A Misguided Mistake

Chapter One

Margaret was sure she had never been more uncomfortable in her life. As was traditional, the men and women had splintered away from one another. The men smoked and drank brandy, the women sat and made small talk about children, or the weather. It was interminably boring.

It was even worse this evening. After her argument with Mr Thornton at the dinner table, the reception Margaret was currently receiving in this room full of women was frosty to say the very least. Margaret sat in chair in a corner, staring at her lap as the other women spoke to each other. Mrs Thornton was, of course, furious with her. Margaret had caught the glares from various women when her gaze had strayed from her own hands. Fanny in particular was entirely ubsubtle in her contempt.

In the hallway, the clock struck ten and Margaret wanted to go home. Her mother would be going to sleep soon, and though there was no great desire to share what had happened at the dinner table, Margaret knew her mother would want to know every detail of exactly what had happened at the dinner party.

Once the clock had finished striking, Margaret stood up. Mrs Thornton caught the movement and turned to her.

"Are you leaving, Miss Hale?" She asked, eyebrow raised.

"My mother is not well, and she will be retiring for the night soon. I would like to go home in time to speak with her." Margaret explained. "I know that she will be eager to hear of this evening."

"The men have not finished." Mrs Thornton pointed out. "I doubt your father is ready to leave.

"I am sure he will be once he realises the time. He will be eager to see her himself. Excuse me for disturbing your conversation. Thank you for a fine evening." Margaret nodded her head. "Goodbye everyone."

Goodbyes were mumbled and half wished, though not a woman rose to say goodbye properly. Good, Margaret thought. She did not care if they thought her wild or haughty. She did not care what they thought of her at all.

As she left the room and closed the door firmly behind her, Margaret walked slowly down the long corridor. She had only been in the main living room of the house, close to the front door. Thus, this part of the house was unfamiliar to her. The house felt rather dark and dingy to her - though, so did the Crampton house. Perhaps it was Milton that had this effect. The houses were built too closely to other buildings - light did not come into the rooms so easily. Besides, there was rarely any sunshine to speak of in Milton anyway. Everything felt grey.

The wallpaper was quite nice, Margaret conceded. She absently reached out and touched the raised flock of the pattern, before snatching her hand away. She was not a child - it would not do to be touching walls just to see what they felt like.

If she was honest with herself, she had had a little too much wine at dinner. She was not used to it, though it was not the first time she had taken wine with dinner of course. London society drank heavily; the men more so than the women. The men here, too, would be drinking brandy after dinner. Margaret could not stand drunk men; they leered and they made fools of themselves. Her own head felt rather fuzzy, as though it was made of wool.

As she reached the end of the seemingly mile long corridor, she saw a door to a room she had not noticed before. The light was on inside, the door open but not widely enough to see inside. Peering round, she saw a heavy mahogany desk and a towering bookshelf on the opposing wall. This must be Mr Thornton's study. His bookshelf called to her; she always enjoyed seeing what other people read. You could tell a lot about a man by the books he enjoyed.

"Miss Hale." A voice startled her, and she whipped around.

"Mr Thornton. I am sorry, I saw the door open and I could not resist looking at your bookshelves. It was rude of me, and I apologise." Margaret said, eyes downcast.