In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South (20 page)

“No, I own it is not,” Margaret reluctantly agreed, ashamed of her earlier letters now and uncertain how she could explain her engagement when she hardly understood herself how she had become entangled in this situation.

The urge to defend her choice rose up, however, at her cousin’s words. “I have learned that there is much to appreciate in Milton, despite its harsh appearances. I wish you could meet Mr. Thornton. He has a force of character which is to be admired, quite unlike what I had deemed a ... a man of business capable of,” she explained in flustered bursts.

Edith regarded Margaret with confusion. “Oh, I do hope you do not feel compelled to marry this Mr. Thornton because no other offers were forthcoming. You know, Henry is very fond of you...."

“I could not marry Henry, Edith,” Margaret interrupted, irritated by her insinuation. “I am fond of him, but ... not in that
way ...” she clarified haltingly, gazing down at her hands as she recalled how mortified she had been to receive a proposal of marriage from Henry the previous summer.

Edith studied her cousin with increased interest as a new and wholly unexpected possibility dawned on her. She had never imagined Margaret to be the romantic type, having been ever so reasonable and
level-headed all their years growing up together. It had not occurred to her that Margaret might fall in love with someone so unlikely as a manufacturer from the dreary North. Her heart softened, although she still felt a tug of disappointment that her vision of cozy companionship with her cousin would not be realized. “Of course, if you are in love, that is entirely a different story,” she said gently.

Margaret blushed. “Oh ...
I ...” she stuttered helplessly as she spun around to face the window, feeling a fluttering in her breast as she turned the notion over in her mind.

Edith regarded her long-time companion curiously. Now she was truly eager to meet the northern manufacturer who so easily discomposed her. “I only hope that you will be happy, Margaret,” she concluded, when no answer seemed to be forthcoming from the silent figure in front of her.

“I believe I will be,” Margaret answered shakily, as she turned to face her cousin with a smile that offered middling reassurance.

Edith nodded. “I will say no more, then, and let you rest. I will see you at dinner,” she said before quietly exiting the room.

I believe I will be
. The words she had spoken echoed in her mind, gathering with it the growing conviction of its truth. The fear of marrying him that had assailed her days ago now seemed largely diminished. Despite the uncertainties that still lingered in her thought, she felt an underlying sense of assurance that she was following the right path. She could not explain it, but she felt her future was secure in his hands.

*****

Mr. Thornton scanned the milling crowds under the exalted pane-glass ceiling of the Chrystal Palace as Mr.
Lawrenson explained the finer details of investing in cotton to the mass of interested Londoners before him. The Master chastised himself for clinging to the romantic notion of finding Margaret amongst the thousands that visited the exhibits every day.

Fanny had been delighted at his quick turn-around in deciding to attend the Great Exhibition, having pestered him for weeks about attending; Mr.
Lawrenson was hopeful that new capital might be poured into Marlborough Mills by enticing southern gentlemen to participate in the growth of industry whilst they were agog at the impressive display of the modern looms’ power and precision. Mr. Thornton also had wary hope of gaining financial interest at this time, for the mill was struggling to regain its steady profits after the blundering strike. He knew, however, his real reason for coming, and steadfastly condemned himself as a lovesick fool for abandoning the mill to come to London.

He craned his neck once more in search of her. As if guided by some omniscient power, his eyes were instantly drawn to a figure some distance away
who walked serenely amidst the bustling crowd as one above the mortal fray.
Margaret!
He watched entranced as she glided slowly forward, her regal bearing and natural elegance giving her the air of a queen. He would gladly pay obeisance to her all his days! His heart wrenched in longing to take her under his care, to protect her from any untoward experience and keep such unalloyed goodness and purity free from the bitter toils and sorrows of this world. She deserved flowers to be strewn in her path....

His thoughts were interrupted as he watched a handsomely dressed young man come to her side. A scowl darkened his face as the gentleman assumed to accompany her on her walk with an easy familiarity.

“Thornton!” he heard Mr. Lawrenson’s voice, tearing his attention back to the group surrounding him.

“We have read of the recent strike in Milton. Has this not harmed your business?” a querulous man dressed in the latest attire demanded of him.

                  
*****

                  
Margaret stared at the ornate silver urn before her with waning interest. Henry’s vapid appraisal elicited from her the faintest of smiles. It was the second day they had attended the exhibition, and although she had enthusiastically enjoyed the amazing displays of goods that were both beautiful and useful, she was eager to see the more practical wonders of British dominance in the form of the machinery which had given birth to Milton’s rise in power and wealth. Slowly, she had tried to lead their small entourage towards the cotton looms that were listed in her catalogue, so that she might learn more of her future husband’s work.

                  
She allowed that she had never held much interest in the noisy and massive apparatus of industry, but she was gradually becoming more curious as to the workings of the mill where Mr. Thornton spent so much of his time.  

                  
She was surprised how often her thoughts drifted to the man she had left behind in Milton. Since she had arrived in London, she had felt keenly the difference her year in Milton had made. She compared everything here more critically to the energy and honesty of the North. She told herself that the subtle longing to return home that unsettled her was due to her mother’s unstable condition, but in truth she found herself just as often wondering about the Master of Marlborough Mills.

                  
Edith’s probing words had never left her.
Was she in love with him?
The question recurred to her at importunate times, driving from her all ability to concentrate on whatever was before her as her mind rushed to comprehend why the very thought of it should send her pulse racing.

                  
She admired him. This she was comfortable accepting. But, surely, love was something that took time to develop and would have a comforting, cheering effect on both parties, much like the warm happiness she remembered of being in her parents’ presence in her youth.

                  
She felt nothing of this expected calm when she was in Mr. Thornton’s presence. In fact, when he was near, her whole body was alert with palpitating awareness of his every move. She had never felt such nervous anticipation before, but then she had never before received the attentions of a man so foreboding in power and stature. A part of her was inclined to admit that is was not an altogether unpleasant feeling to imagine that he was in love with her.

                  
Margaret wandered alone towards yards of colorful cotton fabrics, which heralded the display of Britain’s textile wonders. But before she could examine them closer, her ears caught the familiar tones of a Darkshire accent. Her breath quickened and she instinctively searched through the crowd until she glimpsed the source.
He was here!
Her countenance beamed in glad surprise as she edged forward to see Mr. Thornton addressing a gathering of distinguished-looking men.

                  
“We are pressing forward to fulfill the numerous orders that were delayed by the interruption. So, you see, gentlemen, business continues despite the occasional interference,” he declared with easy authority.

                  
“Don’t you think we can bring about an end to strikes?” a gruff-voiced gentleman returned with curiosity.

                  
A stern look crossed his brow. “The lines are starkly drawn, and we cannot control men who have little knowledge of the broader spectrum of business. However, there may be hope that we can persuade them of our common purpose if they will quell their bitterness enough to listen to reason,” he explained evenly just as he caught sight of Margaret.

                  
His expression brightened and the corners of his mouth lifted in pleasure. “Miss Hale here knows something of the suffering caused by strikes. Perhaps she will offer her opinion,” he invited her, with a twinkle in his eye.

                  
Flustered for a brief moment, she gathered her courage to respond to the faces now turned in her direction. “I believe there is great hope that strife can be stilled if men will only treat each other as men, not as enemies, and come to understand each other better,” she answered resolutely.

                  
Mr. Thornton’s face glowed with admiration for her spirited reply. No other woman would have spoken up so bravely. “Excuse me,” he muttered as he swept past the London gentlemen to stand mere inches before the woman who would be his wife. “You have spoken well,” he commended her, his eyes drinking in the loveliness of her upturned face.

                  
“You’re here!” she answered with unguarded pleasure, still incredulous that she had found him in London.

                  
Her smile enchanted him; he wanted nothing more than to pull her to him and kiss her soundly right here in front of the surrounding crowds. “I had a compelling reason,” he remarked with a telling grin, his eyes smoldering with the passion he must restrain.

                  
Margaret blushingly bowed her head.

                  
“Margaret?” A familiar voice interrupted their exchange.

                  
“Henry,” Margaret exclaimed somewhat guiltily, turning to see his suspicious regard of the stranger towering over her. “This is Mr. Thornton,” she announced awkwardly, remembering the look of distinct displeasure Henry had worn when she had revealed the startling news of her engagement.

                  
“Mr. Thornton ... of Milton,” he returned with cold appraisal. “I must congratulate you on your engagement. How fortunate for you that the Hales moved north. I doubt that there are many girls in Milton of Margaret’s caliber,” he remarked smoothly with a cunning smirk.

                  
Mr. Thornton met Mr. Lennox’s challenging stare with his own steely gaze. “There is no one like Margaret. She surpasses all other women in beauty and intelligence,” he responded with unequivocal conviction, irritated at the young Londoner’s insinuation. “I am well aware of my great fortune in receiving her hand. I trust it would be the same for any man whom she deemed to marry,” he added civilly, a gleam of triumph in his eyes.

                  
Henry’s eyes shifted in jealous defeat; he was saved from any further embarrassment by the arrival of the rest of the London party.

                  
“Aunt Shaw, Edith, Maxwell — this is Mr. Thornton, from Milton,” Margaret announced as she slipped her arm around John’s in quiet verification of their betrothal.

                  
Mr. Thornton could not suppress the smile that formed on his lips at her possessive gesture. He instinctively secured her polite grasp by closing his hand over hers. This simple contact filled him with tingling elation and not a small measure of pride.

                  
“It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Thornton. Margaret has told me much about you,” Edith’s husband enthused as he stretched out his hand in greeting.

                  
“Has she?” Mr. Thornton queried with an arched eyebrow, stealing a glance at his intended before withdrawing his hand from her grasp to shake hands with Captain Lennox. He was greatly relieved when he felt her gently reclaim his arm when he had finished.

                  
“Miss Hale! Fancy finding you here in London,” Fanny Thornton exclaimed with a hint of sarcasm as she intruded upon the small gathering. Claire Lawrenson smiled politely at her side.

                  
“It seems you have found the opportunity to visit London at last,” Margaret responded.

                  
“Yes, after many weeks of indifference to the idea, John was suddenly very interested in coming to the Exhibition,” she remarked dryly, casting a knowing glance at her brother who seemed very pleased to have Miss Hale draped on his arm.

                  
Mr. Thornton colored slightly as Margaret pursed her lips in embarrassed mirth.

                  
“Allow me to introduce my sister, Fanny, and Miss Lawrenson of Milton,” Mr. Thornton offered with a wry smile.

                  
After proper introductions were exchanged and Mr. Lawrenson had joined the company, Captain Lennox insisted that Mr. Thornton show them the workings of the cotton industry that were on display in the hall of machinery. Repulsed by the prospect of examining the machinery which accosted her ears every day, Fanny and the Lawrensons proposed meeting the London party at the crystal fountain in the late afternoon.