!

More than anything, she wanted him to know that she had changed her estimation of him.  She wished that he could know how much she had come to appreciate the strength and goodness of his character.  She was filled with remorse to remember the times her callous words had hurt him. She hoped now to speak so kindly to him that her gentle words would linger in his mind and come to replace those unpleasant memories she had instilled.

As their coach approached the familiar gates of Marlborough Mills, Margaret felt a knot begin to form in her stomach. The sight of the place brought to mind her actions on the day of the riot and the unfathomable chain of events that had ensued.

He had spoken of his love for her the morning after the riot. She had not known it then, but she had since learned that he had spoken truly, as he always did.

There was no use in thinking of it. It was in the past and nothing could be done.  She had cast aside his love and he had since renounced his passion for her.  But the thought of his honest affections had never left her. The words he had spoken still echoed in her consciousness, although she might try to ignore them.

After her mother had died, it seemed that everything had spun out of her control. She felt like a helpless observer, watching with trepidation as the Fates wove the myriad threads of her life into an intricate tapestry which could not be unraveled or altered by mere mortals.

The jerk of the carriage as it came to a halt reawakened her to the task ahead. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she emerged into the cold.