Chapter 2 #2
The hum of machinery could be heard through the open windows of the drawing room overlooking Milton’s largest cotton mill.
Hannah Thornton plied her nimble fingers to her embroidery as she waited for her son’s expected return from London.
The rhythmic drone of the looms that supported her present lofty position of stature and comfort was a melodious refrain to her son’s character and power.
The consistent bursts of sound from work being accomplished across the yard only served to swell her heart with a fierce pride in remembrance of all the years of hardship and unremitting toil and discipline John had endured to earn his success.
She glanced across the room to where her well-attired daughter picked at her own sewing with less finesse and devotion to detail. No such similar strains of thinking were employing Fanny’s mind.
“This summer heat is so detestable when we are forced to open our windows and listen to such noise all the day long,” Fanny wailed. “I don’t understand why we could not find a more suitable house—far from this dirty and noisy mill.”
Mrs. Thornton opened her mouth to make some kind of reply, but stopped as her ears caught the first familiar sound of footsteps climbing the stairs. Her face softened, and her eyes lit with proud affection as her son walked through the doorway.
“You’re home early,” she remarked, lifting her face to better receive his welcoming kiss.
“My business was conducted swiftly enough,” he answered as he took a comfortable seat.
“You obtained a contract from Millard’s?” she asked but saw at once the answer in his expression. “The terms are agreeable?”
“Very agreeable. The mill will run at full capacity for many months. I find it well worth the trouble of my time to engage with these men of business myself instead of hiring an agent. Even if it is at some inconvenience to my regular schedule.” He paused before continuing.
“I must thank you, Mother, for ensuring that my traveling wardrobe included my coattails. I was compelled to attend a ball last evening, which I believe helped secure the contract I desired.”
“Such a hardship, to be certain, to be forced to attend a London ball,” Fanny remarked, mocking his choice of words. “Was there anyone of significance in attendance?” she asked, looking to her brother eagerly for a morsel of social consequence from the center of the English universe.
“I believe you know I am not predisposed to take notice of such things, Fanny,” he answered drily.
“I’m glad to see you acknowledge the merit in learning the social graces that will uphold your position in society. Your lessons in dancing were not wasted, then,” his mother remarked.
Fanny let out a huff of incredulity. “He can’t even tell us who was there. I’d say his dancing lessons were of no use at all! Why, he probably only danced with the wives of his boring business contacts and a few desperately plain merchant’s daughters.”
Mr. Thornton cast an irritated glance toward his sister. “Not all I danced with were of such kind. There was a girl…” he answered somewhat absently as the whole tenor of his countenance seemed to shift into light.
Hannah Thornton’s gaze sharpened upon her son at his reply.
“Who is she? A duchess, or perhaps a marchioness?” Fanny asked, her expression alight with attentive curiosity.
“No, the girl I speak of is a vicar’s daughter from Hampshire,” he answered plainly, eager now to end the conversation.
Fanny rolled her eyes. “I do not see why we should not all go on your visits to London. The opportunities and privileges of such a stay are utterly wasted on you!” Fanny exclaimed with a churlish pout as she dismissed her brother and took up her sewing with an exaggerated flourish.
“What of this girl?” Hannah pressed after a moment of silence, careful to appear somewhat indifferent to his answer as she bent her head to resume her own needlework.
“There is nothing to relate, I suppose. Only that I thought her…unlike the rest,” he said, searching for a sufficient explanation of his thoughts even as he endeavored to brush off any further contemplation of her image.
“In any regard, I’m glad to be back home,” he said, standing near his mother and placing his hand on the back of her chair.
A slender hand, still strong although showing the sinewy lines of years of trial, reached up to clasp his own. The pair exchanged a look of mutual affection.
“And now, if you will excuse me, I have much to attend to,” he announced before heading toward the mill.
The breadth of details entailed in preparing for the newly obtained order soon consumed Mr. Thornton’s attention, sweeping away the lingering pangs of unsettled, fresh remembrances that had attempted to haunt him on the train.
He soon fell into the worn patterns of his life with a certain relief at having banished the uncomfortable thoughts that had pressed him so strongly in London.
The memory of the girl in gold seldom came to mind during the course of his daily routine.
However, it was with some discomfiture that Mr. Thornton recognized that certain sights or sounds—the glow of yellow flowers in a vase or on a hillside, a feminine laugh, the mystical light of a full moon—brought to mind at unexpected moments all the loveliness and enchanting allure of the woman he had once held in his grasp.
Although he attempted to disregard it, it was with a shadow of unease that he became aware that he moved in social circles with a new consciousness of women.
Where before he would have paid no regard to allusions and pregnant glances made by the gentler sex toward his person, Mr. Thornton was chagrined to find himself conscious of the manner in which eligible Milton maidens batted their eyelashes and simpered sweetly in his presence.
None could compare to the idol of soulful beauty and honest, innocent comportment that he had found in the vicar’s daughter from Hampshire.
And he grew even more averse to the occasions when society demanded polite conversation between gentlemen and ladies.
These moments had weighed little in Mr. Thornton’s consideration for the better part of his existence, and he would not be distracted now.
He threw his concentration with vigor upon the operations and schedules of his thriving mill through the long days of the summer into the dark evenings of winter.