#2. too in-character and so painfully sincere in a way that's not tempered by a fast-moving motw plot/snappy tv dialogue

[justafriendofxanders]

just got blindsided by the absolute sincere expression of desire through the written word. oh ao3? yeah it was on ao3.

[jade4813]

Like Moths to a Flame, Chapter 4

Fandom: North and South

Title: Like Moths to a Flame

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: John/Margaret

Synopsis: “I hope you realize that any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over.“ Margaret decides to confront John about his unjust judgment of her character, but the two have always been drawn to each other, and things quickly get out of hand. In the aftermath, she agrees to marry him to satisfy propriety, but she cannot forget how ready he was to believe the worst of her. Can love survive without trust, or will the two find a way to work through the misunderstandings that have plagued their relationship from the start?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

John’s temper had cooled by the time he returned to the mill, assisted by the cold winter chill that whipped down the narrow streets and reminded him all too painfully that he had left his outer garments behind. How foolish of him, he recognized with a sardonic smile as he strode through the mill’s front gate. His race across town without a coat had attracted its share of askance glances from passersby, but the fulsome expression on his face deterred both question and comment. Any other man might have had cause to worry that his inappropriate attire might attract salacious gossip, which might eventually find Margaret as its target. However, the Master of Marlborough Mills had long carried a reputation for a fierce temper, and so he had little cause for concern that she be suspected as the cause for his black mood on this particular day.

As he neared the door to the mill, he cast a glance at his darkened office window. his preoccupation with Margaret had distracted him from his duties for too long. The heavy weight of his responsibilities pressed upon him, weighing down his shoulders with the reminder of tasks left undone. Work would provide a welcome distraction from memories of Margaret’s touch and her rejection, but he reminded himself that there was one more task he needed to fulfil before he could turn his attention to more commercial matters.

At this hour, he knew his mother would be at home. He had to tell her of the offer he had made, though he would naturally never disclose the reason for it. He had considered keeping his own council until the morning, when he received Margaret’s answer to his suit. However, he knew his mother’s low opinion of the woman he loved, and if the reply he received was in the affirmative, she would need time to grow accustomed to the idea.

It would not do to join her as he was, his clothes in disarray from his exertions, both in his flight across town and in the pleasure he had found in Margaret’s arms. Before entering the drawing room to break the news, he took a moment to return to his room, to change clothes and pull himself to rights.

As he finished tying the folds of a fresh cravat, he paused by his looking glass, gazing at his reflection with a critical eye. Though his lips still burned from her kiss and he imagined he could scent the smell of her skin when he closed his eyes, his appearance no longer betrayed his previous actions. He would pause downstairs long enough to tell his mother of his impending engagement, and then he would head back to the mill, immersing himself in his work to forget the words that had met his proposal.

“ Was this always your plan, then? You couldn’t purchase my hand, so you thought you could force me into a marriage of responsibility when you know that is the last thing I want?”

She did not have the right of it, and if she accepted his suit, he would find a way to prove as much to her. Although the situation seemed dire at present, he had some small cause to hope she might one day come to care for him. She had given herself to him with a sweetness and a passion that suggested that she was not indifferent to him, at least.

“ I do not love you. I never have. I never will.”

He turned away from his reflection with a ferocious scowl. Margaret’s words had hurt, but he could not fault her for her honesty. He knew she did not care for him and had never been so foolish as to convince himself otherwise. Besides, he had more pressing matters to attend to at the moment, and he couldn’t afford to let his unrequited love distract him from his purpose. He had to tell his mother of his engagement, which would likely be forthcoming in the morning.

Schooling his features into a mask of indifference, he joined his mother in the drawing room. Her head was bent in concentration as she focused on her needlework, and he engaged in perfunctory small talk as he pondered how to broach the subject of his probable engagement. It didn’t take long for impatience to get the better of him, however, and he got straight to the point. “I have been to see Miss Hale.” His words distracted her from her work, which fell to her lap as she looked up at him. “I have made her an offer.”

His mother was not inclined to give in to rash emotion, and she fell silent as she gave him a considering look. “Miss Hale has opened herself up to the gossip of servants and public ridicule. If you think to save her from the consequence of her own actions by offering her the protection of your name, then you should know better than to think you could ever convince her to—”

“I don’t wish to marry her because I want to save her reputation. I wish to marry her because I love her. More now than I did the last – after the riot,” he corrected himself, not wishing to dwell on that particular memory.

It was, unfortunately, the truth. While his actions earlier in the evening necessitated that they marry, they were not the cause for his desire to do so. He wished to marry her for the same reason he always had: because he loved her. His love for her was untouched by time. By rejection. By the knowledge of her other lover.

The anger he had felt towards her since that night at the train station was unjust, he knew. Whatever right he might have claimed as her father’s friend to censure her for her improper behavior, for the gossip that she had invited, he had no right to more. He was not her brother or her father, who would have borne the responsibility to curb her behavior. Nor was he her lover, who should have claim to her fidelity. For her part, he doubted he could even lay claim to being her friend, to offer her advice and counsel.

His ire stemmed from jealousy, injured pride, and a wounded heart. He was angry at her for having chosen another man over him, for deeming dishonor preferable to accepting his heart. He showed her his temper so that she would not see his pain. But his anger was fleeting, ebbing and flowing like the tide. His love for her was steadfast and true, even if he professed otherwise.

His mother scowled. “You know she thinks too highly of herself to ever choose you,” she pointed out in her usual straightforward manner. John knew it was love of him that compelled her to honesty. Not the type to ever mince words, she was only trying to help; she didn’t intend to wound him. Her words stung nevertheless, since he knew she only spoke the truth. There was no question of Margaret having him, if she had any other choice.

“I believe she will accept me this time,” he murmured, moving behind the woman on the couch to rest a hand on her shoulder. “But whatever her answer, I’m asking you not to judge her too harshly. I don’t care about idle gossip, and neither should you. I’ll not have her treated with disrespect in this house.”

His mother huffed in irritation, but she lifted one hand to place over his. “Oh, I’ll treat her well enough,” she agreed in a sour voice. “As well as is in my nature, at any rate. For your sake. Not for hers.” Rising to her feet, she turned to fix him with a critical eye, making him relieved that he had taken the time to set himself to rights. “Though she’s never understood you, and she certainly doesn’t deserve you.”

Such was his mother’s love for him that he knew it unlikely she would ever look on Margaret with any more charity of mind than she did at present, so he bit back the denial that came readily to his lips and bowed his head.

Stepping forward, his mother reached up to straighten his cravat and smooth the shoulders of his jacket. “I know you love her, John, but it may not be too late. Your engagement hasn’t been settled on. There has been no announcement. Take tonight to think about what it is that you’re doing.”

“You would have me shame her by withdrawing my offer? To behave so dishonorably?”

Her expression was grave but sincere as her hands halted on his shoulders and she met his eyes. “I would have you marry someone who knows the man you are and loves you for it. I care about your happiness. Nothing more.”

Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss against her cheek. “Then pray that she accepts me, Mother, for I cannot be happy without her.”

Across town, Margaret had taken to her room to gather her thoughts in Mr Thornton’s absence. She also found it necessary to change her dress; it would likely take an entire morning for her to iron out the wrinkles in the one she had worn during her tryst. She had barely managed to change before she heard the front door open, and she paused to touch up her hair before stepping into the hallway, throwing her father her brightest smile in greeting.

“Is John still here?” he asked with pleasure as he joined her on the upper landing. At her negative response, a slight frown crossed his brow. “Oh. I thought I saw his things down below.”

Her face flushing with embarrassment, she murmured, “He was called away quite suddenly. Something to do with the mill, I believe. I’m afraid he may have forgotten them in his haste.”

His face maintained its abstracted frown. “That’s unlike him,” he commented. “I am sorry to have missed him. I hope he wasn’t too offended.”

To the contrary, he’d been gravely offended indeed, though not by her father’s actions. Ducking her head so he would not see her blush, she replied, “Not at all. He mentioned he might call upon you tomorrow, if you are free to receive him.”

To her relief, there was no trace of suspicion in her father’s face or voice as he agreed heartily with this idea, turning his attention immediately to more intellectual pursuits. For her part, their exchange, short as it was, had been a trial to her already fraying composure, so Margaret begged leave to take refuge in her room for the evening, pleading a headache. It took a few more moments to reassure her father that her complaint was a mild one and she would recover shortly, and then she watched with relief as he returned to his sitting room to continue his work.

Once the door had closed behind him, she crept downstairs to collect Mr Thornton’s things, telling herself that she only wanted to ensure they were on-hand to return to him the next day. However, once returned to the privacy of her bedchamber, she clutched his coat to her chest as she lowered herself onto the bed.

She had made such a mess of things, and in the wake of her desperation and indignation, she could only be ashamed of the things she had said. She supposed she should probably be more ashamed of the things she had done. She had behaved shamelessly and undoubtedly only succeeded in demolishing any chance she might have had of resurrecting his good opinion of her character. But deep her in heart, she found she could not regret the passion they had shared.

Margaret might not be wise to the ways of the North, but she was not a stupid woman. Since moving to Milton, she had resigned herself to the likelihood that she would never marry for love – if she married at all. She had few romantic prospects among the population, and no money to attract a suitor even if eligible bachelors had been thick on the ground. Though she had naturally always longed for her own home and family, she had refused to give in to despondency in accepting her lot in life. She might never have a husband and children of her own, but with so many in need in Milton, her life would never be empty.

Better spinsterhood than to rush into an ill-advised match with no possibility that genuine affection might eventually blossom between both parties. And regardless of what Mr Thornton had said, she had little hope that they might form a genuine attachment within the confines of marriage.

Margaret knew she had lamentably opened herself up to gossip and ridicule by her behavior during the riot. Though her wits had temporarily been scattered, she had heard the malicious pleasure in Fanny’s voice when she speculated that Margaret had always had designs on her brother. Innocent though she may be in the ways of the world in many respects, she knew the rapidity with which gossip could flow from household to household, until its subject could find no respite from the censure of society.

On her very first day in Milton, she had become aware that her family was and would be the subject of gossip. Even of derision. She had found it hard enough to acclimate to life in this industrial town and had little care for the chatter people spread about her strange ways, having more or less resigned herself to her position as eternal outsider.

But while she could withstand the derision heaped upon her for her strange ways, she could not abide the speculation that she had designs on Mr Thornton, or that she had ever had intent to trap him into marriage. That others might think it of her was appalling; that he might come to believe it of her was unable to be borne.

Regardless of his protestations, it had been honor – not love – that had driven him to ask for her hand after the riot. After her brazen behavior, he could hardly do anything less. Though she had been unjust in her sketch of his character upon their first meeting, she had come to realize that John – that Mr Thornton, she reminded herself once again – was an honorable man. More than that, he was a good one, with both a kindness and a thoughtfulness that she once would have sworn was lacking in his character.

No, although she knew she should regret their time together, she found she could not, save in one respect. She should have anticipated the outcome. For the sake of honor and his own damnable pride, she should have known he would offer for her hand. He would see it as his duty to rescue her reputation.

She had been unkind – unjust – to him in the aftermath of his second proposal, but her words had been spoken as much in self-preservation as in ire. Margaret might not have had the good sense to consider the inevitable outcome of their coupling, but she had no doubt of the end result of their ill-conceived union.

Thornton claimed he loved her, but he did not trust her. He did not believe in her. He had made that clear enough. Once honor and pride had been satisfied, all that would be left for him would be regret. Regret that he married a woman he considered faithless. In time, he would come to resent that he had not been free to marry a woman who remained blameless in his eyes and in his heart. Though he might not ascribe much faith to the gossip of servants now, how long could he withstand their relentless speculation before he began to wonder if their words might not be true?

Margaret had been the first to come to him, after all. She had stolen a kiss from his lips in the front hall of her own house, where the two could be discovered at any time by her father or their servant. She had begged him to stay. She had seduced him in her own home, knowing her father or Dixon could return to catch them at any time.

He might not credit such thoughts now, but he likely would in time. Did the gossips have the right of it? Had her behavior been a ploy from the start, her intent all along to trap the most eligible Master of Marlborogh Mills in the parson’s noose?

 She could not bear the thought. She might not love him – she swore she did not, for how could she love a man who did not trust her? – but she could not bear to watch whatever small measure of respect he still had for her diminish, first into regret, then into disgust, and eventually into hate.

She had been wounded and angry that he would once again propose out of a sense of duty toward her, but she had also been deeply, deeply afraid. Oh she had no thought that she might one day have cause to fear his person. Even in his reproof, his doubt, his disgust for her, she had never been given cause to fear he might hurt her, and she thought well enough of him not to fear that his character would undergo such a marked change after their marriage. Even when his doubts and contempt for her grew, she felt certain that his disfavor would be displayed in cold courtesy rather than physical violence.

But cold courtesy from John would be terrible enough.

“ There is little enough I can offer you, but I can promise you that I will always treat you with honor. … You will have no cause to regret marrying me.”

He saw her as an obligation, and if there was one thing Margaret did not wish to be, it was Mr Thornton’s obligation. She was not a cruel woman, but she had allowed herself to act in a cruel manner in an attempt to push him away.

She had not lied, she swore to herself once again. She did not love him. She did not. She did not! She could not love him. Could not allow herself to love him, when his opinion of her was so dismal. And she had little doubt that he would never allow himself to love in return, where he deemed the subject of his affections so unworthy.

Of course, it would be a simple enough matter to tell him the truth about Frederick, to reassure him that, which she had not been without fault, she was blameless of the charges he had laid at her door. But she could not. The truth might wipe away the object of his accusations, but it would not remove the cause. He did not believe in her. He did not know her. He did not trust her. He did not love her. There had once been a time when she had sworn she would never seek his love, but the loss of his good opinion had left her heart tender and bruised. She could not marry him. She could not.

Yet she had no other choice. She knew it as well as he had when he’d offered for her hand. Clutching the thick fabric of his coat closer to her stomach, she bowed over the precious bundle as much as her corset would allow. It was one more thing she had not had the wisdom to foresee before she’d behaved so wantonly. Even now, she might be with child. His child. She might be willing to withstand gossip for her own sake, but she could not do that to an innocent babe.

She would marry him. And she would pray he would not come to hate her for it.