Chapter 8 #2
Mr. Hale departed quickly once he had escorted his daughter inside the hotel. Margaret was relieved to be away from her father’s sight for a time. Weary thoughts pressed down upon her. She had done her duty for the day and was eager now for some quiet rest.
She began to climb the stairway, but a porter stopped her.
“Pardon, Miss, but the gentleman left so quickly, I couldn’t relay the message. Mr. Thornton is here to see your father. He’s waiting in your sitting room this minute.”
“My father will be back directly, thank you.”
She sighed as she resumed her course up the stairs, reminding herself that this Mr. Thornton had been kind to her father and was due the proper courtesy from her. She only hoped her father would not be long.
Pausing at the door, she took a deep breath, steadying her resolve to meet the waiting guest with the social grace she had learned well in London.
She stepped into the room and saw a tall, dark figure at the far window. He spun about at her entry.
The jolt of recognition sent a tremor through her frame. Her mouth fell open. Her eyes widened. All her fine comportment vanished.
“You!” she breathed, unable to utter another sound.
Mr. Thornton was stunned, his feet rooted to the floor. His lips parted as if to speak, but no words formed as he stared in confusion at the face he had imagined a hundred times. How was it possible she was here?
She had recognized him! Struck by this realization, a spark of elation ignited a fire in his veins, for he had long ago told himself she would never think of him again. He moved closer to her.
“I looked for you, but you had gone,” he explained, as if their encounter had happened mere days ago. He fastened his eyes on her, scarcely believing she was truly standing before him.
Margaret’s heart skittered at his confession. He had searched for her? She dropped her gaze from his inquiring stare. “Edith…my cousin…had a headache and we left,” she stammered, daring to flash her eyes at him for only a moment.
“I am sorry for it. I had wished to dance again.” His straightforward reply, spoken in a low and tender manner, sent a shiver through her.
She could not speak.
The compulsion to elicit from her that frank, independent manner he had witnessed before made him close the distance between them. He flung aside all reason and common mannerisms. He longed only to make that connection between them that had beguiled him ever since.
“Do you remember?” He raised his arms in invitation to waltz with him. Beckoning her to come within his grasp again. As she had been once before.
It wouldn’t be proper, and in a clear state of mind she would have demurred, but she was mesmerized by the gentle earnestness in his eyes.
When their hands—no longer gloved—touched, a frisson of warmth flowed through her. She was stunned to find how instantly she was swept into that same dizzying spell by his touch.
She felt her cheeks burn and could not look at him. Her smile grew wider as she kept pace with his soundless lead, turning them to avert skimming the back wall in this closed space. She glanced down at their feet. The sight of her dusty walking boots made her laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.
He pulled her to a stop at the sound.
She looked up in surprise; her face still aglow with silly glee.
Deep within him, something twisted and ached. He knew at once that this was what he wanted.
“Marry me,” he rasped in dead earnest, his hand still clasping hers.
Their eyes locked for a moment of sacred searching.
Then she tore herself away, turning to hide her confusion. Her face was aflame, and her heart pounded, for some part of her wanted to answer ‘yes’!
“You do not even know my name!” she exclaimed, reasoning away the impulse that alarmed her. The dream she had of him—had it been a sign from heaven?
“Will you not tell me?” he uttered with gentle persuasiveness. “I have longed to know it.”
His soft tone eased the tension in her stance, and she turned slowly, keeping her gaze lowered. “Margaret… Margaret Hale,” she answered, glancing up briefly to meet his gaze at this introduction.
“Margaret,” he repeated—almost whispered—in reverent wonder.
A shiver ran through her body at the caressing warmth of his voice. No one had ever spoken her name in that way.
She knew not what to say. A thousand different emotions chased through her mind and heart. The tone of his voice set her sensibilities in disarray—by the shock of seeing him once again—by the words he had spoken!
Mr. Thornton studied the down-turned blushing face. The wave of passionate impulse now passed, his trembling hope gave way to self-condemnation. How could he have done this?
“Forgive me. I…spoke too hastily. I will not ask for a reply. I only hope you will consider me…”
She blushed furiously as he stepped closer. “I know nothing about you!” she protested.
“Then we should become better acquainted,” came the calm entreaty.
His gentle, persuasive tone gave her the courage to look up into his face.
She could not explain the magnetic power that held them in silence for an infinite moment. His face drew nearer hers, and she offered no resistance.
A shuffling sound broke the trance. Margaret sprang back as the door swung open.
“Father!” she exclaimed shakily, a new blush spreading over her face.
“Mr. Hale,” Mr. Thornton began, trying to recover himself from the thrumming intensity of possibility of the moment before.
Mr. Hale glanced in bewilderment at the pair before him, endeavoring to decipher the meaning of the awkward tension between them.
Mr. Thornton stepped forward with a wry smile at the vicar’s confusion, and explained, “I believe your daughter and I have already met.”