Chapter 26. Changing Direction in Mid-Air

As their carriage pulled into the courtyard at Marlborough Mills after the long trip home from Blackpool, Meg was startled to find Dixon awaiting her on the steps outside the house, a wide smile on her face. As John helped her from the carriage, Dixon called out, "Welcome home, Mrs. Margaret. I have something I must show you."

Mystified, Meg glanced at John, but his bland expression told her nothing. "I must go to the office for just a moment, to find out if anything pressing needs my attention," he said quietly. "Why don't you go ahead without me? I promise to come along shortly." He kissed her lightly on the lips, and walked away. She watched as he turned to go, and thought with amusement that she could see his transformation from husband to master as his expression sharpened and his strides lengthened. Master or husband, it makes no difference. I love both, she thought whimsically before turning her attention to Dixon.

Dixon led her into the house and up the stairs to the parlor door. Turning to face her with a wide smile on her face, she exclaimed, "Come see, Mrs. Meg."

Meg moved past her into the room and gazed with astonishment. By the fireplace sat the chintz chairs from her family's parlor in Crampton, along with several of the smaller pieces of well-beloved furniture. She looked at Dixon, a question on her face, and Dixon replied with great satisfaction, "Mr. Thornton left instructions for me to bring our best pieces of furniture from your home. He thought you might want some of your family's things about you."

Meg felt a lump form in her throat, and blinked back tears at the tender thoughtfulness shown by her husband. Indeed, the parlor looked less cold with some of the warm, homey furnishings from her parent's house, and she noted that several water color landscapes of which she was exceptionally fond had been hung on the walls, replacing drabber depictions of military men on horseback or still lives with fruit.

Dixon motioned for Meg to follow her upstairs to her bedroom, where she found her little vanity table, wash table, and chest of drawers, along with her mother's lovely bed with the carved pineapples as finials on the bedposts. The windows were hung with lace curtains, and her combs, brushes, and other assorted feminine objects had been carefully placed on the vanity. She stepped to the closet and found all of her gowns and garments hung on the rack, and her shoes lined up neatly. "He asked me to put what I thought you would like in your bedroom," Dixon said anxiously. "I hope you are pleased."

Unable to speak, Meg turned and hugged Dixon. "It is wonderful," she said quietly. "I feel as if I have a part of my family with me here." She looked over Dixon's shoulder and espied a large package upon her bed. "Dixon, where did that box come from?" she asked curiously.

Dixon beamed. "It arrived just yesterday! I thought it might be a present from your aunt, but I am not certain."

Meg approached the bed and pulled the parcel toward her. She deftly untied the strings and undid the wrappings. Lifting the lid from the box, she gasped in pleasure. It was a beautiful black lace mantilla, along with jeweled combs. As she lifted the delicate lace from the box, a note fell upon the floor. She stooped to retrieve it, and recognized her brother's handwriting.

"Oh, it is from Fred!" she exclaimed with pleasure. "Look how beautiful, Dixon," she said, holding out the length of lace for the servant to admire. As Dixon took the mantilla to examine and exclaim over it, Meg broke the wafer on the note and spread the paper open to read its contents:

My dearest sister,

By now, you should know that I have safely returned to Spain and have resumed my life here. I thought I had left you and Father to fend for yourselves; imagine my distress at receiving your letter telling me of Father's death. Dear sister, how do you fare by yourself in Milton? I wish that you would come to me-I am your closest relation now and well able to care for you. And you would find a loving, sympathetic heart in my Dolores. If you have not guessed, I must tell you at once-we are married. She is an angel, Margaret, and I know you will love her like a sister.

She selected the gifts that I have enclosed, and sends them to her sister with her warmest love. Write soon, Margaret, and tell me that you will join us in Cadiz, and make your home with us.

Your loving brother,

Frederick

Meg looked up at Dixon with a glowing yet dismayed countenance. "He is well, Dixon-and married! He asks me to live with him in Cadiz. My letter must have crossed his in the mail, and he does not yet know that I, too, am married. Let me see my mantilla!" she asked excitedly, exchanging the lace in Dixon's hands for Fred's letter.

Taking the length of lace, she settled it upon her head, securing it with the beautiful combs. It came down to her waist, a cloud of fine lace. Pretending to waltz with an imaginary partner, she twirled about as Dixon laughed. Meg called out breathlessly, "How do I look?"

"You are ravishing," said a deep, resonant voice from the doorway, and she turned to find her husband standing at the entrance to her room, a look of deep admiration upon his face. Meg waltzed across the room to throw herself into his arms. Dixon was astonished to see how his normally stern face softened as he clasped his wife to his chest and settled his chin atop her head. She observed him wince as he scratched himself on the gilded edge of one of the combs, but he said nothing, drawing Meg more closely into his arms.

Dixon picked up the box. "I'll be in the kitchen should you need me, Mrs. Meg," she said quietly, and discretely made her way out of the room, shutting the door behind her.

"So," he said on a sigh, "your brother has asked you to come live with him in Cadiz?"

Meg pulled away and looked up into his face. "He did, but he does not know that I have married-otherwise, he would never have suggested it." She gave a snort of laughter and snuggled into his arms once more. "As if I would ever leave you!" she exclaimed, and was gratified to feel him relax.

"I thought perhaps you would want to visit Spain," John said solemnly. "You would look so beautiful, strolling down the sunny streets of Cadiz in your mantilla."

Meg looked at him in surprise. "Are you trying to get rid of me already, sir?" she asked in an injured tone, although her eyes laughed at him.

"Never!" he exclaimed and picked her up to twirl her about so that the lace mantilla encircled both of them momentarily. "I just thought that since your brother obviously would like to have you visit, you would consider voyaging there."

"And so I will, someday-with you," she replied promptly, and was rewarded with a kiss.

"Meg," he said reluctantly, pulling away from her, "I find I must go to London for a few days, to speak with investors. I have put this trip off long enough, and can put it off no longer." He spoke hesitantly.

She nodded in understanding. "This is the trip you were to take the day I returned, is it not? The one I thought you had taken when I dashed about the train station like a madwoman, looking for you."

He grinned and replied, "Yes, that is the very one."

She readjusted the lapels of his coat. "Then you must go," she replied firmly. She peeped up at him from beneath lowered lashes. "Perhaps I should go to Spain, since you are leaving me to my own devices so soon." Her breath caught as she saw the panicked, fearful look on his face. "John, no," she said quickly, "I am funning you." She quickly clasped his hand in her own and cradled it to her heart. "I will be waiting for you here, when you return. I will never leave you-please believe me."

"I will be fine-I have work that I must do at the clinic, and need to settle what is to be done with the house in Crampton with Mr. Bechtold."

"I will handle that for you-if you wish," John offered. She opened her mouth to reply, but he hurried on, "Meg, please understand, I consider your inheritance as yours and yours alone-I will not meddle with how you see fit to dispose of your fortune. How could I, when you have used it to give me this mill?" He looked at her in appeal. "But I would help you where I can. If you are not adverse to the idea, I will look into disposing of the Crampton property-or leasing it, if you prefer."

Meg crossed her arms over her chest and regarded him in amusement. "I was about to say that I would greatly appreciate your handling the house. I was going to ask Mr. Bechtold to transfer the handling of my estate to your lawyer, if you are amenable."

His eyes warmed with pleasure at her faith in his judgment, but he bound by his sense of honor to caution her, "Are you certain you want to do this?"

"It makes no sense for us to employ the services of two lawyers, John. And I trust your judgment implicitly, so I am willing to place my monies in the hands of your lawyer."

He reached out and smoothed the lace of the mantilla away from her face. "Then I shall speak with my lawyer on the morrow."

She smiled up at him. "And I will pack your valise for you tonight."

"Nonsense," he said in a startled voice, "One of the servants will see to it."

"No," she replied firmly, "I am your wife now, and I claim the privilege." He smiled his assent, and she turned to remove the mantilla, but his hand on her wrist stayed her.

Startled, she looked up and met his darkening gaze. "I would like to see you with the mantilla on," he said in a deceptively soft voice.

Her forehead wrinkled in confusion. "And so you have," she replied.

"I would like to see you wearing the mantilla-and nothing else," he explained, a hint of mischief in his silken tone.

"Oh!" Meg exclaimed, her cheeks reddening. Her heart beat erratically as she began to deftly undo the buttons on the front of her dress. "I believe I can arrange that," she replied softly, adding mischievously, "as long as you are prepared to make it worth my while." He captured her mouth with his own, and he indeed made it well worth her while.

********

Several nights later, Mr. Thornton approached the mill in the gathering twilight, carrying his valise. He could have taken a carriage from the train station, but he preferred to walk; he was tired of sitting, and the evening air was cool and inviting. He had traveled on the train most of the day after four full days of meetings with his potential investors. The meetings had gone well, and the gentlemen intended to visit Marlborough Mills in the coming weeks. He was very pleased with their reactions to his plans, and felt confident that once they witnessed the workings of his mill first hand, they would be more than willing to invest their money.

Happy as he was with his affairs of business, he was happier still to be home. Four days without Meg had seemed like an eternity, and he had missed her more than he cared to admit. Last night, after an endless dinner with his investors, he found himself longing for her-and not just for their physical relationship, remarkable as it was. He wanted to share his triumph with her, tell her all of the little details of his conversations and solicit her perspective on the offers he had advanced and the way in which they had been accepted. The next time he ventured to London, he fully intended to coax her to come with him. His nights were too long and his bed too cold without her.

As he walked briskly along, he smiled as he thought of his first night in London, when he had unpacked his bag and found one of her lace handkerchiefs tucked on top of his clothes. She had dampened the cloth with her perfume, a heady mixture of roses and lilies, fresh and vibrant as she was. When he raised it to his nose, he had felt an overwhelming desire for her wash over him, so that he had to remind himself he had business to conduct and could not run off like some lovesick youth for the train station. When he looked once more into his valise, he spotted a folded paper tucked neatly into a side pocket. He had extracted the paper and, unfolding it, read:

My dear heart,

By the time you read this, you will be in London, and I will be missing you desperately. While you are gone, I will sleep in your bed in the vain attempt to feel close to you. I am certain that your bed will seem as wide as the ocean without you, but perhaps it will help me dream that you are holding me in your arms and loving me.

Please hurry home-I am waiting for you.

Your Meg

A smile curved his lips as he read her neat hand. She knows that I am anxious about leaving her, he had thought, and seeks to reassure me. He had slept every night in London with her handkerchief clasped in his hand, and experienced sweet rest.

As he came through the gates of the mill, he hastened his pace. His rational self told him she would be waiting for him, but a small, niggling doubt in the back of his head had him fearful that perhaps she might not be there when he returned. He knew it was silly to think such a thought, but he would not be content until he saw her and held her in his arms. Only then would he breathe comfortably again.

He had told her before he left that he would in all probability be late in returning, and not to wait dinner for him. It was not as late as he expected-in fact, he had caught an earlier train. He hoped she had waited for him, but was determined not to be disappointed if she had not.

His footsteps were light and quick as he entered his house and mounted the stairs. As he came into the dining room, his heart leapt when he saw the table set with two places, side by side. She had waited-in fact, was waiting; she was seated on the settee with her back toward him.

He moved around to place himself in her line of vision, watching her for several moments with loving eyes, admiring her beauty. She was reading a book, and had her feet pulled up under her in a comfortable and beguiling position. She looked up at him and, squealing in surprise, leapt from the sofa and into his arms as the forgotten book tumbled to the floor.

"You are home early!" she exclaimed happily, and kissed him zestfully. He crushed her to him and she melted against him, angling her head to allow him better access to her sweet mouth. They were silent in busy employment for several moments. When they broke off the kiss at last, Meg sighed with happiness and laid her head upon his shoulder. While he had been gone, she had dreamed of his tombstone again, and awoke alone in bed thinking for a moment that she had lost him once more. When she remembered his trip to London, she felt overwhelming relief; still, it was only when she stepped into his embrace that she truly relaxed.

"I was afraid you had decided to stay in London!" she teased him gently. He pulled her closer, and raised her chin to press his lips ardently to hers once more. He felt the strangest feeling, as if they had done this before, but could not remember greeting her thus.

After a few moments, she stepped out of his arms and moved toward the sideboard, smiling over her shoulder as she poured him a glass of his favorite wine. "I asked Cook to hold dinner until eight, hoping you would make it home in time to dine with me. Your mother has gone to dine with Fanny this evening, so it will be just the two of us." Her smile was saucy, and he laughed in response to her roguish expression.

He suddenly remembered why all of this seemed so familiar. His dream-he had dreamed of this before, the night before he insisted on going to the clinic to pick up Fanny's powders. Then, it had seemed to him an improbable fantasy, but now, it was real-she was his wife and it was his privilege and pleasure to be greeted in such a manner every day for the remainder of his life.

Her voice brought him back to the present. "Are you listening to me, John? You appear to be miles away."

He smiled and took the glass of wine from her outstretched hand, placing it carefully on a side table. "As much as I like this wine, I think I prefer your kisses more-and would ask a few more from you."

She smiled with pleasure, and hurried to comply with his request.

********

Meg sat on a low stool in the supply closet at the clinic, attempting to make sense out of the chaos in front of her. She found that she need only be gone two or three days, and Doctor Donaldson would create disaster in his wake. He moved things about, removed supplies and then returned them to another location, and in general generated havoc wherever he touched. She had been stacking bandages and dressings the entire morning, and was in a less than charitable mood with him.

As she worked, she thought over how quickly the first year of her marriage had sped by. It was common knowledge in Milton that Mr. and Mrs. Thornton were deeply in love, more than was perhaps respectable for a couple no longer in the first days of their marriage. Meg thought with a smile of how her husband's face lit up when he saw her unexpectedly, and of how her heart seemed to skip a beat when he entered a room. It was silly, she supposed, to show her evident love and pleasure in him for all to see, but she didn't care.

Her life was magical-every day was a gift as long as she could spend time with her husband. He bought her roses every week, and delighted in surprising her with small trinkets and large gifts alike. Early on, she had stemmed his urge to load her with rings and necklaces, or fill her room with trinkets and trappings. Wealth still made her a bit uncomfortable, and she chafed at the amount of possessions that they had, but could not bear to hurt his feelings, seeing his eager look each time he presented her with a gift. By small hints and gentle words, she was able to convince him that she did not need presents-she just needed him. His warm embrace, charming smile, and intoxicating kisses were worth more than any jewel or piece of lace.

As the months went along, Meg slowly worked at making Marlborough Mills a more comfortable and charming home, replacing the uncomfortable furniture with more homey pieces, and reducing the amount of glittering knickknacks and decorations in the main rooms. She took down the heavy draperies and hung lighter drapes at the windows, bringing more light into the rooms. Under her direction, they began to eat a more varied menu, and she often would spend one evening a week in the kitchen, on Cook's night off, helping Dixon to make dinner for the family. Mrs. Thornton was uncertain what to think of her son's wife laboring in the kitchen, but Mr. Thornton enjoyed the informality of these evenings, and even his mother had to admit that the food was delicious and the atmosphere lighter.

Smiling at the thought of the meal she had cooked the previous evening, and their activities afterward, Meg stood and felt the room spin about. She gasped and, placing her hand on her stomach, leaned against the counter until the room righted itself. In an instant, she was overcome with nausea, and hurriedly grabbed a basin from the shelf. She retched for several moments, then carefully set the basin aside and swiped a few strands of hair back from her damp forehead. As she turned, she met Doctor Donaldson's knowing eyes.