Chapter 30
Chapter thirty
The very next morning, Mr. Hale sent a message to his favorite pupil, requesting that he come that evening to discuss an urgent matter. It pained Mr. Hale to use more forceful language than was his nature, but he would follow his wife’s urging at nearly any cost now.
Fanny bustled into the room where her mother was sewing and thinking.
“Why hasn’t Johnny asked Miss Hale to marry him yet?
I cannot bear to suffer the looks I got this morning when I went to Jenny Foster’s house.
It’s all over town about what happened, and people are asking me about his wedding!
Doesn’t he know what he is doing to the family? ” she whined.
Mrs. Thornton heaved a silent sigh. Although she had no compunction to save Miss Hale’s reputation—let the girl find her own way out of the muddle she had created for herself—Mrs. Thornton had a powerful impulse to save her own son’s pride by keeping what had transpired secret.
Perhaps Miss Hale would see the predicament she was truly in and come to her senses, God help us all.
“It’s all very well for others to speculate on John’s affairs.
They have not considered how much he has to manage at this time with the Irish and the number of hands wanting to return to their work.
He’s not had time to consider other matters,” she answered, which she told herself was mostly the truth.
“It’s just like John not to understand how crucial it is to abide by the rules of society!
He’s shown no interest in courting Violet or any other of my friends.
His every thought is on the mill, always the mill and never anything else.
I half wonder if he does not realize what everyone is saying,” Fanny complained.
“It is a very delicate matter, Fanny. Marriage is a very serious consideration, not merely a venture of social standing. You must give your brother grace to resolve this situation on his own terms,” Mrs. Thornton answered, uncertain what else she could say.
“Well, he ought to know that Miss Hale’s reputation will be ruined and he will be ridiculed forever if he does not make an offer for her!” Fanny exclaimed with finality before quitting the room as swiftly as she had entered it.
Mrs. Thornton dropped her needlework in her lap and bowed her head in despair.
There was no good end to the present dilemma.
If Miss Hale changed her mind and married her son, there would be no returning to the old ways of life.
And if Miss Hale never consented to marry John, the social scars would land more directly on the girl.
What Mrs. Thornton feared most was the scarring of her son’s heart.
To be rejected by the one woman he had built his intentions upon would be—was—painful for him.
And she would always curse the girl if he never wholly recovered from it.
She sighed again, hoping that a solution would present itself to put an end to the matter. The rumors be damned, she only wished peace for her son again, however it might come.
At mid-morning, Mr. Thornton sat at his desk, staring at the note in his hand.
A pall of dread fell over him. He well knew what Mr. Hale wished to discuss.
But Margaret had already decided, hadn’t she?
He had no desire to present himself to her again.
The thought of her complying to marry him against her will was detestable to him.
If she did not want him, he would walk away.
He would not constrain her. He could never live like that.
He inhaled deeply and let out an inaudible sigh. Out of respect for Mr. Hale, he would go tonight. But he would steel his heart against any hope that she would change her estimation of him.
After he had seen to all the preparations necessary to begin the mill’s operations on the morrow, Mr. Thornton yet had one more pressing meeting to attend.
He changed his clothes after dinner and made ready to leave the house.
“Where are you going?” Mrs. Thornton inquired of her son, surprised so see him leaving the house again after a long day’s work.
It was not Thursday, when he usually headed out for his lesson with Mr. Hale.
“Mr. Hale has requested to speak to me tonight…on an urgent matter.” He gave her a pointed look.
She understood at once.
“I’ll hear Mr. Hale out, but I’ll not force Miss Hale against her wishes,” he continued.
Mrs. Thornton clamped her mouth shut. Force her? It galled her to think of the upstart southerner needing to be forced into marrying her son. Why, any other girl in Milton would exalt in their fortune to be chosen by him!
“You have done what is honorable,” she told him. “Rumors will pass, but your honor will remain. You have no further obligation. Miss Hale makes her own choices,” she advised him, her voice tight with the enmity she held against the girl.
“I will hold to my principles, as I have always done,” he assured her. “I am the same John Thornton, despite all these troubles,” he said, giving her a faint smile before he left.
It wrenched her heart to see him suffer so. She determined never to forgive Miss Hale for what she had done.
Margaret stood by the parlor window, staring out over the street below in the faded light of a late summer evening. It was nearly eight o’clock, and Mr. Thornton would soon be here to meet with her father. The flutter of nerves inside her made her breath come quickly.
She had come here at her father’s instruction, after he had spoken with her in his study.
He had explained what her mother wished regarding marrying Mr. Thornton, all the while his countenance revealing how much of a strain it was to discuss such things.
His tone had been firm as he advised her to reconsider accepting Mr. Thornton, and had begun quickly enumerating his many good qualities.
But then, his stern mask had dropped, and he had taken her hand in both of his to tell her he only wished her to be happy and that he would trust her good instincts to do what was right.
She loved him dearly for his underlying gentleness. She knew how much he hated any kind of discord. His mind and soul gravitated toward a deep faith in goodness, that all must work out for the best.
And now she waited, herself still wondering what was right—still desperately searching for the truth in her heart.
There were fleeting moments when the impulse swept over her to accept him, but then it would be snatched away by a haunting fear that his intransigent will and immense power would stifle her freedom forever.
She was consumed in a whirlwind of such anxious thoughts when she glimpsed Mr. Thornton approaching on the street.
She took a step back, holding her breath, and studied him.
His gait was steady, his bent head down.
His solemn face was just visible under the brim of his top hat.
It pained her to see him look so grim, knowing she was the cause of it.
Within a few moments, she heard the low timbre of his voice through the door and was at once transported to the moment he had clasped her close—when the rumbling fervor of his voice had reverberated from his chest to her own.
He was her home. She knew instantly there would never be another like him—that she loved him.
It had been love all along, and she had not known it!
The influx of emotion was overwhelming as this new realization swept away all faltering fears and doubts.
She loved him mightily for his steadfast devotion to doing what he believed was right.
He did not boast or strive for wealth, but moved with decision and order to lead hundreds into useful work.
And the power of his purpose had built him his outstanding success.
And yet, underneath all his magnified authority and dominion, there lay a tenderness that had shown itself time and again: in his care for her mother, his friendship with her gentle father, his regard for Bessy, and Martha.
And oh, how she had hurt him in this very room last evening when he had proclaimed his love for her!
She thought of how hard his life had been since his father’s death with pangs of compassion and guilt, and resolved that if he still wanted her, she would shower him with tenderness every day of his life.
In the paneled room lined with books across the hall, Mr. Hale stood with Mr. Thornton, distinctly uncomfortable with his purpose, but determined to fulfill it.
“Thank you for coming, John. I know you are a very busy man these days,” he began, his hands in restless motion.
“I believe you may know the reason I’ve called you here.
” He glanced at his student and continued on.
“Maria is concerned that the rumors concerning Margaret and you be…rectified. You know, of course, I would be delighted to call you my son-in-law.”
Here Mr. Thornton opened his mouth to make some explanation, but Mr. Hale held up his hand. He wished to finish his speech before he lost all vigor in carrying it out.
“I am aware,” the older man said, “that Margaret did not…that she…”
The sharp remembrance of her rejection brought a stain of shame to Mr. Thornton’s cheeks. The urge to escape this torture and leave at once made his legs twitch.
The former vicar suddenly looked earnestly at his pupil, his lecturing posture deflated. “John, if you will only try her again, I believe she is amenable now. I have spoken with her.”
Mr. Thornton’s heart leaped with a flash of hope, but he swiftly suppressed it. He would not be made a fool twice.
Mr. Hale was done with his duty and led Mr. Thornton to the parlor door. He cleared his throat upon opening it. “Mr. Thornton is here, Margaret,” he announced. “I’ve spoken a few words to him.”
Margaret remained turned to the window, silent.
“I’ll leave you both to settle the rest,” Mr. Hale mumbled. “May those who love the Lord seek to do His will,” he pronounced in an awkward benediction before hastily withdrawing from the room, closing the door upon them.
All that Mr. Thornton longed for stood in front of him. Being in her presence was still a searing pleasure. As he gazed upon her, he admired every aspect of her graceful form even as indignation rose in him. Was he so repulsive to her she could not look upon him?
He resolved to explain himself quickly and leave at once. “I know this must be difficult for you—“
“You know nothing of my feelings,” she interrupted, her back still turned to him.
His brow creased in consternation at how brusquely she tossed his words away with hers. And yet they had been softly spoken. He waited, suspended in guarded expectation to hear what she would say.
She turned and flashed sorrowing eyes at him before bowing her head. “I have been foolish.”
His very breath stilled, and every muscle tensed. He could not move for fear he would break the spell of her contrition.
“You must forgive me. I spoke to you cruelly yesterday. You saved me from danger, putting yourself at risk, and I never thanked you.”
He stepped forward to speak.
“No!…please…let me finish.” She glanced at him briefly before returning her gaze to the floor.
“When we first met in London…for weeks afterwards whenever I went to a soirée or dinner party…I would look for you. Although I knew very well you lived far away,” she confessed haltingly.
She had looked for him? A rush of hope flowed through his veins, quickening his pulse.
“And when we met again here, in Milton, I was frightened…” she peeked at him from under her lashes with blushing cheeks.
“I was frightened because a part of me wished to say yes.”
He waited no longer, but swept forward, snaking his arms around her waist and drawing her close. “You will marry me…because you care for me?” he asked in a hoarse whisper, searching her face desperately for her answer.
Her mouth curved into a smile, her face inches from his. “Yes,” she uttered breathlessly.
Piercing joy charged through every part of his body, obliterating all his wounded pride. The change from his previous misery was so profound, that he blinked away the onset of tears.
He studied her face hungrily, incredulous that every curve of her cheeks, and chin, and lips was his to adore. He brought up a hand to cradle her face as some precious possession, caressing her check with his thumb as she trembled beneath his touch.
He brought his lips to hers, kissing her with an aching gentleness at first, then more desperately as her sweet submission to him flamed the fire of his desire.
He broke from her to place her arms around him as she had done the day before and clasped her close.
“Your father will be pleased,” he said, their noses almost touching.
“And your mother?” she taunted, her face still flushed from their delicious silence.
“My mother will approve of you, if you are pleasant enough to me,” he teased, unable to contain a wide smile.
“And what if I am saucy or contentious?” she asked, jutting her chin upward in mock defiance.
Her brazen playfulness ignited his burning passion. He pulled her body tight against his. “Then she will discover the truth—that you govern me completely.”