This is what happens when I have a day off and I'm bored. It started as a short piece of fluff, and then Margaret and Mr. Thornton began to argue in my head. This scenario is based on the movie universe. I hope you enjoy it. Feedback is always welcome. Also, I do not own the world or characters created by Elizabeth Gaskell.

Margaret more than disliked London society. She hated it. It was difficult to believe that she had spent so much of her youth here, parading with Edith day after day through the endless monotony of shallow observances. It had not been that long ago, but the past two years had seemed to last longer than her entire life. She had passed through the valley of the shadow of death, formed an intimate acquaintance with sorrow, and was no longer young. Her only comforts lay in Edith's children and the knowledge that Mr. Bell was safely in Argentina, spending the rest of his lonely days in peace and contentment. His letter had arrived that morning. He said that he felt younger for the journey; gave a detailed description of the villa he occupied, an amusing account of the housekeeper who might give Dixon a few lessons in over-protective servitude, and then devoted the rest of the letter to the matter of Mr. Thornton. She had passed over the first page of the letter in fond indulgence, but her eyes hungrily ate the words of the next two pages - reading them over three times.

She was unaware that the strike had such a negative impact on Marlborough Mills. Mr. Thornton never betrayed his troubles in word or look. It was only fair, Mr. Bell explained, that she be aware of the situation, as the mill's landlord, and to prepare herself for contact with the manufacturer. In light of what Mr. Bell knew, she appreciated the warning and for a moment wished fervently that he had given the property into someone else's control. The next moment, she kissed the pages for dear Mr. Bell had given her an opportunity to see Mr. Thornton again!

She only wanted to see him, to know that he was alright, to explain herself in some way - if she could. It had been several months since she had seen him, over a year since that fatal night which brought her so low in his eyes. Not a day passed where the thought did not pierce her soul, her heart bleed continually from the wound. She knew now that she loved him, would always love him, perhaps had always loved him but was blind to the emotion from the height of her lofty and misguided ideals.

The fall had humbled her, and while the view from her new perspective was more painful that anything she had ever anticipated, she did not regret the overwhelming feelings of gratitude and respect that she felt for the man she had once spurned. She prayed to God that she could tell him the truth. More than anything, she wanted him to know why she had lied, who she was protecting. It was not redemption that she sought. She had no hope of ever regaining his respect and affections. It was more that she knew him, was certain that he felt he had misjudged her virtue and was tormented by the idea. If only he knew the truth, perhaps it would ease his mind. It was presumptuous to believe, in light of the news of his failure, that he even thought of her, but if there was even a chance that she could bring him a measure of peace, it was worth any price.

Except Frederick.

How torn she was in her mind between betraying her brother and betraying her heart... nay her soul! God would forgive her. He saw her intentions, knew how keenly she repented of her sin. Would Frederick forgive her? There was only one way to find out. That afternoon she walked to the post office in the rain with a long overdue letter explaining her predicament. It was a testament to her troubled mind that she had not thought of addressing the matter with her brother sooner, and her only prayer now was that the letter would swiftly find its way to Spain and bring back a suitable reply.

Her prayer was answered. The maid brought the anticipated later on schedule the same morning that news arrived of a successful speculation that Mr. Bell had ventured and which brought Margaret a considerable sum of money. Henry Lennox was disappointed if he expected her to be pleased at the news. She brushed it off as though he had informed her of the weather, and feeling petulant, he added the news of the full closure of Marlborough Mills and her need to find a new tenant. She glanced sharply at him and excused herself to read her brother's letter.

Dearest Margaret,

I am grieved by your letter. Why did you not tell me sooner how gravely you had compromised yourself. I never would have urged your silence! If telling this Mr. Thornton the circumstances in which he discovered us will bring you peace, then by all means, tell him! I would risk my life for you, but I will not have you risk your soul for my life.

Be at peace, dearest sister. I am well. I am safe. Do what you must.

All my love,

Fred.

She stared at the letter for half an hour, turning over the brief message in her mind along with the news of her newest fortune and Mr. Thornton's circumstances. She did not believe in coincidence. God had answered her prayers. After all of these long months of sorrow and loss, she was being given the opportunity to do all that was right for the peace and happiness of those she loved. Silently thanking God, and Fred, she sought out Henry Lennox.

The following day found her and Mr. Lennox on a train to Milton. It was not a comfortable ride. She had walked into the drawing room to overhear Edith imploring Mr. Lennox to marry Margaret! Apparently, this had been a scheme of hers since Margaret arrived in London.

"Henry," she began, "surely you know that my heart has not changed."

He glanced up from his paper with a startled look on his face. "My word, Margaret. You don't stand on convention, do you?"

"I would prefer there to be no more misunderstandings between us," she replied, staring out the window, "and I don't want Edith to give you false hope. I admire you, Henry, but my affections are engaged elsewhere."

"Mr. Thornton?"

She closed her eyes and a tear fell to her cheek. "It's silly, I know. So much has happened. So much time has passed, and he has a very low opinion of me. I have no hope, but that does not mean I am free to encourage you. Find someone else, Henry, and let us remain friends."

He stared at her for several moments weighing his disappointment at her words and found it was not a heavy burden on his heart. He admired her, but he did not love her. She would make a good wife, was a good friend, but he wanted her for more practical reasons than any true attachment.

There was no regret in his voice when he muttered, "If that is your wish," and returned to his paper.