"You don't need Mr. Lennox."

Silenced by the strange light in his eyes and not really knowing what to say anyway, she allowed him to lead her to the house. Fortunately, Mrs. Thornton was visiting her daughter. Margaret already felt betrayed by the unsuspected weakness which earlier overcame her without having it tested on Mr. Thornton's formidable mother. He deposited her in the dining room, disappeared for a brief moment and returned with a tray of tea and sandwiches, taking a cup of tea for himself but neglecting the food, preferring to stand a silent sentinel over her until she had eaten. When he was satisfied that her color was restored and the feverish brightness in her eyes diminished, he poured them both another cup of tea and took the chair beside her.

"Now we may discuss your business proposal."

Her strength regained, she did not turn pale at his words, but her hands began to tremble so violently that her cup clattered against the saucer and she abandoned it to the table before her, hiding her hands in her lap. Taking a deep breath, she explained her plan - to give him the money that she had acquired from the unsuspected venture of Mr. Bell, to have him continue running Marlborough Mills. Her entire body trembled with emotion as she concluded her rehearsed speech, as though she had stood before a thousand people to deliver it. She hoped that it sounded professional, that he did not believe it to be charity and therefore an insult to his pride, that it would be mutually beneficial to them both and the workers of Milton. The incredulous look that escaped his features at the revelation of her brother's situation now dominated his expressive eyes.

His next words made it clear that she failed... miserably.

"Miss Hale, why are you doing this?" He rose suddenly and began to pace, if possible more violently than he had in his office, for he had more room here. "You do not care for me. You do not love me. Why do you care so much whether it is me or some other manufacturer that brings a profit to this place?"

Filled with overwhelming indignation, she replied without thinking, "I never said that I did not love you."

"You did," he cried, slamming hand onto the table and upsetting the teacups, completely overcome by her denial. It filled him with false hope and a fierce anger at the idea that she might be deliberately playing a game with his heart. Surely she knew that he still loved her!

Margaret Hale was a reserved woman with a beautiful grace that infused every movement, but with a strong passion kept tightly leashed in her nature. She did not flinch at his passionate violence. Her own slipped its' restraints at his actions and she was a different creature to the trembling woman of a moment before, the pale wreck she had been in the mill. She hardly knew herself as she rose from her seat like a queen, battle-fire in her eyes, and they were both astonished at the quiet composure of her voice when she spoke.

"Please, do not twist my words, Mr. Thornton." She stepped toward him. He stepped back, for a moment intimidated by the fierce something in her eyes that seemed to reach for his very soul in spite of the gentle, deceptive calm of her tone. "I said that I didn't like you. At the time, I did not. I could not see past our differences in opinion, feeling mine superior to yours, to acknowledge..."

Here she faltered. She turned from him. He was freed from that wild look in her eyes but stood transfixed as she began to glide back and forth in his previous footsteps. He was struggling to name that emotion so clearly discernible in her countenance, a look he never dared hope she would impart to him, which he could not hope for now. He had to be mistaken!

And yet, every nerve in his body seemed to wait for her next words until he was undone by her silence and prompted, "to acknowledge..."

She stopped before the window, looking down into the courtyard and nothing could have prepared him for the words that poured from her.

"How much you unsettle me," she finished. "You have unsettled me from the moment we met. I am a practical person. People often mistake it for haughtiness, but I have a pride in knowing my mind and felt a mortification in being so confused by you. The first time we met, you beat a defenseless man and I was too tenacious of life to understand there might ever be a justifiable reason for such violence! It frightened me, but was not nearly as terrifying as this strange awareness of you. I can feel when you look at me, your voice when you speak to me, as though my very blood responds to the call of your presence."

He listened intently to what she said but could not make his mind agree with his heart on what she meant. In his agitation, he began to quietly pace again, trying to digest her words, and she turned from the window in her quiet distress to pace as well. They circled each other in a strange dance to the music of their restless, long suppressed emotions.

She continued in a less regal and more defensive tone, "I did not understand this place or what was happening around me; my mother dying, my father struggling with his faith, everything about Milton. It was all so different from the simple life I knew in London and Helstone! Above all, I could not understand you. I resented you for so willfully attempting to drag me out of my naive ideals which I believed were so superior to your daily reality... and yet I was drawn to you. It was too much!"

He suddenly reached out and grasped her by the arms, drawing her near as he gasped through clenched teeth, "Drawn to me? I thought you hated me!"

He was trembling as violently as she, but her determination did not waver in her promise to answer for all.

"Surely you know me well enough to understand that even my naive ideas of courage would never induce me to stand between an angry mob and a man that I hated. Yes, I pitied them, and would still defend them in my pity, but don't assume for a moment that I ever pitied you."

"I feel very stupid at the moment," he said tremulously, his grip upon her tightening almost painfully, "I cannot quite understand what you mean."

Gathering the last of her courage, she raised her palm to his face, smoothing her fingertips over the lines of tension she found there, watching them fade as he leaned into her hand. "You understand what I mean," she murmured, heart catching in her throat as his eyes fluttered closed, long black lashes resting on his cheek.

"Tell me that you love me," he demanded quietly, eyes still closed, breath shallow.

"I love you, John Thornton."

He gasped, pulled her with gentle violence into his arms, held her tightly against his heart, and filled the next several moments with a delicious silence as his lips found hers, as her fingers slipped from his cheek to find their way beneath the collar of his shirt where they explored the tender skin usually hidden from her.

The documents that Henry Lennox had so carefully prepared were no longer necessary, but his devoted support as her lawyer and friend made the following month manageable, especially when it came to consoling Edith. He even managed to convince Aunt Shaw that it was a well suited match! Additional documents were drawn up, but Margaret and Mr. Thornton entered into a more permanent and binding contract that anything outlined in those meager pages.

Mrs. Thornton accepted the situation as she accepted everything that concerned her son.

"I can never forgive you for making my son unhappy," she informed Margaret on the day of the wedding.

Margaret had been preparing for this conversation since the day she confessed her love to the son in question. "You said once that I did not know the man that I rejected. You were right. But I'm no longer the girl that rejected him. I'm the woman that will love him for the rest of my life."

Mrs. Thornton smiled at this response. "Then make him happy, if what you say is true. Then, even though I cannot forgive the girl, I might just learn to love the woman."