A Life Together - A North and South Continuation

Chapter Thirty

The next morning, John woke without prompting, just as he always did after so many years of rising at such an ungodly hour. His face felt like ice; the bedroom was frigid with cold. He did not need to look out the window (and nor could he, as it was some hours before dawn and the world outside was still black) to know that a frost would have settled over the ground. After such a fine summer, it seemed inevitable that a harsh winter waited for them. It was only early November, yet he could already feel the chill in his bones.

Margaret slept peacefully, tucked up beneath the blankets in a ball. He could feel her toes against the side of his leg, one arm slung over his chest. He had never been bothered by the cold, but it was hard to step out onto the cold wooden floor and leave this blissful warmth. That was the hardest thing about being married to Margaret; it was terribly difficult to say goodbye to her each morning. The temptation to send everything else to ruination and consume himself with her was far too real. Luckily, he was a man who knew self-denial - and knew it well.

Knowing his way through the darkness of their bedroom, John got out of bed and walked to the fireplace. The room had always been susceptible to the weather outside, the carpet under his feet feeling damp with the cold.

John had always risen early, and did not want the bother of servants disturbing him to make the fire. So instead, as he had done every morning since they had become wealthy enough to employ any servants at all, he made the fire up himself. It would be of no benefit to him, taking an hour or so to warm the room effectively. It just meant that the room would be more comfortable for Margaret when she woke up; she did so feel the cold.

Once the fire had been lit, John readied himself for the day ahead. He was used to getting ready in darkness, and had even perfected shaving with hardly any light. That particular skill had been developed in his teen years, where he saw lighting a lamp or a candle just for himself as a waste. On this particular morning, darkness meant he did not have to look at his nose. Not that he needed to look; it throbbed constantly. It was more irritating than painful, a reminder that he had not managed to land the first blow.

Tying his cravat, he walked over to the bed. He could not remember a time when Margaret was not in it now. Those months - years - of longing for her seemed a lifetime ago now. She was here beside him in all things, and by God he would defend her until the last. She had made mistakes and perhaps she had been a little naive at times - but she had done everything with the very best of intentions. He would not have her insulted, least of all by that low life Slickson.

He slipped his shoes on, sitting down on the bed and leaning over to kiss Margaret's cheek. He did not like to disturb her, but it was too hard to resist saying goodbye, even if he did so silently.

"How's your nose?" Margaret murmured in a voice still thick with sleep, shuffling closer to him and blindly reaching for his hand. She pressed a kiss to his palm.

"Fine. Good as new." he replied in a low voice. "Go back to sleep."

She nodded, her eyes not opening once.

"I shall see you this evening." Margaret muttered, nuzzling her head into the pillow as she stretched out into his vacant side of the bed. "Shall we visit Fanny and the baby if you finish on time?"

"Aye, I'll try and get away in good time." he kissed her forehead. "Sleep well."

He closed the door quietly and walked down stairs. He could hear activity below; his mother would no doubt already be at the breakfast table. John had hoped to avoid his mother that morning. He wondered if he could avoid eating breakfast, but too much brandy and a rather late night meant that he was starving. Taking a deep breath, he walked in to find her at the table, as he had expected.