All the darkness of her time here seemed swept away. She could not help but smile today. Her future was secure. An exuberance of hope and promise filled her spirit.
Eager to share her news, she sat at her old secretary and dipped her pen in ink to write her cousin.
Dear Edith,
This will come as a great surprise to you, but I am to be married. You will doubtless wonder how I could find a suitable husband in such a place. You expressed just such thoughts in one of your letters to me once, do you recall?
His name is John Thornton, and he is a manufacturer of cotton in Milton’s grandest factory. Although it will not seem an entirely respectable and meritorious position to you as a Londoner, Mr. Thornton is esteemed here in Milton.
Why should I stoop so low as to marry a manufacturer, you and Aunt may wonder? And I understand your sentiment, as I too once thought tradesmen beneath my station. But I have since realized that it is far too easy to ascribe unkind attributes to an entire class of persons without truly knowing them at all.
Yes, I have been acquainted with men and women who have lived wholly different lives than mine or yours. I have come to know the manufacturing class of men, who are building the industries for which England is lauded. Are they not worthy of consideration for their own accomplishments and great responsibilities in advancing our nation?
I have also befriended a girl who worked in the factories until her health was compromised. This girl, my friend Bessy, had to quit her schooling when her mother died and take work so that her family could eat. Bessy is my age, and she has spent her short life longing for a better world, which I am certain she will inhabit in the time to come.
I have strayed from my original intention. Let me tell you about Mr. Thornton so that you and Aunt can put your minds at ease about my forthcoming marriage.
And now I will tell you a secret I have kept from you! I met Mr. Thornton at a ball we attended the summer before you met Capt. Lennox. I danced with Mr. Thornton, not knowing at all who he was, only knowing that he was from the North. He left an impression of feeling on me I carried for many months. I even hoped that I might see him at other events that season, even though I knew he did not live in London. I thought my fascination was of no consequence.
But now I believe Providence placed us together there that evening so that we would meet. And you must admit that you did not need to worry about me, and that no human contrivances were needed to find my match. It was indeed heaven’s hand that brought us together. It is too incredible a coincidence to be anything else.
I hope you will come to my wedding, although I will understand if you cannot, for little Sholto must be your first concern. Is he already two months old? I should love to see him, if you come.
Please share my news with Aunt and your Captain, of course. Tell them I am very happy.
Affectionately,
Margaret
The very next day in London, Edith bolted from her silk damask chair with the letter in hand. “Ma-ma!” she exclaimed, holding the parchment aloft as her skirts swished in her attempt to search for her mother.
Mrs. Shaw was in her usual spot, reclining on the sofa in the elaborate front parlor, petting her toy dog Tiny.
“Ma-ma, Margaret is to be married!”
“Nonsense!” she replied, exerting herself to sit upright. “There can hardly be anyone suitable for her in that place,” she affirmed as fact.
“But I believe she has found a good match, Ma-ma. Oh, but she has been so secretive! She says she met him here in London at one of our balls. And she never told me!” It was a thing incomprehensible to Edith that one should keep a feeling of attachment to oneself for so long.
“I don’t know whether to be hurt that she never said a word to me,” she considered aloud.
“Well, who is he? You must let me know all,” she demanded, helping her pet to the floor to scamper off.
“He is a manufacturer—“
“A manufacturer! Oh, I knew that moving to that town would not end well.”
“But Ma-ma, you must read the letter yourself. He runs the largest mill in Milton and is respected in their town,” she explained.
“A great deal can be overlooked if he is wealthy, to be sure. But I must still wonder at his breeding,” the long-time widow demurred. Mrs. Shaw herself had married General Shaw, an older man, for his status and wealth.
“I think it’s romantic!” Edith effused, beginning to feel excited for her cousin. “Here, read it for yourself,” she said, handing the letter to her mother.
“Well,” she said, looking up after a few moments of silent reading, “I suppose we shall take a journey to Milton.”
On the day the Master of Marlborough Mills married, the church filled with eager spectators of all classes of people who had come to see for themselves the conclusion to the rumors that had spread all over town weeks before.
Those closest to the couple sat in the front to witness the union. Mr. Bell was there, sitting next to the bride’s father. He had suspected this would be a good match since the night of the dinner party. He grinned to imagine Thornton’s shock at the present he was giving them: the deed to the property.
