The Fallen Woman #3
When everyone was finished, John suggested they go for a walk, as it was a fine autumn day. His mother declined and instead invited Mr. Hale to join her in the parlor, where he might find a book to occupy his time while the couples went walking.
Jane was quick to present cloaks, hats, and gloves, and soon their party of four set off.
John had given Fanny a few tips on some subjects Ewen might be interested in discussing.
Although she had daydreamed through most of his lecture, John hoped she had retained at least some of what he’d said.
He shrugged. He could only provide suitors; she would have to capture the men’s interest on her own.
John forced his attention back to the woman at his side.
He could not allow himself to become so caught up in what was going on between his sister and Ewen.
John refused to neglect Margaret in any way, and she deserved his undivided attention.
She and he walked on ahead, her hand wrapped tightly on his arm.
Since the incident with Fanny, they had shared many cups of tea after his lessons, and he’d even stayed for a meal at the Hales’ home.
John had every reason to think she was beginning to care for him, maybe not as violently as he liked her, but at least more than she had when he first offered for her.
“Thank you for coming today,” he said.
“I was pleased to accept your invitation. Even if it was to chaperone your sister.” She glanced over her shoulder.
“I am not certain how they will suit. He is certainly gregarious and as social as you said he would be.” She looked up at him with a smile.
“Were you ever like him, or did he serve as your opposite, drawing you from your shell so you might make friends?”
His brows shot up. “You find me antisocial?”
She frowned. “No. I think this is something you and I have in common. Neither of us have the need to fill the air with useless chatter. I was never very good at making friends, but Edith was and, thus, I always had friends. Perhaps Ewen provided a similar service to you? At least whilst at school?”
“How very perceptive.” She knew him so well! “It is true. Then, as now, I would generally choose a book over a party. However, in the position I find myself now, I must socialize.”
“Do you despise the theater and musicals?” she asked.
“No. Not in the least.”
“I am glad of that, as I greatly enjoy such things.”
He chuckled. “What if I had said I did hate those gatherings?”
“I suppose I would have pulled away and gone back to speak with your friend. Although he probably prefers parties to plays.”
“Just as Fanny does,” he said. “He also enjoys being the heart of society and a part of the whirl of it all.”
“Will it not be obvious to his friends, then, that the child will come too soon?”
“I am certain he will contrive a tale all will believe. He is an attorney, you know, and they have a way of twisting lies into truths.”
She chuckled. “And magistrates, Mr. Thornton? Do they do the same?”
She was teasing him. How easy it had become between the two of them.
“Not this one. I am too stiff.” He straightened his shoulders. “Too proper.”
“Papa told you about my brother, Frederick,” she whispered.
The sudden change in conversation caught him off guard. He nodded.
“I wish I could have told you but, in your role as magistrate, we were not certain how you would react,” she said. “I think had you known it was him at the train station, things between us would be rather different today.”
“Would they?” He wanted her to explain what she was thinking rather than simply jumping to conclusions. Before, when he had thought he knew her mind and heart, he had been so wrong.
“I believe so. You would not have thought so poorly of me and, while you supported and continue to support my father so kindly during this mourning period, I think…that is, I hope you would have offered me the same kindness.”
He swallowed. Now was the time to come clean and clarify perhaps the biggest lie he had ever told.
“That day in your foyer before I joined your father for my studies… Margaret, I lied when I said my passion for you was gone.” He stopped walking and turned so he could better see her expression.
“You had broken my heart, you see, and by hurting you I thought it would make me feel better. But it did not. I love you. I believe I have loved you from our first argument.” He chuckled, recalling just how fiery her temper could be.
Her eyes glistened with tears, and a blinding smile crossed her face. She moved closer, perhaps to hug him, but he blocked her, whispering, “They are coming.”
He nodded behind her, and she turned and watched with him as Fanny and Ewen approached.
“Fanny tells me she enjoys playing the piano.” Ewen was slightly out of breath. “Perhaps we could go listen for a bit? She’s offered to play for us.”
“She does love to play,” John agreed. He smiled down at Margaret and offered her his arm once again. “Let us return to the house.”
If the others had stayed away, what would Margaret have done? Would she have embraced him? Would she have shared her feelings? This time, she’d appeared quite pleased to hear of his ardor.
“Miss Hale, do you play?” Ewen asked.
“I do.” She cleared her throat. “When we came to Milton, we had to leave the piano behind, so it has been quite some time since I have had the opportunity. My mother was not particularly fond of the instrument, and I really only played when I was in London at my aunt’s.”
“Now there’s a real city!” Ewen said. “London. Have you been there often, Miss Thornton?”
“Only once,” Fanny answered. “John took me there for the Great Exhibition this past summer.”
“Ah, well, there’s a fine coincidence! I was there for a fortnight during the Exhibition. What was your favorite part of the display?”
And so the conversation shifted to Fanny talking about all the beautiful gems and jewelry she had seen, many of which she had never heard of before her trip to the Exhibition.
Margaret had been entranced by the daguerreotypes and even the machinery, which was where they had crossed paths, John recalled.
Of course, speaking of the Exhibition reminded John of how Henry Lennox had stuck to Margaret’s side and how her cousin Edith seemed to look down her nose at John, whom she had referred to as “that manufacturer from the north.” At least her husband, Captain Lennox, had spoken of investments, and he and John had enjoyed a logical, albeit short, conversation.
He remembered feeling out of place within the group but had been willing to feel uncomfortable if it meant being near Margaret.
When they arrived at the mill house, Margaret’s father was ready to depart.
Apparently he was not feeling well or perhaps John’s mother had caused his indigestion.
John walked them to the front door and told Mr. Hale he would not be at his study lessons on Tuesday, as Ewen was scheduled to be there until Wednesday morning.
“Miss Hale, my friend from France is coming Thursday. I have procured tickets to the concert given by John Braham at the Lyceum Hall and was hoping…” John turned his head to address her father. “That is, may I have your approval, Mr. Hale, to escort Miss Hale to the musical?”
“Of course, you may!” Mr. Hale replied. “Do you wish to go, Margaret?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “Thank you for the invitation.”
“I shall fetch you at six, sharp,” John told her. “Thank you for coming today.”
“It was our pleasure,” she said.
Soon the carriage pulled up, and he helped both Hales inside. He closed the door and stood on the steps as he watched them leave. Would she turn back and look at him?
The Man
Margaret believed it took weeks rather than days for Thursday to arrive.
She had not seen John since Sunday, but he had sent a note yesterday reminding her he would pick her up for the performance the following evening.
As if she needed a reminder! As the days dragged along, she became more and more excited to be with him again.
Thursday evening, Dixon tried something new with Margaret’s hair.
Together they had raided one of her mother’s old boxes of fripperies where she’d kept hair baubles.
Inside were glamorous gemstones and pearl clips.
Hair pins and ribbons were strewn about inside the wicker basket in no particular order.
They found some decorative combs that matched her fanciest dress, the one she had worn to the Mill Master’s Dinner.
She wished, from a vain perspective, to have a new dress to wear, one John had not yet seen, but this dress was her finest and would be best for the evening.
The chime of the doorbell startled them. They had spent far more time working on Margaret’s hair than either had realized. John was always punctual, and tonight was no different. They heard Margaret’s father open the door and welcome John inside.
“Do I look well, Dixon?”
“Lovely, miss, simply lovely.”
Margaret smiled and picked up her wrap—her mother’s wrap, actually—from the edge of her bed and, with a deep breath, she walked into the hallway and stopped at the top of the stairs.
John was wearing the formal attire he had worn at the Mill Master Dinner, a suit of black tails with a gold cravat and matching waistcoat.
Had she not rejected him, they would likely be man and wife already.
Butterflies danced in her stomach at the abrupt thought.
He caught her eyes as she descended the stairs and met her at the bottom. With a formal bow, he handed her a large bouquet of colorful flowers he had been hiding behind his back. She smiled. How thoughtful! And the flowers were truly beautiful.
“They are gorgeous, Mr. Thornton. I thank you.”
“You are quite welcome,” he answered. “Fanny and Lucien Picard are waiting in the carriage for us.”