“I think I shall just have the pork pie.” Her father’s voice interrupted her thoughts again. “Margaret?”
She had not so much as glanced at her menu. “I shall have the same.”
He gave their order to the server standing by and then turned to Margaret with a satisfied smile. “We can rest awhile after this and then catch the late afternoon train back. We’ve accomplished our venture in one visit! And I have my first pupil!”
She was pleased that her father was happy. Mr. Thornton had seemed sincere in his interest in taking lessons from her father.Would that mean he would come to their home? Her heart thumped at the thought of it.
They returned to their hotel room afterwards to rest before taking the train back to their seaside accommodations. Margaret doubted she could rest now. But some quiet time to think would be much appreciated.
As she lay across the bed while her father stretched himself out on the sitting room sofa, Margaret could not stop the endless stream of images and voices in her mind that made her relive every moment of the encounter.
Her chest rose and fell more quickly as she recalled how her heart had pounded at his nearness. She had never been spoken to with such an air of intensity in her life! How was it he, truly a stranger to her, evoked such conflicting tremors of anticipation and fascination—when Henry or any other man had never moved her thus?
And to think he was a manufacturer! The tinge of distaste this provoked she used to quell the disturbance in her breast. He was not even a gentleman, but worked in the clash and expediency of markets and chasing money.
He had confessed to working in an industrial city upon their first meeting. What should she have expected him to be? Why, she had never expected to see him again! And now—now she was thrust into his world.
What kind of man he was, she didn’t really know. Or did she? Was it possible to know the essence of someone upon one brief encounter—or two?
Mr. Thornton walked brusquely through the streets, the world around him a blur.What had he done?
He castigated himself for frightening her with his urgency. What had made him take leave of his senses to demand such an answer from her? Had he ruined all his hopes of gaining her interest?
He slowed his pace. He fought the impulse to turn back and find some reason to return to the Hales—to see in her face what she might think of him. But he knew it would be casting away all prudence. And what he needed most right now was to take deliberate and well-considered action to repair what damage he might have done.
Ah, but she had recognized him! She had put her hand in his to dance. And she had laughed once again in his arms. These remembrances lit the hope in his breast afire. She had felt a connection to him, had she not?
Between burning hope and bitter despair, Mr. Thornton was thrown into a cataclysm of pulsating emotion as he navigated his way to Mr. Donkin’s house to give him the details on his new tenants. And to demand that he tear down the garish wallpaper.
Upon the voyagers’ return to their seaside escape, Mrs. Hale was full of curiosity, and Margaret bent her efforts towards shining a hopeful light on the prospects of their new home. There was nothing to be done about it, but Mrs. Hale must be prepared for their arrival at Milton. Margaret could scarcely think about aught else, albeit for altogether different reasons.
“There is a great deal of energy in Milton, with people everywhere. We shall not lack human contact. And with so many of the working kind about, I’m certain it won’t be difficult to find help,” Margaret told her.
“It is true that the skies are smoky and there is much dirt in the streets and stubborn soot on the buildings, but we shall keep our little place spic and span. And though we may not see much greenery, you will have a pleasant little sitting room on the third floor, where if one looks out the window, the canal can be seen in the distance with a hint of pastures beyond.”
“And what of this manufacturing man your father has been corresponding with? What did you make of him?” Mrs. Hale asked.
“Mr. Thornton was very cordial, a great help to us,” Mr. Hale replied. “I liked him very much.” He looked to Margaret for her corroboration.
The mention of his name sent Margaret’s composed thoughts askew and her insides quavered. “He was very kind to us,” was all she could muster to say at the moment.
“But what is he like?” Mrs. Hale persisted.
“He’s a very distinguished man in his community, I should say,” Mr. Hale answered. “He runs the largest cotton mill in Milton. He is an efficient man, as a man of business should be. He appears not to waste his words but to get straight to the point. And one feels he is sincere. "Did you not find him so, Margaret?” her father asked, giving her a smile in expectation of her agreement.
Margaret opened her mouth but had no words. Her father could never have known why his assessment struck her dumb. The few words Mr. Thornton had spoken with her were indeed full of the deepest sincerity and efficiency!
“He is very sincere,” she mumbled, attempting to smile amid her discombobulation.
Her awkwardness stirred her father’s memory.
“Ah! Margaret has not told you all, Maria,” he began. “Under extraordinary circumstances, Margaret has met Mr. Thornton once before—at a ball in London, with Edith.”
“Yes,” Margaret acknowledged, gaining command of herself again and smiling prettily for her mother.
“Why Margaret! How extraordinary indeed! And one would hardly expect these manufacturing men to attend a refined ball such as Edith would attend. Does he know how to dance?”
Margaret felt her face color. “Yes, he does,” she answered in a quavering voice, remembering again the press of his hand upon her back, and the feel of her hand in his.
