Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
For Mr. Thornton, the day of the dinner party entailed making a stream of crucial arrangements to set his mill in motion again. He would not wait to act. He did not intend to let the masses’ ignorance ruin the business he had worked so hard to improve.
At the first threat of a strike, he had looked into the steps that would be required to hire Irish hands and bring them to Milton.
All his planning was now coming to full fruition.
He had not stopped all day in finalizing details.
He had talked to the railroad station manager, the head of police, and to Father Grady about getting the immigrant Catholics fed.
It was a great inconvenience that their annual dinner party should take place amid such upheaval, and he sorely regretted they had sent out the invitations.
Yet, though his mind swarmed with the list of concerns to be dealt with, his heart beat with an eagerness to see Margaret again.
At scattered moments throughout the day, the thought that she would come to his home that evening lifted his stern bent with a swell of hopeful anticipation.
When he finally arrived home just under an hour before guests would arrive, his mother stopped her hasty instructions to the household staff as he strode through the newly arranged drawing room. “You’ve hardly any time to wash and change your dress,” she admonished.
“There is still time. There was much to discuss with Father Grady,” he replied, halting his rush to speak to her.
“Is everything arranged?” she asked. He saw his own anxious trepidation reflected in her eyes.
“I have finished everything for today.” Tomorrow we prepare the upper floors of the mill and await the train in the evening.”
She nodded, trusting her son’s decision, but wary of the danger it might bring. “The water basin in your room is freshly filled,” she said, and then she returned to her tasks.
In the quiet space of his room, he undressed and washed away the perspiration of the day before putting on his dinner attire. As he did so, his business concerns receded as his focus turned to the hours ahead.
As he thrust his arms into his silk brocade waistcoat, he wondered what she would wear tonight. His anticipation increased as he remembered how she had looked in the gold-colored ball gown when he had first seen her in London.
It would be a great pleasure to see her arrayed in her finest attire, smiling to imagine the vision. He warned himself against allowing his gaze to drift to her all evening. But of all the difficulties he had endured today, this seemed a pleasant challenge.
Sunlight still lit the sky on this warm summer evening, but long shadows from the row houses cast the streets into darkness.
As the coach carrying the Hales turned to enter the tall, open gates into the mill yard on Marlborough Street, Margaret stared up at the massive brick structure that stood empty and still.
How many of his workers would have little to eat tonight while she dined on fine china with the masters?
As their party climbed the broad oak stairway, apprehension flooded Margaret’s veins.
Her father’s punctuality made them the first to arrive.
But she was pleased to find, upon her father’s asking, that Mr. Thornton was not come down yet as he had been long involved in matters concerning the strike all day.
The grand drawing room glittered with candles. The furniture had been moved out or arranged to enable conversation in groups.
Fanny drew near Margaret to make polite conversation, while Margaret’s parents talked with Mrs. Thornton. “I hope your mother is improving,” Fanny commented. “Does she have a water bed? I find it a great comfort when I am suffering.”
“A water bed?” Margaret asked.
“Oh yes, it’s the latest luxury for those inclined to fall ill. You might borrow ours for a time to try it,” she offered.
Other guests arrived, and Mrs. Thornton, in her black silk gown and obsidian necklace, greeted them with apparent pride. Fanny introduced a few couples to the Hales. Mr. Bell arrived and came to Margaret’s side to keep her company for a time until he stepped aside to speak to a few others.
While Margaret was alone again, gazing around the room, she heard Mr. Thornton’s name called out in greeting. The tingling awareness of his presence changed the atmosphere of the room at once. She turned to look.
He wore tails, a gold waistcoat and a deep blue cravat. She watched him shake hands with the small crowd around him. Why had she never noticed the small dimple in his cheeks when he smiled?
He greeted a strikingly beautiful young woman with light hair, who wore a snugly fitted gown of dark violet. An uncomfortable feeling poisoned Margaret’s mood as she watched the woman simper and tilt her head at his friendly greeting.
In a few moments, he moved through the group and caught Margaret’s gaze.
The intensity of his blue eyes, which were fastened on her, riveted her.
A ripple of sensation flowed through her body as he made his way toward her.
He looked truly magnificent. It was not just his strong jawline and tall, firm form—it was the inestimable mystery of his very nature: a figure of power and unalterable decision who yet held somehow a tenderness that revealed itself in surprising ways.
He shook hands with her as he did with all his guests, but she felt his attention as if she were the only one in the room.
“I’m glad your mother could come,” he said, his tone deep and gentle. His eyes dropped for just a moment to take in the shapely sight she presented.
“Yes, she is pleased to be here,” Margaret replied, feeling the familiar blush come to her face. “She is fond of such gatherings.”
Mr. Slickson, another cotton mill owner, sidled up to Mr. Thornton. “Pardon,” he said to Margaret before directing his attention to the host. “May I speak to you?”
“Excuse me a moment,” Mr. Thornton said to Margaret, a look of pained annoyance on his face at the interruption.
Mr. Slickson drew his colleague aside. “Hamper says you are hiring Irish help. Have you considered the terrible risks?” he asked in hushed urgency.
“All the risk is mine. I have made arrangements with the police,” Mr. Thornton answered.
Margaret strained to hear this exchange while Mrs. Slickson introduced herself and asked if Margaret were new in town.
“Indeed, we moved here last November from Hampshire. My father is a tutor to those seeking to continue their learning.”
“Ah, and is Mr. Thornton one of his pupils?”
“Yes, he is.”
The plump, middle-aged mill owner’s wife leaned closer.
“Take care if you have taken any interest in Mr. Thornton,” she whispered.
“Violet Grayson has set her sights on him for the past year.” With a glance, the older woman indicated the flaxen-haired girl Margaret had noticed before, who was now smilingly engaged in conversation with Fanny.
Margaret recoiled from the rude presumption and false camaraderie as she offered a polite smile.
“I’m aware that some people are more attracted to wealth than to the substance of the heart.
I’m looking for the latter,” she replied, satisfied to see the older woman’s smug expression fade before turning to find other company.
“Ah, Margaret!” Mr. Bell appeared next to her, much to her relief. “I hope you are enjoying the privilege of mingling with Milton’s cadre of power. Now you see the other side of life here. What do you make of it?”
“I’ve been to many luxurious social affairs in London, so I am accustomed to all that attends them. I’m afraid I’m far more comfortable and interested in the lives of the poorer classes. There is more honesty and humbleness of purpose in a simple life,” she answered.
He introduced her to a few other masters and their wives, and she engaged in the casual talk required in such circumstances.
If she was not entirely attentive to every speaker, she at least played the part of taking interest. All the while, she was aware of just where Mr. Thornton was in the room, hearing his voice or catching a sidelong glimpse of his movement from one group to another.
She at last gravitated to where her parents were, who were happily seated on one of the green damask couches pushed to the wall, talking with Mr. Henderson and his wife.
When they announced dinner, Margaret watched Mr. Thornton say a few more words to the guests, turn to find her, and walk toward her with resolution. She drew in a slow breath as he approached, still in some measure of amazement that he remembered his request to escort her.
“Miss Hale,” he said with that genuine smile that had first attracted her to him. She took his offered arm with the grace taught her in London.
In the next few moments, as he escorted her down to dinner, she walked in a haze of wonder and jumbled feelings.
Her heart fluttered to be so close to him—to be so openly paired with him.
She felt every second of their physical contact, the gentle press of her arm resting on his.
He was so near she could smell the scent of sandalwood on him.
Perhaps the scent of his soap? The thought of him in so personal an occupation as bathing made her feel lightheaded.
Her step wobbled a moment on the stairs. His other hand instantly reached to steady her.
Mrs. Slickson elbowed her husband and tossed her chin to draw his attention to who Mr. Thornton was escorting to dinner. Her husband lifted an eyebrow and grinned.
The watched couple continued to descend the grand stairway. Mr. Thornton was asking Margaret if their Milton occasion passed muster and she replied, hardly knowing what she was saying.
When he finally led her to her seat, she pulled her arm from his, feeling surprisingly bereft at this parting.