In a few moments, he moved through the group and caught Margaret’s gaze. The intensity of his blue eyes, which were fastened on her, riveted her. A ripple of sensation flowed through her body as he made his way toward her. He looked truly magnificent. It was not just his strong jawline and tall, firm form—it was the inestimable mystery of his very nature: a figure of power and unalterable decision who yet held somehow a tenderness that revealed itself in surprising ways.
He shook hands with her as he did with all his guests, but she felt his attention as if she were the only one in the room.
“I’m glad your mother could come,” he said, his tone deep and gentle. His eyes dropped for just a moment to take in the shapely sight she presented.
“Yes, she is pleased to be here,” Margaret replied, feeling the familiar blush come to her face. “She is fond of such gatherings.”
Mr. Slickson, another cotton mill owner, sidled up to Mr. Thornton. “Pardon,” he said to Margaret before directing his attention to the host. “May I speak to you?”
“Excuse me a moment,” Mr. Thornton said to Margaret, a look of pained annoyance on his face at the interruption.
Mr. Slickson drew his colleague aside. “Hamper says you are hiring Irish help. Have you considered the terrible risks?” he asked in hushed urgency.
“All the risk is mine. I have made arrangements with the police,” Mr. Thornton answered.
Margaret strained to hear this exchange while Mrs. Slickson introduced herself and asked if Margaret were new in town.
“Indeed, we moved here last November from Hampshire. My father is a tutor to those seeking to continue their learning.”
“Ah, and is Mr. Thornton one of his pupils?”
“Yes, he is.”
The plump, middle-aged mill owner’s wife leaned closer. “Take care if you have taken any interest in Mr. Thornton,” she whispered. “Violet Grayson has set her sights on him for the past year.” With a glance, the older woman indicated the flaxen-haired girl Margaret had noticed before, who was now smilingly engaged in conversation with Fanny.
Margaret recoiled from the rude presumption and false camaraderie as she offered a polite smile. “I’m aware that some people are more attracted to wealth than to the substance of the heart. I’m looking for the latter,” she replied, satisfied to see the older woman’s smug expression fade before turning to find other company.
“Ah, Margaret!” Mr. Bell appeared next to her, much to her relief. “I hope you are enjoying the privilege of mingling with Milton’s cadre of power. Now you see the other side of life here. What do you make of it?”
“I’ve been to many luxurious social affairs in London, so I am accustomed to all that attends them. I’m afraid I’m far more comfortable and interested in the lives of the poorer classes. There is more honesty and humbleness of purpose in a simple life,” she answered.
He introduced her to a few other masters and their wives, and she engaged in the casual talk required in such circumstances. If she was not entirely attentive to every speaker, she at least played the part of taking interest. All the while, she was aware of just where Mr. Thornton was in the room, hearing his voice or catching a sidelong glimpse of his movement from one group to another.
She at last gravitated to where her parents were, who were happily seated on one of the green damask couches pushed to the wall, talking with Mr. Henderson and his wife.
When they announced dinner, Margaret watched Mr. Thornton say a few more words to the guests, turn to find her, and walk toward her with resolution. She drew in a slow breath as he approached, still in some measure of amazement that he remembered his request to escort her.
“Miss Hale,” he said with that genuine smile that had first attracted her to him. She took his offered arm with the grace taught her in London.
In the next few moments, as he escorted her down to dinner, she walked in a haze of wonder and jumbled feelings. Her heart fluttered to be so close to him—to be so openly paired with him. She felt every second of their physical contact, the gentle press of her arm resting on his. He was so near she could smell the scent of sandalwood on him. Perhaps the scent of his soap? The thought of him in so personal an occupation as bathing made her feel lightheaded.
Her step wobbled a moment on the stairs. His other hand instantly reached to steady her.
Mrs. Slickson elbowed her husband and tossed her chin to draw his attention to who Mr. Thornton was escorting to dinner. Her husband lifted an eyebrow and grinned.
The watched couple continued to descend the grand stairway. Mr. Thornton was asking Margaret if their Milton occasion passed muster and she replied, hardly knowing what she was saying.
When he finally led her to her seat, she pulled her arm from his, feeling surprisingly bereft at this parting.
Margaret sat several people away from Mr. Thornton, who sat at the head of the table, while Mrs. Thornton sat at the other end. The fare was opulent, for Mrs. Thornton spared no expense for this yearly dinner party. Mrs. Hale would later talk of the quantity of oysters, pheasant, various cheeses and puddings served, but all Margaret could think of at present waswhat would be done with all the uneaten quantities of food. The memory of the Boucher family’s desperation was never far from her mind.
Conversation turned to topics relevant to the manufacturing men in attendance. They talked of the growing turbulence in America over slavery, Commodore Perry’s venture to Japan, and the progress of growing cotton in India.
These men discussed national and global events as participants, and not merely as spectators and judges as they did in London.
Although he was clearly the younger mill owner, it appeared to Margaret that the balding and graying heads around the table looked to Mr. Thornton as the one with superior knowledge and strategies. She studied him when she thought no one would notice.
The place of honor he held in this room mesmerized her. He, the shop-boy who had suffered great tragedy and suffered years of poverty. And now—he could revel in his victory over all that would have crushed others to the ground. His commanding presence set him apart from all the rest. And deep inside her, something quivered at the thought of becoming his wife.
