The Journey Home

Chapter 51 - A Wedding Trip

They traveled west, watching the sun set in the gray light of a late autumn. A familiar,  salty fragrance of the sea greeted them when they arrived in the coastal village,  a cool, but gentle breeze brought up a high pinkish color on both their cheeks.  Inside the carriage that brought them to the inn, John held Margaret's gloved hands  beneath the heavy wool blanket draped across her lap, gently rubbing her fingers, protecting her from the cool air that came up from the carriage floor.

John had been to Darkpool as a child; his father had brought them there for holiday when he was a gangly school boy and Fanny was a chubby toddler, all blonde ringlets and lace. John recalled walks along the beach, his protective mother allowing him to remove his shoes and stockings, but insisting that he not venture out of her sight, and to keep to wading up to his ankles. He recalled the vision of his kind, but vulnerable father, walking along the shore with Fanny high on his shoulders, his wife by his side. Hannah was distant from him, never making physical contact with him in public or so that the children could see. His mother was recovering from an illness at the time, her eyes retaining a sadness that John later learned was due to a miscarriage. His father would die a few years later, his trust in others and drive to maintain a respectable standing for his family pushing him into greedy, speculative business decisions and his ultimate shame. Unlike his son, George Thornton refused to investigate money decisions on his own and did not have a head for business. His wife held that distinction. He put his money in the hands of others that he believed to be more wise than he, only to find that the money was gone once the deal was completed.
He had been distracted by his thoughts,  staring out the window into the approaching darkness, not realizing that his grip on Margaret's hand had tightened until she leaned closer and  gently asked "John, what is it?"
He looked to her, surprised that he had allowed his thoughts to drift so far back into his memories. The low light reflected off her face and John saw her quizzical look.  He released his tension, and continued to hold her hand as he smiled back at her. "It is nothing, dearest. I was thinking of a trip we made to Darkpool with my father when we were children. All so very long ago."
"Was it a pleasant memory for you?"
"It was indeed.  We were a family, then," he gently kissed her forehead, "as we shall be."
"I beg to differ, Mr Thornton.  I am your wife and you are my family from this point forward.  Not at an unspecified time in the future."  Margaret playfully scolded him.
John drew Margaret into his arms, slowly kissing her on her cheek and moving his light kisses towards her ear. "You are quite right, my love.  A new wife, a niece,  nanny, and a brother and nephews sailing the pirate routes to the Far East.  I can think of no other man who has a more eclectic family."
Margaret's laughter was clear and bright. "I do present quite a burden, I'm afraid."  His affirmative response was muffled by a sudden "Oh!" That escaped from Margaret's lips, as his lips gently explored an area behind her  ear. She turned to him and placed her arms possessively around his neck, pulling him closer to her. John smiled to himself. His wife was extraordinary in so many ways, but this small gesture was be a glimpse of the desire she felt for him.
Soon they arrived at the Inn at their expected time. A young man emerged out from the darkness and untied their luggage from the back of the carriage and followed them inside as the met with the proprietress, Mrs. Barton.  They were directed to a small sitting room where a warm fire was burning in an over sized grate and tea was awaiting them on a table before the fire.  "It's a raw night, Missus."  The well groomed proprietress stated as she gestured for them to take a seat.  "Please warm yourselves for a bit while we make everything ready in your rooms."  She left to instruct the maid to quickly unpack the bride's trousseau, recognizing in Margaret  the nervousness of a new bride.   Mrs. Barton knew the name of John Thornton, as a captain in the cotton industry.  He was clearly close to her own age, and she wondered as to his need to take a bride at this time in his life, but gave it no more than a brief thought.  As an innkeeper's wife she had seen many couples in her years,  and this handsome set, although older than most newlyweds, seemed as though they had shared strength in purpose.  She smoothed her own starched bonnet and descended the stairs to see to the light supper that was being prepared for the Thorntons.
The tea and biscuits remained untouched while Margaret sat in an upright wooden chair before the fire, extending her toes to warm the chill that had set in from their journey.  She had grown quiet and anxious, knowing that no amount of advice from Pru could prepare her for this most important first night as John's wife.  She tried desperately to put the thoughts out of her head, looking about the room trying to find something to comment on.  John stood, his hands clasped behind his back, looking into the fire.  He sensed Margaret's nervousness and also  found himself oddly at a loss for words in her presence.  How could he gently put her at ease when he himself had the anxiousness of a school boy?  He made note of a cart with decanters of what appeared to be whiskey and brandy, noting that they may come in handy.

*****
They were shown to their rooms, which consisted of a small but warm bedroom with a sitting room attached.  Their empty  luggage had been removed and stowed in a storage room.  In the sitting area, they  encountered a maid, who was arranging settings for two on a small table.  Another waited in the doorway to the bedroom. a ladies maid, who was there to assist Margaret.  "Would the lady like to freshen up after your journey?" she inquired.  Margaret smiled warmly, and taking John's arm, leaned in and whispered "I shall only be a few minutes."   John gently kissed the top of her head "Take your time, my dear."  He looked to the kitchen maid who stood quietly, her hands folded on the from of a crisply starched apron.  "Ah, what time should we expect our meal?"  he asked, drawing his watch from his pocket.  "Half eight, sir."  she said with a quick dip of a courtesy.  ""Mrs. Barton says not a moment before of a moment later."  John mumbled  to himself, "Yes, the innkeeper would certainly know best." He excused himself to return to the guest parlor downstairs, in search of a glass of whiskey, as the anticipation of being alone with Margaret for an entire evening had  finally unnerved him.
Alone in the parlor, John poured the much desired drink - he noticed that the tea cart had been replaced with a selection of spirits - his hand shaking as he poured a small amount into the crystal glass. "Dammit, man!" he thought to himself.  He was acting foolishly, as if he was meeting Margaret for the first time.   He thought of the women, few that there were, that he had known over the years, with only two women resulting in an sexual relationship. He stood before the fire, thinking of Caroline, and the months they had shared in her bed. Her features came into focus as he was reminded of the slight resemblance to Margaret. Things had come naturally between them, as Caroline was quite uninhibited when it came to discussing what pleased her. He recalled the last time he had made love to her, only a few months ago, before Margaret had returned.
He shook his head to clear it of these thoughts. Good God, how could he be having such thoughts, when his love was only steps away and on his wedding night! He drank the contents of his glass and feeling the warm fire that began to smolder in his belly, he poured himself another.