Once Again #5
Nothing, however, could ever take away the sacred experience he had gained from knowing her. He had known what it was to truly love. He had known how it felt to be fully alive.
And he would bind up his weary heart as he had before and train it to treasure what he had learned of love. And someday, perhaps not too distant a day, he would think of her only with a warmth of feeling without the fresh scars of pain.
Mr. Thornton arrived the next morning at the appointed time and was ushered into the back drawing room to await Miss Hale.
He was perplexed but pleased to find himself alone, for he had expected Mr. Lennox to be in attendance at this business proceeding.
He relished the quiet opportunity to absorb the atmosphere and study the surroundings of the world she lived in.
The tick-tick from a porcelain clock set above the marble fireplace was the only sound.
The house looked even more elegant in daylight.
The high ceiling and delicately patterned papered walls gave the room a bright and airy feel.
The rich Persian carpet underfoot nearly spanned the breadth of the room.
Fresh roses overflowed from a wide vase on a cherry wood sideboard.
Gold-tasseled draperies of velvet and damask framed the tall windows.
The ornaments of luxury could be seen in every corner: a painting of a scene in Corfu; a white marble sculpture from Italy.
This was the home she had known for many years. The elegance and beauty of it was a piece of Margaret. It was indeed a stark contrast from the Hale’s dingier home in Milton.
And yet, he missed the Crampton abode with its simpler embellishments of daily living, where piles of books and bowls of fruit invited wholesome indulgence.
The country curtains and faded furniture from Helstone spoke more of life and love than all the stolid and polished finery set here in perfect display.
And although he felt she deserved to live in luxury and elegance, he could not help but think that she might tire of a life confined in such a sphere of perfection.
How did she fill her days? He imagined she would find some cause or situation that needed her aid and her passionate sense of justice.
She would not be satisfied to waste her life upon self-indulgence.
He glanced at the ticking clock and checked it against the watch in his pocket, for it had been forty minutes since he had arrived. But the wait did not trouble him. He was in no hurry. It was a pleasure merely to be in the same realm as she.
He wondered if she used this room to write or to read.
It was difficult for him to imagine her being permanently sheltered in such a still and formal environment.
Her life as a refined heiress, secluded from the rougher classes, was a far cry from the struggles she had seen and endured living among the jostling crowds of Milton.
Was she happy here? He was saddened to see how changed she had appeared at the dinner party.
All her former fire seemed extinguished.
She had been quiet and spoke only when spoken to.
Had her grief changed her thus? Was this the effect that a life of ease had upon her, or was it his presence alone that had made her so subdued and withdrawn?
He longed to know if she could be happy here. He wished it for her, even though he would never be a part of making it so.
He turned around at the rustling sound of someone’s approach. Margaret entered the room, her head downturned. Her eyes flickered and met his for a sole moment but swiftly turned their gaze about the room, looking for something—someone?—who was not there.
Her presence staggered him. She had not yet said a word, but her very silence commanded his attention.
He felt at once as he had the first time he had met her—awkward and unworthy.
His heart beat erratically while he took this moment to worship her every feature, engraving his mind with the image of her for the long years ahead.
“I’m very sorry Mr. Lennox is not here,” she uttered as she arrived at the corner desk.
Mr. Thornton thought to himself that he would be happy if he never saw Mr. Lennox again. “Do you wish me to seek him at his chambers?” he asked.
“No…no…there must be a reason he was unable to come. I only…it’s just that we drew up some figures yesterday…” she answered, hastily sorting through papers set upon the open secretary. “If only Henry were here to explain…”
“I’m certain you don’t need Henry to explain,” he replied in a deep, soothing tone. It pained him to see her dependent upon any other man. He took a step forward as if to aid her.
“No!…don’t…” she exclaimed with a faint tremble in her voice. “I’m certain it is here…I need but a moment.”
Her response startled him. Was he so abhorrent to her that she wished him to stand apart? Her frightened manner confused and wounded him.
“I have a business proposition which I hope will be agreeable to you,” she nervously announced as she continued to rifle through the papers. “Mr. Lennox felt certain it would be most agreeable.”
“Mr. Lennox knows nothing of what it is to lose all that one has built or striven for. Mr. Lennox has every happiness to look forward to. He can know nothing of what I would find agreeable,” Mr. Thornton replied with a bitterness he could no longer hide.
His hands clenched and unclenched restlessly by his sides.
“You do him a disservice, then,” she returned. “For I, too, have reason to believe you will be pleased with…oh, here it is!”
She grasped the paper with a shaking hand while she stood to make her presentation.
“I have, at present, money in the bank which is earning only two and a half percent interest. Mr. Lennox says that if I should invest in Marlborough Mills, you could provide me with a much greater return. So, if you will take my money—eighteen thousand and fifty-seven pounds—I might get a better return and you could re-open the mill…oh, there was another paper from the bank…” And with this, she anxiously turned again to search through papers, her cheeks aflame with color.
Eighteen thousand and fifty-seven pounds!
Mr. Thornton froze in stunned silence as tremors of comprehension began to shake the very foundation of his stifled existence.
No financial advisor would propose such an odd sum.
And at this moment of caution in the trading houses, no wise counsel would condone such tremendous faith in one man’s venture.
But she…she trusted him with every last cent in her account!
His heart beat thick and fast as he stared at her—her nervous posture and blushing face now revealing a wholly different picture. All the assumptions of her disdain that he had built to a towering wall came crumbling and crashing down. One clear truth now stood before him: she cared for him!
“Margaret!” he heard himself utter, his voice hoarse in accelerating wonder.
She stilled and then collapsed into a chair, covering her face with her hands.
His body quaked and his heart pounded even more furiously, for her very reaction confirmed the revelation that was still crashing over him in wave after wave of disbelief. How had he not seen it before? Fool that he had been!
“Margaret!” he called out to her again, in agony to know once and for all that she would save him from this perpetual misery of longing.
She lowered her face to the desk, still covering it with her hands. But he would not leave unless he knew the truth. If she felt but a portion of what he felt for her…! Did she truly wish to leave this luxury and make her home with him—in Milton?
He crossed the room to her side and knelt to speak close to her ear.
“Take heed…if you do not speak,” he panted, “I will claim you in some strange and presumptuous way! Send me away at once if you must…Margaret!”
All was still for a moment, and then she quickly turned to bury her face on his shoulder.
He clasped her close, letting out a slow breath of incredulous rapture to feel her soft form pressed to him. She was his!
He trembled inside as he held her, breathing in the scent of her, afraid she would withdraw.
He wanted to hold her in his arms forever.
But she did not move, and they both stayed silent in this first embrace until their heartbeats slowed into a comforting symphony of rhythm as every passing moment gave sweet assurance that this was indeed reality—that nothing would part them from this time forward.
He gently pulled her up to stand beside him. He was almost dizzy in his new-found joy. Was this all a dream? Was she now his to caress and hold as his own?
He placed her arms around his neck—just as he remembered she had done once before—to feel again that press of her arms about him that he had longed to feel since she had clung to him that fateful day.
“Do you remember, love?” he murmured. “And how brashly I spoke to you the next day in return!”
“I remember how cruelly I spoke to you— that is all!” she cried.
“Shh… look,” he coaxed, drawing out his pocketbook to show her his devotion. Carefully, he pulled out the dried roses he kept there. “Do you know these flowers?”
Curiosity and confusion clouded her face for a moment until recognition cleared the creased brow and lifted her eyes to his. “They are from Helstone! Have you been there?” she asked, astonished.
“I went there to see where my beloved had come from. When I had no hope at all of calling her mine,” he relayed.
“They have the deep indentation around the leaves… you must give them to me!” She reached out to take them, but he snatched them away, placing them behind his back.
“You must pay me for them,” he said, with a devilish smile.
She blushed as she comprehended his request but met the gleam in his eye with acquiescence. And as he stepped forward, she lifted her chin and closed her eyes.