PREMISE: Why wait 400 pages? There were plenty of opportunities for Margaret and Thornton to have gotten together earlier! Shall we explore each one?

(Let me know if you've found another possibility!)

SETTING: Chapter 40 of the book. Mr. Thornton is taking tea with Mr. Hale, Margaret and Mr. Bell.

The italicized paragraphs are direct excerpts from the book.

…Margaret felt, rather than saw, that Mr. Thornton was chagrined
by the repeated turning into jest of what he was feeling as very
serious. She tried to change the conversation from a subject
about which one party cared little, while, to the other, it was
deeply, because personally, interesting. She forced herself to
say something.

'Edith says she finds the printed calicoes in Corfu better and
cheaper than in London.'

'Does she?' said her father. 'I think that must be one of Edith's
exaggerations. Are you sure of it, Margaret?'

'I am sure she says so, papa.'

'Then I am sure of the fact,' said Mr. Bell. 'Margaret, I go so
far in my idea of your truthfulness, that it shall cover your
cousin's character. I don't believe a cousin of yours could
exaggerate.'

'Is Miss Hale so remarkable for truth?' said Mr. Thornton,
bitterly. The moment he had done so, he could have bitten his
tongue out. What was he? And why should he stab her with her
shame in this way? How evil he was to-night; possessed by
ill-humour at being detained so long from her; irritated by the
mention of some name, because he thought it belonged to a more
successful lover…

She sat quite still, after the first momentary glance of grieved
surprise, that made her eyes look like some child's who has met
with an unexpected rebuff; they slowly dilated into mournful,
reproachful sadness; and then they fell, and she bent over her
work, and did not speak again. But he could not help looking at
her, and he saw a sigh tremble over her body, as if she quivered
in some unwonted chill. … he was uneasy and cross, unable to discern between
jest and earnest; anxious only for a look, a word of hers, before
which to prostrate himself in penitent humility. But she neither
looked nor spoke. Her round taper fingers flew in and out of her
sewing, as steadily and swiftly as if that were the business of
her life. She could not care for him, he thought, or else the
passionate fervour of his wish would have forced her to raise
those eyes, if but for an instant, to read the late repentance in
his. He could have struck her … in order that by
some strange overt act of rudeness, he might earn the privilege
of telling her the remorse that gnawed at his heart.

Suddenly, as if she could bear it no longer, she stood up and carelessly dropping her work into her basket, walked hurriedly out of the room. He noticed her movement immediately and followed her eyes with great yearning as she brushed past him, but she was oblivious to it and did not look at him or at anyone. She kept her eyes fixed determinately on some imagined point in the distance, in an attempt to keep them occupied for fear that they would give in to her forcibly stifled inclination to dissolve in a flood of tears.

This did not escape his acute observation and he forgot himself in his remorse and suppressed passion – just as she passed him, he stood up and reached out to grab her hand. She wheeled around in surprise, but then quickly turned back, her trembling hand still firmly in his grasp. The two other men sat up slightly alarmed and watched them stand there for a moment, looking like a still painting of a lover's quarrel, he yearning and reaching out, she tearful and turned away. After a moment she collected herself and gently disengaged her hand, in order to bring it up to cover her face as she ran from the room. He ran after and intercepted her before she had reached the staircase.

"Margaret, forgive me," he began. She held her face averted and tried to pass him, but he would not let her. She thought to push past him but the awkwardness of the physical contact such an activity would inevitably incur dissuaded her. "Margaret, please… I had no right to speak as I did – forgive me." Her expression had been abashed and reticent, but at these words she turned her head to him slowly and he wondered how she could so charmingly blend hauteur and shame in the same glance. She straightened her back a little but had to lower her face almost immediately as her measured tones broke into half-sobs.

"You apologize for the words, not the sentiment." When she saw that he did not understand, she continued. "It is not your words which pain me, but that they are proof of your degraded opinion of me."

"You never cared what I thought about anything – or how I felt." She blushed at this reminder of her formerly dismissive and sometimes contemptuous treatment of him.

Unsure of what to say, she cast about for a safe response. "I… should hate to lose your friendship."

He stepped back. "Are we friends now?"

"We must be, for you to do me such a service. You knew of my falsehood, yet saved me from a public sin." She turned away with the shame of her recollections. "Though the contempt on your face when you refused my gratitude has given me no rest since."

"It wasn't contempt. It was anger. Anger fueled by – forgive me – fueled by jealousy. I am haunted too – by the expression on your face when you looked at that gentleman at the station…" here his voice became gruff and bitter, "how clearly you seemed to love him. I have had no peace since."

She thought her legs would give way. "You imagined him to be… I thought you despised me for my lie, it did not enter my mind that you suspected…" As the tears began, she lost all determination at propriety and fairly pushed him aside as she hurried to hide her broken composure. She rushed up the stairs only to collapse on the first landing in sobs that shook her whole body.

He knelt on the step in front of her and felt wretched and powerless to do anything but protest and stammer. "Margaret, I meant no offense. I never suspected any impropriety – I never had any doubt in your modesty and virtue to imagine that you would step outside the bounds of respectability. I cannot explain but equally cannot forget and what I saw – that you loved another. It has made me wild with jealousy to the point that I am not myself. Please forgive me."

She kept her face turned down to conceal her tear-stained countenance. She had had enough of the concealment and thought only that she wanted his love, wanted to deserve his love, and so tried to reveal the truth and her innocence. "That man was not – " the agitation of her emotions forced her to gasp between every attempt, "Please believe – " She raised her face only to quickly hide it again, "Please don't think – !"

"You don't need to explain yourself," he said gently. He held out his handkerchief, and as she reached for it blindly, and her soft trembling hand brushed his rough palm, his aching desire to touch it again, to touch it always, almost propelled him to say what only his pride forbid him from repeating. "Forgive me."

She steadied herself with a great effort, and said, "He was my brother. We don't talk of him, and his coming for mother's death was kept as secretly as possible – he is in trouble with the law – though completely innocent – if discovered he could be killed. I could not tell you – and you thought – I did love him! But he is my brother – "

His heart beat wildly as the information overwhelmed him. "He was your brother!" He let his face fall against the banister. "Thank you, for telling me."

Calmer, but still trembling, she whispered, "I thought you despised me. I couldn't bear it."

He smiled, "Do you care what I think?"

"Very much." The longing and vulnerability in her voice was all the encouragement he needed. He took her hand, and after a moment she hesitatingly wrapped her other hand around his. Suddenly, to his utter surprise and incalculable joy, she brought his hand up to her cheek.

He brought his free hand up to lift her face, though she kept her eyes cast down. "Why don't you look at me, my love?"

"I have been crying," she tried to smile. "I am not fit to be seen."

"I do not love you because you are beautiful, though you are – the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I love you because you are my Margaret – the kindest, truest, most spectacular and enigmatic girl I know."

She looked up shyly and bit her lip, which only drew his attention to something from which he could no longer prevent himself.

* * *

Left to themselves, Mr. Hale and Mr. Bell sat in silence for a few moments, concerned enough to worry, but delicate enough not to intrude. Mr. Bell finally spoke.

'Hale! did it ever strike you that Thornton and your daughter
have what the French call a tendresse for each other?'

'Never!' said Mr. Hale, first startled and then flurried by the
new idea. 'No, I am sure you are wrong. I am almost certain you
are mistaken. If there is anything, it is all on Mr. Thornton's
side. Poor fellow! I hope and trust he is not thinking of her,
for I am sure she would not have him.'

'Well! I'm a bachelor, and have steered clear of love affairs all
my life; so perhaps my opinion is not worth having. Or else I
should say there were very pretty symptoms about her!'

'Then I am sure you are wrong,' said Mr. Hale. 'He may care for
her, though she really has been almost rude to him at times. But
she!--why, Margaret would never think of him, I'm sure! Such a
thing has never entered her head.'

'Entering her heart would do. But I merely threw out a suggestion
of what might be. I dare say I was wrong.'

This finally prompted Mr. Hale to leave the room in search of his daughter, and to his complete surprise, found her in the arms of Mr. Thornton. In the moment it took him to find his tongue, Mr. Hale perceived that she welcomed his embrace and was unresisting.

"John!" Surprised in their position, Thornton wheeled around to face Mr. Hale, before hastily turning back to Margaret and whispering, "You will marry me?"

She smiled, "Well, now I have to." For a moment he looked so genuinely alarmed that she quickly added, "I want to!" As he helped her stand, she looked up at him sincerely. "I have hoped for nothing else for weeks."

He led her back into the parlor and presented himself to an expectant Mr. Hale. "Mr. Hale, may I please request permission to marry your daughter?"

Author's Note: Thank you to all my readers and reviewers. Please take a moment to leave a constructive review - I am trying to improve my writing. Thank you!

Special thanks to Golden Sunflower for editing and everything else.