Chapter Text
Epilogue
October 17, 1852
Margaret sat patiently at her vanity as Dixon again created an elaborate style for her hair. The cheerful yellow papers of the room glowed with the late afternoon sun and she could see a glimpse of the garden below. In her altogether biased opinion, their new home was the most wonderfully serene place in the whole of Milton. It contained the very best of the charm of the Helstone parsonage, the elegance of Harley Street, and the practicality of Marlborough Mills with just a touch of Mrs. Thornton's splendor.
Mrs. Thornton – Hannah – had not been enthusiastic about the move, but news of the grandchild soothed her furrowed brow and elicited the first real smile from the stern woman that Margaret had ever seen. John and Margaret steadily campaigned for the move, even bringing in Dr. Donaldson's expertise to assure her that some distance from the noise and bustle of the mill would be healthier for the child, and a garden a far more suitable play area than a mill yard. They eventually won her reluctant consent and had moved in the month prior after some minor improvements and redecoration.
Margaret's relationship with Hannah had improved over the course of her pregnancy thus far. John had been overly anxious about her health and whenever he was absent, Hannah had been nearly as solicitous. Having been through the process herself, she was eager to impart the wisdom of her experiences on Margaret. True, her ministrations were devoid of the tenderness her own mother would have shown on such an occasion, yet Margaret understood that it was not in her mother-in-law's nature to show her affection.
In spite of this increased amiability, there was one point on which Hannah was adamant. She had agreed to the hasty wedding ceremony with the belief that they would host a dinner in honor of the marriage. Following Mrs. Hale's death, Margaret and John had delayed, focusing on Mr. Hale's condition, the mill, and their social experiments. They had just begun planning the dinner for after Mr. Hale's return from Oxford when news of his death had arrived and Margaret was plunged back into deep mourning. Hannah had argued emphatically for the dinner to be held now, on their anniversary. While Margaret was still in mourning for her father and Mr. Bell – who had sadly lived only weeks after his trip to Milton – she was now easing int half-mourning. They could not put the dinner off another six months as Margaret would then be in confinement for the babe.
Margaret owned to some trepidation on the occasion. Outside of morning calls, business meetings, and the occasional afternoon tea, Margaret had, quite properly, avoided society while she was in deep mourning. This would be her first real social event as Mrs. John Thornton – for she held no doubt that unlike the laborers, Milton society would see her as an extension of her husband. Would they accept her? Would she be an embarrassment? She ran her hands over her gray silk evening gown, bringing them to rest over her slightly swollen abdomen. Had they put the dinner off any longer, her delicate condition would be obvious to all, but luckily the voluminous dress concealed her condition for the most part. She was not unaware of the rumors that had run rampant about their hasty marriage and the speculation as to their reason for such unseemly haste. Although the Milton gossips had waited anxiously for evidence that she and John had anticipated their vows, none had presented itself. On that score, Margaret was relieved that on her first anniversary she found herself merely three months into her pregnancy.
The soft click of the latch from the dressing room heralded John's arrival just as Dixon was placing the final black jet comb in her hair. Dixon quietly took a step back and Margaret turned to greet him with a smile.
~~~
“Margaret are...” John's question died on his lips as he entered their bedchamber. Margaret was haloed in the soft glow of the dying afternoon sunlight, half turned from her vanity to greet him with her hands lightly resting over their unborn child. Her beauty took his breath away. If Dixon were not in the room and they did not have half of Milton society imminently expected …
“How is it that you manage to look more beautiful every time I see you?” She blushed and shifted her eyes to her lap, somehow only enhancing her beauty. He gravitated towards her. “If I had any confidence that photography could capture even half of your beauty, I would have your portrait taken just as you are now.”
“Dixon has prevailed in transforming me into a fine lady once more.” Margaret demurred. The ladies maid, who had been discretely moving toward the door, stopped at this praise.
“Your appearance this evening is highly to Miss Dixon's credit I am sure,” he said with a grateful nod to the servant, “but your ethereal beauty is yours alone.” Miss Dixon gave something between a nod of agreement and an insulted huff as she turned to leave the room. Closing the gap between him and his wife he leaned down to kiss her. She brought her hand to the back of his neck and as they separated it slipped down to his chest, smoothing an invisible wrinkle in his lapel.
“You are looking rather dashing yourself tonight John,” she replied fondly before returning her focus to her vanity to attach her earbobs.
“Well, I must make some effort to polish off my Milton dust when escorting such a lady as you to a party.” He said it lightly, but it did touch on real fears. This would be their first social appearance, they had proven themselves an equal pair in their daily lives, but she was far his superior in society. He had the irrational fear that people would suddenly realize how unequal their marriage was, how crass and brutish he was in the face of her grace and refinement.
“Nonsense,” she laughed, “you know very well that in tonight's company I will be seen as the interloper. I shall have to contend with all of the disappointed young ladies and their mothers who cannot conceive how you – the handsomest, most eligible catch in Milton – came to marry a foreigner like me.”
He smiled at her, insecurities rarely shone through in his regal determined Margaret and it was somewhat endearing that her fears were so close to his own. He met her eyes in the mirror. “And yet with all of their attentions none of them ever managed to touch my heart. You flounced in and gave me one imperious glance and I was lost.” He bent down to press a reverent kiss to the creamy expanse of shoulder bared by her gown – a truly lovely aspect of evening gowns. Aware of their time constraints – but ever hopeful of a slight reprieve – he consulted his watch and sighed at the advanced hour. “Are you nearly ready love? Guests will be arriving in about a half hour, but Mother requires your presence.”
“I am ready,” she said with one last glance at her reflection, “although I don't know that it is in my power to be truly prepared for our first dinner party.”
“Shall we face the lions together?” He said as he extended his hand to help her up.
“Always,” she said, placing her hand in his.
~~~
Margaret found that armed with all of the love, happiness, and equality of her marriage, she was able to bear the thinly veiled envy and malice of her peers tolerably well. Dinner had yet to be announced but most of the party had arrived and were milling about the parlor. She had high hopes for the success of the evening. She had endeavored to merge Hannah's opulence with her own understated elegance and was rather pleased thus far with the result. Margaret stood at a short distance watching Fanny flirt with a handsome young banker. He was perhaps not as well set up as Fanny or her mother would have wished, but he had all of the benefits of youth, charm, and potential to recommend him. It would be a far more suitable match in Margaret's opinion than that proposed by Mr. Watson, who was far more interested in being pleased by a young lady than in pleasing her. Margaret blushed at exactly how pleasing a truly loving husband could be.
Just then she looked up and caught the appreciative gazes of her husband and Mr. Horsfall. She heard just the end of what Mr. Horsfall was saying to John: “so quiet, so stately, and so beautiful.” Given where their attention landed, Margaret could have no doubt that the comment referred to her. She blushed and smiled and as soon as her eyes locked with John's he rather rudely walked away from his companion and drew near to her.
Feeling a decided similarity to events at a former dinner party, and struck by an impish desire to tease, she decided to play out the rest of the scene. She boldly held out her hand to him and when he took it she clasped her other hand around his. “See, I am learning Milton ways Mr. Thornton.” She said with an arch smile. For a moment he merely responded with a smoldering look then his smile slowly grew.
He broke their reenactment by lifting her hand to his lips and placing a lingering kiss on her knuckles. “And I am learning London ways, Mrs. Thornton,” he said with a roguish smile. “And unlike last year, nobody will tear me away from your side tonight.”
“Well, I can't guarantee that we won't be separated at all, but I do anticipate a great number of pleasant changes from your last dinner party.”
“Particularly the way the evening ends,” he said, reviving the smoldering look. Margaret blushed and averted her eyes. She had yet to recover when the Slicksons approached a moment later to make their formal congratulations, but by the time dinner was announced she had regained enough composure to lead the company in to the meal.