Dear readers,

Oh, my goodness! These are crazy times! Firstly, I hope you are all well and keeping safe. I am sorry for the rather long wait once again. I think it has been about a year actually- to my shame! I can only apologise and say that it was down to my life changing rather drastically. I shall give up saying that the wait won't be so long but I will try my best. I was thinking that as the majority of this chapter was already written, I would easily find time to finish and edit it, but it just didn't happen and when I then did look at it, I naturally deleted it all and re-wrote it. Now the UK is in lockdown due to the Corona Virus, I should theoretically have time to finally get back on a roll with this. Despite the wait, I do hope you enjoy this chapter and I love reading all your reviews. Please do keep leaving them! Rest assured, I have no intention of giving upon this story and will finish at some point! I feel like this is a bit of a sad and definitely angsty chapter really, but happy ones are coming. Not too many chapters to go now.

Happy reading,

Elle x

…

John paced the length of his office, removing his jacket and flinging it onto the back of a chair and casting a dark look towards the door where he knew his wife would appear imminently. Certainly, he had known today was going to be difficult (every day for the foreseeable future would be difficult)- and it undoubtedly had been, but not for the reasons he had assumed. Of course, he had not supposed that any of the last twenty-four hours' events would transpire as they had.

The stark white parchment, stained by his impending demise in that poisonous ink still lay discarded on his desk and at the sight, John slumped into his dark wooden chair. An uncomfortable lump formed in his throat as he shamefully recalled the sadness and unworthiness he had felt in this very office the day before, still felt now beneath his annoyance with his wife, in fact.

The crippling weight of despair had overcome him last night as he had finally been forced to confess his failures, and as he came clean on the truth of his financial catastrophe to his wife, he could never have anticipated that she would react as she had. His fractured mind had clouded as Margaret had offered herself willingly to him. He hadn't intended to let things go so far but, something had tried to tell him to stop, but in the end he hadn't seemed to have the power to heed it.

Despite their inexperience, he had thought it had been instinctual, though frantic and somewhat stilted. It was as though they had been building towards this for months and, unable to fight against fate any longer, their bodies and minds had finally succumbed. To his surprise, her need had appeared as evident as his own, and he had not paused to consider her motives, something that only troubled his mind now in the aftermath. It was not for the children she had come to wish for. In the moment he had stifled any doubts and had been unable to hold back the inevitable conclusion to their intimacy to give it any more thought. Worse, he had foolishly declared how much he loved her without thinking of how it would affect her, or of how much it would end up hurting him.

Regardless of his lack of rational thinking, it had not evaded his realisation that she had said nothing in response to his words of love. Instead her widened eyes had welled with tears and shattered any illusions he may have had that she might have felt the same as he.

He should have awaken filled with happiness that some feeling in his wife had changed to allow their relationship to escalate to such physical intimacy and, were it not for how she had reacted afterwards, John probably would have been, despite his looming financial ruin. Instead, John's heart had plummeted as he had seen tears in his wife's eyes and he had forced himself to resist the urge to turn from her; offended and confused he had wanted to escape from what felt so much like regret or rejection, yet she had pulled him back to her and clung to him even as she cried. It would break him to know she regretted what they had done, that his uttered words of adoration had offended her once more, yet her tears suggested it was so. Still, even in sleep, she had clung to him.

Not once had she attempted to find her nightdress that lay discarded somewhere on the floor and when he woke, she lay unclothed against him as he did against her. He did not understand such a vast contradiction, but he had simply held her to him, feeling the dampness of her tears against his chest, unable to bring himself to ask her how something that should have been so right between them seemed from her point of view to have been so wrong. He did not know for how long he had listened to her soft sobs, trying to drown them out with the memories of how ardently she had kissed him back, copied his fumbling but loving exploration of her body and how pliant she had been in his arms. His sense of self- preservation and dignity tried to hold onto the fact that she had started it all- she could not have felt obliged to from anything he had done.

Dawn had broken regardless of his lack of sleep, prompting a new internal battle that he still did not know the answer to. Should he have woken Margaret before leaving her? It had seemed ungentlemanly to leave her to wake alone given the circumstances, yet he was painfully aware of how awkward it would be to orchestrate dressing from complete nakedness in her presence, and he knew without a doubt she would feel embarrassed to do so in front of him. In truth, it was probably his own embarrassment that drove him to make his decision. He couldn't face her after her tears. Afterall, what was he to say when he saw her? Should he apologise? Should he ask her why she had cried? Assume that the nature of their relationship had changed for good and kiss her ardently? Or thank her? No, each option had felt entirely wrong. So, carefully, without waking the sleeping form next to him, John had lifted the arm that lay across his chest and placed it delicately against the linen sheets. He had dressed quickly, giving little care to his appearance, barely seeing himself in the mirror as his mind had re-traced the feeling of her lips kissing a trail against his skin. How was he to focus on anything but the feel of her? For a moment, he had gazed at the soft rise and fall of her upper body, hungrily devouring the sight of her cream skin covered only by a sheet, dedicating the sight to memory in case he was not to get the chance to see it again. His heart had wanted to wake her, to seek assurance that things had changed for the better between them, but instead he had settled for kissing his wife softly on the shoulder before grabbing a sheet of parchment from his dressing table and penning a note.

Margaret,

I didn't want to wake you since you have had very little sleep. I hope we might talk this evening?

John.

He suspected she would be angry at him for such a note- would probably see it as a slight that he did not mean-but it seemed to him that it would be worse to leave with no note at all. Perhaps that was why she had felt the need to be so reckless- to show him her displeasure.

He had been unsurprised when she had appeared at the mill a little before lunchtime- the same time as always. Her eyes had still been slightly red- evidence of how she had cried throughout the night- which only fuelled his guilt even then. They had appeared to be dry, though her cheeks flamed scarlet each time their eyes had accidently connected, her own quickly dropping his gaze. Unsure of how to speak to the woman he had declared love for and made love to just hours before, John settled for wishing her a flustered good morning, disappointed when all he received in return was a deeper flush to her cheeks, a small smile towards the ground and a nod. Still, it seemed as though she was not going to allow him to get away with delaying the inevitable, and although she did not utter a word to him, Margaret had made it clear she had no intentions of running the kitchens that afternoon by making no attempt to prepare anything, and instead had relentlessly followed him in his business around the mill as though checking up on him like a small child, and soon his guilt and embarrassment had turned to annoyance. The eyes of the workers had followed them as he did the rounds as usual followed by his wife and irrationally John could not help but hope those in his employ could not somehow sense such awkward tension.

After at least an hour of being followed but not once spoken to, John had been unable to bear it any longer. Turning to his shadow, he could not keep the embarrassed annoyance from his voice as he had asked her, "Can I do something for you, Margaret?"

In response, she had raised her eyebrows, her cheeks flushing prettily. For the first time John had noticed that her dress was an attractive shade of pale blue, not dissimilar to the periwinkle she had worn to the party. He could not help but notice her collar bones once again were exposed by the sweeping neckline and in spite of his annoyance, his guilt and to his embarrassment, John had to swallow deeply as his mind contemplated the logistics of removing that dress and repeating their passions of the night before. Finally, the redness to her eyes had lessened, though the appearance of tears waiting there had not, giving them a wide glassy quality, that somehow made his heart race as she finally brought her own eyes to his and held his gaze for a moment. She had stared at him in a way he didn't understand, as though she could see into his very soul for the first time, and he found himself blushing under her scrutiny.

Taking her hand, he had guided her away from the watching eyes of the workers, to a secluded place at the back of the mill and allowed himself to turn to his wife once more. "Margaret…" he had whispered, unable to look away. He stepped close to her and the same scent of honey from last night radiated from her hair making his anger almost dissipate as it was replaced with longing. Her breath had hitched, and her mouth opened a little as he reached for her waist, encouraging him to gently pull her towards him.

"John," she whispered breathily in response, and she brought her forehead to rest against his shoulder. Relief had flooded through him as he received the verbal recognition and for a minute he forgot how she had cried as he had declared love for her and began to hope. He pressed his lips tenderly to her temple and his hands reached to close the distance between them completely.

To his dismay, a small hand rose and pressed against his chest to stopped him from pulling her body against his, and his hands had faltered.

"You need to tell them about the kitchen, John."

The disappointment had been crushing.

His anger came flooding back with her words and he stopped still. He was a fool. Stepping back, he had tutted at his stupidity, shaking his head in disbelief and shame. He had received nothing from her all morning and misinterpreted their relationship once again. How could he have thought that last night would have changed anything? Of course, when she finally had spoken it was to tell him how to run his business!

"Oh, I do, do I?" He had asked sharply. After everything they had shared, all she cared about was the immediate welfare of his workers.

What made his annoyance peak further still was that she had been right, of course. He had felt that he could not tell the men everything- not yet- for his mother had not returned from Fanny and Watson's house and remained blissfully unaware of the trials to come, but the workers needed to know things would be changing. They deserved to know that much if they were not to receive the usual food provisions, regardless of how much he dreaded telling them. It was not that he particularly cared about how they felt on the matter. For a start it was not as though it could be avoided, business was business and sacrifices had to be made, but he did not feel prepared to face the violence and rioting that was the most likely response to the news.

Under the scrutiny of her gaze he had been unable to delay and bitterly he had turned from her.

Despite the grand speeches filled with elaborate reasons he had planned in his head, in the end he had simply been honest. At his command, the foreman had instantly gathered the workers together and he had simply told them the truth- the kitchen would be closing immediately because there was no money to pay for it and, if the workers wished for their wages to remain the same, there was no other way. They were not happy. He could have expected as much, but there was no violence or threats as such, just shouted insults and frustrated voices raised in a deafening cacophony that drowned out even the clatter of the machines.

Margaret had not moved. Beside him, he had felt his wife's heated gaze, still prickling his skin as she clearly willed him to do something, but what she had wanted from him in this situation he had absolutely no idea and so he had ignored it, turning from the burn and answering the hollered questions from some of the more vocal men.

To his shock and anger, Margaret had held up her hand to silence the men. Perhaps they remembered their actions and how they had affected the same woman before them now, months ago as they had rioted at the gated of Marlborough mills, for they obeyed her signal. A hush fell among them remarkably quickly. He should have known then that she could not resist the workers dissatisfaction and asked her to come away to tell him of what she wished to say before she did so but instead he had stared incredulously at her as his wife offered his workers a vote. Their wages could be docked, and the kitchen remain open or their wages would remain the same and the kitchen would close. John had hoped that her desire to constantly fight for the plight of his workers was finally satisfied but he should have known that hope was in vain. Still, he had not thought that she would do something so reckless as to offer his workers alternatives that he could not realistically provide. Had their conversation last night not reached her at all? There was no money in reserve and the amount Margaret had just offered to dock from each worker's wages would not save enough to pay for half the cost of the kitchens. Overall, they would save nothing, and unless he could acquire the food they used for significantly cheaper prices they would lose more! Not to mention that he had been overruled by his wife in front of the men, without so much as a glance his way from her.

John had barely managed to keep his anger in check in front of the entire workforce. Backed into a corner, what could he do? If he was to appear to support his wife and give the men a vote, the outcome could be catastrophic, but if he was to overrule her and assert his authority, he knew she would not forgive him. Begrudgingly he did what he must- kept quiet and waited for his fate rather than storming away from her as he wanted to do. He barely felt the relief he should have had that they had unanimously voted for their pay to remain the same and the kitchens to stop. Instead, he simply stared at Margaret with complete incredulity as she thanked the crowd and dismissed them, the roar of voices soon replaced by looms as they were put back into use. Holding his flaring temper in check was a task beyond him and the moment the workers returned to their duties he had commanded his wife to follow him to his office, which she wisely acquiesced to without argument, trailing tentatively behind him.

It was for the best that she had dithered a little as he had a moment to compose himself and now his rage had dimmed marginally into relief that the vote had gone the way he assumed she had hoped and pure exasperation.

"What in God's name were you thinking?" John questioned, jumping up from his chair the moment she appeared in the doorway, not caring that the door was not yet closed any anyone passing by would hear them.

"Excuse me?" She asked innocently, as closed the door behind herself as though completely oblivious to the annoyance conveyed through his tone.

John's mouth opened and closed in bafflement at her lack of understanding and he brought his hand to his now throbbing temple as he began to pace.

"Margaret, if you think I believe that you have no idea…" he began before being cut off.

"I was helping you to keep the workers on side, John," she offered calmly, ignoring his agitated pacing and crossing the room to pick up a silver fountain pen resting on his desk and study the engraving (his father's name) closely. John's irritation only escalated further at her interest in something as mundane as a pen, whilst he was battling to contain him temper. She was evading him; it was impossible for her to be oblivious to the cause of his distress!

Still trying to reign in his emotions, John tried to keep his voice measured as he explained, "You had no right to offer my workers an alternative to what I had told them – what we had spoken about prior to this! Do you have any idea of the trouble I would have had with them if they had chosen to dock their wages with the amount you suggested and keep the kitchen? I would be no better off, in fact there is a high chance that I would be in more trouble than before!"

Margaret's eyes left the object in her hand and with her eyebrows raised just a little she looked at him somewhat pityingly. Why he felt a little ashamed under her scrutiny when it was she in the wrong, John had no idea, yet he found himself flinching away from her and suspecting he had missed something that she expected him to understand.

"I was under the impression that last night we agreed to be in this together, John, yet now they are your workers? Your problem alone?" Her voice had risen dangerously and there was no blush to her cheeks now, no hesitation on her face as her stare focussed on him unrelentingly.

John rubbed his now persistently aching forehead between his thumb and forefinger in an attempt to clear his mind. He had not meant to imply that the mill was only his business, but could she not see that there was no teamwork in what she had done? That ultimately, he was the one who would need to find a solution to the mistakes he had made? That he was the one who had been humiliated in front of his men and his pride that had been wounded?

"We did…" he boomed, his voice betraying his acknowledgement of his poor choice of phrasing, "but you can't do things like that without warning, Margaret! We didn't decide on giving them such a vote together- you decided and placed the mill in more jeopardy. More than that, you overruled me in front of the entire work force without so much as considering how that would make me feel and look."

Margaret's mouth widened as though to protest but no sound came out and her eyes lowered as realisation crossed her face and John's guilt returned at the turmoil he could see raging in Margaret's mind. She still thought she was right- he could see it in her eyes- but he knew she had not considered how it would affect him. Gone were the days when he would see her chiding as a challenge to be met and instead, he gave her a moment to ponder. John knew her well enough to know that Margaret would defend her actions, but at least she might for once consider his position.

Carefully she placed the pen back onto his desk and sighed.

"John, you were about to have another riot on your hands. The workers were never going to pick to have their wages docked- no matter what small amount I plucked from thin air, as they have no understanding of value, only of money. They cannot comprehend that overall it is in their interest to dock their wages and keep benefitting from the quality food they have been receiving! They just needed to feel it was a reasonable amount… that they might… they might have a real choice."

Her face was set as she spoke, but her eyes had softened and her voice quiet.

"But do you not see that there was no choice at all?" She continued, "They feel they cannot afford to have their wages docked as they can barely survive on what they get, yet by giving them a vote they feel you have been honest about your position and are placated as they feel they have been involved in making the decision! They cannot riot about something they have voted for..."

As John, looked closely at the woman before him, he realised he had underestimated her. For all her concern for those in his employ she had still been able to be realistic enough about their logic to manipulate them how she wished. She was right, of course, in her predictions but he did not understand her willingness to gamble. Had she not berated him for considering a speculation, hailed him for refusing it and yet she had chosen to gamble with their livelihood? No, he did not understand her, and yet as he was forced to acknowledge had been clever, he wished he had considered it himself.

Silence settled between them with only the steady beat of the looms below providing a soft soundtrack as they both considered their thoughts in solitude. He supposed she might expect him to apologise but it was not in his nature to ignore the fact that whilst she may have acted less foolishly than he thought, she was still wrong to have done so without consulting him.

It was Margaret who finally broke the stillness with a deep sigh.

"I am sorry for undermining you; perhaps there is a way I could have spoken to you first, but I really didn't think of it at all until that very moment when I thought you might be in danger again…" Her voice quieted as she trailed off, her hands twisting in front of her and giving away her discomfort.

"I am still trying to get used to being married…" she added, with a weak smile and John got the impression that the weight of the statement extended to more than that situation.

John's heart softened at her words as he thought of how she had misguidedly attempted to save him once before and hoped that perhaps she had only been trying to do so once again. He doubted her actions had done his reputation as mill master too much damage in reality. Besides, he suspected the eventual loss of the mill would do far more.

"And would you have done the same for any man there?" He asked tentatively, repeating her words from the morning he had first proposed, hoping to bring some humour and distil a little of the tension that still hung between them.

Her lips raised a little with good humour. "Probably not…" she answered, with a careless look through the window that overlooked some of the workers milling in the courtyard.

"Probably not?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at her stubbornness.

"Definitely not…" she conceded, blushing shyly. For a moment their eyes connected, and minus the ill feeling of ten minutes previously, the awkwardness of not having acknowledged the gravity of last night once again settled between them.

"I suppose I should leave you to finish your work". Margaret gave him a shy smile before turning to the door and letting the rhythmic hum of machinery into the room.

"Margaret…"

She paused and turned back to him.

"We must tell my mother tonight. Eventually this will get back to her and she deserves to hear it from us first…" The very thought filled him with dread, but it could not be postponed any longer.

She nodded with a deep intake of breath.

"When we tell your mother, I promise I won't undermine you again…" her voice was a little less confident than it had been and John knew this was his wife's way of trying to make up for offending him without admitting she had been wrong out loud.

"And perhaps we should talk about last night… if you still wish to?"

"Yes," he answered, his voice rough as images of his unclad wife clinging to him rushed through his mind, intermingled with pictures of her crying softly into his side.

Perhaps she had been pondering the same thing as barely perceptively she nodded again, her eyes lowered to the floor and exited his office. She did not follow him around for the rest of the day, but stepped back, always watching from somewhere in the mill and offering a small smile if ever their eyes were to meet.

As a sign of peace to Margaret, he had offered the remaining food in the kitchens to be collected and taken home by any man or woman who wished to make use of it, and Margaret quickly busied herself with arranging this. John noted at the close of the day that it was entirely gone, and he did not begrudge it. When the workers left, the usual men tipped their hats towards him and John looked towards Margaret, grateful for her approving smile as he was forced to acknowledge that her instincts had been correct, if her delivery was wrong.

…

Darkness began to draw in and Margaret's teeth troubled her lip as she made her way begrudgingly towards the only part of the mill that remained occupied, save for the exit where a few workers still lingered. John hadn't actually asked her to wait for him, but she did not relish the idea of standing alone in the empty mill and a quick look across the courtyard confirmed that Hannah Thornton had returned from the Watsons' house and therefore returning home to wait seemed to her equally unappealing. In truth, she hadn't felt nervous to see John Thornton in the way she did now since she had long ago made a very different journey to find him in the same office, with a letter from her father burning through her pocket into her hip. She hoped, at least, that she looked considerably better this time. As the lights faded, she was filled with as much trepidation as said pervious visit. Still, she made her way up the steep set of stairs, following the light provided by a lone candle from somewhere in its depths.

It was not that she did not wish to see him. Indeed, today more than ever she had sought out his whereabouts, wishing to check that he was well. Even after their disagreement, perhaps more so because of it she had found herself attempting to check on him, just to be sure he would not become the fragmented being she had faced last night. His anger with her after her interference had almost been welcome. It was entirely unfair of her to compare her husband to his father, but she could not deny that a small part of her was troubled by the thought of his devastating fate after a fall similar to what they now faced. Of course, by now she knew him well enough to know he would not falter in public, but then she did not think she would ever see him in such a state either. She had not seen anyone as broken as he had been whilst he confessed everything to her and it the memory of his distress was unsettling. Perhaps that was why she had crumbled herself? Now some semblance of rationality had returned to her she could not believe she had actually lain with her husband. The embarrassment was crippling. Her thoughts had scrambled as she had tried to stop herself from crying out at the pain of it, then as the feeling had begun to change into something else that left her equally confused. Now at least she knew what Edith had meant about the pain, but she had not mentioned anything more. To have then let herself down so by crying in front of him once again despite her vow not to did not help, but she had not seemed to be able to control her own emotions. Now, she could not help but feel apprehensive, both about facing him after offending him so that very morning and having to 'talk about last night' as he had requested in his brief note to her.

In truth, she had been a little relieved to find herself alone in their bed when she had awoken, especially after noting her own unclothed state and remembering how embarrassingly overwhelmed she had found herself feeling after realising that whatever their 'contracted' relationship had been it was no longer just friendship and physically at least they were truly man and wife. He was going to ask her why she had cried, she knew that without a doubt, but how was she to answer? There did not seem to be a logical reason and she could not confess it had so much to do with her sudden realisation that what she felt for him might be love and not just the platonic feelings she thought she wanted and could handle. How was she to swallow her pride and tell him she had fallen in love with him? What was the correct procedure for that? In a way she hoped he would outright ask her if she loved him, for then she would be forced to admit it.

Inhaling deeply to try and quell her nervous breathlessness she went to face her fear.

John was to be found hunched over his desk, signing paperwork. He acknowledged her as she entered and gestured for her to sit in a chair opposite his desk. She did so and waited for him to finish, watching his scrabbled writing and the shuffling of the papers as he finished his work.

"Thank you." She said, breaking the stillness of the room as he finally turned his attention to her, "For giving the workers the left-over food, I mean. I know they appreciated it."

"It was no hardship." He replied plainly.

The kindness in his eyes showed none of the annoyance and anger he had felt for her just hours before and Margaret felt herself speaking: "I am sorry…about earlier. I should have asked you before putting a vote to the workers…"

He flinched a little as though burnt but quickly schooled his face into a soft smile as he retreated into his thoughts for a moment before shrugging.

So, he was still a little upset. Still, she did not regret what she had done. It was only what was needed.

"Forget it, Margaret…" he conceded eventually, and she relaxed a little as they lapsed into their own thoughts.

The steady beat of the small clock on his desk seemed to count the passing seconds and Margaret found herself longing to break the silence.

"I think the workers took the information well…" she said, trailing as she realised it was perhaps not wise to dwell on the subject just as she had his forgiveness.

"Yes. I think you are right." He added sounding falsely bright. The silence settled again. They both knew what needed to be said but neither was willing or perhaps neither was able to say it.

"I am sorry about last night." He finally told her softly, "I didn't mean to make you cry."

She felt her face drop at his words. He was sorry. Did that mean he wished they hadn't done it?

"You did not make me cry. There is nothing to be sorry for." She replied matter of factly, but her eyes were trained adamantly on her shifting hands in her lap rather than on him. She supposed she should elaborate further but if he regretted it, what more was there to say?

"I must have done something to upset you?" He probed tenderly, watching as she found herself looking around his office at his words as though looking for an escape.

John watched her, giving her time, but studying her as though searching for any hint of a clue as to her feelings but she knew she had closed off, giving him nothing and he must have felt as though there could be nothing more for him to say. Seemingly at a loss, he returned to his attention to the paperwork before him. She was watching him, he could sense it, but he would not ask her again if it would offend her so to discuss it.

The silence seemed to drag on between them and John turned again to his pile of documents, seizing one and signing his name at the bottom.

"Was it not what or as you wished, John?"

His mouth dropped open and he cleared his throat hurriedly, his cheeks reddening.

"I should have thought there could have been no doubt that it was what and as I wished." Now it was he who did not meet her gaze.

Margaret felt her heart flutter and a calmness come over her as her fears were alleviated a little. At the time his responses and actions did suggest it was so, but his words had thrown her. He did not regret it after all! His apology must have only been referring to her blasted sobbing. For that she could not blame him for feeling insecure she supposed.

To her own surprise, and from the way he flinched at her touch his too, her hand reached across the barrier of his desk to his and taking his pen from his grasp, she linked her fingers with his, giving him a squeeze of encouragement. Confused eyes sought hers and focussed intently on the small smile of reassurance she was giving him.

"Did I hurt you too badly?" he tried again, his voice laced with concern.

She knew John would be under no illusions. Despite her own desperation as she had encouraged him to finally claim her, she knew pain had been evident in the way her eyes had frantically widened and she had bitten her lower lip as their bodies had joined as though to keep from crying out. Yet, when he had hesitated and clumsily tried to withdraw, she had dragged his lips back to her own and held his hips in place to prevent him and desperately sought to stop her discomfort from showing as he had continued. Part of her embarrassment stemmed from her worry that he would have known that at some point her uncontrollable gasps and sighs had changed and were not related to pain. The fact that he clearly did not, both made her a little sad and endeared him to her further.

Margaret's brow furrowed, and she shook her head.

"I am fine, John..." She offered, but her voice waivered a little as she remembered the feeling of him. A small part of her, the tiniest of flames wished her to ask whether it might happen again. Shamefully she stifled it out and tried to prevent herself from blushing too deeply and giving that traitorous part of her away. "I do not regret it," she simply settled for, earning her a relieved sigh and a smile.

What more could there be to say that would not break her heart? Amongst her personal anguish she had nearly forgotten the daunting task at hand and with a crushing blow the reality of their situation hit her. So, with little haste, she let go of his hand and made her way to the door to wait for him to follow. He did so, grabbing his jacket and together they walked in companionable silent to face the music of his mother.

…

Hannah Thornton was to be found in the sitting room, waiting for John's return as she had always done. Previously it had annoyed Margaret and driven her to the haven of their bed chamber, but now she supposed it was a nice testament to how much the woman cared for John. She was sure her own parents would have done the same thing and felt the cold stab of sadness at their absence.

The woman looked up as they entered together and bid them good evening and after much deliberation Margaret left the space beside Hannah for John and took a seat opposite. A small thrill rushed through her when her husband took the seat beside her rather than his mother, though she did feel a slither of guilt as the resignation is his mother's eyes as she too noticed his choice.

"What is it, John?" Hannah asked after she had regained her full composure. Margaret was not surprised she could sense something was wrong, for John older than he usually did, older and sadder, and Margaret saw the broken man from the night lurking inside his head, waiting to take over.

"Mother, I barely know how to tell you…" he began and Margaret's worries for her husband returned as she realised how tired he looked. Now in the darkened room, it was plain to see. She supposed he had not slept much at all, certainly less than her and she had struggled throughout the day.

"Tell me what, son?" his mother urged, and Margaret wondered whether she should tell her. No, upon reflection she knew her husband would resent that in the long run. She understood his fear, but now that the woman was before her, Margaret's misgivings about Hannah's reactions had dissipated. The woman had stuck by him through destitution before and would do so again, and for that her admiration for her rose.

"Mother, it is the mill…" he stated, surprisingly composed. "We're going to lose it."

A candle on the fireplace flickered out and Hannah Thornton rose and calmly lit another.

"I know things have been hard, John, but things will improve…" she spoke confidently returning to her seat. "What needs to be done?"

"No, mother. They will not improve." His voice cracked slightly in his admission.

John ran and hand through his already slightly wild hair and Margaret reached for his hand to hold it still in hers.

"The bank requires the money we borrowed for the wheel and extra looms and we do not have the funds to repay it. We have been given six months before we are to be evicted and we will not have the money, no matter how optimistic we are with the figures."

"What is the owed figure?" She asked and received a piece of paper in reply. Margaret could only assume the paper was the final demand and included all the details from the bank. She studied Hannah as her eyes roamed the page, seeming to eventually lose focus and hand the paper back to her son. Hannah Thornton was a difficult woman to read at the best of times, and in that moment as hard as she tried to glimpse at all what the stoic woman was feeling, Margaret could not. Her façade did not slip for a moment as she calmly replied, "How long have you known?"

Her lack of emotion seemed to calm John further and he had resumed his business-like tone by the time he replied, "for a while I have suspected they would make their final demand but yesterday was when I received the letter." His tight grip on her own hand was the only remaining physical sign of his turmoil.

"If we lose the mill, so be it. We will weather the storm and then we will build it back up again."

"As simply as that?" John scoffed at his mother's matter of fact tone.

Margaret had thus far remained quite throughout their exchange but now she spoke her agreement with his mother: "There is nothing simple about it, but you will do it because that is the type of man she has raised."

Hannah turned to her and Margaret could have sworn flicker of emotion she saw directed at herself was admiration or at least understanding. Directing her attention back to her son, she came to rest her hand reassuringly on John's shoulder.

"Margaret is right. You have done it before and you will not be alone, John. You have me and this time you have a wife who I have no doubt will support you also and will play her part."

Coming from Hannah Thornton Margaret decided to count such an assumption about herself as a compliment indeed and could not help but smile as she contemplated that she didn't think she would ever receive a compliment from the woman.

"I am thankful for that," John admitted, "but I am not a young man anymore and the thought of starting again…"

"Thirty-one is hardly old, John. Besides, it may not come to that." Hannah reassured him kindly. "There is hope yet. Could you not seek out an investor?"

Margaret thought of Captain Lennox's words that he had considered dabbling in cotton. Perhaps there were other gentlemen like him who would be willing to invest their money in the mill as a vanity project?

"Yes. Perhaps there is a rich gentleman who may be persuaded?" She asked hopefully. "Many retired men in the south devote their money towards some trade project or other they hope will make them rich. I am sure you might find such a gentleman in London! Perhaps an acquaintance of my family"

"Perhaps it is worth a try…" John conceded, looking between her and his mother," but surely I would not find one willing to make an investment to someone with such significant debt?"

"I should have thought for some that would be even more attractive. They might well like the idea of being the hero and helping out a struggling business and making money through their 'charity'. That is the sort of thing that is often boasted about at dinner parties. My uncle once invested in the shipping trade before his death and we all never heard the end of it…"

Hannah studied her for a moment.

"Margaret is better qualified than I to know of such things, but certainly I have heard of such investments occurring…" Hannah admitted, and Margaret knew how much it would have cost her to admit inferiority to Margaret.

"You really thing it might be worth pursuing?" John asked her.

"Oh, yes. I am sure Captain Lennox would be willing to help you move in the right social circles!"

John's face clouded and instinctively Margaret knew he was thinking of Henry Lennox.

"Edith's husband I mean…" she clarified and received a nod of understanding.

"Perhaps you would write to Edith and see what could be done?" Hannah asked her and Margaret agreed eagerly.

"I will do so now!" She rose excitedly, taking her husband's words of thanks as agreement and taking her leave. She paused in the hallway as she heard the two voices continue the conversation.

"Do not lose hope yet. I know it will be hard for your pride for Margaret to ask her family for help, but it may be a solution."

"My pride was far more badly dented having to admit such a thing to her and to you." Came the deeper reply.

"You know you have nothing to worry about for my part…" the sentence was left hanging as she speaker seemed to be contemplating something.

"I told you Margaret just needed time. She has matured and she will get there, I am sure of it."

"I have begun to hope that one day…" came the reply, "but this situation certainly won't help."

For a moment there was a pause and Margaret began to feel guilt for listening to something that she was clearly not meant to hear.

"Sometimes people thrive in adversity. Perhaps that will be the case here."

Margaret had no idea to what they were referring to, but it would not do to dwell on it. She supposed that given her initial attitudes towards tradesmen she could not be offended by the implication that she may have been immature enough to take such news badly but she had hoped Hannah thought better of her than that.

"Are you offended I told her first?" Asked the lower voice.

"I cannot pretend that it did not hurt," a higher voice replied, "but that is how it should be, and I know I must accept it."

"Thank you, mother…" the deep voice replied, and the shuffling of clothes as he rose from the chair startled Margaret into resuming her journey upstairs.

John followed her into the room not long after. The sound of him changing out of his work clothes kept her firmly focussed on the letter in front of her, even as the image of what lay beneath them tried to push its way to the forefront of her consciousness.

She had tried to phrase her words in a way which would cause John a minimum amount of embarrassment and when she was pleased with the result, she passed it to him to check.

He was already in bed beneath the blankets but took it and read it quickly.

Dear Edith,

I believe that the Captain may have once mentioned that he was considering finding out more about the cotton industry. John has the opportunity to seek out and investor and I instantly thought of asking for Captain Lennox's help. Do you think it would be worthwhile for John to visit London to seek one out? Perhaps there are friends of your husband who may be interested?

I hope you are all well and Sholto is growing well. I do miss you all so! How are you finding this pregnancy? I hope you are not so sick as last time.

Please pass on my regards to Aunt Shaw.

Best wishes,

Margaret

"Perfect. I appreciate it, Margaret" he declared, and feeling pleased to have been of some help, Margaret sealed it carefully. She didn't want to forget to give it Mary in the morning, and so she hurried to leave it by the door. All was quiet downstairs, but the sitting room was still dimly lit by and candle and she knew her mother-in-law must still be sitting there.

"Good night, Hannah." She spoke into the room without entering.

"You must be worried too." Came the reply and Margaret paused, peering into the room from the doorway.

"Yes. And no." She replied honestly, entering properly. "I am simultaneously worried for the battles ahead and have complete confidence in your son and in our ability to help him."

Hannah nodded. "Do you truly think your brother-in-law might be able to help?" she asked.

"I know he will do his best."

"Good night then," was repeated back to her with sincerity and she ascended the stairs once again. Such small progress with Hannah Thornton had made her remember her mother's wish that Mrs Thornton might be a friend to her and hoped that her mother might have been pleased at such a step. It was hardly the forging of a friendship but at least the pair of them were able to tolerate each other without too much pain these days.

When she returned to the bed chamber, her husband was already asleep. His brow was furrowed but he looked peaceful and Margaret could not bring herself to wake him to ask for his help in undressing. Instead, she tried to reach around and wiggle her way out of her corset and managed to remove her majority of her clothing. Her nightdress was nowhere to be found. In its absence she did not have too much choice but to climb into bed in her undergarments. Still, she didn't suppose that mattered since John had already seen her with far less coverings. Nestled as close to him as she thought she could without waking him, she tried to sleep. Her mind had other ideas, repeating over and over the events of the past few days with alarming clarity. Finally, unable to function any longer she had lapsed into a troublesome sleep in which she dreamed Fred had come back from Spain to take over the mill and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

…

Edith's reply had arrived only a couple of days later and Margaret had eagerly rushed over to the mill to give it to her husband. In truth, she was pleased to be provided with an excuse to see him. He had spent practically every waking moment at the mill, leaving absurdly early and arriving home long after midnight. It had been agreed that he would travel to London to seek out an investor, whether Edith had someone in mind or not and he had told her he was preparing the necessary documents to take with him to London. She had tried in vain to wake with him in the mornings and stay up until he returned but she had never been the best person at functioning without sleep. Hannah had made the difficult decision to find alternate employment for the maids in an attempt to save some more money to put aside for the future, so Margaret was needed at home to help with the day to day running of the household. As a result, she had barely seen him.

She assumed the letter had arrived that morning, but she had been so distracted with washing and pressing their clothing that she had failed to notice it had been hidden amongst other delivery items. It had only caught her eye as the darkness had drawn in and she had entered the hallway to check whether she could see his light beaming down from his office window and the pile of post had caught her eye.

Excitedly, she had headed towards his office, letter in hand. In her haste, she had forgotten that the shadows of the looms in the workshop were terrifying to face alone and she rushed through them as quickly as possible in the dark and burst through his door without knocking.

"Edith has replied!" she exclaimed, rushing towards his desk and depositing the letter onto it, resisting the urge to laugh at his startled expression.

"What does she say?" he asked wearily.

"Well technically it was addressed to you, so I did not think it appropriate for me to open it…" Margaret had wanted to, of course, but had been taught from a young age not to open mail belonging to others. Her mother had been quite firm on that matter and even in her absence she could not bear to think of how disappointed she would be in her if she knew she had done so.

It must have been clear that she had been dying to open it as he obliged her: "Perhaps you could open it and read it to me?" and Margaret wasted no time, tearing the envelope open.

Dearest Margaret,

All is well here. Sholto is walking and can speak in full sentences with prompting! Captain Lennox is thrilled with his progress. The sickness has not been so bad with this baby, but I am already losing patience with my condition. Still, it will all be worth it as soon as the child is here, of course.

As for your question of investment opportunities, the Captain thinks he has some acquaintances who would be very interested in such a proposition. He is currently home on leave from his duties and would be pleased to set up some social gatherings where such conversations may be had.

Perhaps you could both come to stay, and we could arrange this as soon as possible before my husband is required to return to his post? I have alerted my mother and she is more than happy for you to stay with us for as long as necessary. You do not need to write and tell us when you will be arriving if you wish to come right away. She will have the servants set up a room for you.

I do hope to see you soon.

Much love to you and Mr Thornton.

Edith.

"That sounds promising, does it not?" She asked hopefully.

"It certainly sounds as though we might be lucky." He agreed. "I had better make arrangements to leave tomorrow so that your brother-in-law might be around to help for as long as possible."

Margaret nodded. Certainly, there was no point in waiting. It had not escaped her recognition that Edith was assuming she too would be travelling to London. Such a thought had not previously crossed her mind, but now she could not hope but be a little hopeful. It would be nice to spend time playing with Sholto and certainly she missed her cousin dearly. In addition, she supposed it would be nice to visit London with John. Although she had dreaded the idea of being thrown back into the London upper-class cattle market of society balls, there were many aspects of London scenery which she held dear.

John must have been pondering on the same matter for he asked her, "do you plan on accompanying me?"

She considered it for a moment. "Do you wish for me to?" She asked, curiously.

"Of course, I wish for you to…" he said without deliberation, "but then my mother…"

Margaret understood. If she was to accompany John his mother would be left alone in charge of the house, the mill and in juggling Fanny's whims. Knowing Hannah, she would not complain and would insist that she could cope, and indeed had done before, but that was years ago. In reality, she would be spread rather thin if left alone. As much as it pained Margaret to think of missing an opportunity to see her nephew, it would make more sense for her to remain in Milton.

"I wish I could go with you, but perhaps I should remain with you mother and help will the mill."

Yet if she was to remain in Milton with Hannah, John would be alone. It was an upsetting thought.

"Yes. She won't say it but I know she will be grateful for the help. If only to have someone to complain to about Fanny."

She managed a small smile at that.

"Will you be alright alone?" She asked unable to stop the slight waver in her voice.

"As much as I would rather have company, we would probably not see each other enough to make it worthwhile in any case, but I am sorry you will not be able to spend time with Edith." He answered, tidying the papers on the desk in front of him and rising to put his coat on.

"I am a little apprehensive about offending you southern gentlemen with my course, northern ways."

Margaret knew he was joking but his eyes gave away the truthfulness of the statement. His sadness made her own heart ache peculiarly. It was apparent on just on his face but in the way he held himself, the slightly tired demeanour he exhibited these days. The thought of him leaving caused her its own prickle of pain and for the first time Margaret really felt the gravity of the situation. She was in all likelihood going to lose her home again and the image of the family she had craved and really believed for a while she might have had crumbled before they had chance to come to fruition and the one person she had left who had begun to feel like family was going to go away. Worse, he was going to go away with so much left unsaid and acknowledged between them It was melodramatic to think like that- it would not be forever but certainly for the foreseeable future and that was more heart breaking than she wanted to admit to herself. All the worry and insecurities of the last few days bubbled up inside her and with a half- sigh, half-sob, Margaret closed the gap between them and wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face into the stiff cotton of his shirt. For a moment he did not react at all but before long and to her satisfaction, his arms came to circle her. That same comforting, soap- mingled with his sandalwood- scent felt like home and Margaret embraced the overwhelming feeling home. The beating of his heart beneath her cheek was comforting and Margaret was reminded of how he had held her like this in the graveyard in the aftermath of her father's funeral. How things had changed from that time, in ways she had never imagined. Her hands stroked across the wool of the coat across his back and she felt his heartbeat quicken and his shuddering intake of breath.

"I am going to miss you, John," she mumbled into his warm chest.

She made no attempt to resit the hand that came up to bring her face up towards his or the lips that captured her own, hesitantly at first, and then not so hesitantly.

In truth it was a relief to be kissing him again because she had spent an embarrassingly large proportion of time these past few days, half hoping, half wondering whether he might make love to her again. The increasingly passionate way he was now kissing her, gripping her waist to hold her flush against him and running his hands across the fabric of her back surely implied he wasn't against it. Also, because it meant that things were alright between them and their fragile relationship had survived the monumental shift of the night of Hamper's party and they had not been thrown back into the physical avoidance of the start of their marriage.

Margaret's mind was clouding as he clumsily backed her against the wall. Or was it her that had pulled him backwards with her? Perhaps it was both. Either way, she knew how this was going to end.

As though they had come to the same thought simultaneously, they pulled apart slightly, both breathless.

"We can't do this here…" John said, resting his forehead against hers.

For one crazy second Margaret was tempted to disagree with him. Thankfully the entirely inappropriate thought passed.

"No. Not here." Her teeth chewed agitatedly at her bottom lip, her cheeks flaming at the thought.

With a soft moan, John pulled back from her grasp and walked away from her to collect a small pile of papers from his desk and blow out the candle on the desk, plunging them into near darkness. The only light left was the dim stream created by the moon from the other side of the wide window.

Without speaking John strode purposefully towards her and grabbed her hand in his. He led her from the office and Margaret followed his lead willingly, waiting patiently as he dropped her hand momentarily to lock the large doors, before recapturing her hand and continuing towards the house.

It had been late when Margaret had headed to find her husband and she dreaded to think how late it had become now. Certainly, it was late enough that Hannah Thornton had already given up on waiting for them to return.

Nervousness and that same fear as she had felt the first time made her want to run as they made their way upstairs and into their bed chamber, but her curiosity and longing tempered it.

They barely spoke as they separated to opposite sides of the room and both undressed. This time there was no frenzied pulling at clothes, and the silence was almost too much to bear as Margaret finished removing everything, but her undergarments and felt tears prick her eyes for some unfathomable reason.

Soft kisses pressed to the back of her neck and warm hands resuming their place at her waist stopped the tears from forming and everything else ceased to matter as they resumed what they had started in his office.

It had still hurt at first, but this time everything had been different- slower and more assured. John had not declared his love for her again- she had known that he wouldn't- but she had felt it just the same. It was that knowledge that kept her going when she woke to an empty bed the next morning and note letting her know he would write soon and had left on the 5:30am train to London.