Chapter Text
While Margaret certainly knew she’d see Henry again, being related through Edith as they now were, she’d not expected him to come to Milton. Even less than that, she’d not expected him to come for her...seeking her hand, once more. She had never been good at kind rejections, had never learnt how, and she had already turned him down once already. Not so much time had passed that her opinions had changed; Margaret knew she was not inclined to marry, not at this moment, and not to Henry Lennox.
She had already said so once, and caused offense, however much an accident it had been.
Now, Margaret knew she would have to do it again, but did not think that their friendship could weather a dismissal as blunt as her last one. She knew no other way to turn him aside, however, and so, standing in the sitting room of their house in Milton, which she was growing fond of, she looked Henry in the eye. She would have to do it, for she could not accept his suit for the sake of their friendship.
She would not.
There was a knock on the doorframe, Dixon standing in the open door, and it was a benediction if ever Margaret had seen one.
“Yes, Dixon?” She said, instead of answering Henry. If it were at all possible, she would relish the chance to escape the conversation she was about to have. Though rude, if she could merely utter ‘no’ once more and move to deal with other matters of urgency, such that she could not continue to entertain him, Margaret has to admit she would likely take up the opportunity.
“Sorry to interrupt,” She was not sorry, Margaret could tell; times were rare indeed where Dixon felt the need to apologise sincerely for what she saw as her job. Although, as Margaret could attest to, sometimes she stretched the boundaries of her tasks to include, in order of recent happenings, off the top of her head: scolding Margaret, speaking kindly but sternly to Mr. Hale, raising her eyebrow at Margaret in that way she had - the one which had made Margaret admit to any fault when she was a child - and levelling Henry with a shrewd, discerning eye when he’d appeared at the door.
Had Mr. Henry Lennox not also been technically family, Margaret highly doubts she would have let him in the door, high society standing, riches and all.
“Mr. Thornton is here for you, Miss Margaret.” Margaret blinked once, surprised. Though, was her head not so clouded by the incident at the mill the day prior, and Bessy, and now Henrys unwanted, second proposal, she supposed she would not be surprised. For all he is not like the gentlemen she was accustomed, he was still a gentleman, in his own, Northern way.
“Show him up please, Dixon, if you would.” The large frame of the lady moved out of the door, and down the stairs. Hurrying as much as is proper, perhaps a bit quicker, if Margaret had her guess. For all that Margaret would sometimes speak harshly towards her, the woman had helped raise her. Like a second aunt, sometimes, perhaps even one she preferred. However, no matter how fast Dixon hurried down through the house and then back up with Mr. Thornton, it would still not grant her escape from the unfortunate duty she had to attend.
Henry Lennox was still waiting for her reply.
Honestly, what had overcome him in order to inspire the trip to Milton, almost solely for her hand, Margaret could not begin to guess.
“Henry,” She started, wondered if that was too informal, if she should have said Mr. Lennox, though it had been quite some time since they had been so distant acquaintances. One word in, and Margaret already felt as if she’d erred terribly. Oh, had Henry Lennox been so kind as to stay in London. Or if, as he had insinuated briefly, his business in Milton had been concluded too swiftly for him to have time to drop in for this call.
“I thank you for your offer made, once again.” His face tightened, drawing in at the mouth, now expecting the answer she was to give. How he had hoped for anything else, she could not possibly know. It looked as if he would scowl his way back to London, though she had now seen worse looks directed her way. She had, after all, been treated to quite a few of Mr. Thorntons blackest looks.
“Are you still intimating that marriage is not yet for you?” Henry asks, after a pause where Margaret had been trying to think of what to say. What she would not give to have some easy answer to give him, a way to soften the blow that her own conscience would not allow in her words. Better to be firm with him, even if it edges into meanness, that to let him remain with whatever false hope it was that brought him calling with such an idea.
Footsteps, then, ascending the stair. Margaret could not help the way she looked eagerly for Dixons return, even if the man she escorted was not a particular favourite of hers. Perhaps Mr. Thornton could be persuaded to stay until Henry left. It would likely be a stilted sort of conversation, between the three of them, but perhaps it would save her from the angered, sullen silence she was only a few words from receiving.
Mr. Thornton appeared, hat in hand, and Dixon nowhere to be seen. Looking at him, with his handsome face not as dark as she usually saw, and in her mind still she saw him standing before the crowd of angered union workers, attempting to do as she’d bade him. In such a light, the idea which had come quite suddenly to her did not seem so preposterous.
Perhaps it was the blow to her head which had made her see him so, which made her think of the idea in the first place.
Upon later reflection, Margaret would also like to place the blame for the next words out of her mouth on that singular blow. Perhaps she should have been prevailed upon to stay at the Mill, because clearly she was not in possession of all her faculties, to have come up with so farfetched an idea and, instead of banishing it to the far corners of her mind, voicing it.
“Mr. Lennox, may I introduce you to Mr. Thornton.” Both men bowed to each other, shallowly as was preferred, and said their courtesies. Henry turned back to her first, face still tight with resentment he was apparently not well versed in concealing.
“In answer to your previous question, Henry, I did not intend to infer that. On the contrary, I cannot accept your proposal for a reason quite the opposite.” Henry drew himself up, and though she was focusing her attention almost solely on him, quite impolite of her though Margaret felt that she could be excused, given the circumstances, she noticed Mr. Thornton straightened also.
“You see,” And, here, was where some form of momentary, impact based insanity must have come upon her, for the next words Margaret spoke were absolutely ludicrous.
“Mr. Thornton has come here to keep me company.” It was a good thing Henry was so focused on her, for Mr. Thorntons expression would have told truth.
“I… beg your pardon, Margaret, but I think I have misunderstood.” Henry said, after a moment, and Margaret could not entirely blame him. It had not been so long, after all, since she had denied him her hand, and now she was claiming to have completely reversed her position in favour of another man.
Oh, dear. Perhaps this was not the kindest way, after all.
There was nothing she could do about that now, though, without claiming herself a liar, and humiliating him even more. To learn that she’d thought up a prior, fake, courtship just to deter his interest would surely intrude upon his esteem even further. No, she had chosen her path and now she must stick to it.
“I think not, Henry. I cannot marry you because, well…” She could not help but trail off, her throat tightening around the outright lie until she could not speak at all. While it could be said that Mr. Thornton was here to visit her, it was not because he was courting her. He was here only to inquire as to her wellbeing after being struck before his eyes, as she had left his residence before he could ascertain the damage received. Had he arrived before Henry, she would have called herself well and sent him on his way again. Now, such fanciful notions having slipped easily from her tongue, she was not so sure.
“I have prevailed upon Miss Hale several times prior, and she has been kind enough to indulge me. The path between Marlborough Mill and Crampton is quite beautiful, and I have had occasion to show it to her. Now that the weather is starting to turn, Miss Hale and I have decided to, as she said, keep company indoors.” Luck, as it were, appeared to be on her side. For all they had seen eye to eye on precious few occasions since Margaret arrived in Milton, Mr. Thornton was gallant enough to come to her aid. And a passable liar, as well.
Had you given Margaret five minutes and a cup of tea, she could not have thought of a way to continue her previous sentence without ruining either her own conscience or her acquaintanceship with Henry. Mr. Thornton had saved her from either, coming to her rescue with his deep, steady voice - which had the added benefit of turning Henrys gaze from Margaret towards the manufacturer.
Henry was silent for a minute, scrutinizing Mr. Thornton as though, if he only looked hard enough, he would declare it a humorous jape, and leave Henry to pry a truthful answer out of Margaret. She was not entirely convinced that he would not, though she hoped he would keep to his finely crafted statement and not make a liar out of them both. He did not wither under the attention, however, and would likely have been insulted that she had entertained the thought towards such a proud, independent northerner. Instead, he finally places his hat down, and begins to work off his gloves.
“I am to believe that in such a short time you have decided to attend to this northern man? You, who dreaded the thought of such a journey, who longed to stay in Helstone, almost as far away from Milton as is possible in England?” It was easy to see Henrys reluctance regarding the idea, for the stated reasons as much as for personal preference. No one had ever accused Margaret of lacking pride, however, and she would not waver now.
Had Mr. Thornton not said his piece, Margaret may have conceded. Now, with more than herself invested, she would defend what she had voiced as her choice.
“I think that the north has more to recommend itself than first meets the eye, Henry.” That, at least, was true enough. And, were she pushed, she would have to admit that the next words she spoke were equally true, though she despaired to either say or think them.
“The same could also be said for Mr. Thornton, were he not so handsome.” Then, a rare occurrence. Mr. Thornton, gazing upon her, smiled. She had not lied when she had called him handsome, though she had meant it in a mysterious, churlish, brooding way. Now, the smile on his face, when directed at her, inspired a different notion entirely.
Strangely enough, it made her feel differently than when she saw him smile at the other ladies of his acquaint.
Now was not the time to think on that, however. She brushed the thought aside, as she should have done to the stray thought which had lead to her current situation, and returned her focus to the matter at hand. Henry had relaxed his face from its scrutiny, and it had not yet lapsed back into a scowl, though the deepening creases at the corners of his mouth attributed that as a credit to his will, rather than personal feeling.
“I have yet to see any such features during my time here in Milton, and I find that I doubt that I could find any such recommendations prior to my departure.” Henry finally said, brusquely, attempting to find his usual wit, but he and Margaret were both aware that he had not found it. He had been thrown, clearly, at finding her otherwise engaged. And, she was sure, had he spoken with Edith about the content of their letters, he wouldn’t have thought her to be in possession of positive feeling towards the mill Master.
Margaret herself has found that she is of wavering opinions regarding the man. Every time he appears to her to be ghastly, he speaks or acts in a way which would prove that impression false. Yet, every time she witnesses Mr. Thornton behaving in a gentlemanly manner, he continues on to prove himself reprehensible. Truly, Margaret cannot make heads or tails of him, and is not of a mind to try at present. She must then do as she once counseled one of her friends back in Helstone to do, and reserve judgement.
Hard though it may prove to be when dealing with Mr. Thornton, she must try, at least in light of his help in the current situation.
“I hope your stay in Milton will not be too brief, Mr. Lennox.” Mr. Thorntons tone belies his words, as he takes a few careful, measured steps around the room, stepping past furniture, until he came to stand near Margaret. Closer than would have normally been appropriate for acquaintances such as they are, but acceptable had they truly progressed to the point of courtship which they were claiming. She looked at him, for a few long moments, when he settled by her side. He was staring straight at Henry, expression almost bland except for the slightest upturn of his lips.
Had she to guess, Margaret would classify the look as smug. If Mr. Thornton were to look at her like that, it would likely rile her. It appeared to be having the same effect on Henry, an outcome which only deepened the quirk of his lips into something approaching a half smile. She could not mind the haughty expression in this instance, however, for both it and his performance were proving fortuitous to her plight.
“I will remain for a fortnight hence. As I have said, I have business to attend to in Milton. I will call upon your parents at a later date, Miss Hale.” It appears Margaret should have addressed him formally in order to word her rejection; she would try to remember that in case she had occasion to turn down another offer of marriage. It was highly doubtful, but perhaps it would spare her a repeat of this scene.
“They will be glad to hear it.” Silence, then. It went on a beat too long, before Henry excused himself and fled with as much dignity as he could manage, having twice been rebuffed in his attentions towards her. The outer door of the house slammed with, perhaps, too much force when he left. Neither Margaret nor Mr. Thornton moved until the sound of it echoed through the house. Dixon could be heard talking to herself about the rudeness of Mr. Lennox in slamming the door the way he had.
Mr. Thornton cleared his throat, and stepped back to an appropriate distance, and Margaret could not help but take a step back herself, until they were almost on opposite sides of the room. The silence returned, then, and Margaret could not help but be aware of how long it was dragging on. She could not think of a single thing to say. The entire situation had been bizarre, as had her wilful inclusion of Mr. Thornton in her deception. That, at least, merited an apology from her.
Yet, she could not bring herself to speak, much as she needed to.
“I do hope the blow you suffered has not injured you too greatly, Miss Hale.” He said, finally, after a long while had passed in which they had done nothing but look at each other.
“No, though a touch faint, I feel perfectly well. Though you may disagree, based on what has just transpired.” He inclined his head, acknowledging her point, though his face had lost the serious cast she so often saw. His lips had quirked up once more, not into the arresting smile she had been witness to earlier, but neither was it the mocking, smug thing he had treated Mr. Lennox to.
“I had been wondering, yes. If you would be so inclined, I would appreciate being enlightened as to what just transpired.”
“Of course. I am terribly sorry to have brought you into the matter, though I find I am grateful for your intervention. Without it, I fear I would not have carried the deception off quite so well. Or, at all, really. So, thank you.” Margaret could not help smoothing down the front of her gown, a nervous habit she had never quite broken.
“Feel free to have a seat, Mr. Thornton, and I could ring for some tea, should you like.” She demurred, walking to the settee to lower herself onto, waiting as he rang for Dixon, and then seated himself across from her. She wasn’t sure how to begin, and finally decided she may as well reveal to him the whole of the affair, so that he could form his own opinions of the matter.
“Henry Lennox is the brother-in-law of my dear cousin Edith. I stayed with my Aunt and cousin this past season, prior to her marriage to Captain Lennox. I left at the end of the season, after their marriage, back to Helstone. I was quite pleased with the acquaintances which I had made during my time in London, but was joyful about my return to Helstone. I do so love it there, you understand.” What Margaret understood was that she was speaking too much on a topic that had no relevance to the matter at hand in an attempt to talk around the issue. Mr. Thornton did not appear to mind, but it would be better to get the matter settled.
“I returned to Helstone and enjoyed myself for the weeks we were there, prior to our moving to Milton. I was surprised to find that Mr. Lennox had decided to visit Helstone, for he certainly had no business in the country. I invited him for tea, as is proper, and proceeded to show him the rectory and the church. We approached the church when he asked me for my hand. I was, of course, shocked. Prior to his asking, there had been no attempt to court, or even a statement of intent, you see.” Mr. Thornton had lost the playful quirk to his lips; instead, his face was wholly intent on Margaret, giving her every bit of his not so inconsiderable attention.
“You were, of course, shocked at the sudden attention of a man you had previously only believe to be an acquaintance, perhaps a friend.” He inferred, and Margaret nodded.
“Of course. I had no knowledge of his regard for me until that point. I may have been too blunt with my refusal, but I have discovered that I have no talent for it. I did not mean to sound cruel to him, but surprise, along with my own disinclination towards him in that manner, caused me to be sharper with my tongue than I had intended.”
“The fault lies in Mr. Lennox, I’m sure, for approaching the matter in such a way.”
“Perhaps. However, it never occurred to me that, in being blunt, I lacked enough conviction and sincerity in my words to tempt a second proposal - especially in so short a time.” Still, that confused her, though it had been at least an hour since Henry had initially spoke to her about it.
“Once again, Miss Hale, I doubt the fault lies with you.” At that, Margaret smiled.
“Why, that’s twice in one afternoon where you’ve recused me from fault, Mr. Thornton. Perhaps you suffered a head injury this afternoon, instead of I.” She managed to smile at him, small though it was, in order to demonstrate that she spoke only in jest. She had found that her humour was often found lacking in Milton, if others found it at all, and had taken to facial cues in order to mitigate any offence given.
Mr. Thornton, thankfully, did not take offence. The line between his brows lessened somewhat, and mirth returned to his stern countenance.
“Indeed, it appears as if you are not the only party afflicted with dizziness this afternoon. Imagine, approaching with an offer of marriage a lady who was unaware of your interest.” His gaze turned unfocused for a moment, before he looked back at her.
“And then, to come here uninvited and attempt to prevail on your good nature, when your father is absent and your mother…” He trailed off, etiquette dictating he avoid the subject of her mother's ailing health, even as his face grew dark with a scowl. She imagined, for a moment, that the scowl was on her behalf at the thought of Henrys presumption, and ignored the subsequent pleasure which the thought brought her. She couldn’t presume to imagine the inner workings of Mr. Thorntons mind, let alone what thoughts bring that look to his face.
“You think my nature good?” Margaret couldn’t help but tease, forgetting for a moment that she was not overly familiar with Mr. Thornton, and that she was still finding her footing in northern conversation. She had not intended to fish for compliments with it, and hoped that he would take it as such.
“Aye, what I’ve seen of your nature commends you. Even if I disagree with your stance on what might be every common interest we have. Surprising how we managed to make it to the point where we walk together through Milton, and keep each others company.” Margaret couldn’t help but laugh, then, the humour taking her off guard, and her laugh louder than it would have been had she been prepared.
“Truly. Though, much as it pains me to admit, there have been times when you have talked even me around to whichever point it is you are making at the time.” She had been drawn into many a lesson between Mr. Thornton and her father over their time in Milton, and he could be a very persuasive speaker, were he passionate about the subject. He looked surprised, now, at the admission.
“I would never had guessed, as you rebut each argument I put forward.” Margaret inclined her head, acknowledging the truth, and Mr. Thornton smiled again. It was a soft thing, softer than she had ever expected to see on his severe face. She noticed, suddenly, that they were having a civil conversation without an intermediary, perhaps the first time they had ever done so. He continued to smile at her for a few moments, and Margaret wondered what her own face was doing in response. She hoped that her lips responded in kind, though with more formality, but she seemed to have lost the ability to twitch even the slightest muscle under his stare.
It was an odd moment, to be sure, broken when Dixon brought in the tea.
She didn’t venture far after delivering the tea, Margaret could hear her in the hall, but she was far enough away she wouldn’t overhear anything, and so Margaret continued her tale from where they’d digressed earlier.
“When Mr. Lennox asked me again today, I was once again shocked. I could not answer different than I had before, yet I cautioned myself against behaving as I had previously, as it did not have the intended effect, nor was it kind. I was rather hoping, when Dixon interrupted, that there would be an urgent matter which needed my help. And when I saw you, well, I am sorry for embroiling you in such a matter.” He waved off the apology, and continued with his tea. Black, Margaret had noticed, without sugar or milk. Had she not seen him lie sweetly for her, or seen his smile, she would’ve said it matched his personality and perpetual mood.
“You thought, I suppose, that a previous engagement, as it were, would impress upon him what your words had failed to do.”
“Yes, exactly.”
“I am glad that I could be of some assistance to you in this manner.” Margaret smiled at him, over her tea cup, before she placed it on its saucer.
“It appears to have worked, though I am sure I’ll never hear the end of our supposed courtship from Edith.”
“Mr. Lennox did seem rather surprised, though I do not know if it was because of myself in particular, or whether any Milton man would have caused such a perplexed expression to have crossed his countenance.”
“Perhaps he wondered that you would want a woman such as myself. I am still not suited to Milton society and etiquette, after all, and we disagree on most everything. Such a poor match for you, Mr. Thornton. I have, after all, been reliably informed that you’re a very eligible bachelor.” There was silence, again, and Margaret resolved to never tease Mr. Thornton, or anyone in Milton, ever again.
She was, quite clearly, horrible at it.
“Surely we do not disagree on that much, workers unions and cotton mills aside.” He finally said, quietly, and Margaret wasn’t quite sure how to continue the conversation from that point. She sipped more at her tea to buy some time, before finally offering,
“Would you tell me your views on Plato, Mr Thornton? I have not yet chanced to hear them and, as such, there can be no disagreement.”
“Aye, yet.” He said, and she was sure he was teasing her, this time, so Margaret felt safe in voicing an amused hum in agreement, especially as the sentiment was likely true enough.
-----
Though John Thornton could not claim to be pleased in any manner about the appearance of one Henry Lennox, he is grateful for the other mans excruciatingly large misstep. He had, with his untimely and unwanted appearance, stopped John from making a similar mistake. Not that John would ever ignore Miss Hales wishes in such a manner, and especially to the extent to which Mr. Lennox had. No, after a nights reflection, John is sure that he would have received the same blunt rejection which Miss Hale had confessed to giving Mr. Lennox in the first instance.
Though John knew of his own regard, and though he had been assured of Miss Hales regard by his mother, the proposal he’d intended would likely have been a shock, given their previous, public disagreements.
Had Mr. Lennox not been there, John would have made a fool of himself. Unlike the southern man, John intended to learn from past mistakes. It was that, in particular, which had plagued John that morning as he readied himself for the day. He had heard of ladies rejecting the first offer for their hand in order to test the affection of their suitor but, for all they were mere acquaintances, John thought he knew Miss Hale well enough to ascertain that she was not one such lady.
How it was possible to want to marry Miss Hale and not know or understand her character, John wasn’t quite sure.
Most surprising of all was the ingenious solution Miss Hale had decided upon as an escape to what John understood had been a decidedly uncomfortable encounter. He had never imagined such a scenario - to fake a suit in order to firmly deny another. That Miss Hale had looked at him and decided that his potential suit was both believable and more appealing than Mr. Lennox’s, no matter how false, filled John with hope.
Though he had gone to Crampton the night before intending to ask Miss Hale for her hand in marriage, he now knew it had been a fools journey. Now, however, John had decided on a route which would hopefully prove to be much more fortuitous for the both of them.
He would court Miss Hale in the way a lady of her standing should be courted, so that when he finally asks her acceptance of his suit, she will welcome it. It may be some time before she can see him in such a light, but John is no stranger to waiting or long term planning. One day, Miss Hale will look upon him in the same way he does her.
He resolves to think on it no further until he has a chance to implement his plans. He would resolve to think no more of Miss Hale and focus his attention solely on the mill but, even if his days were as full as they had been prior to the strike, he would be unable to keep from thinking of her.
Johns plan to turn his mind away from Miss Hale and her plot to distance herself from Mr. Lennox lasts no longer than midday. He has left the mill to run an errand, not trusting any of the returning union workers to carry his missives without interference, when he sees Miss Hale. She is besieged, yet again, by the unwanted Mr. Lennox. He appears to have caught her emerging from the stationers, unable to move on without causing a scene.
Had Miss Hale spun a different tale the previous day, there would still be only one option available to him. It is no great hardship to cross the street to them, or call out once he’d come close enough that he needn’t raise his voice.
“Miss Hale,” He started, warming his voice as much as he felt comfortable with in so public a setting, and he had never seen her so relieved to see him. She stepped around Mr. Lennox and was shortly standing at Johns side. The unspoken but obvious preference made him feel a rush of warmth in his chest.
“Mr. Lennox.” His voice was considerably less warm when addressing the Londoner, and the look on the other mans face told John that the slight animosity was not only felt keenly, but reciprocated.
“My apologies for interrupting, but I’m afraid Miss Hale and I have matters to which we need to attend.” Mr. Lennox raised an eyebrow at the assertion, but he did not inquire further. The street was, fortunately, almost empty and so John felt that there would be no harm in offering Miss Hale his arm. Had there been anyone in view but Mr. Lennox, he’s sure she wouldn’t have accepted. The feel of her small hand tucked into the crook of his arm was not a sensation that John would forget.
“Were you headed anywhere in particular before you became besieged by Mr. Lennox?” John asks, once they’re far enough removed from the other man that there is no chance of being overheard.
“I was on my way back home, to write a letter to my cousin. I received her latest correspondence this morning, and then found myself to be out of stationary.” John nods, once, and decides to throw caution to the wind, as much as he’s able.
“Are you particularly needed a home this afternoon, or may I tempt you to Marlborough? I imagine my desk will serve as well as yours, should you need.” He continues to look forward, not daring to watch Miss Hales reaction. As such, he misses the curious way she looks at him, before she too turns her face forward.
“Well, you did just assure Henry, Mr. Lennox, rather, that I had a prior engagement with you that was more pressing than idle, uncomfortable chit chat with him - and I would so hate to make a liar of you, Mr. Thornton.” He looked at her, then, and saw the small, teasing smile on her face at the reference to their shared deception. John couldn’t help but chuckle in response, and briefly pressed his hand to hers, where it rested gently on his arm.
“You, make a liar out of me? Impossible, Miss Hale.” He replied, glad that they could speak to each other so, without snapping or growing angry. The calm likely wouldn’t last, probably not even to the end of the day, considering he was taking her back to the mill, but for now John allowed himself to enjoy it, and the pleasant company of the woman he loved.