Their raised voices caused heads to turn in their direction.
Embarrassed to be caught thus, they softened their hardened postures, and Mr. Thornton turned to engage in conversation with others.
Mr. Bell came to Margaret’s side to deflect scrutiny. He himself had seen their private arguing. It had struck him they had appeared as husband and wife, so intense seemed their connection in their apparent bickering. The possibility of such a match intrigued him greatly.
Margaret’s subdued mood thereafter made it difficult for her to smile politely the rest of the evening. When it was time to take their leave, she said goodbye with scarcely a glance at Mr. Thornton. She was certain that others noticed the unresolved tension between them.
Settled in the coach, Margaret felt tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Conflicting flares of anger and disappointment troubled her heart.
Riding with them to his hotel, Mr. Bell divined the reason for her somber expression and gave her a crooked smile of compassion.
As they rode through the streets in the dark, Margaret began thinking out loud. “Mr. Bell, if you are Mr. Thornton’s landlord, he does not own his land, or the factory?”
“I own the land and the buildings, including his home. He owns the machinery and all that may be within,” he answered.
Margaret was silent for a moment as she digested this. “If Mr. Thornton must pay for use of the property, that will affect his profits,” she reasoned.
“Indeed, my dear. He must balance his profits against a host of costs: cotton, coal, machinery, and of course the wages of his workers. I don’t envy the man’s work at all. The computation of all the figures involved would have my head spinning,” he explained.
“Yes, I see,” Margaret quietly replied, still considering the magnitude of what Mr. Thornton must be responsible for.
A new conjecture entered her mind. “But who will own the land when you are gone?” she blurted out, realizing as soon as the words came out how indelicate the query was. “I’m sorry, I was only thinking that since you have not married—“
“Yes, yes. I see your point. But do not hurry me to my grave!” he teased. “As I have no progeny, it would only be natural to wonder who should inherit old Adam Bell’s wealth. I supposenow is as good a time as any to reveal my intentions. My holdings will be given over to you, my dear,” he stated, looking straight at Margaret.
A huff of incredulity escaped her throat. She smiled broadly at his jest until she caught the seriousness in his demeanor. “You cannot mean…”
“Indeed, I mean to do so, and have intended such for some time. And now that I have seen the scampering little girl all grown up, I am more certain than ever of my decision.”
“Oh, Mr. Bell!” Mrs. Hale exclaimed. “You are too kind!”
“Nothing of the sort. It is a very practical decision. I must delineate an heir, and I have chosen the nearest of kin that I have,” he stated, not wanting a shower of effusion poured upon him.
The thought of Bessy’s prediction that she should be an instrument in bringing some kind of peace between masters and men recurred to Margaret. Perhaps it would happen differently than Bessy had imagined. For if she owned Marlborough Mills, she might have influence in its operations in that way. Marriage to Mr. Thornton would not be the sole avenue to such ends.
This reasoning did nothing, however, to relieve an underlying discontent that weighed upon her. What was it that disturbed her so? She told herself it was the masters’ stubborn indifference to the conditions of their workers. But there was more than this that upset her.
She could not discern the precise reason a few tears trickled down her cheeks in the darkness; she only felt that everything had turned out wrong. Happiness seemed always out of reach here.
Mr. Thornton gruffly tugged at his cravat in the dim candlelight of his bedchamber. The evening had started with so much promise—only to turn into more impassioned arguing between them! He cast off his waistcoat and pulled off his shirt impatiently.
She refused to understand his position, taking only the view of the workers from her contact with that Higgins man. He paced from his wardrobe to the dressing table for a few moments with his fists curled tightly.
He stopped to stoop and splash some cool water on his face, taking a measure to soothe himself. As he patted the moisture with a towel, his thought traveled back to the moment he had first glimpsed her this evening. He had expected to admire her beauty, but he had not expected to be stricken by it.
He had seen her in an evening gown once before, but this time an intoxicating ripple of desire coursed through him every time he looked at her. The way her dress clung to her voluptuous form, her lithe throat, the exposed shoulders, the teasing curve of her breasts—called to him as a Siren.
When he had taken her down to dinner, he had exulted in every moment of their pairing. The touch of her arm on his was a scintillating pleasure. All else around them was naught but the two of them. All was as it should be.
Until she had spoken against him concerning the workers’ children.
He remembered how those intelligent eyes had flashed fire at him as they had argued after dinner. And even as she challenged him—perhaps more so because of it—her bare shoulders and the soft flesh of her bosom drove him almost to distraction. He had wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and carry her upstairs right then and there.
He hung his head, gripping the bureau in front of him at this onslaught of this torturous yearning to make her his own.He wondered whether he was mad. Surely, it would not be rational to want her when she did not return his love. But all his reasonings did nothing to assuage the constant ache that plagued him and that only she could cure.
Chapter twenty-five
Mrs. Thornton sat at breakfast promptly at six, the white linen cloth spread over the round table in just the manner she instructed. Her son would appear at any moment, ready to continue his preparations for getting the mill running again. The stupidity of the strikers would not put him out of business, she was sure of that. If they lost their jobs to the Irish, they had only themselves to blame.
