On and On

A/N: Please review with any thoughts – I'd really like to know your opinion! Kudos to those who catch the Mary Barton reference.

*

On and On

*

She peeped around the curtain into the street to watch his approach, admiring his tall, upright figure and easy, graceful walk. His clothes were not particularly fine, but when he wore them, he lent them, she thought, a dignity which made him appear as impressive as any great gentleman. Indeed, with his dark hair, fine eyes and strong features, she had never seen any man more handsome.

She lost sight of him as he neared the front door and entered, and she could hear him speaking to her father in the deep tones so beloved to her. He always came to visit her father, and she cherished the tiny, but persistent hope that one day he would come to visit her.

Taking a deep breath, she pinched her cheeks and bit her lip hard, trying to bring some colour to her pale face, before she took up the tea tray and entered the room in which they were conversing. It was only natural, she thought, that she should bring up tea for her father and his friend, although afterwards her father did sometimes smile to himself at her uncharacteristic desire to play hostess whenever a certain visitor arrived.

However, the inspiration for these shows of hospitality seemed unaware that he was their cause. As she poured tea for him, he thanked her, smiling politely and taking the cup she offered, not noticing her furious blush and the sudden trembling of her hand as he accidentally brushed it with his. He did not notice that although she surreptitiously stared at him all the time, she was unable to meet his eyes when he happened to glance over at her. He was not aware that her heart thudded wildly in her chest whenever he was near. He never noticed the look in her eyes that was for him and him alone.

All of this spoke of his humility and modesty and it only made her love him the more, but oh! Sometimes she would have given anything for him to look up and see her, understand the wishes of her heart. Not a moment went by but that she thought of him, and not a night went by but that she dreamed of him, of the feel of his lips on hers, and the warmth of his arms around her.

But as always, he concluded his conversation with her father, politely taking his leave, politely shaking hands with them both. She knew it was just a matter of course, but she could not help it that her skin burned when their hands met, that she could feel the imprint of his palm for hours afterwards. As always, he left with a friendly goodbye for her father and a distant smile for her.

She was not optimistic in general, and was even less so when she thought of him. Although he was always soft-spoken and kind, so he was to everyone. She knew that she was not the only one to harbour a soft spot for him, and at first she had been naïve enough to believe that if she simply loved him enough, he would begin to reciprocate. As always, his visits showed no sign that she might have been right. He did not understand her. But still as always, she loved on and on, ever more fondly, for it seemed like giving up life to give up thought of him.

As always, she resumed her post by the window, watching his progress down the street. As always, she could not help but sigh as nineteen-year-old John Thornton, his business with her father concluded, walked briskly back to the draper's without so much as glancing back.

*