~Chapter 1~

"I am so sorry to bear this news to you," Mr. Bell began, placing a hand over Margaret's own, which trembled where it lay in her lap. They sat together in the Hale's parlour, the bright, flowery yellow wallpaper a sharp juxtaposition to Margaret's fear and anxiety at Mr. Bell's solemn tone.

"Please, Mr. Bell," she begged, "Is father ill?"

"No, Margaret," he replied, looking away to spare himself the pain of seeing her reaction, "he is dead." A wild cry tore itself from Margaret's throat, far from the gentle tears that Mr. Bell was prepared for. Margaret stood, causing her chair to overturn with violent noise.

"My dear-" Mr. Bell called, but Margaret could take no more of it. She ran from the parlour down the stairs and to the front door, not pausing for coat, gloves, or bonnet, heedless of the social impropriety or the cool spring air. Throwing the heavy wooden door open, she collided with Mr. Thornton, who had been about to knock. He grabbed Margaret by the shoulders to steady her.

"Miss Hale?" he queried, and caught but a glimpse of her pale, pained expression before another sob choked its way from her. She broke away and ran, not knowing where to go.

Mr. Bell reached the doorway in time to see her round the corner. "Quick, man," he called to Mr. Thornton, who stood looking after Margaret in shock, "she has just learned of her father's death and is undone by grief. You must be sure she does not do herself harm." John Thornton swore and set off after her.

Margaret unthinkingly headed for the cemetery on the hill – the one that had already swallowed Bessie and Margaret's mother, and soon would claim her father as well. Margaret threw herself down on an unmarked patch of scraggly grass, ignoring the way its dried stalks scratched at her face and hands, and wished for the hard ground beneath her to open. Finally, the tears came.

John Thornton followed the trail of surprised looks and gossip that Margaret Hale left in her wake until reaching the cemetery. Then, he needed no trail or compass, for her heartbroken cries echoed across the hill. He found her face down in the grass and dirt, sobs shaking her. "Miss Hale," he entreated her prostrate form, "allow me to offer my heartfelt condolences for the loss of your father. He was a good man and I shall miss his friendship."

Margaret had meant to ignore the person whose stomping footsteps invaded her private grief, but upon hearing Mr. Thornton's voice, she fought to compose herself. Slowly, her sobs eased and at last, she raised herself into a seated position, hiccoughing slightly from the intensity of her crying spell. John offered her his handkerchief as his throat knotted in pity at the sight of her red-rimmed, haunted brown eyes. She smiled, a false expression that failed to reach those eyes and stated, "It was good of you to come after me, Mr. Thornton. I apologize for this embarrassing display of emotion that you had to witness."

"Do not belittle your loss," he commanded, wishing he could do more.

She nodded, eyes on her hands where they lay on her lap, twisting the edges of his kerchief. After a moment, she whispered absently, "I am alone."

"You are surrounded by friends," he corrected her.

"Are you my friend?" she asked, glancing up and then looking quickly away again.

"I would think it a privilege to be called such," he returned, thinking that he would wish to be so much more than a friend. "Now it is getting dark; I must escort you home." Margaret nodded obediently and struggled to her feet, swaying with exhaustion as she brushed at the dirt on her dress. Mr. Thornton set his jaw. He longed to carry her in his arms, to fold her in their protection as she had done for him at the mill. But society cast out young ladies who ruined their reputations by such actions, so he merely offered her an arm and guided her home.

It made no difference. Miss Hale's emotional race through town with Mr. Thornton after her quickly became the town scandal. Every person able to escape their obligations attended Mr. Hale's funeral, not to pay homage to the man but to glimpse Miss Hale and note the careful distance that the Thornton family kept from her. Margaret did not even notice. She had held herself together at her mother's funeral in part to strengthen her father and in part because she had been able to prepare herself for her mother's death. Mr. Hale had died unexpectedly and Margaret found herself standing beside only Mr. Bell at the gravesite, her aunt and cousin being unable to make travel arrangements so quickly.

John Thornton knew the gossip and so stood carefully behind his mother and sister and brother-in-law and tried to focus on the ceremony rather than the sorrowing woman that he loved. His hands clenched and unclenched at the sound of her muffled crying. Finally, the service ended and Margaret turned away from the graves of her parents. The black bonnet and dress she wore only served to accentuate the fragile paleness of her skin and the redness of her eyes. She mutely accepted the heartfelt and not so heartfelt condolences of those that Mr. Bell guided her past.

When they reached the Thorntons, Mrs. Thornton stepped forward, as she and John had decided, and stated, "Our condolences for your loss, Miss Hale." Margaret nodded, her brown eyes wearing a glossy look as though her thoughts were a million miles away. She stumbled slightly and John put out his hands to steady her, withdrawing them as soon as he realized his action. The watching crowd erupted in whispers. John turned and led his mother to their waiting carriage.

"You must marry her or see her ruined," Mrs. Thornton admitted, when the carriage began to roll.

"She does not love me," he argued, careful to keep his voice low so that the driver could not hear, "She will not have me."

"Let us hope she will not," his mother stated, placing a hand on his arm, "And then her shame can be her own." John looked away rather than address her hostility and they passed the rest of the ride in silence.

He traveled the next day by train to London, seeking out a jeweler who would not be able to fuel the rumors in Milton. Once inside the small shop, however, John was at a loss for what to buy. Normally, a ring would bear the birthstones of the couple, but not having courted Margaret, John did not know the month of her birth. Upon the coaching of the jeweler, John selected an aquamarine for his birth in March and a stunning chocolate brown diamond that reminded him of Miss Hale's eyes. On the train back, he spun the ring around in his fingers and tried to push down the panic that rose at the thought of being twice rejected.

Thus, John Thornton again found himself on Margaret Hale's doorstep. Margaret turned red and fought the urge to close the door in his face when she answered. "I beg you not to expose me to more gossip and ridicule," she stated, soft but firm.

"The gossip and ridicule are in fact what bring me here," he responded, "May I come inside?" She stepped back, reluctant to give him entry. "I will not stay long," he assured her, "however, as you know, we are the talk of Milton. I would ask for your hand in marriage." He paused, then went on hurriedly, "It will still the gossips."

"You would marry me not for any fondness that you feel towards me but to silence the gossips?" she asked, in shock but trying to mask her hurt.

He would not have his love rejected again. "I would not see you ruined, Miss Hale," he said, evading her question, "unless, of course, you have another who would step in and save your reputation." His face grew solemn, his eyebrows drawing themselves together automatically as jealousy coursed through his veins at the thought of Miss Hale at the station, her arms drawing another man close.

Margaret knew his thoughts and quietly admitted. "It is generally against social morays in this part of the world to marry one's own brother." She had received news only days before that dear Frederick had safely reached his home in Cadiz and had cried torrents as she wrote in response to inform him of their father's passing.

"A brother?" Mr. Thornton asked, shocked.

"Yes," Margaret continued, "I have a brother Frederick who is forced to live in exile or be hanged for mutiny." She waited for Mr. Thornton to demand the whole story, but his only response was to run a hand through his hair, bewildered.

"Then you must marry me," he declared.

"Indeed," Mr. Bell added, stepping out of the front room, "It is the only way."

Margaret stared from one solemn face to the other. "Very well," she snapped, "I will leave you two gentlemen to settle the terms of this match." Turning, she headed for the stairs, but was halted when Mr. Thornton called out to her. When she turned, he held out the engagement ring for her inspection. "Those are for couples in love," she stated, "I will wear a wedding band, but not that."

John Thornton nodded in outward calm. Internally, however, his heart was rent in two. He so hoped for love.