Read Online In Consequence: A Retelling of North and South by Trudy Brasure - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Trudy Brasure
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curtly as she began to return to the kitchen.
“I would speak to Miss Hale,” he answered more hastily than he had intended. He swallowed to rein in his impatience and evened his breath with effort. “If you please,” he added with calm civility.
Her eyebrows rose faintly as she cursorily studied him. “Miss Margaret is with her mother. I’ll see if she is receiving callers this morning,” she answered haughtily. Gesturing him to the parlor, she lumbered up the stairs to make known his request.
The family servant quietly let herself in the room where Mrs. Hale was napping in her chair. Margaret looked up from the book she was reading. “Mr. Thornton is in the parlor,” she announced summarily in whispered tones.
The young miss paled and felt her heart skip a beat. “Is not father in his study?” she queried hopefully, her voice wavering slightly.
“He asked for you, miss. Your father remains undisturbed.”
“Very well, I will come directly,” she replied, endeavoring to sound composed.
*****
Mr. Thornton stood restlessly at the window, attempting to gather his thoughts, though his heart beat erratically in anticipation of Margaret's arrival. He dared to divine the full fruition of his fondest dreams — that his words would meet with her sweet approval and that with his beckon she would fall into his arms to find her rightful home and resting place.
A faint rustling alerted him to her arrival, and he swung around to watch as she silently glided into the room.
He moved forward with a tempered eagerness and, brushing very near her still form, closed the door behind her. What he wished to say would be for her alone.
“I trust your mother slept well,” he remarked in passing, feeling his mouth go dry as he assumed a position several steps across from her.
“Yes, my mother thanks you for your kindnesses on her behalf,” Margaret managed to respond with stiff formality, her eyes glancing at him briefly before lowering her gaze. She trembled inwardly to be alone in his presence, afraid of what he had come to say.
With a sweeping glance, Mr. Thornton hungrily took in the sight of her. She was beautiful in her queenly bearing, holding her chin ever so slightly aloft even as maiden modesty required that she avoid his gaze. Her small, delicate hands were linked gracefully before her. “I only wish I could be of more service,” he answered softly, the last words drifting from his lips. He stifled the urge to rush forward and take her hands in his.
“Miss Hale, I’m afraid I was very ungrateful yesterday,” he declared, rigidly beginning his practiced lines.
“There is no need to be grateful,” she returned immediately, causing a flicker of confusion to cross his face.
“I believe there is. I must thank you for your kind attention....”
“Please, don’t speak of it,” she interrupted. “I only did what any one would to tend to one who had fallen. Surely, you need not thank me, when it is I who placed you in danger. I did not think...” she equivocated as a new wave of guilt bid her to imagine how horribly he might have been hurt.
“Are you well today?” she suddenly thought to ask as she stepped toward him, raising her hand as if she would inspect his wound. Her eyes softened in gentle concern.
The wall of his reserve crumbled at this sign of tenderness, and he swiftly grasped her hand between both of his. “Will you marry me? That’s what I’ve come to ask you,” he breathed, his husky Darkshire accent intensified by his urgency.
She stared at him with widened eyes for an instant before hastily withdrawing her hand and turning her back to him, her heart skittering in frightened confusion. “Mr. Thornton, you must not speak so!” she hastily rebuked him. “I am sure you feel obligated to rescue my reputation, but I assure you that is not necessary,” she answered in quavering tones, struggling to edify her voice with conviction, being overcome with the strange hope that
“I would speak to Miss Hale,” he answered more hastily than he had intended. He swallowed to rein in his impatience and evened his breath with effort. “If you please,” he added with calm civility.
Her eyebrows rose faintly as she cursorily studied him. “Miss Margaret is with her mother. I’ll see if she is receiving callers this morning,” she answered haughtily. Gesturing him to the parlor, she lumbered up the stairs to make known his request.
The family servant quietly let herself in the room where Mrs. Hale was napping in her chair. Margaret looked up from the book she was reading. “Mr. Thornton is in the parlor,” she announced summarily in whispered tones.
The young miss paled and felt her heart skip a beat. “Is not father in his study?” she queried hopefully, her voice wavering slightly.
“He asked for you, miss. Your father remains undisturbed.”
“Very well, I will come directly,” she replied, endeavoring to sound composed.
*****
Mr. Thornton stood restlessly at the window, attempting to gather his thoughts, though his heart beat erratically in anticipation of Margaret's arrival. He dared to divine the full fruition of his fondest dreams — that his words would meet with her sweet approval and that with his beckon she would fall into his arms to find her rightful home and resting place.
A faint rustling alerted him to her arrival, and he swung around to watch as she silently glided into the room.
He moved forward with a tempered eagerness and, brushing very near her still form, closed the door behind her. What he wished to say would be for her alone.
“I trust your mother slept well,” he remarked in passing, feeling his mouth go dry as he assumed a position several steps across from her.
“Yes, my mother thanks you for your kindnesses on her behalf,” Margaret managed to respond with stiff formality, her eyes glancing at him briefly before lowering her gaze. She trembled inwardly to be alone in his presence, afraid of what he had come to say.
With a sweeping glance, Mr. Thornton hungrily took in the sight of her. She was beautiful in her queenly bearing, holding her chin ever so slightly aloft even as maiden modesty required that she avoid his gaze. Her small, delicate hands were linked gracefully before her. “I only wish I could be of more service,” he answered softly, the last words drifting from his lips. He stifled the urge to rush forward and take her hands in his.
“Miss Hale, I’m afraid I was very ungrateful yesterday,” he declared, rigidly beginning his practiced lines.
“There is no need to be grateful,” she returned immediately, causing a flicker of confusion to cross his face.
“I believe there is. I must thank you for your kind attention....”
“Please, don’t speak of it,” she interrupted. “I only did what any one would to tend to one who had fallen. Surely, you need not thank me, when it is I who placed you in danger. I did not think...” she equivocated as a new wave of guilt bid her to imagine how horribly he might have been hurt.
“Are you well today?” she suddenly thought to ask as she stepped toward him, raising her hand as if she would inspect his wound. Her eyes softened in gentle concern.
The wall of his reserve crumbled at this sign of tenderness, and he swiftly grasped her hand between both of his. “Will you marry me? That’s what I’ve come to ask you,” he breathed, his husky Darkshire accent intensified by his urgency.
She stared at him with widened eyes for an instant before hastily withdrawing her hand and turning her back to him, her heart skittering in frightened confusion. “Mr. Thornton, you must not speak so!” she hastily rebuked him. “I am sure you feel obligated to rescue my reputation, but I assure you that is not necessary,” she answered in quavering tones, struggling to edify her voice with conviction, being overcome with the strange hope that
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