In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South Page 21

  Unable to meet each other’s gaze, they stood awkwardly as they listened with anxious impatience to her father’s last retreating footsteps until the only the sound that remained was the throbbing of their own heartbeats in their ears.

  “Will you come on Tuesday ... if you are not otherwise occupied?” Margaret stammered, staring at the buttons of his waistcoat.

  “I will come if at all possible,” he answered readily, noting how beautiful she was in her timidity — her lashes fluttered and her cheeks glowed with all feminine modesty and grace.

  “I enjoyed our walk,” she offered haltingly, her gaze still cast down.

  “As did I,” he responded unequivocally in low tones that mesmerized her, beckoned her to look at him.

  She bravely lifted her eyes to him at last, and fell instantly under his power.

  He took a step toward her instinctively and she raised her face to his, helplessly scanning it for his intent.

  He placed his hands gently at her waist and bent to bestow one last parting kiss, in hopeful wonder at the sparkle of longing in her eyes.

  Their lips clung. He could not relinquish contact and she made no move to retract from him. Their lips mingled slowly at first in tremulous restraint and then with growing rapture as neither withdrew from such a pleasant exchange.

  He curled his fingers at her waist to bring her closer, and she melted under his possession like wax to flame.

  Margaret felt her insides burn with the impulse to cast aside all restraint and follow wherever he would lead. She slid her arms up around his neck to hold more securely to him.

  Mr. Thornton groaned to feel her soft form against his; his body quaked at her submission. His ardor increased and she answered him in kind until lips and mouths moved in a desperate frenzy to convey all that had yet been unspoken.

  Emboldened by her response, he sought to taste the very essence of her. Wave after wave of molten desire coursed through his body as he took deep draughts of her and she quivered to give what he would take in unrestrained passion, all pretense of tepid affection now banished forever.

  Margaret felt as if her body were on fire, all her emotions unleashed. Alarmed at the strong urge to melt further into his arms and abandon herself entirely to his mercy, Margaret disengaged herself from him at once and buried her cheek against his shoulder in flustered shame. Her heart beat wildly in her breast.

  “I love you,” she whispered in dizzy admission, as if to absolve herself of such wanton impulses. Her hands trembled helplessly as she grasped his waistcoat. Was this love then? A wild, uncontrollable need to be near him, to feel his touch?

  His raging desire subsided as his heart leaped to hear the words he had once believed she would never utter.

  “Margaret?” he murmured hoarsely in stupefied wonder, not quite believing he had heard her aright. His arms fairly shook in tremulous hope as he pulled back from her to fervently search her face. His breath stilled as she raised her eyes to his.

  “I love you,” she repeated, unable to speak above a whisper, but meeting his gaze with a fierce determination to wipe any doubt from his mind.

  A flood of aching joy coursed through him at seeing the look of love in her eyes. He gathered her in his arms and pressed her to him, stunned by her earnest confession.

  “Margaret!” he murmured again, brushing his lips over her temple in delirious rapture at the silken feel of her, then nuzzling into her sweet-smelling hair. His arms caressed her back as he kept her close, incredulous that she should finally be all his. She loved him! How he had longed to know if it could so soon be true. How he wanted to take her home and show her how much he loved her, needed her. My God, how he needed her!

  “When will you marry me? We have not spoken of it,” he rasped as his lips continued to hungrily graze over the tender skin by her ear and nearer her neck, drinking in her presence, craving to be bound to her forevermore.

  Margaret drew back to face him, shivering as she roused herself from the drunken bliss of his tender possession.

  “My mother isn’t well ...” she began weakly, unable to answer the intensity of his searching gaze.

  He knew well her reservations. “You must know that I would not hold you prisoner in my house. You would wish to visit your mother often ... all day perhaps,” he faltered, not wishing to bring up the unpleasant thought of what lay ahead. “I only ask that you come home to me every evening,” he implored, his voice low and gravelly with emotion.

  She dropped her eyes from his pleading gaze. A deep blush crept up from within and spread an effusion of warmth through her body at the thought of belonging to him during the midnight hours.

  “I will not press you for an answer,” he said gently after some time, noting her uneasiness. “But you must promise you will tell me as soon as the date is set,” he urged earnestly.

  She nodded in compliance, although she could not yet look at him.

  “Until Tuesday, then,” he reluctantly announced, taking his hat.

  ‘Yes,” she answered, bringing her eyes to his once more.

  His heart lurched to see the gleam of affection in her eyes. He gave her a soft smile and turned quickly to leave before the impulse to take her into his arms again could overpower him.

  The door closed with a gentle click, but the reality of his sudden absence was harsh, leaving the room cold and empty. How she would bear the remainder of the day without him, she did not know.

  *****

  Margaret was quiet at dinner. Keeping her head bowed slightly over her plate, she meekly answered her father’s inquiries about Mr. Thornton’s busy schedule, giving only fleeting glances in his direction.

  It was a relief to the besotted girl when bedtime finally arrived and she was free to contemplate all that had stirred her so effectually. She brushed her long hair and gazed reflectively at the mirror, hardly recognizing the woman who stared back at her. How much had changed in one day, she could scarcely fathom. But she knew she was no longer the girl who had eagerly dreamed of his attentions this morning. She had tasted his love. His powerful kisses had aroused in her something dangerous and thrilling in its intensity.

  She laid the brush down and padded to the bed to quickly slip under the crisp bed sheets. Lying in the dark, her mind raced to make sense of all that had happened. Her feelings had been wild and overpowering, and she was quite certain she had not behaved in a manner becoming a lady of gentle breeding.

  She felt a stinging pang of guilt for having abandoned all her practiced self-control. But her conscience struggled against unjust condemnation. She had been overcome by the feelings he had stirred in her. Surely, it could not be wrong to express the love she held in her heart to one who would soon be her husband.

  Her husband. She was certain he wished to make no delay in marrying, and her pulse quickened as she recalled how ardently he requested that she should come home to him each evening.

  Heat rose from her belly and warmed her face as she wondered what it would be like to belong to him at night. She did not know exactly what passed between a man and a woman that distinguished the marital bed. She had heard whispered tittering from village women long ago, and was not ignorant of the cycle of propagation among animals, but a flush of nervous apprehension coursed through her to imagine the natural coupling of man and wife.

  She closed her eyes and felt once more the press of his mouth on hers, the exquisite sensation of succumbing to his ardent possession. All the rushing intensity of emotions returned to her as she envisioned being held tightly against him.

  She did not know what would be required of her; she only knew she must give herself wholly to him. Something deep within twisted and throbbed at the thought of becoming his wife.

  With quick determination, she turned herself onto her side to stem the tide of such thoughts. There would be time enough to dwell on such things, she reasoned. She should not rush to imagine the future. Everything would unfold naturally in due course.

  What mattered most was
that she trusted him. The tension in her body lessened as she considered how tenderly he treated her. She could never be afraid of being in his arms. She smiled. No, that was where she most longed to be.

  *****

  Mr. Thornton threw off his shirt and leaned over the porcelain basin to make his nightly ablutions. Relieved to be at liberty to allow his mind to wander, he thought of his mother’s curious glances this evening and smiled. She had detected something of his happiness, but he had no explanation to give other than that he had very much enjoyed his walk with Margaret. He could not explain how his world had changed — how a lovers’ exchange of a few precious moments could transform his existence into one of such vibrant glory.

  He dried himself off with languorous ease and tugged a loose nightshirt over his strong, muscled form. He had found it almost impossible to concentrate this evening on figures and accounts when his whole being exalted in the glorious memory of what she had said and what they had shared. The smiles that came now to his face were irrepressible. Waves of radiant joy had overtaken him countless times since he had descended the stairs at the Crampton house.

  He climbed into his broad oak bed, pulled a sheet to his chest, and lay motionless on his back. His lips curved into a beaming smile again. She loved him! The contemplation of it drove all rational thought from his mind. He did not know how he would manage his mill at present, for he could not think of anything but her. All he could feel was the palpitating, powerful, sweet euphoria of being loved by her.

  As he lay in the dark, alone in his bed, he remembered vividly how she had clung to him with shivering passion. How willingly she had yielded to him! His pulse began to hammer erratically as he began to imagine how it would feel to lie next to her and pull her body to his.

  He sat up quickly, attempting to break the tantalizing train of his thoughts. There would be time enough for such dreaming, he chastised himself. At present, it should be enough to bask in the knowledge that he had won her heart.

  He lay back down, resting his head on his pillow, and attempted to reclaim the more tranquil reflections of his great happiness.

  But inevitably, the vision returned of her lying next to him, wrapping her arms about his neck and pulling herself close to nestle against him. He let out a long breath — a faint groan — of shaking longing to hold her.

  He didn’t know when the dream would become a reality, but he prayed he would not have to endure such torturous yearning for long.

  Chapter Twelve

  Maria Hale woke with a start and opened her eyes to stare blindly at the darkness of the hour. She felt the cold uneasiness of some horrible dream, although she could not conjure the images that had left her feeling frightened and confused.

  The dull ache in her body gave a twinge of protracted pain, and she tightened her muscles in dread. Closing her eyes, she prepared to endure it. Quietly, and as swiftly as it had entered, the pain ebbed after a few moments until all that was left was the familiar feeling of discomfort.

  She sighed in some relief and took a few easy breaths to calm her shaking fear. But a lingering dread remained, haunting her thoughts and tracing the pictures of her future with an ominous hand of doom.

  She could no longer deny it, even to herself. She was fast sinking into the morass of decline, being pulled ever closer to the final portal of death from which all mortals shrank.

  Tears sprung to her eyes in helplessness and she offered up a prayer that the Lord would grant the last humble requests of an earthly mother before taking her to her eternal home.

  *****

  Margaret slipped silently into her mother’s room at mid-morning. A chill of fear crept into her veins as she noted at once the sallow cheek, wearied posture, and wan look of despair on her mother’s face.

  “Mother?” the worried daughter called out, alerting the pensive sufferer to her presence.

  “Oh, Margaret!” her mother returned with hopeful vigor, her features at once brightening at her daughter’s appearance, although there remained a trace of sadness in her eyes. “I’ve been waiting to talk to you,” she said, as she straightened herself with importance.

  Margaret took a seat next to her mother on the sofa, awaiting her mother’s news with anxious curiosity.

  “I believe you have a fond affection for Mr. Thornton, is that not so?” Mrs. Hale asked delicately.

  Margaret blushed at this unexpected overture. “Yes … I do,” she answered, glancing briefly at her hands, clasped gently on her lap.

  “I’m pleased to hear it, dear. I am certain he will be very good to you,” she remarked as she patted her daughter’s knee with an assuring smile. “You see, I have been considering it all very carefully. If we were to set the date for the twenty-eighth, and send out the invitations quickly, the guests would have over a fortnight’s notice….”

  “The twenty-eighth? Of this month, Mother?” Margaret interrupted, her eyes widening with surprise. Edith’s wedding had been arranged in six weeks’ time and it had been an exhausting trial of constant activity and attention to detail.

  “Why, yes — of course. I know it seems hasty, but I believe with Mrs. Thornton’s help, everything could be arranged properly….”

  Margaret only heard fragments of her mother’s continued speech, as her mind raced to comprehend the significance of this rush to the altar. She would be married soon. Her heart pattered with conflicting pulses of elation and nervous apprehension. She had somehow imagined the interval of her engagement would naturally be of longer duration.

  “But, Mother,” she hastened to add, “it takes three weeks for the banns to be read.”

  “Yes, precisely so. And three weeks from today the banns will have been read,” she logically returned. “My dear,” she exclaimed with compassion at Margaret’s stupefied expression. “You must understand … I wish to see you married. It would make me happy,” she said more softly as she averted her gaze, a sweep of melancholy draining the recent animation from her features.

  Margaret’s heart twisted in bitter sorrow at her mother’s implied meaning, and she chastised herself for not comprehending at once her mother’s reasons for such hasty plans. She foundered in silence for a few moments, gathering her composure as she endeavored to make a comforting reply. “I’m certain all can be accomplished as you see it, Mother, if we put our minds to it,” she agreed meekly, resolving to do her utmost to make it so.

  “Yes, I believe so,” Mrs. Hale said more energetically. “It may not be a terribly grand wedding with so little time to prepare, but I believe Mrs. Thornton is very proficient in her dealings. I feel confident she can help us make a rather splendid affair of it with astute planning.”

  The bride-to-be strained to pay attention as her mother excitedly elaborated upon the details that Margaret should present to Mrs. Thornton as soon as possible. But as the various words danced in her head, her body tingled with a strangely pleasant apprehension at the thought of how Mr. Thornton would react to this announcement.

  “It is a pity you did not see a dress maker while you were in London. Of course, I have saved my wedding dress in case you might want to use it, but I fear you have a more ample figure than mine. I’m not certain if quality dress makers can be found here in Milton,” her mother lamented.

  Margaret was suddenly struck with the image of appearing before the gathered congregation of Milton’s most influential citizens, which Mrs. Thornton would undoubtedly invite to witness her son wed the hitherto unknown girl from Hampshire. She yearned to look resplendent, not for her own vanity, but so that he might feel pride in showing the world his bride.

  She roused herself from her dreaming to consider what apparel might be suitable. “I have several fine gowns. Perhaps with a bit of satin and lace, they could be made into something presentable,” she suggested hopefully.

  “Oh no, you must have something new for your wedding day!” Mrs. Hale protested, before another possibility dawned on her. “Miss Thornton seems to dress in the latest fashion. Per
haps she knows of an excellent dress maker!”

  Her daughter nodded in acknowledgment of this possibility.

  “It will do my heart good to see you married in elegant style, Margaret,” her mother proclaimed as she twisted a dainty handkerchief in her hands.

  Margaret sensed a lingering wistfulness in her tone and looked expectantly to her mother for her next words.

  “I can’t help wishing Frederick could attend. How awful it is to think he cannot see his own sister married!” she lamented, petulant dismay furrowing her pale brow. “Oh Margaret, he must come — even if he cannot be seen by others, we should have him here with us at last! Is it too much to ask for a mother to see her boy once more? I have suffered so much — I must see my boy before I die! ” she wailed before burying her face into her handkerchief with choking sobs.

  “I’m sure he can be summoned this once, Mother, if you wish it,” Margaret soothed, laying a comforting hand on her mother’s knee. Her stomach clenched in anxious dread at this singular request.

  Her mother sniffed and complained bitterly that Frederick had ever joined the Navy. Seven years her boy had been forced into exile. She bemoaned her own fate, despairing of ever seeing him again and implored Margaret with pitiable cries to write to him at once.

  There was nothing for Margaret to do but to assure her ailing mother that she would write to Frederick immediately. She was certain it could not be wrong to allow her mother the chance to gaze upon the face of her beloved son once more.

  After discussing a few more details as to the wedding and being reminded by her mother to write Fred’s letter and visit Mrs. Thornton at once, Margaret left her mother in Dixon’s care. Somewhat dazed and confused by such an eventful morning, she hurried to accomplish her first task.