Hello my lovely ones, I hope you are all well and shiny and thriving as the week draws to its end,

So I took a little longer than I thought, as the chapter needed a few tiny edits. I haven't received much feedback on whether ya'll are wanting some fluffier content and some annexes (John's Helstone adventures etc.) I do have 2 epilogues planned that will satisfy those hankering after a little more John/Margaret fluffiness, so do let me know so I can know whether or not to dedicate the hours to developing them.

A spéciale dédicace to Jackiwi86 who inspired me to add some climatic ambiance to this chapter when she fanfic'ed my fanfic all those moons ago (I still think you should post what you wrote, twas dynamite!) And, as ever, Claudia Lomond for being my constant sounding board. And all you readers who are following my story, especially those who take the time to leave a response/comment/review. It really means to world to me, it is so reassuring to know I'm not just sending my labours out into the great void

We're almost there peeps! Please let me know what you think...

Margaret spent several weeks at the Langham, enjoying, for the first time in her life, what it was to have only herself to care for. She learned to navigate her newfound position as a wealthy, independent heiress, going only where she wished to go, and doing only what she wished to do, and that only when she wished to do it.

Soon tired of London, she travelled on to Oxford, and set about acquainting herself with the properties and investments she had inherited there. The exercise took her a fortnight complete, and once she had secured a reliable agent, (the same that had assisted Mr Bell when he was living), she decided it was time that she move on once more.

After much deliberation regarding the next steps into her personal future, she booked passage aboard a steamer bound for Cadiz. Frederick had written to urge her removal from England, to come live with him and his wife and their baby that was expected any day now. Margaret did not need much convincing, writing back the very same day to accept her brother's invitation. The ship was scheduled to leave early Sunday morning from the Liverpool docks, and so with some business to settle and friends to see, she planned her arrival in Milton two days prior to her departure.

Overall, she was mostly unburdened by the prospect of running into Mr Thornton. He was, as far as she knew, still occupied with the mill, and her business would not take her anywhere near there. Her investment may have secured his immediate future, but she was sure he would have doubled his efforts in order to gain as much security, as was attainable in business, that his fate would never be so uncertain again. And he was, if her calculations were correct, married. For several weeks now. A standard, London engagement lasted six months at least, but she imagined things might be more expedient in the north. No, she would not be meeting Mr Thornton. He was, in all likelihood, a lot more agreeably engaged.

She met with several of her tenants and overseers, mostly to inform them of the nature of her departure and reassure them that she would continue to administer her affairs from the Continent. She also met with Mr Belmont at the bank to ensure that the funds from the various trusts she had set up with Henry in London were operational and accessible to the beneficiaries. Business before pleasure, she thought to herself, as she made her way down the familiar meandering Princeton roads, stopping frequently to exchange a smile, a warm greeting or a pat on the head with the many children that roamed the streets. She giggled to herself as her three short raps on the large, oak door were met with a cacophony of squeaks and squeals on the other side.

Their reunion was a happy one. Once Margaret had sorted through the tangle of curly heads and sweaty arms, she took time to speak to each of the children individually, and give them the gifts she had brought for each one of them. A doll, a small sewing kit, a patty pan, some tin soldiers, a spinning top and a reader but wait… where was Tom?

"'e's some'ere 'ere about" conjectured Higgins, "We always find 'im in th'unlikeliest o' places, curled up like a cat, 'is little nose buried in one o' them books Thornton lends 'im."

A smile ghosted across his face as he saw Margaret's head snap up. He pretended not to notice, busying himself with admiring the fine bone china tea set she had brought as a present for Mary. It belonged to the late Mrs Hale, and was every bit as beautiful and delicate as the sweet lady herself had been. Checking herself, Margaret went back to bouncing the youngest Boucher on her knee whilst marvelling with rounded eyes at the tiny, tin battalion she was rapidly being flanked with to her left.

"Mr Thornton lends Tom his books?" She asked after a moment, avoiding Higgins' knowing gaze.

"Aye," he confirmed, turning a chair to seat himself backwards on it, folding his arms over the backrest. "'E's taken 'n interest in young Tom. Says 'e sees th' makin's of a scholar 'in 'im. 'though I'm sure Mrs Thornton dun't approve of such a notion." he added cheekily.

So that's that. Margaret thought He has married Miss Latimer.

"She dunt approve o' much, Da'," added Mary, "She's ever so surly, 'ardly ever smiles at anythin', not even at 'im!"

"Our Mary 'elped th'Thorntons wit' th' move from th'millhouse t'Crampton, n' back again," explained Higgins, casting a proud look at his younger daughter.

"Oh." replied Margaret. She was afraid to say any more, lest her voice waver and betray the depth of feeling she had, these long months kept hidden safely away.

"I hope they'll be very happy together."

Father and daughter exchanged a puzzled look.

"Aye Miss, 'm sure the' will be, as ever the' 'ave been," he responded, still bemused.

Margaret did not dare look at him. The tears threatened to sting their way through the wall she had meticulously erected against them. It would not do! Besides, she had come to Milton to settle her affairs, visit her friends and say her goodbyes; not to spend the afternoon speaking of the newly-married Thorntons, of all people.

And so she asked after this person and that; learned of Mary's progress as a cook and housekeeper, laughed at the children's stories and gave in to their many solicitations. She savoured every moment of their precious company, and they in turn delighted in her affectionate attention. Before long, Higgins suggested that she stay for one last cup of tea, to toast their farewell, or something of that nature. She had just set out the new teacups when there was a knock on the doorframe.

"'Iggins, I believe this belongs to you."

Margaret stopped stock still. The tea she was pouring with her back to the door began to overflow and run down the sides of the teacup. "Miss Margaret!" exclaimed Lucy, as she watched the tawny liquid spill over the saucer's edge and seep into the exposed wood of the table.

"Oh! Good heavens!" She exclaimed, suddenly in possession of her senses once again. She hurried to the stove to fetch a rag to mop up her mistake, her mind racing to contrive a reason to cut her visit with her friends as short as possible. She was not sure she was prepared for an impromptu meeting with Mr Thornton.

"Miss… Miss Hale?!" rumbled the voice incredulously.

Margaret gathered her courage and lifted her head defiantly. She couldn't very well pretend to be somebody else. As it was, young Lucy had given her away. She inhaled sharply and turned to face the unmistakable northern burr.

"Mr Thornton." She inclined slowly, taking in the full height of him with the upwards sweep of her head. He looked about ten feet tall.

They stood in silence for a moment, studying each other, eyes wide and unbelieving. It wasn't until poor Tom began to squirm under Mr Thornton's hand that he realised that he had been gripping the poor boy's shoulder rather firmly.

"Sorry lad," he proffered, tearing his eyes away from Margaret just long enough to look down apologetically at the six-year old leaning against him with familiar affection.

Higgins, who had been watching their silent exchange with mischievous interest, was the next to break the spell. "Measter!" he exclaimed, greeting the taller man warmly, "Come in, come in. We were jus' 'bout t' toast Miss Margaret's departure."

"Departure?" he asked, stepping into the room without taking his eyes from her. "Where are you going?"

Margaret opened her mouth, but found that her words would not come. They had fled, hidden themselves somewhere amongst the erratic beatings of her heart, or in the throbbing heat that was pooling in her belly. Damn them!

"Spain, was it Margaret?" Higgins, coming to her rescue once again.

Margaret swallowed thickly. She could hardly stand and gape at the man all evening. She shook her head. She was of age. She was of means. She had, in fact, provided the means for his mill, his position and most likely, his marriage, if not his wedding. Mr Latimer had probably paid for that. There was no reason for her discomfort. It was he who was indebted to her, not the reverse.

"Yes, Nicholas," she replied, beaming warmly at her friend. "But not before we have that cup of tea I was promised!" She ventured a brave smile at the newcomer. "Won't you join us, Mr Thornton?"

For nothing in the world would John Thornton have declined that invitation.

Margaret was pleased to note the friendly manner in which Master and worker interacted. There was no uneasiness between them, she thought. Higgins and his roustabouts seemed to tickle Thornton's elusive sense of humour, and she was sure she had never seen him laugh so heartily before. It was a beautiful sight. His usually stern brow smoothed and his eyebrows raised; the skin about his eyes crinkled deliciously at the corners. The firm line of his mouth stretched wide across his face into the brightest and most disarming smile, and the deep, thundering rumble of his laughter made her heart and every warm part of her swell with tender affection. She found herself gazing at him, allowing herself the small luxury of studying his features, so as to preserve a sketch of his likeness forever as a memory in her heart and mind.

They addressed each other directly only once. Mr Thornton enquired after her relations in London, correcting himself awkwardly when he spoke.

"Miss Hale… forgive me, perhaps… I believe... you mustt be Mrs Lennox by now..."

She took her time in answering. "No, Mr Thornton," she demurred, relishing the small thrill it gave her to correct him on this score, "I am still Miss Hale. And will be for at least the foreseeable future."

His expression was transformed at this revelation, his face melting into the widest and most boyish of grins as he gazed at her for far longer than was comfortable. It was only when a painful squeak escaped the toddler upon his knee that he came back to the world.

"Ow, Mr Forton, ye' howdin' me too tight!"

"Oh, I'm sorry pet!" he said, smoothing the girls red hair apologetically.

"'E did it t' me too n' all!" hissed Tom to his sister, casting a wary glare at both guests. "I dunno wha' 'e's about today!"

Margaret could hardly stifle her laughter, and the sight of her mirth at his own expense turned the Master bright red. He wrapped his arms further around little Lucy and shrunk down in his chair, hiding from his embarrassment.

Higgins picked up the conversation where they had left it, and Mr Thornton did not trust himself to address her again. But although Margaret couldn't be certain, his furtive glances and the inclination of his body seemed to angle a little more in her direction, and there was a distinct brightness in his eyes whenever he looked her way. They spoke of many things amongst the three of them, and Margaret was less reserved than she had been so far, allowing herself to thoroughly enjoy the company of both these men who were, in truth, so very dear to her.

"Miss Margaret, it's almost dark! Ye'll miss yer coach!" urged Mary, rousing her from her thoughts.

"Oh, so it is Mary! Nicholas, children, I am afraid the time has come for me to say farewell…"

She embraced them and said her goodbyes, taking care to wipe a stray tear that tracked its way down Mary's rosy cheek.

"I shall write to you."

"I should be going too," said Mr Thornton, lifting reluctant little Lucy off his knee with a quick peck on her ginger head. "Miss Hale, might I be permitted to accompany you? It is quite dark…"

Higgins and his daughter exchanged a knowing look.

"Thank you, yes, Mr Thornton." Margaret replied. She was not sure she was permitted, or even inclined to refuse. Besides, he was a married man, and she was leaving in the morning… What was the worst that could happen?

They bade the large family goodnight and headed out of the door, maintaining a conscious but unspoken distance between them. They exchanged a few polite observations about their surroundings, and soon the winding alleys gave way to the wider, cobbled roads of Milton central. They had done well so far, and she was almost back at her hotel. Margaret allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief...

"Miss Hale," ventured the Darkshire rumble at her side, "If I might be so bold, there is something I must say to you."

Margaret froze in her tracks. They had just stepped onto the high street, on the more affluent end, and her hotel was already visible at the end of the road. To make matters worse, it had begun to drizzle.

Oh dear! she thought to herself. And we were doing so well!

He knew she was leaving for Liverpool in less than an hour, so she conjectured that it could not be anything too injurious. Besides, she reminded herself, he is a married man now. The thought left her feeling very cold and very small.

But she held her head high and schooled her features into their usual, regal demeanour.

"I am listening, Mr Thornton."

He couldn't help but smile at her little display. He too had felt how easy it would be for them to slip out of the comfort of polite conversation and into the awkwardness of a more engaging address. He had no wish to cause Miss Hale anymore injury than he already had throughout their acquaintance so far. But there were things he wished, nay, he must be allowed to say.

"I am afraid I have been quite ungrateful to you Miss Hale," he began.

"I'm sure you have nothing to be grateful for." She retorted, curtly.

"I think that I do…" he said. The words were ready and waiting on his tongue.

"I should have thanked you personally for your intervention in the Mill," he raised a hand to silence the imminent protest that flashed across her face, "were it not for your benevolence as regards to my tenancy, as well as your generous investment in the business itself, I would never have been able to reopen Marlborough Mills, or recover any semblance of its activity."

"Mr Thornton there is no need…"

"Aye, Miss Hale there is. I may never see you again, and it is capital to me that you understand how grateful… how very indebted I know myself to be…" he ducked his head to meet her gaze, "and to whom."

"Mr Thornton," she breathed, her attempt to dismiss his gratitude dying on her lips as she looked up at him. His eyes bore into her with an intensity that threatened to cleave right to that deepest, darkest secret she had kept hidden in her heart these long months. A ferocious wave of emotion swept over her, as expressions of gratitude, desire and longing chased each other across his features. She couldn't stand it! She had to break this spell. Something… say something!

"You are most welcome, Mr Thornton." she stammered, looking away. "I am glad to have been in a position to help such an important, admirable enterprise. Your workers… your mother… your wi…" she stopped, the word stubbornly refusing her summons, "they are all dependent on you and everything you have worked so hard for. I could hardly stand by and watch all your achievements come to naught, and through no fault of your own"

"I am heartened, Miss Hale, to learn of your good opinion of me."

"And you will always have it, Sir."

He bent his head to capture her eyes that were once again studying the cobblestones with great interest. She allowed herself to look up for a moment, before turning away. She was not sure she could stand to look into those endless skies for a second longer. It was too much! He was a married man. They were in the street. They must keep moving. She must change the subject.

"And how is Mrs Thornton taking to the Mill House?" she ventured, once they had taken a few more steps.

"My mother is happy to be back home," Mr Thornton replied after a moment's pause. "We were only a few weeks in the smaller house in Crampton..."

"Oh," Margaret said, eyes still trained on the pavement in front of her, "I meant the other Mrs Thornton…"

Thornton squinted in confusion, before turning to scrutinize her careful avoidance of his face. She did not know!

"I was surprised to learn of the bank's sudden decision to recall the loan, particularly given the difficulties following the strike. And so soon after the wedding, I assume." she added hurriedly to fill the silence, "I was not aware of the exact date of the happy event." She turned and offered a weak smile. He was cut to the heart.

"Miss Hale…" he said, slowing down. She continued at the same pace, so he repeated himself, more forcefully. "Miss Hale."

She stopped and turned back to face him. There was barely three feet between them, and yet she felt as if she were staring at him from across a great caverness abyss.

"Miss Hale," he continued, now sure of her attention. "There is no other Mrs Thornton. There has been no marriage." Encouraged by the slight gape of her pert mouth, he added, "Miss Latimer and myself have ended our… er… acquaintance."

"Oh Mr Thornton!" she cried, instinct propelling her to rush to his side and comfort him. But she stopped herself, reaching out to him with her eyes instead, "I am sorry for you! You seemed so… so well suited."

Warmed by her spontaneous display, he thanked her for her concern. Her brow furrowed and she looked down, her eyes flickering from right to left as if calculating some great number.

"But Mr Thornton, forgive my impertinence, I do hope that I played no part in your unfortunate situation," she said, worry creasing her forehead as she looked up into his face earnestly. "Your kindness at my father's passing, and my financial interventions, I mean. I confess I know little of their repercussions… I merely wished to ensure the mill would not close down, and that you would not be ruined. You have worked so hard for all you have, I could not bear the thought… but I never intended…" She searched his face, looking for the answer to her question. Or perhaps the end of it.

He took the hand reaching out hesitantly for him. "You had no hand in it," he lied, "Miss Latimer and I were ill-suited. My affections, that is to say, I was, at the time…"

He cursed his recalcitrant tongue. From the moment he had seen her from the doorway, bright, beautiful, and spilling tea all over Higgins' kitchen table, had known exactly what he wanted to say, and exactly how he would say it. There was nothing to fear now that there was truly nothing to lose. But then where, in heaven's name, were his words?

Suddenly aware that he had been holding her hand in silence for more than several moments, he cleared his throat, and lowered his grasp until they separated. Nevermind. Damn his words, wherever they had fled! He would approach the matter from another angle.

"So you are leaving, then." He said, taking his turn to address the cobblestones underfoot.

"Yes."

"Spain, was it? Your brother will be anxious to see you again."

Her head snapped up to meet his gaze. There was kindness in his voice. "You know about Frederick?!"

His heart swelled as he sensed the opportunity to set things right upon him. He would not risk another misunderstanding. He would not risk her feelings again.

"Your father informed me. Just before his departure for Oxford. I was ignorant of his existence until then which is why…" his expression tightened under the weight of his admission, "Miss Hale, I was very wrong to abuse you as I did. I jumped to a hasty conclusion when I saw you embracing your brother at Outwood station. It suited my feelings and my injured pride to believe the worst of you. I am afraid I accused and hurt you most cruelly."

Aha, there they were!

"Mr Thornton," she interrupted, shaking her head.

"No, Miss Hale, please allow me this. I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. You once accused me of ungentlemanly behaviour. You were right in your assessment of me, as it would seem I have shown little but cruelty and callousness to you since that day…" his voice trailed off.

"But Mr Thornton..." she drew closer to lay a gentle hand on his gesticulating arm.

"I beg you, Miss Hale, to allow me to ask for your forgiveness. I know I am not worthy of the good opinion you so kindly bestow on me but please, please accept my apology for all of my indiscretions in regards to yourself. I assumed the wantonness of which you spoke when we danced was your way of warning me that you kept a lover. I could not have been more mistaken."

"Yes," she said meekly, withdrawing her hand and turning her flushed face away from him, "I was referring to a different incident entirely."

"Yes Miss Hale, I know that now." He ventured apologetically. She waited as his eyes traveled across the ground. He needed to explain the incident to which he was referring, without offending to her sensibilities or indeed, his own.

But there were no two ways about it. The truth must out, and out as clearly and expediently as possible. He gathered his courage in his hands and opened his mouth to speak...

"Oh Mr Thornton! It is I that am sorry! I may not have kept a lover, but I am surely wanton; for what sort of a lady would allow herself to be so thoroughly kissed in that intimate way? I was every bit deserving of your censure!"

She covered her face in her hands and shook her head, as if to shake the very memory from her mind. The light drizzle that had left them thus far unmolested, turned heavier in an instant. Margaret barely noticed as he gripped her elbow lightly and guided her up some stairs and onto a small terrace that overlooked the hotel courtyard. When she uncovered her face, they were seated on a bench, her small trembling hands held and soothed by his larger, warm ones, as the rain pelted down all around them.

"Miss Hale, I have only recently learned of my behaviour that day. You must believe me when I say I knew nothing of our, er, encounter."

Her eyes widened. She cocked her head to the left slightly in disbelief.

"Dr. Donaldson did warn me that my memory of that day's events might be incomplete, or even erroneous. I only knew of our… my… our embrace on the eve of your departure from Milton. I would have come to you sooner, but I was detained, and the revelation lead me to break with Miss Latimer, lose my financing and consequently the Mill, and any hope I had of reconciliation with you."

She withdrew her hands from his and her face turned pale. She was about to speak when Thornton cut her off, reading her thoughts, and twisting his body so he was fully facing her.

"No Miss Hale, do not chastise yourself, it was not your doing. I did not love Miss Latimer. I confess her attention was a balm for my wounded pride after your rejection that night in Crampton. She was pleasant company enough…" he paused, lowering his voice to an intimate murmur, "but it was not she that my heart called mistress."

But she didn't seem to be listening. Much good his declarations would do anyone, if she wouldn't even hear them! He considered repeating himself, but then thought the better of it.

"Your rejection was justified, considering the circumstances."

"But without those circumstances…" she began, hesitantly, her brow furrowing as she worked through the memories and new revelations in her mind. "Mr Thornton… please know, I do regret my rejection of you so very deeply." She was talking to her lap, still trying to piece together the picture of their present situation. It eluded her.

He was not sure he had heard her correctly.

"You would have welcomed my suit?" He asked, looking at her expectantly. His hands had come to rest tensely on his knees and his body was bent towards her smaller frame.

"I would," she ventured, her eyes still lost in thought, "I would… but so much has passed between us," She met his gaze then, weariness, longing and sadness etched on her face. She sighed, "and I have nothing left for me in England."

Thornton's heart sank at her conclusion. Truly, he had no claim to her. He had abused and accused her most cruelly without grounds, and had been the instigator of almost all of her hurt in this area. A head injury was no excuse. Of course she must go to Spain, to be loved and cherished by her brother who would have her best interests at heart. Thornton's thoughts strayed briefly to Fanny who, despite her flighty nature and aggravating manners, would always be his own beloved little sister.

But she could not leave without knowing his true feelings. He had never had the opportunity to confess his love to her. She might leave, she might away, to be swallowed by the Spanish horizon never to be seen again, but not before she knew the ardent passion with which he loved her.

"Miss Hale," he began, "Margaret…"

He willed his eyes to remain fixed on her own. They were at present as a murky sea green- dense and unreadable; a reflection of the smudged curtain of precipitation that surrounded them. He could not glean anything from them, and her expression gave nothing away. Would she prove insensible to the very bearing of his soul? Nevermind. She would hear nonetheless.

"Pardon me Miss..."

The gruff, Darkshire burr cut through the invisible intimacy that had woven its way around the young couple. It was several seconds before they broke from each other's gaze, he first, to turn their attention to the aging footman who was hovering at a respectable distance from them.

"Yes? What is it man?" snapped Thornton.

"'Tis th' coach, Sir. As per Miss Hale's instructions this mornin', 'er luggage's bin' loaded 'n th' driver's bin' kept waitin' five minutes already…"

"Oh!" exclaimed Margaret, rushing to her feet. "Oh, I must go! Mr Thornton I… excuse me, please tell the driver I will be there directly…"

As the man ambled away, she turned once more to face her companion, her heart wrenching to see the anxiety in her breast reflected upon every inch of his countenance. Truly, he was a picture of desperation, as he leaned towards her, his hands flexing as if they itched to take purchase on some part of her and never let go, his eyes telegraphing the supplications he had not the time to voice.

Let her go, man, let her go...

"Ma… Miss Hale," he began thickly, unable to resist raising a trembling hand to brush her cheek, "Please accept my sincerest wishes for your good health and happiness in Spain. It is only right that you go to your brother. He will take care of you, if, as you say, you have nothing left in England. I wish you well."

She stared at him, unblinking. His hand remained, caressing her cheek until an uncomfortable amount of time bid him lower it. For a moment she seemed lost to him again, as she had been after her father's passing. Lost in grief. Lost in thought. Lost in the bitter memories of all that had transpired between them.

Thornton turned to face the courtyard, interpreting her silence as her final word on the matter. He would not allow his pride or wounded feelings to colour his behaviour again. She had every right to reject him, humiliate him even, after his treatment of her. Every right to dispose of her newfound wealth as she saw fit. Every right to board passage to Spain and her new life away from the smoke and dust of Milton. He would bear up under the devastation of it, as the gentleman he had always aspired to be. He turned from her, and walked several feet away to hide the tears that threatened to betray his cleaving heart.

"Miss Hale!"

"I am coming!" she gasped, her gaze volleying between the two potential futures she did not think she would have to choose this day. When he would not look at her, she dashed her palm across her wet cheek, and hurried down the stairs to board the coach that was threatening to depart without her.

As she stepped up into the carriage, she cast a glance back through the pelting rain to the balcony above. She could just make out a dark figure standing immobile where she had left him, still facing away from her.

"Look back." she commanded quietly, "Look back at me."

But he could not.