Midnight in Milton

The Thornton's annual dinner party had finished late - and even the formidable Mrs Thornton & her daughter Fanny had long since retired, leaving John Thornton to dispatch the final guests into the warm, late spring night.

Miss Margaret Hale had proved more enduring than many would have given her credit for as a 'soft southerner', and insisted on staying until her father was ready to leave. This was delayed by one of Mr Hale & Mr Thornton's philosophical discussions which rendered them the last guests to depart, and now John Thornton stood at the drawing room window and watched the pair crossing the mill yard.

The tension between himself and Margaret had been palpable from the moment she had entered the house that evening, and now he watched for any sign that she really did return his feelings. 'Look back,' he willed her, as he watched her petite form grow ever more distant, 'Look back at me...'

It seemed as though John's wishes were to go unfulfilled, when finally, at the farthest corner of the yard, Margaret turned and looked back, her eyes meeting his, even through the surrounding gloom. The look was long enough to be transparent in its meaning, and John finally released the breath he hadn't realised that he'd been holding since he had closed the door behind Margaret & her father a few minutes earlier.

***

Margaret was grateful for the cool air as she felt herself flush at the lingering glance she & John Thornton had just shared. She had spent the entire evening trying to process the new & unexpected feelings that John Thornton had somehow triggered in her. He was, of course, a perfect gentleman, but on more than one occasion she had caught him stealing a glance in her direction with an expression on his face that made her wonder about the hidden depths beneath his usual business-like persona. She couldn't deny that she'd enjoyed seeing that look and knowing that she was the cause of it, but her own feelings both excited and scared her. Pushing all thoughts of John Thornton to the back of her mind, she tightened her grip on her fathers arm and speeded up her steps, anxious to be home as soon as possible.

***

John Thornton paced the drawing room. He was a businessman and a gentleman - he knew how to behave, and yet the compulsion he was feeling at that moment was becoming increasingly difficult to fight. He had hoped that his movement around the room would cause the nervous energy that filled his body to abate, but so far it had failed spectacularly. His heart told him that the only thing that could assuage his angst would be to go to Margaret, to take her in his arms and make her unmistakably aware of how strongly he felt for. But how could he? It was well after eleven and even if she was still awake, and, he hardly dared hope, feeling the same, he couldn't possibly go calling on a respectable young lady at this time of night.

The more John tried not to think of Margaret, the more intensely he felt her absence, until eventually he realised that even if he couldn't go to her, he needed more space to walk, and pulling on his overcoat he made his way out into the Milton night.

***

Margaret was seated at the bureau in the sitting room, her quill scratching swiftly across the sheet of paper.

"Dearest Edith,

Forgive me for sending such a self-indulgent missive - there is no-one here I can confide in, much less trust with the feelings I am trying to make sense of.

You will recall that when we first arrived in Milton, I wrote to you about one of the mill owners - a Mr John Thornton. Our first meeting was in unfortunate circumstances, and my first impressions of him were far from favourable. But now I know him to be a fair and honourable man, and my thoughts of him become increasingly affectionate in a way I have never felt about another. I suspect he shares my feelings, but as yet he has not confirmed this and not knowing for certain if or when he will is such agony.

We were invited to a dinner party hosted by Mrs Thornton this evening, and on many occasions I felt his gaze upon me. Oh cousin, it was so delicious, but how unladylike of me to admit the same. I know it is improper for me to feel this way, much less confess it, but please, tell me, was it the same for you and Captain Lennox? I cannot believe such a wonderful feeling can be so very wrong, and if you are to tell me you understand it may make it a little easier to bear."

Margaret sighed deeply, laying the quill on the edge of the blotter, but the silence she expected did not come. Instead, she noticed the sound of footsteps outside. She moved swiftly & silently across the room and gingerly lifted the edge of the heavy drapes to peak through the window. She was stunned to see Mr Thornton staring up at the window, instantly recognising her form silhouetted by the candlelight.

Margaret was sure her heartbeat was as audible as her footsteps as she headed to the front door and released the latch with trembling fingers.

"Mr Thornton, it's past midnight, is something wrong?" she stammered.

"Forgive me," he murmured, his voice deep & quiet "I was restless and decided to take a walk. It wasn't my intention to disturb you at this hour."

"Nonsense," replied Margaret, struggling to regain her composure as she led John through to the sitting room. "I was just writing to my cousin..." she paused, "I too was unable to sleep."

Margaret turned and their eyes met as she spoke the last sentence. In that moment a spark of understanding passed between them, and John realised he could speak his mind without fear of rejection.

"I cannot pretend to be unhappy that you are still awake - I have spent all evening hoping for a moment alone with you...Margaret."

She was unable to answer, her breathing rapid and unsteady, but her expression told John all he needed to know. He moved closer, his eyes never leaving hers as his long, elegant fingers brushed a stray curl from her cheek, tucking it gently behind her ear. Her gaze dropped momentarily from his eyes to his mouth as he slowly, hesitantly lowered his head to hers and gently brushed her lips with his own.