He was no longer a hardened master of men, but merely a man who had once been a boy. A boy who had lost his father and who had struggled through darker days than she.
They began walking to a patch of wildflowers farther away. Margaret stooped here and there to pick a few flowers.
“I’m sorry you lost your father,” she heard herself say. “Do you still think about him?”
“In some ways, he is always there—in the back of my mind—a reminder that a kind and trusting heart must be tempered with an awareness of what others’ intentions are. My father was a good man, but was led to disaster by those who took advantage of his nature.”
Margaret was silent, absorbing what he had shared with her.
“You must miss your country home,” he said, turning to more pleasant conversation.
“I suppose I shall always miss Helstone,” she admitted, looking down at the wildflowers grasped in her hand. “It was my childhood home. I never wanted to leave it. My mother sent me to London every year since I was nine—she thought it best for me, of course. There was little society in our hamlet, to be sure. But I was always happiest when summer came, and papa came to bring me home.”
The words spilled out of her, and she suddenly realized she had never confided this feeling to anyone before.
“I should like to see Helstone someday. What is it like?” he asked.
She looked up at him to see if he truly meant it or if he was just making conversation. His return gaze was direct, inquisitive. How had she not noticed how blue his eyes were? Had she only seen him before in dim lighting? The clear sky and brilliant sun made everything around them seem a dream, compared to the grayness of Milton.
“I’m afraid Helstone is everything Milton is not. I can hardly describe it, but it is the dearest spot on earth to me.”
As they ambled along, he observed the glow of sunlight on her cheeks, the way her supple lips moved as she talked, the sway of her skirts, and the shapely form of her figure. The soft yellow fabric of her dress rippled in the breeze. She was gentlenessand beauty. She, like the flowers dappling the surrounding field, belonged here—a part of nature’s indescribable glory.
A pang of longing to possess her as his own ripped through every part of his being. To him, she was all things luminous, while he—he lived in the dark and enclosed world of machinery and brick. What right had he to entrap her in his world?
He imagined she must yearn to escape his town. “Will you visit your cousin…Edith, I believe you said…in London?”
Margaret smiled at the mention of her cousin, surprised he had remembered her name. “Edith is married now,” she said with a faint blush. “She’s been away with her husband in Corfu, and they’ve recently returned to London. She has invited me to come visit, but I cannot leave my mother at present.”
He watched the smile fade from her lips.
Far behind them, Mrs. Hale smiled as she closed her eyes again, lifting her face to the sun. Birds chirped, and a gentle breeze kissed her face. At this very moment, she was happy, all her worries faded into nothing at all.
She opened her eyes to gaze at the endless waving grasses and flowers. This feeling of transcendent contentedness brought to her mind another place and time. “Do you remember, Richard, the first time we met?” she asked her husband, who was reclining with his head upon his folded coat.
“You were a picture of such serene beauty. Just as you are now, my dear,” he said, sitting up to take her hand in his.
“I remember you gave me a drink from your canteen,” she continued.
“Did I? I don’t remember that. I only recall only that I was surprised that such a lovely woman should be abandoned by her party,” he returned.
“You were so very kind to me. You always have been,” she said, looking at him with more gratitude than she had in years past.
“Have I?” he asked, his voice wavering in uncertainty. He had struggled with unrelenting doubts about his past decisions, condemning himself mightily for bringing her to this northern town.
“It was wrong of me to bring you here, Maria,” he said, gently squeezing the pale hand still in his grasp. “I did not foresee how much it would hurt you—“
“Milton is not where I should have chosen to live, to be sure. But we lived in a lovely home for years, and I am sorry I was not more grateful for it,” she replied, her voice softening as she cast her eyes to the ground with somber regret.
She glanced up then, spotting Margaret and Mr. Thornton afar off, their silhouettes pasted on a blue horizon. As they drew closer, she observed their leisurely gait, pleased to see them apparently engaged in harmonious conversation.
An idea dawned on her that had not occurred to her before. “Perhaps it was just the right thing to move to Milton, dear,” she said, her eyes fixed on the approaching couple. “Look, Richard,” she continued, indicating the direction of their daughter and her companion.
“What is it, Maria?” he replied, bewildered as to what he was missing.
“I begin to think Mr. Thornton might be interested in our Margaret. And I believe it would be a good match, do you not agree?” she asked, still engaged in closely watching the couple as they drew nearer.
The cloud of confusion on Mr. Hale’s face did not disperse. “Mr. Thornton may be so inclined, but I believe Margaret is very much opposed to these manufacturing men. Do you not recall how they have argued?” he returned, squinting in the sun to see for himself what his wife saw.
