Mr Thornton was a husband; Isabel Darrow was no more, but was now, Mrs John Thornton. A smile tugged at Mr Thornton's lips, as he sat at the table, thinking on her name with potent male pride. He was heedless to the chatter of voices about the table, and Mr Watson had to call out loudly to him three times, before he could catch his attention.

'A rushed job, I said, Thornton,' mused Mr Watson, winking at his future brother-in-law. Mr Thornton scowled at the insinuation, but would not rise to it. He only hoped that Isabel had not heard. He glanced at her; happily ensconced in conversation with Margaret and Dr Lyndhurst. Mr Thornton gave a tight-lipped smile of response to Mr Watson - letting his displeasure for the comment - so wholly inappropriate for the table - be shown upon his face, before turning to Mr Hale beside him, and speaking in his low and gentle way.

'Thank you for walking with Isabel, today. I would have asked you to stand beside me, had Mr Bell been alive to walk with Isabel, but I was fortunate enough to have a willing friend in Dr Lyndhurst.'

'Oh! I am her godfather; it was only right that I should give Isabel away, and I couldn't have been happier to give her to you,' smiled Mr Hale. 'And now I have the great joy of Margaret's wedding to look forward to.' Mr Thornton smiled at the look of pleasure on his friend's kindly face. He had never known a softer, more gentle heart than Mr Hale's, and he thanked Mr Bell for sending Mr Hale his way, when first he looked for lodgings in Milton. Not only had Mr Thornton gained a wife, but a firm friend and father figure.

'I must congratulate you on Miss Hale's betrothal. Dr Lyndhurst is a very fine man, and I am glad he means to settle in Milton. Isabel would hate to lose Margaret's company, and I should hate to lose yours, had you followed your daughter elsewhere.'

'Oh no, I should never leave Milton, now. No, my dear wife is buried here, and so here I must remain. But I too, am gladdened that Christopher means to make his home here; I could not bear to part from my dear girl.' Mr Thornton felt a pang of sympathy for his friend, knowing that he had a son as good as lost to him, and as he watched the older man's face tremble with some painful, nameless emotion, he sought to lift his spirits.

'Do you know when Miss Hale intends to marry?'

'Oh, call her Margaret. You are family, now, John. I know Captain Lennox - her cousin, Edith's husband, has a brother - Mr Henry Lennox - and he has always presumed to call her Margaret, and I consider you a far closer relation than he; certainly more pleasing.' Mr Thornton smiled, and tried to picture himself sat beside his own father on this most precious of days, but the image would not come; George Thornton was long gone, and Mr Thornton had grown into a man without the aid of a father. He felt a surge of affection for the older man beside him; Mr Hale was to him, as a father ought to be, and he was thankful to have found that steady, calming influence.

'But the wedding,' said Mr Hale, his face now brightening, just as Mr Thornton had intended. 'Margaret will want something simple; she will not want to go to any great expense, and Christopher has asked only that he has enough notice to have his family come up from Kent; a few colleagues from Oxford. I should not think them to have a very long engagement.'

'It's the best way,' sighed Mr Thornton, a weary glance at his sister. 'Fanny has driven me from home on more than one occasion with all her wedding talk, and now my poor wife must suffer it, for Fanny is keen for her to know all; no doubt to emphasise where our own affair was lacking,' bristled Mr Thornton, thinking on the indignity of his Isabel having to suffer Fanny's prattle.

'But today is as you wished it, is it not?' smiled Mr Hale.

'Entirely. I could have asked for nothing more, than to make Isabel my wife.' And he turned to look at his new bride, and smiled with pride; a sense of victory at finally having won her.

Now, the wedding guests did not stay long at the mill house after the wedding breakfast, for there was little in the way of entertainment, and the party was small. Indeed, the Masters and their wives thought the whole affair quite shocking, and more than one guest left the wedding with the whisper on their lips, that they expected an addition to the Thornton family in less than a nine month.

The Hales were the last to leave; Mr Hale and Dr Lyndhurst speaking with Mr Thornton, whilst Margaret beckoned Isabel into a shaded corner of the drawing room.

'Isabel,' blushed Margaret, her cheeks aflame. 'Do you - do you know of -' She coughed; her throat suddenly dry. 'Of wifely duties,' finished Margaret, with wide, imploring eyes.

'Oh! Are you concerned?' frowned Isabel. 'Dr Lyndhurst is not even set up in Milton, yet. I hardly think you should trouble yourself already,' replied Isabel, with a certain mortification.

'No!' gasped Margaret. 'Not I! You. My cousin, Edith, told me a little of - of a wife's duties. I thought perhaps no one had spoken with you, and you would wish to avoid the shock?' Isabel paled. Never had she thought to speak of such a thing with the prim and proper Margaret Hale!

'Margaret,' said Isabel, tentatively, unsure how to proceed, but then she stuck upon a brilliant notion, and softened her expression. 'As a doctor, I am well aware of the biology. I am not uninformed.'

'Oh, I am glad!' smiled Margaret; her fears allayed. Both women looked to one another; noted their flushed cheeks, and laughed with relief. It was a precious moment of light-heartedness, but all too soon, Isabel's life-raft was gone, and she found herself alone with the Thornton's.

The afternoon stretched before the happy couple, and Isabel knew not what to do with herself. She felt uneasy sitting about the drawing room whilst Mrs Thornton found yet more sewing to tend to, and she was too exhausted from mustering polite smiles for the sake of Mr Thornton's guests, so throw herself into the promised task of going over Fanny's wedding plans. If Mr Thornton had not taken the day off work, Isabel would have consigned herself to the mill infirmary, even though it was not due to open that day.

Mr Thornton, however, held no such qualms in sitting with his mother and sister; he felt it the natural thing to do, having never known any different, and he could not detect in his wife, the source of her discomfort; only that it existed.

'My love, something troubles you?'

'Oh, no!' rushed Isabel, keen to keep a happy smile upon her face, this day - of all days. But her smile did not reach her eyes and she was an unaccomplished liar.

'Isabel?' probed Mr Thornton, knowingly. 'Tell me; you must tell me,' said he, in lowered tones, so as to assume some privacy from the ever-watchful mother and sister. The presence of both women was suddenly - to Isabel - oppressive, and she could tolerate it no longer. She stood quickly from the sofa, drawing the attention of all three Thornton's.

'I need some fresh air; I should like to go for a walk, if you might come with me?' asked Isabel, looking imploringly to her new husband. He caught the anxious lift to her lips; the wide, expressive eyes, and stood to join her.

'Your things, I think, are in the guest room at present. I shall show you up and you can put on a dress suitable for a walk. Should that please you?'

'Thank you,' sighed Isabel, with relief. The gown - beautiful as it was - was hastily cast off, and her favoured grey dress - soft and forgiving - took its place, before she veritably ran down the stairs to re-join her husband. Mrs Thornton had watched the entire exchange, and as the new couple left the house and crossed the mill yard, the proud matriarch stood at the window, glancing down on them as they walked arm-in-arm.

She is worried, thought Mrs Thornton, with an uncharacteristic swell of compassion. She is worried about her wedding night, and having no mother, might not even know what is expected of her. The tender feelings were short-lived, however, as Mrs Thornton realised - much to her discomfort - that if no one had seen fit to enlighten Isabel as to her wifely duties, the task should fall to her. She had put off having such a conversation with Fanny, for she feared a fit of hysteria, and although she knew Isabel to be far calmer and more sensible, many a reasonable young girl had taken a turn when informed of what lay ahead for them in matrimony.

But whilst Mrs Thornton felt a growing discomfort for what the evening would bring, Isabel basked happily in the anonymity of being beside Mr Thornton, with only nameless faces about them. They were by no means alone, but the absence of Mrs Thornton and Fanny, gave to Isabel, the impression of a glorious solitude with her new husband.

'Where are we going?' asked Isabel, hanging proudly to Mr Thornton's arm, as they rode upon the omnibus.

'I have somewhere I should like to go with you this day. I have only been there once, but there was a pretty greenness about it, which one cannot find in Milton.'

'That little country town you arrived at by mistake?' enquired Isabel, with a knowing smile.

'Ay! You know all, don't you, wife!' replied Mr Thornton, with an irritable roll of the eye. 'I should like to take you there; it was a pretty place, but I did not take the time to enjoy it.'

'And you would like a happy memory of those hedge-rows?' now alighting at the aforementioned rural town.

'Yes,' smiled Mr Thornton, pleased at finding himself understood.

'Well, I am happy to go wherever you shall take me to-day, so long as I don't have to sit about the drawing room, pretending I can embroider an ivy leaf or a legible initial.'

They walked on - arm-in-arm - enjoying the sights of clear blue skies and the expanse of greenery, where Milton was so wholly grey. Mr Thornton looked lovingly upon his wife; a small smile about his lips, as he drank in that clean air. But then his brow dipped as he thought on her last words, and he asked himself if she could be happy as his wife, or even in his time. Isabel had shown him - in the days of their betrothal - some more coloured pictures on the strange thing she called a "phone". She had even played for him some music, but to him, it was a cacophony of offensive, tinny noise. Still, in looking through her coloured pictures, and reading her newspaper with shocking coloured images, he had surmised that life in Milton could never offer Isabel the wealth of pastimes, nor the freedom, she had been raised to enjoy.

Embroidery! thought he, with a slow shake of his head. His mother favoured the occupation, and was forever toiling over some piece, but his wife could never find satisfaction in such a mindless occupation, and had confessed to being wholly unskilled in the art. How on earth was Isabel to spend her days, without Margaret as a constant companion; with his working throughout the daylight hours in the mill?

'I had thought that I might work longer hours in the mill infirmary,' said Isabel, as though she had read his mind. 'With Mr Bell's generous investment, I can set up my new surgical equipment, and could even look to offer care to the hands from other mills - for a fee, of course!' put in Isabel, upon seeing Mr Thornton's dark look.

'You spend too many hours there as it is,' chided Mr Thornton, softly. 'Any more, and I'll have the Masters accusing me of putting my wife to work in order to spare myself a pretty penny.'

'And you would mind their accusations?' frowned Isabel, uncertain as to how much her new husband was willing to tolerate. He sighed, and drew his arm across his body, urging her closer to his side.

'If it should make you happy, then you shall work more hours. As to the offer of care to workers from other mills; I shall have to give it some thought! I don't want to trench upon another Master's domain.' Isabel nodded. She knew Margaret would argue that if his fellow Masters did not see fit to provide affordable medical care for their workers, they could not begrudge Mr Thornton doing so, but Isabel knew the Masters had to stick together; especially with the troubles that lurked on the horizon for the cotton industry, in the years ahead.

'Thank you, love,' replied Isabel, rewarding him with a tender smile.

'And you shan't regret marrying me? By your standards, I am not a modern man.'

'By my standards, you are the perfect man,' sighed Isabel, thinking herself the luckiest of creatures, to find herself Mr Thornton's wife.

But in finding herself Mr Thornton's wife, Mrs Thornton was now her new mother; Fanny Thornton now her new sister, and all too soon, Isabel was sat in the drawing room of the mill house, watching Mrs Thornton sit about some worsted work, whilst Fanny scrutinised a selection of ribbons. The evening meal was past, and Isabel sat quietly with a book in hand, whilst Mr Thornton looked over his newspaper, stealing warm smiles from about the corner of the paper. Isabel was certain - as she pretended to read - that mother and daughter made a study of her, and she felt the weight of their eyes on her when she was not looking. Fanny, she thought, offered her one or two smirks. The room was painfully quiet; no occupation requiring any exchange of conversation, and the very quietude of the room, the madness of finding herself on the evening of her wedding day, sat across from her new family, whilst her husband silently read the days' paper! was to Isabel, gravely disconcerting.

A frown tugged at her brow, and was caught by Mrs Thornton. Nervous, thought she, pursing her lips at her new daughter.

'Isabel, I would show you to your room now, if it is convenient,' said the stoic matriarch.

'My room?' came Isabel's confused reply. She looked anxiously to her husband, and he lowered his paper a fraction, sensing her gaze. He offered her an apologetic smile, which seemed to her, to promise that all would be well, but he made no effort to save her from the ghastly commission of looking over the master bedroom, and so - in her deferential way - she rose from her seat, and followed the black-clad mother from the room.

'This is your room, Isabel,' said Mrs Thornton, directing her to a generously-sized room which over-looked the mill yard. The room was simply furnished; nothing was ostentatious, but all was of the finest quality. Rich, mahogany furniture; a glossy bed with finely-turned rests, and delicate, pale blue drapes and bedspread. 'I have had your things brought up from the guest room. If you look in the drawers, you should find that everything has been put away as you should wish it,' explained Mrs Thornton, with little pleasure.

'Thank you; it is lovely.' And it was a nice room, but it was hers! Isabel did not wish to have one of her own. She glanced about her, wondering if Mr Thornton would knock on her door of an evening, and ask if he might join her. The very picture of it made her shudder; so different was this world; so unsettling was the haze of Milton, beyond those well-thumbed pages.

'And here this door,' said Mrs Thornton, her voice tight, as she moved to a door in the wall, 'leads to John's room. The door can be locked from either side.' She said this last, whilst giving her new daughter-in-law a curious look. Isabel could not rightly understand the expression, and she was not sure if Mrs Thornton expected her to be gratified by the knowledge that she could lock her husband out, or insulted that he might wish to do the very same to her!

The matriarch stepped forward, drawing fully into the larger, master bedroom. The same dark mahogany furniture graced the room, but the bed was larger - longer, due to her husband's great height - and the drapes and bed clothes were a deep claret. The room was sparse; not even graced by a solitary book, and Isabel instantly surmised that her husband did little but sleep and dress in that room; preferring - no doubt - the privacy of his study, when requiring male sanctuary within his own home.

'John retires late, and rises early,' continued Mrs Thornton, but this she spoke with such emphasis, that Isabel was certain that his mother was trying to impart some greater meaning. Those intense dark eyes held her gaze expectantly, and when the silence drew on, Mrs Thornton gave a weary sigh and pressed her lips together in a grim line. 'Isabel,' began she, grimacing at her unwanted commission, 'you are aware what is expected of you; as a wife to John?' Isabel was mortified; that Mrs Thornton - arguably the most formidable mother ever written! - should speak to her about such a thing. She blushed, and was hasty in her reply; keen to put an end to such a torture.

'Yes, ma'am. As a doctor, I well understand how a child is begat.' Mrs Thornton visibly relaxed.

'You might call me "Mother", I suppose, if we are to live with one another; I should grew weary of hearing myself called "ma'am",' offered an agitated Mrs Thornton.

'Thank you, Mother. I should like that.' Mrs Thornton gave a dour smile, and beckoned Isabel back to her own room, closing the connecting door behind her.

'It is not very late, but I should think John means to retire early this evening. I will send a maid to help you with your dress.' And she turned, and left Isabel to await her husband's arrival.

Expect he means to retire early! cried Isabel to herself. Certainly, they expect he does. They all sit about, expecting! Is there no privacy to be had! Shall they check the bed linens! lamented Isabel, as she paced her new room, anxiously. Oh! to marry Mr Thornton was a blessing, but had she thought on all that it would entail? There is a reason, she said to herself in warning (although this warning, she gave to herself far too late, now that she was already bound to Mr Thornton), that those fair authors never delve beyond the proposal, and it is surely because of this ghastly, discomforting co-habitation, with these prim and proper mothers, which is now to be my lot. Oh! that Mr Thornton lived alone! That I did not have such in-laws!

Mr Thornton was anxious, also. He had sensed Isabel's apprehension when his mother had taken her off to see her new room, and he knew well that his new bride had been raised to expect a husband and wife to share a room, but he had not been able to allay her fears on that matter; not in the presence of his mother and sister. He had sat - hidden from Fanny's curious looks, behind his paper - dreading what his mother might say to Isabel. Neither woman would wish to discuss such matters as the marriage bed. Mr Thornton knew his mother would not be sympathetic; that Isabel would be embarrassed by such officious involvement from his mother. He feared he would go up to his room and find a despairing bride awaiting him.

As it was, he entered his own room, and locked the door behind him, before knocking on the adjoining door to his wife's room, which he then entered without awaiting a response. Isabel was sat at her vanity, in a night gown which - in the gloaming of the candlelight - did little to hide her figure. He sucked in a deep breath, and willed his voice to calm.

'Do you like your room, love?'

'It is very nice.' He frowned; her voice held no note of pleasure.

'You are displeased?'

'Are we not to share a room? I should understand it where one marries for convenience, but we are what you might call a "love match", are we not?' asked Isabel, cautiously, for she feared a rejection.