When Isabel awoke the following morning, it was to the familiar clatter of the mill yard and the roar of machines. The pillow beside her was dented where her husband's head had lain in repose, but she did not recall his retiring the previous evening. The cold bed told her that he had long since risen, and that she was therefore unlikely to find him at the breakfast table, even if she was to make haste in her toilet. She sat up in bed with a weary sigh, well aware that they had passed their first true quarrel as husband and wife. She knew her temper had been short, and that she had been in ill-humour, and wanted to apologise to Mr Thornton for any hurt that her heated words had caused him. But still, she felt keenly the injustice of his request - though she thought it spoken with such unrelenting vigour, that she could look upon it as nothing less than a cloaked order - that she not do as she thought right, but leave poor Robert Harris to his lot.

She frowned - unsure what she ought to do - and after some moments' thought, decided that she would pay her visits to Princeton, but would be cautious; that she would take the time to explain to Mrs Harris the tell-tale signs of infection; teach her how to best clean and bind the wound. That she would assuage any fears Mrs Harris may have about a female doctor paying regular visits, and that she would seek the advice of plain-speaking Higgins, to ensure she did not make her presence tiresome. This, she felt, would ensure that she placed herself nowhere she was not wanted, and that the Harris family would have as little need of her as possible.

She determined, also, that she would go down into the kitchens, and spend the morning making for her husband, some jam tarts. She also decided - with a pang of guilt - that she ought to speak with Mrs Thornton, and ask if there was any task which was particularly onerous to her in the running of the house, which she might like to relieve herself of.

Mrs Thornton was at first suspicious in Isabel's sudden interest in the household chores. She thought her new daughter may have grown weary of living under another woman's rule, and may wish to assume the mantle of Mistress, as had been initially dreaded. However, Isabel was keen to reassure her that she had no desire to oversee matters, but that she had come to realise that although Mrs Thornton had been happy to continue in her role, there may be certain thankless tasks which she was keen to give up, whilst still managing that rest of the household. Mrs Thornton frowned in contemplation, and wondered at the cause of Isabel's sudden concern. The keen-eyed mother was not insensible to her son's early rising that morning, nor had she failed to notice his taciturnity at breakfast, and she feared that words between the couple had finally been exchanged. She thought it best, therefore, to give Isabel some household occupation, in case her son had demanded it.

'It would be a help to me if you could conduct the walk-trough of the household; to see that all of the rooms have been sufficiently cleaned and aired; to keep a list of stock in the kitchen. Cook tends to the supplies, but I like to know exactly what is had, myself. It is not a difficult task to walk about and make note, but it can be time consuming.' Isabel was appeased, thinking that the constant walking from one room to another - up and down the stairs - perhaps tired her new mother, and so she readily agreed, and took up her task as soon as she had finished her morning meal.

Upon reaching the kitchens, Isabel set about making jam tarts for Mr Thornton. In the process, she quite forgot to check the kitchen supplies, and so it was not until she had packed up her tarts into a linen cloth - ready to take to the mill office for Mr Thornton - that Mrs Thornton asked for the current list of stocks.

'Oh! I am sorry, Mother; I did not check as you had asked. I walked over the house as you instructed, but I got distracted in the kitchen,' explained Isabel, with flushed cheeks. Mrs Thornton frowned and grumbled, and bid Isabel to be off to the mill office, if that was her purpose, for she was keen to walk over the house, herself; doubtful that Isabel had done a thorough job.

'John,' said Isabel, softly, standing tentatively in the doorway to his office. He looked up at her - sat in his shirtsleeves as he looked over his latest orders.

'Isabel.' And he could not help but smile at the sight of her, even though he was still vexed by her words of the previous evening.

'I made for you some jam tarts, love,' said she, now coming towards his desk and setting down her parcel.

'You spoil me,' sighed he.

'I apologise for my temper last evening. I was unfair.' Mr Thornton nodded his acceptance of her apology, but was cautious, nonetheless, and so he looked upon her with narrowed eyes; thinking it quite unlikely that she had awoken to his way of thinking.

'You still mean to call daily at Princeton?'

'I do, John, but I shall teach Mrs Harris the early signs of infection - how to clean and dress the wound. She may not then have need of me; I shan't impose, or be there more than is necessary, but I cannot - in all conscience - do any less.' Mr Thornton gave a single sharp nod, and unwrapped his linen package. Having risen earlier than was his habit, he had long since had breakfast, and was hungry, and so he appreciated the timely arrival of Isabel's baking.

'I have spoken with Mother, and I am to begin walking over the house to check for cleanliness; to keep stock of kitchen supplies,' added she.

'I am pleased,' replied Mr Thornton, smiling warmly. 'Will you sit with me a little while, and eat with me?'

'If you should like it.' Isabel made to move around the desk to the chair across from Mr Thornton, but he stilled her with a hand to her wrist, and tugged her backwards until she was seated upon his lap.

'Here, love,' whispered he, offering her the first bite of his jam tart. 'How are you this morning? I was vexed with you; I ought not to have risen so early, but waited to see that you were well - after yesterday.'

'I am quite alright, John. I had but a foolish moment, and it has passed.' He frowned at her as though he was not quite convinced, and Isabel - seeking to distract him - ran her palm over the expanse of his chest. 'You look very handsome in your shirtsleeves, John. You ought not to wear your coat at home, but sit about in waistcoat and cravat.' Then she tilted her head to one side, in contemplation, and basked in the image of that long throat; that manly Adam's apple. 'Or no cravat,' blushed she. 'I like the black against white, and the trim cut of your waist. I expect,' smiled Isabel, saucily, 'that in the candlelight, I might see the muscles of your arms through this white shirt; a beautiful silhouette!'

'You wish for me to sit about half-dressed?' laughed Mr Thornton, for he thought Isabel must be jesting; his mother being so very rigid and formal; even down to her grown son's attire.

'Half! You are more than half-dressed. There can be nothing improper in it, surely; when you are in your own home?' She did not reason that the very appeal of that pale neck; the enticing triangle of skin that might peep out at the top of his chest - and smattered with a light dusting of dark and manly hair! - was what made the vision so very shocking to anyone but wife.

'We shall see,' replied Mr Thornton, dubiously. 'Now, what do you plan to do with the rest of your day?'

'I must call round to Crampton and see Margaret. She will no doubt wish to speak with me about Robert Harris, and I thought I might stop by Dr Donaldson's on the way home, and see how the patient gets on.'

'Very well, but don't be gone too late. Mother missed us at dinner last evening, and we are to Crampton tomorrow, for Dr Lyndhurst arrives on the afternoon train.'

'Does he?' smiled Isabel, with excitement.

'Ay! So you best be off to talk of weddings with your friend. Go now; I cannot have you sat upon my lap; you distract me from my work, and I lost all afternoon yesterday, as it was.'

'But leave aside the ledgers for me. I shall do them when I get back.' Mr Thornton smiled as he watched his wife cross the yard. For all that she was defiant and wilful, she was so tender, and so quick to see him pleased, again.

Now it was that Fanny came to stay at Marlborough Mills. Mr Watson had gone off to Le Havre, and had refused to take his new wife with him (despite Fanny's ample protestations), because she had claimed so many headaches, and such spells of dizziness as to require almost constantly, the privacy of her own room each night. He reasoned it only likely, therefore, that she would not be up to such a journey, and would surely fall foul of sea sickness. Fanny - being a social creature - did not do well when left to her own devices, and so it was that she took up residence at Marlborough Mills, whilst her husband was away.

Immediately alarmed, was she, upon finding her brother sat beside his wife that evening, in nothing but his waistcoat and shirt; his cravat had quite disappeared! In truth, it was not a very shocking sight, but for its being so wholly alien to the mill house. For Mrs Thornton had never favoured her son removing his coat or cravat, and certainly did not like to see his bare forearms, or shirt unbuttoned about the throat. Ease and comfort had never been her concern, but respectability, discipline and fastidious attention to detail. Mr Thornton had not minded it; he was neat and formal in all his wonts and habits, and did only work in his shirtsleeves upon a warm day in his office, or late of an evening in his study. Now he found it pleased his wife to see him dressed more comfortably, and in truth, he enjoyed the loosened clothing, and the warm glow of admiration in Isabel's eyes, as she stole furtive glances at his person.

'John, why ever are you dressed in such a way?' asked Fanny. 'Though I should hardly call it dressed. I'm sure I don't know where to look!' Now, Mrs Thornton did not approval of her son's informal attire, but she had put up with it over the past few days, without voicing any complaint. She knew it to be Isabel's doing, and for all she thought a man ought to be properly dressed when about his family, she dared not speak against her new daughter in such a matter, for surely, it was a wife's domain.

But Fanny had remarked on the missing cravat and frock coat - the rolled shirtsleeves and two open buttons at the neck (which Mrs Thornton had been certain she would do), but she had gone about it in such an excessive fashion - as was her habit in all that she did - that Mrs Thornton was vexed to the point of defending what she did not, herself, approve of.

'It is rather hot, Fanny,' said the matriarch, her eyes fixed determinedly upon her worsted.

'We have had other warm autumns, and I have never seem John dressed, thusly. Certainly, he was not always in his coat, but no cravat, and his buttons half undone!'

'Truly, Fanny, if shirtsleeves offend you so very much - a glimpse of manly throat - I wonder that you are not glad Watson left you behind,' remarked Isabel, unable to bite back the scathing remark. The younger girl flushed, and Isabel felt guilty, and so spoke in a cajoling tone. 'It is a warm evening, Fanny, and besides, I think John very handsome. I am sure many a wife enjoys to sit and admire her husband's trim figure. Women are all corsets and crinolines to draw the eye of others. Why may not we ladies enjoy the same privilege in return?' Fanny wrinkled her nose, and gave a sour look.

'My Watson in his waistcoat is not a sight to behold.'

No, thought Mrs Thornton, wryly, for Mr Watson had an excessive appetite and was of an idle disposition. My son's a fine figure, thought Mrs Thornton, proudly. He has caught the eye of many a woman; always admired by men of business, a catch for any lady.

And so it was that Fanny thought her brother most happily married. She did not understand husband and wife's fondness for one another, and could not fathom why Isabel had wanted to marry her brother when Marlborough Mills had been on the brink of closure; for what advantage was there to marriage, if your husband could not bring you wealth, and you could not run your own home? But there was - undoubtedly - a discomforting contentedness between Mr Thornton and his bride; a contentedness that Fanny had not yet been able to find for herself, despite purchasing new papers for every room in the great house out at Hayleigh, and replacing the dinner service - even though the one she had acquired upon marriage was in good order.

Fanny Watson spent her days watching her new sister, and reasoned that an active wife seemed to lead to a happy husband. Where Isabel worked in the mill infirmary, called upon the Hales at Crampton, or visited Robert Harris and Higgins in Princeton, Fanny thought she might very well take up similar occupations outside the home, in the form of shopping, calling on her many friends, and taking tea at the Clarendon.

What no one saw - because he hid it well - was Mr Thornton's displeasure with his wife's stubborn ways. It irked him that she would not apply herself to writing with a pen. Her assistance with his ledgers had proved invaluable, and yet for all the haste with which she returned his accounts, he had then to sit about writing out the figures in his own hand.

At first, he had been happy to do so - for it still saved him time - but then he stole upon Isabel one afternoon as she sat about his study, and he saw her using that object she called a phone. Intrigued, he had looked it over the following day when Isabel had been visiting with Margaret, and he had found it capable of counting numbers and completing sums with such rapidity, that he soon saw it would be quicker for him to do the job himself - to write the numbers out in ink at the very first go. Yet, Isabel took pleasure in speedily returning to him, the completed accounts, and so he had not the heart to tell her that her assistance was unnecessary, if only she would let him use that strange phone.

Then came the household chores. Isabel had told him that she had taken on the task of walking over the house, but whilst she was out seeing to Robert Harris one morning, Mr Thornton had returned to the mill house to get a file from his study, when he had found his mother about that very task.

'Mother, did Isabel not see to the inspection before she left for Princeton?'

'Ay, John! She did. But I dare not trust her to do it properly, and so I've taken to doing it myself once she has gone out.' Mr Thornton frowned.

'Does Isabel know that you do this each day?'

'Of course she doesn't, John!'

'But what help is she to you if you must do the task yourself?'

'Very little, but she knows nothing of running a household, and I talked her through what to do, but I think her standards are quite low.' Seeing her son's displeasure, and feeling a pang of remorse - for she knew herself to be fastidious - she said, 'no doubt, where she is from - without servants - standards were far lower.' And although Mr Thornton did not blame his wife, he noted that it was yet another incidence of Isabel falling short of the task she had claimed for herself.

In truth, he would not have minded so much, but that she had spent the past fortnight calling each day in Princeton to visit Robert Harris. Higgins had assured him that she was quite welcome; the workers viewing her not as a lady tending to someone else's husband, but as any other doctor. And although it stirred his pride - to know his wife's skills so valued - he felt a lash of irritation at knowing that the working poor did not first and foremost think of his wife as a lady. He cared not for tittle tattle or foolish gossip, but he wanted his wife to be respected; not simply for her medical prowess, but as his wife and a member of the fairer sex.

In return, Isabel had thought marriage to Mr Thornton would have been a dream, so happy and lucky had she thought herself to be! And she did still think it so, but the habits of Milton society were such that her patience was tried on an almost daily basis.

First, there was the mother; always an impressive, imposing figure in the book, Isabel had not been naïve enough to think she would be a welcome addition to the household in Mrs Thornton's eyes, and yet she had found an almost instant outward display of equanimity with the proud woman. It was the lingering glances and pursed lips which most troubled her, and she knew - as she knew so much of the main character's private thoughts - that when she sat at tea or table, or when she placed herself beside her husband of an evening - that she was the subject of the mother's study, and was often found wanting.

She was not intimidated, for Mrs Thornton had shown herself quite willing to hold her tongue where she was vexed or displeased, but Isabel grew weary of feeling herself so constantly judged. It would not be half such a problem, thought she, with irritation, if it was possible to have a moment's privacy beyond the bedroom! But that was not the way of things. Mrs Thornton was widowed, and so lived with her son, and would live with her son - no doubt - until she drew her final breath. Isabel had thought a second sitting room might appease her - where one generation could escape the other - but she learnt quickly, that Mrs Thornton's only real company was her son; that Fanny was tolerated with little pleasure - despite her infrequent visits - and that Mrs Thornton kept her social engagements to a minimum. There could be no way of suggesting that they not always sit about in a little group of three; the poor mother would be abandoned, and Isabel was not cruel and nor did she dislike the matriarch, so she had not the heart to claim her husband to herself.

And yet what could they speak of! Mrs Thornton thought her a foreigner and knew nothing of her peculiar past, so Isabel's words were forever weighed carefully, lest she give herself away as an alien creature. No intimate conversations or endearments could be exchanged in that drawing room, for Mrs Thornton was ever near, and the room so very silent - save for the monotonous ticking of the carriage clock - that nothing could be spoken of which did not pertain to the banal. Each evening was took up with talk of business and the household. Not even the weather seemed to hold much interest for mother and son! Indeed, where all about Marlborough Mills was deafening noise throughout the day, once the mill closed, a silence bloomed within the house, which caused each hour to drag until Isabel could finally claim her bed.

Once there, a pleasant twenty minutes or so could be passed in easy conversation with Mr Thornton, before his long day would necessitate him to sleep, or his passionate nature would cease all conversation in a more delightful manner, but oh! it was not enough.

Isabel was not unhappy, and certainly did not regret her marriage to Mr Thornton, but she longed for the privacy couples shared beyond the pages of Milton; she longed for noises, which could now only be heard from the tinny speaker on her phone. She longed even - when an evening passed especially slowly - to be back at Crampton, and listening to Mr Hale talk up the Classics until her eyes drooped with tiredness.