Becoming Mrs. Thornton: A Sequel to North and South

Chapter 12

Chapter 12 – Becoming Mrs. Thornton – copyright Jill Hughey 2014

“Why must you go?” Margaret said as she snuggled closer into John’s side on their new, comfortable sofa.

“I must buy the right quality of cotton at the right price. There is not an agent in England or France I trust to do that for me.”

“But it is winter. Won’t the crossing be dangerous?”

His fingers played with the locks of her hair they had just finished unpinning. “I will be perfectly safe, and kept warm by the knowledge that you are here, waiting for me.”

“A week or more, you said! It is an eternity.” She peered up at him. “Can’t I come with you?” The days of his absence gaped in front of her like a deep, dark cave.

“You do know how to tempt me, love.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Not this time. I cannot be away from here long, which means I will be travelling hard. My overseer is a good man, but he misses the details that keep the mill running efficiently enough so that I can soon begin to pay back my debt to you. ”

She shifted to put her cheek against his shoulder again. “Is the debt what drives you to work from before dawn until after dusk?”

 “I have always worked long hours, despite the unions’ claims otherwise.” After a few moments of silence, he pressed, “What is it, Margaret? I can tell you are unhappy with my answer, even if you hide your face.”

When she shook her head, he put his hands on her shoulders to lift her away from him. “I need your honesty, love. Please. Do not hide from me.”

She stared at him, so very in love yet so very, very lonely. “I think that I am a missed detail, most days.”

His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You are never here.”

“That is not true.”

A small groan escaped him when she walked to the fireplace, needing some distance to be able to give voice to thoughts that would make him unhappy. “You are gone all day. We sit together for a short time each evening, then we are…we are intimate, and then we sleep. Soon you will leave on your trip, for a week or more.”

“I make this journey and I work long hours so that we will have a comfortable living,” he retorted automatically, the echo of his days as a poor draper’s assistant lurking in the reply.

She cocked her head. “I do not covet the comforts of money above time with you. You saw my parents’ home in Crampton. You’ve visited Helstone. You know I was not raised in luxury, nor did I ever seek it.”

“It is not only for your comfort,” he argued. “The money itself — your money — is still at risk. I must see the debt to you repaid.”

“I do not care about that,” she said. She could not think of anything she cared about more than having the bright light of his presence, even for the few waking hours they shared each day.

“You say that now, but if it were gone….”

She pursed her lips. She’d never heard her parents in a conversation like this. Was it normal? Should she curb her thoughts to match his?

Of course, he immediately sensed her hesitation. “Honesty, Margaret,” he demanded.

“You say you want me to be honest, then when I tell you how I feel you tell me where I am wrong,” she retorted.

His mouth opened and closed. He looked down at his hands and turned the wide gold band on his finger. “Very well, then, Margaret. Tell me exactly how you feel and I will endeavor to listen instead of correct.”