The Fallen Woman #7
“I hope she will be happy,” Margaret answered. “I have never been to Scotland, have I, Papa? Did we go when I was small?”
“No, my dear. We traveled twice a year to Oxford to see Mr. Bell. We went to France with your Aunt Shaw to visit your grandmother’s family, but no, never to Scotland.”
“Well, Mr. Thornton.” Margaret turned to him, grinning. “In a few months, perhaps the late spring, I will go to Glasgow to see Fanny.”
“If you wish. I am certain she would be pleased to receive you.” That might be a lie. Fanny would not want the reminder of her behavior that seeing Margaret might bring.
“Shall we retire to the sitting room for coffee?” she suggested. “Or perhaps I shall be a good hostess and excuse myself so you men can smoke smelly cigars and talk business?”
“I do not see any need for that,” her father said with a smile. “Coffee sounds perfect.”
Margaret stood first and led the gentlemen out of the dining room door. As if she had been waiting, Dixon was holding a coffee tray, and she followed them into the sitting room.
“I ought to leave,” John said once everyone else was settled, hating every syllable. “I have not been home yet. I came here first. Thank you for dinner.” He looked briefly at Margaret, who was already sipping her coffee, before nodding his goodbyes to Mr. Bell and Mr. Hale and heading for the door.
What in the world?
Margaret quickly set down her coffee cup and rushed from the room after John, indifferent to what Mr. Bell might think.
Dixon was handing him his coat and hat.
“Why are you going?” she demanded.
“I told you,” he explained. “I have yet to go home.” He pointed to the case sitting by the door.
“Just like that?” Oh, she was mad! “You come here first but leave without even speaking to me?”
“I spoke with you at the table. I told you Fanny is settled and encouraged you to visit in the spring if you wish.”
“Please excuse us, Dixon,” Margaret said.
Once they were alone, she walked forward and took his hand. “I missed you.”
He pulled away. “I do not think… I do not think you should have. Margaret, you and I come from different worlds. You speak five languages, and I have barely mastered English. After meeting me in London, your aunt said I was not a gentleman, nor was I good enough for you. I tried to fight that, tried to be enough for you, but I am not. You were right to reject me.”
He spun around and left the house without another word, leaving her standing open-mouthed.
She thought about what may have happened to cause his quick departure.
He had come to their home first, after leaving his sister in Scotland, leading Margaret to believe he was anxious to see her.
He had been in a fine mood until they began to tease her about her education. Then his mood had turned sour.
There had been too many misunderstandings between them already; she was not going to let this pass without acting to make things right.
She had waited a week to see him, and enough was enough.
She grabbed her cloak from the hook and rushed out the front door, hoping to catch him before he rounded the corner toward the mill house.
The street was empty. Either he had walked even quicker than usual, or he had hired a gig.
Mr. Bell’s driver was leaning against the carriage, smoking.
Knowing her godfather would approve her use of the ride, she asked the man to drive her to Marlborough Mills.
He helped her inside and, once on top of his seat, he headed down the road.
She closely studied people walking, hoping she would meet up with John before they reached the mill.
She did not wish to explain her actions to Mrs. Thornton or be judged by her.
It was not meant to be. Clearly, John had taken a carriage and would arrive just before her.
Margaret had never done anything so impulsively and in the end might regret her actions.
Mrs. Thornton had never liked Margaret, but she loved the woman’s son, and Mrs. Thornton would have to learn to accept that he loved Margaret, too.
The driver hopped down and opened the door, setting down the steps for her to descend.
“You can go back to Crampton,” she said. “The Thornton carriage will see me home.”
“Very well, miss.”
She waited until he pulled away to walk to the door and ring the bell.
What in the world was she doing? What if John had changed his mind about her?
Had his love died so quickly? If that was true, she did not want him…
would go back to London. Her father was right; she did prefer to London to Milton, but she wanted John, and she was confident he felt the same.
Jane answered the door as usual and granted Margaret admission.
“Has Mr. Thornton arrived home?” Margaret asked.
“Yes, Miss Hale. Just ahead of you.”
“I wish to see him, please?” Margaret removed her cloak and handed it to Jane.
“Follow me, if you will?”
They climbed the staircase, and Jane led her to Mrs. Thornton’s sitting room. Margaret took the time while she was being announced to straighten her shoulders and prepare what she might say.
Jane showed her inside and closed the door behind her.
“John just came from your home, Miss Hale,” Mrs. Thornton said. It was obvious she had just been hugging him. She stepped back and glanced between him and Margaret. “Has he forgotten something?”
Yes, me. Instead of voicing that thought, Margaret shook her head. “May I speak with John privately?” she asked.
Mother and son exchanged a quick glance. As Mrs. Thornton walked past her, Margaret never took her eyes off of his. Although she left, Mrs. Thornton allowed the door to remain open. John followed his mother’s path and closed the door with a resounding click.
He moved from the door and stopped directly in front of her. She took a step back so she could better see his face.
“Why have you come?” he asked gently.
“I thought we had decided to try to avoid misunderstandings moving forward.” she said. “I thought you would want an answer to the question you posed in your letter to me. I expected you would expect an answer…in my own home this evening. Instead, you left me in great, inexplicable haste.”
He seemed formidable. Although, over the course of time she had known him, she had become well accustomed to his facial expressions, this one she could not read.
“What question was that?”
“You asked me to consider if I could make Milton my forever home.”
“Yes, I did ask that.”
She stepped forward and took his hands. This time, he did not pull away. She threaded her fingers with his, studying the rough texture of his skin compared to hers. He had a workman’s hands. Indeed, there was nothing soft about him.
“I will only do so if I can be forever at your side,” she whispered.
She looked up at him. “I have not been given an opportunity to admit my love for you, John. And I do love you, John Thornton, Marlborough Mills mill master, magistrate, and textile manufacturer. I want you, just as you are, just as you always have been, and whatever you may become with me by your side, in Milton, forever.”
“Margaret,” he breathed. Shaking his head, he pulled away. “It cannot be. You and I…our worlds… We are too different. I saw in Glasgow how you deserve to live. Stewart has an impressive estate, a mansion. Fanny does not deserve such splendor, but you do.”
“I want you,” she said. She placed her hands on the lapels of his jacket. “You. I want to marry for love as my parents were fortunate to do. Aunt Shaw chose to marry for money, and she lived a sad, lonely life. I want love, and that means I can only have you.”
She fisted the fabric of his coat to pull his head down to hers, glad when his arms encircled her waist and drew her against him, his warm lips crushing hers.
Oh, the joy! The fulfillment she felt in just this single kiss.
He cupped her cheeks and continued to ravage her mouth with such tenderness, tears came to her eyes.
When they pulled apart, he simply stared at her as if in a daze. She smiled at him and felt a sense of shock as he sank to his knee and pulled a small pouch from the inside pocket of his coat. Reaching inside, he pulled out two rings. He held up one—a golden band with a large emerald in the center.
“You have taken my heart, Margaret. I ask if you will now take my name?”
“Yes!” Tears welled up in her eyes, and she nodded, laughing through the tears with such happiness.
He took her left hand and placed the ring on her finger and kissed it before standing and pulling her into another embrace. He rested his cheek against her head.
“I love you, Margaret.”
“I ought to have accepted you last time.” She pulled away to look at him. “I loved you even then. You are the best man I have ever known.”
Julia Daniels loves to write happily ever after stories that warm the heart and make the reader satisfied.
From rural and farm romance to historical western romance and even romantic mystery novels, Julia can spin a tale that ends in a happy romance.
Her characters come to life on the pages, drawing the reader into the love story, making them want to stick around and see what happens.
Julia lives in Nebraska with her husband and two kids. In addition to writing, she designs counted cross-stitch patterns, sews, gardens and cares for an odd menagerie of animals, including chickens and goats.
Julia Daniels’ other books include: Milton’s Mill Master, Master of her Heart, Choices of the Heart, The Earl Next Door, Duchess on the Run, and Saved by a Cowboy