The Reform of John Thornton – Part Two

Chapter Two

 

As a rule, I am not a violent man. I do not take pleasure in beating my workers to a bloody pulp. Yet I have a temper, which at times gets the better of me. Thus when I witnessed Stephens’ transgression with my own eyes, I literally saw red.

Stephens is a brainless fool, who has only his own selfish interests at heart. His poor wife and four children do not often see much of his wages, because he squanders them away in the tavern as soon as he gets his hands on the coins. Many times over, I have warned him, and he always promises it is the last time he smokes during work hours, yet the wretch always does it again. Now my patience had been tried too much, and I was right in dismissing him. Unfortunately, his family will reap the miserable consequences. I do not run a charitable institution, so as sad as it may be, I cannot do a thing about it. The interests of the mill must come first.

Even though I had been entirely justified in behaving as I had, a nagging concern kept gnawing at my conscience. I am a rational man, yet I had let my temper boil over so rashly that I now felt downright wretched.

This state of mind was so unfamiliar to me that it puzzled me to the extreme. Never before in my life had I regretted any action I had done, yet now I positively loathed what I had done to Stephens. I could not for the life of me comprehend why this was so. Nobody in the whole shed had frowned upon me, nor had anybody come to Stephens’ help, because they all thought it justified he be chastised.

Nobody? No one, except for the petite brunette who had so rashly chastised me, John Thornton of Marlborough Mills. Before the eyes of my workers, a mere slip of a girl had talked back at me. Better yet, she had dared raise her voice at the master of Marlborough Mills, a place where she had no business being.

All present had indeed noticed. Some were shocked, but others had smirked with glee. Many of my workers resented me, even though I give them an income and thus save them from starvation and misery. As it is Mother’s wont to say, some men raise themselves to be masters, while others will strive to bring them down.

I should have retorted to the forward young woman, yet I had not. Instead, a strange paralysis had overcome me, I, a man who was never ill, who never showed weakness. A man who was master and answerable to no one but himself.

I strangely felt answerable to Miss Margaret Hale. For some incomprehensible reason, at that time I felt compelled to go and explain myself to her, if possible even that same day.

Margaret Hale … the name was familiar, though I could not immediately place it. I knew I would not be satisfied until I found out, so I went in search of Overseer Williams.

The loyal employee was back at his workplace on the raised platform, scrupulously watching the workers. I climbed the rickety ladder, absentmindedly making a mental note to have it made sturdier.

“Why did you bring that young woman in here, Williams? Surely, you know as well as I do, that strangers to the workplace are not allowed in the weaving shed.”

“She was at the house you found for your acquaintance, Mr Bell, master. She said she wanted to speak to you, and nothing I or the agent said would change her mind. A stubborn one, that.”

“What was her name again?” I asked, knowing well enough what it was.

“Margaret Hale, master. She said she and her father were sharing the task of finding lodgings. Not quite proper, if you ask me. Women have no business doing such a task.”

I ignored his remark about Miss Hale’s impropriety, although it was not Williams’ place to comment at all. “And where was this?”

“In Canute Street in Crampton, master. A nice little place, and well it may be, because the owner asks thirty pounds a year for it.”

I thanked him and left him to his work. Puzzled, I went back to my office.

The whole business of Williams seeking lodgings had its origin in Mr Bell’s request that I find a house for a friend of his, whose name was Richard Hale, I recalled. Mr Bell was an academic from  Oxford and one of my chief investors. Therefore, I had not had the luxury to turn him down, when he claimed some of my precious time. He had come from Oxford with the sole purpose of asking for my cooperation but he had prattled on so endlessly about his friend Hale, that I had lost all interest long before he was finished. Matters that have nothing to do with Marlborough Mills cannot keep my attention for long.

I made an effort to recall what exactly he had told me about Hale, a former clergyman who had given up his living to come and teach in Milton. Something to do with him not willing to reaffirm in the Book of Common Prayer, or some such nonsense. What would prompt a man to give up his livelihood and rob his family of income, I asked myself. I thought about this for some time, but was unable to solve the question. To me, Hale’s behaviour was on the brink of insanity.

Bell had also said that the man needed private pupils in order to bring in some money.

Now that, I found most interesting.

I was a mill master and a magistrate, but my education had been cut short. When I was but sixteen years old, I began working at a draper’s shop to rescue my mother and sister from poverty. Ever since, I had felt the lack of literature and culture and was anxious to remedy that. I was determined to pay Mr Hale a visit, as soon as he was settled in Canute Street.

My reminiscing about the past had, unfortunately, revived my memories of those disastrous days of fifteen years ago, when my father had taken his own life. The three of us, Mother, Fanny and myself were cast into ruin and poverty, because Father had lost all his possessions in a fraudulent speculation. At that time, he had been struggling to keep his cotton mill afloat after a most violent strike, wherein the workers had squeezed a ten percent raise from him. Unable to pay his workers beyond the weeks to come, Father had then turned to his banker. That man, who was the owner of several London banks, had taken Father’s personal fortune, promising him a scheme that would yield ten times the sum. The London banker was an imposter. He fled abroad, taking all Father’s money with him. Facing bankruptcy, Father had hanged himself.

 

I sat there, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, for I know not how long. When Mother suddenly appeared in the doorway, I was startled to see that it was ten in the evening. The mill had emptied of workers, the machines had been stopped, yet I had not noticed.

“What is troubling you, John? Why are you still here?”

Mother came to stand beside my chair and felt my brow with the back of her hand. I could not stifle a smile. To Mother, I am still a young boy, even though I had reached my thirty-first year last August. Sometimes, she is downright overprotective, which vexes me a little, but I do not have the heart to tell her otherwise. So I rose swiftly and drew her arm through mine.

“Just working over my time, Mother. You know as well as I do that the running of the mill takes the better part of my time. I presume dinner is ready?”

“It is, and Fanny is calling you names for making her wait.”

“By all means, let us not keep her waiting, then.”

 

The Reform of John Thornton – Part One

Chapter One

The day I met Miss Margaret Hale, Fate kicked me in the gut so hard that I was transformed into a man I would come to loathe.

I am John Thornton, manufacturer and magistrate in Milton, Lancashire, and therefore, I speak bluntly. Gentlemanlike manners are no use to me when I have to deal with workers, tradesmen, and the likes, who do not understand civil language should it kick them in the arse.

That day, I was not only speaking my mind in the rudest of ways but I was also swearing at that bloody idiot Stephens for smoking in the weaving shed. I was so livid with rage that I chased him from between the rows of cotton looms to a spot where I could trash him into oblivion. Fire in a cotton mill – as every sane person knows – is highly dangerous. If the cotton waste is set ablaze, nothing can save the mill from burning down to the ground.

Finally, I was able to catch the fool by the collar. “Smokin’ again!” I bellowed. “Where is it?”

I began searching his filthy rags of clothing until I found the pipe, which, of course, he had been smoking on the sly. “Still warm,” I accused, my rage now boiling over. “Stupid idiot!”

It was a relief to swing my fists at him, and with satisfaction, I dealt him a few well-placed blows.

“Look at me!” I commanded. “Look at me!”

“Stop! In God’s name, stop!”

The light voice – barely audible above the din of the machines – did really stop me, although all I wanted to do was to kill Stephens with my bare hands. I jerked around, sweat trickling down my face. The air was knocked from my lungs, as I beheld the most beautiful creature in all the world. Her face was frozen in horror, her mouth partly opened and her eyes – ah, the eyes! – were wide with dismay. I looked at her, paralysed by the sight of such perfect beauty, My raised arm hung high in the air, ready to strike again, but the strength seemed to have left me.

What strange sickness had suddenly overcome me? I felt like a statue, I was unable to breathe. The girl – for she was little more than that – lifted her gaze to capture mine, and now a giant fist squeezed my heart. I could feel the blood drain from my face, until an icy shiver raked my entire body.

“Please, miss, please!” And then I was free again, thanks to Williams’ desperate plea. My trustworthy overseer was trying to pull the girl away, but even as slight as she was, she managed to resist him.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” I barked at her.

“My name is Margaret Hale,” she replied, her eyes blazing with fury.

Williams hastened to enlighten me. “I’m sorry, sir, I told her to stay in the office.”

Again I felt myself sliding into that haze of rage and I cried, “Get her out of here!” But then that little rat Stephens began crawling away from me. I released him but I could not stop myself from kicking him like the rat he is. “Aye, crawl away on your belly and don’t come back here again!”

Stephens was now desperate to escape but he gasped, “Please, sir, I ‘ave little ones!”

“You know the rules!” The rat dared answer me back, devil take it!

“My children will starve, sir,” Stephens sobbed, but I was too far gone to listen.

“Better they starve than burn to death!” I cried, and placed a hard kick in his belly.

“Stop! Stop, please!”

This time, the girl’s voice did not freeze me. I had more than enough of her interferences! I whirled around and snarled at Williams, “Get that woman out of here!” Williams succeeded in his endeavour to remove the girl this time, and she let herself be hauled behind a stack of cotton bales.

All the light seemed to vanish from the weaving shed. My knees buckled, and I had to seek support against the wall. The air seemed laden with some vile stench that clawed at my throat. Cotton fluff added more hardship to my already disturbed breathing. My brain, the part of my body I can always rely on, screamed at me to get the hell out of there.

I began stumbling towards the exit, pain raking through me like a spear. Gasping for breath, I reached the courtyard, and the cool air revived me instantly, when I gasped. It took me several moments to compose myself enough that I could go to the house and climb the stairs to the parlour. My mother keeps a bottle of port on a table near the door, and I splashed a large portion of it in a glass. The sweet, heavy liquid burned a path through my insides, and at last, I could breathe again.

“Why are you imbibing in the middle of the day, John? That is not you. Has something happened at the mill?” Mother’s cool voice inquired.

I took great care to take my glass and stride calmly to the mantelpiece, as was my habit, when I came up from the mill during the day. “Everything is fine, mother,” I said. “Just a restorative glass of port, is all.”

Mother was sitting in her usual spot on the coach beneath the window, darning some old socks of mine. Mother’s hands are never idle, God bless her, but why was she wasting her energy on clothing that was only fit to be thrown away? I took a few steps toward her and gently took the socks out of her hands.

“We are wealthy, Mother. You do not need to do such useless menial tasks. These socks are no longer your concern. Give them to one of the maids, if you want them darned.”

Mother is not easily fooled. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips but she let go of the socks without protest. “Fortune is as volatile as the smoke from our stacks, John, as you well know. We should be frugal at all times, so that we do not come on hardship once more.”

By now, I had full control over my countenance. “Mother, if you think it best to darn these very old socks in order to preserve me from going bankrupt, then by all means, do it.”

I was rewarded by her beautiful, but rare smile, which she bestows solely on me. The corners of my own lips turned upwards in answer, before I left her to go back to the mill. I sought the relative calm of my office, a cubicle set aside from the weaving shed by crude, wooden boards. Most of the space is occupied by a large desk and some shelves. I let myself down on the hard wooden chair behind the desk, planted my elbows on its surface and covered my face with my hands.

The Reform of John Thornton – Preface

Preface

Once in a while, we are touched by something so deeply that it becomes a constant source of joy.

When we need to have our spirits lifted, there it is; we just have to revisit our source, and the joy is back.

 

The 2004 BBC adaptation of Elizabeth Gaskell’s North & South provides that kind a joy to me. The novel’s plot is brilliant, but Sandy Welsh’s script gives it a contemporary ring so that the characters become even more alive. Brian Percival’s direction is magnificent and gives the viewer a thorough understanding of the nineteenth century workers’ struggle. Martin Phipps’ lovely music touches our hearts.

 

Of course, the actors’ performances are outstanding. All British actors and actresses just have that je-ne-sais-quoi that makes them so lovable. Yet Daniela Denby-Ashe and Richard Armitage show us a chemistry that shines through the whole film like a beacon of love and hope.

 

North & South is in essence Margaret Hale’s story. John Thornton is her love interest as the male lead, but we mostly see Margaret’s views and reactions, in the novel as well as in the film.

I decided it was time to give Thornton the opportunity to explain himself to the full.

 

Writing The Reform of John Thornton was both a joy and a thrill. I can’t aspire to match Mrs Gaskell’s brilliant writing, of course. I will endeavour to use my own style and hope for the best.

As soon as I finished writing, I realised that my story could never be published. I broke too many rules in using Sandy Welsh’s script word for word. Yet it could not be done otherwise and gave me lots of fun.

 

I hope you will enjoy Thornton’s own story and forgive me for giving him that chance.

 

 

 

Lucia Swiers

 

Hearts Adrift – Part Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Six

The sun was high in the August sky when the newlyweds left St Wulfram’s church.

A double row of village girls, all dressed in their best Sunday clothes were standing along the path that led out of the churchyard. They were forming a flowered arch over the path, inviting Richard and Manon to pass under it on their way to their carriage. A chorus of happy cheers sounded as the couple ducked and walked under the arch, while a sprinkle of daisies rained down on them. Well-wishers shouted their congratulations and children offered nosegays to the grateful bride and groom.

They reached the white-and-gold carriage and Richard ushered his bride in. Manon settled onto the blue velvet cushions with a sigh of pure, contented pleasure, hooking her hand through Richard’s arm when he sat next to her.

“Well, my love?” Manon asked, delicate eyebrows raised over slightly mocking green eyes. “It seems that the Bearsham villagers are happy with our marriage, do you not agree? We have been concerned in vain, thinking they would object.”

“Yes, we were wrong to do so,” Richard acquiesced, his grey-blue eyes sparkling with unmitigated happiness. “These simple people are far more sensible than my hare-brained, spiteful mother.” He sighed. “What am I to do with her, Manon? I had hoped she would settle quite meekly in our household, but it appears that she is determined to be the fly in the ointment of our marriage. I am so sorry, my sweet. I would have given my right arm to spare you the scene she inflicted upon us during the ceremony.”

Manon took his handsome face in her hands, forcing Richard to look her in the eyes.

“Oh no, we cannot have that,” she said, her voice full of mirth. “What use would you be to me with only one arm?”

With a groan, Richard pulled her onto his lap in one swift movement and revelled in her happy gasp of surprise. “Finally, I have you to myself for the first time today, my lady. There is so much I wanted to say after what transpired last night, and so much that I worried over. Did I…have I…oh, God, Manon! I am thoroughly ashamed of the way I so utterly lost control…”

“Yes…”Manon drawled. “Rest assured that I will punish you for torturing me so, my lord husband. I have been racking my brains for ways to make you suffer for what you did to me, last night, and I have come up with something like this…”

She stood, hitched up her skirts and rearranged herself in his lap, this time astride. Her lips captured his and her tongue teased his while she sensuously wriggled atop of his thighs and onto his already aroused member. Richard groaned into their kiss and pulled her to him in a grip of iron. Their tongues battled as a wave of raw desire swept them along. Gasping for dear life when Richard’s hands slid up her thighs, to slip a finger into her heat, Manon began fumbling with the buttons of his breeches.

A few moments later, they were joined under the wide expanse of Manon’s gown, and a wild dance, old as the world itself, drove them to bliss in seconds.

 

When their carriage stopped in front of Bearsham Manor, the flushed couple had barely had the time to right their dishevelled appearance. They had a dining hall full of guests waiting to share their wedding breakfast with them. Manon, however, cast a quick glance in the hall mirror before she faced her guests…and gasped. She looked thoroughly disordered! On no account in the world would she present herself thusly.

“Richard, I really must have a moment to myself so that Bessie can restore my appearance.”

She gave him a critical look of appraisal and added, “And you, my love, will want Bright to correct your attire, too.”

“Thornton,” Richard addressed his butler, tongue in cheek, “please ask our guests for patience, just a little more time.”

Rushing up the stairs, they barely heard the butler’s reply. Once inside the master bedroom, Richard shooed away Bessie and Bright, who had come running after them. He kicked the door shut, swept Manon into his arms, and placed her onto the bed. With determined concentration, he then applied himself to continue what they had begun during their carriage ride home. His bride met his demands with eager anticipation. It was, after all, their wedding day.

 

Much later, when the wedding breakfast was over, and their guests had gone home, Richard took Manon by the hand and led her outside. The balmy August evening had not yet come, but the sun was beginning to make its way downward. Manon wondered where her husband was taking her, but she said nothing and followed him down the terrace and into the secret garden. It was a lovely spot near the edge of the Home Wood, and Manon had always wanted to explore it ever since she had come to Bearsham Manor but had never found the time in the whirlwind of events that had arisen. Now she stood next to her Richard in front of a grave.

“Here rests Father,” Richard whispered, pulling Manon in the circle of his arms while making her face the tomb. “I hope he looks upon us with contentment on this happiest of days, my love.”

“I am certain he does, my dearest,” Manon replied, placing her hands over Richard’s. It was the perfect time to be here, she reflected. Sir Robert de Briers had always been anxious about Manon and Jéhan, even if he had never known them. He had even stood guard over them all, from beyond the grave, and left them the letter that brought her and Richard together. How Manon wished she had known him!  How she would have cherished Richard’s good father!

“We must do something about Mother,” Richard suddenly said, recalling the Dowager’s appalling behaviour during their wedding ceremony. “She is going to be a constant thorn in our sides, my sweet, and I cannot have anything disturbing our lives from now on.”

Manon turned in his arms and looked up to him. “Leave her to me, my darling,” she said, confidence radiating from her lovely green eyes. “I want her to be part of our lives. She is a damaged woman, Richard. Life has not been gentle to her. Together, we will find a way to give her a place at Bearsham Manor.”

And if anyone could accomplish just that, Richard thought, it was his lively, strong Manon. He bent his head to claim her mouth in a kiss that promised the world.

 

The End

 

 

 

 

Hearts Adrift – Part Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

 

The vision of his bride, exquisitely dressed in a silken gown of fragile green, knocked the air out of Richard’s lungs. Good Lord, she was breathtakingly beautiful, and she was going to be his wife. He took a deep breath – a much needed breath because his head was spinning with the deep feelings of love and joy that overwhelmed him.

Then Manon smiled at him, and his heart turned to water. His legs would have walked toward her of their own accord, had not Lucian’s hand on his arm kept Richard on the spot.

“Steady, old man,” Lucian whispered – mercifully, his voice was only audible to Richard. “You must allow Jéhan to give her away.”

Only then did Richard notice the small, dapper figure of Jéhan, left hand linked with his sister’s right one. Of course, he berated himself, Manon had no one else to hand her over to her bridegroom. What a capital thought to choose her young brother!

Richard strove to keep his countenance solemn as Jéhan placed Manon’s hand in his. He bowed to the child with reverence and had the pleasure of seeing Jéhan emulate the bow with diligence.

Then, however, Richard had eyes solely for his beautiful bride, who beamed up at him. He kissed the back of her hand, never letting his gaze leave hers. Before straightening again, he whispered, “My dearest…” How he longed to say more, yet the words would not form in Richard’s mind.

Manon raised a hand to touch Richard’s cheek, when the Reverend Merryweather cleared his throat to drag them both back to the present. In unison, they turned to face him, but Richard kept Manon’s hand firmly in his.

While the good vicar began reciting the proper words for the wedding celebration, Richard felt his fears subside. Only then did he realise how heavily those fears had weighed upon his heart. Would Manon meet him at the altar to be his wife, when he had so thoroughly lost his control, the previous night? What if she had been scared by his wild abandon? But no, she was here, at his side, and he knew he was forgiven.

In a haze, Richard heard the vicar’s familiar voice.

“Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today before this congregation, to join together Richard de Briers, fourteenth Baronet Bearsham, and Miss Manon Favier of Paris in matrimony which is an honourable and solemn estate and therefore is not to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly, but reverently and soberly. Into this estate, these two persons present come now to be joined. If anyone can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.”

Here, the Reverend paused and peered sternly at the congregation over the rim of his glasses.

Richard’s heart began hammering in his throat yet again as he realised that someone, anyone, in the small community had the power to object to their union. Not many of Brighton’s society were in attendance but they all knew that Manon had been first presented as his niece and afterwards had been named the daughter of Lady Elizabeth’s bastard.

Then, his heart nearly stopped as the sound of the church doors being thrown open reached him.

“I, Lady Mildred de Briers, do strongly object to this farce of a marriage!”

A rumble of shocked sighs rippled through the church’s nave as everyone turned towards the back, where the imposing figure of the Dowager Baronetess darkened the doorway. Time seemed to slow as Richard saw Manon’s lovely face freeze in a horror that must have reflected on his own countenance. A nightmare, devastating and cruel, descended upon them as the cold, harsh voice continued its torture.

“This union is truly cursed for it is an incestuous one! Manon Favier is the daughter of Lily de Briers, and therefore she is Sir Richard’s niece!”

Richard could not move, nor speak, nor even breathe. A weight crushed down on him, threatening to suffocate him under a pitch-black blanket of misery and shame. All was lost…he wished for Death to take him here and now.

But no…he should have had faith in his indomitable, fierce bride!

Manon stepped away from him and met her nemesis with pride and dignity.

“You are mistaken, Madam, and you are cruel and vicious in your despair! You should be crushed by shame to try and inflict this torture upon your only son. Sir Richard does not deserve to be treated thusly by the woman who gave birth to him, a mother whom he has always respected and cared for. My dear mother, Lily Favier was a bastard. I hereby make this known to this community and challenge everyone to take notice of Sir Robert’s letter to his son, written by his own hand and deposited in the care of his solicitor, Mr Brownslow. Sir Robert’s seal is testimony enough for the letter’s authenticity.”

“It is true and unmistakable! I, as Our Lord’s representative, have acknowledged and approved the content of Sir Robert’s letter. You will hold your peace, madam, or you will be removed from this church!” Mr Merryweather’s booming voice had never sounded so welcome to Richard’s shocked ears. He watched how the Dowager gasped in shock as St Wulfram’s sexton took her arm and led her away.

“Let us now proceed with the celebration of this marriage,” continued Mr Merryweather. “Who gives this woman to be married to this man?”

“I do!”

Jéhan’s clear voice chimed through the nave like the voice of an angel. The small five-year-old took his sister’s hand and led her back to her betrothed, confident in his role. Manon, as if nothing had occurred to disturb her peace, firmly grasped Richard’s hand and brought him back to reality and happiness. With infinite relief, he was grateful for Manon’s unwavering support.

The rest of the ceremony was undisturbed, and the two young people spoke their vows with nothing but pure exhilaration in their hearts.

“I, Manon, take thee, Richard, to be my lawfully wedded husband, secure in the knowledge that you will be my constant friend, my faithful partner in life, and my one true love. On this special day, I give to you in the presence of God and all these witnesses my pledge to stay by your side as your faithful wife in sickness and in health, in joy and in sorrow, as well as through the good times and the bad. I promise to love you without reservation, comfort you in times of distress, laugh with you and cry with you, grow with you in mind and spirit, always be open and honest with you,
and cherish you for as long as we both shall live.”

Richard watched in awe and reverence as Manon’s gaze grew but brighter, with every word she spoke. He had the solemn duty to answer her in kind, so he cleared his throat and let exultation colour his deep voice.

“I, Richard, take thee, Manon, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto, I plight thee my troth.”

His hand shaking just the merest moment, Richard took his bride’s hand in his.

“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

The simple gold wedding band slid onto Manon’s finger, and she looked at her husband. His beautiful blue eyes shone like diamonds, love sparkling from them to warm her soul.

Again the Reverend’s voice boomed them back to the present.

“I hereby declare that you, Sir Richard and Lady de Briers, are husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride, Sir Richard.”

An invitation Richard accepted with alacrity.

 

 

Hearts Adrift – Part Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

 

August twenty-second dawned with a shaft of golden sunlight piercing through the gap in the curtains of Richard’s bedchamber. He woke with a start when the light touched his face with a pleasant warmth. His arm flung out to reach for Manon but to his utter disappointment, she was no longer there. He turned to the small ormolu clock on his nightstand, which told him it was barely seven in the morning.

A feeling of utter loss assaulted Richard as he reclined on his back with his arms supporting his head. He now knew for certain that he must have hurt Manon during their nightly lovemaking, great lumbering brute that he was.

Up until now, he had never had to concern himself with the women he bedded other than to gain his satisfaction from them. They had all been experienced. Yet he had always made it his duty to give as much as he took in the way of pleasure, and more so, to avoid causing pain during the process of intercourse. He had never suspected that he had failed in doing so since none of his former lovers had complained, the morning after.

However, now, something was vastly different. He had made love to his virgin bride, his companion for the rest of his life, and his soon-to-be wife. He had introduced his soul mate to the pleasures of the marriage bed and had made a thorough mess of it since his Manon had fled their chambers.

Lord! He must rise and dress and go to find her. Beg for her forgiveness, and promise never to hurt her, ever.

 

Manon stepped out of the copper bath and into the large towel Bessie was holding in front of her. The warm, lavender-scented water had effectively soothed her aches, even in those places Manon had never felt hurt before. With heat-suffused cheeks, Manon began drying herself. All the lovely things she and Richard had shared, all the wondrous caresses they had exchanged, and all the deep, soul-touching feelings they had experienced – they all came to life again. It was unbelievable, but she again felt those magic stirrings, deep in her core, just by thinking of her Richard. Oh, dear Lord, if there were just one, single wish that Manon would love to make today, it would be to have that kind of sharing with him for the rest of their lives together! She ached for him yet again and as strongly as she had last night when she had spotted him on the terrace. He had been exactly how she wanted him, tall and lean and so exquisitely male. And so incredibly sweet and infinitely gentle.

A tap on the dressing room door had Bessie hurrying to open it. It was Pru Butterworth, glowing with excitement while she stepped in to greet Manon. In her wake was Mrs Briskley, carrying a breakfast tray with a pot of steaming hot chocolate and a plate of freshly baked scones.

“Come and sit down, Manon,” Pru ordered. “Have some breakfast first before Bessie starts dressing you.”

“Has Madame delivered the gown?” Manon asked, a bit of anxiety in her voice.

Finding a suitable wedding gown had been a daring challenge. Manon wanted it to be something unique, something that showed her true self. She had gone to Brighton in the company of Pru and Bessie to visit Madame Tourtereau’s establishment. It was said that Madame was of aristocratic descent, related to the French royals and that she had barely escaped the guillotine, a few months ago. Manon knew that it was all a sham. The clever seamstress was as English as a field of daisies. She was born in Leicester as the daughter of a tailor, but she took care to lace her speech with enough French words to describe her business so that most of her unsuspecting clients believed her story.

Pru smiled and gestured to Franny and Mabel, who stepped forward to present Manon’s gown. With a gasp of wonder, Manon clasped her hands on her chest.

“Oh, Pru,” she whispered, “it is all I wished for!”

Then she took Pru by the waist and began twirling around the room with her, in a burst of unchecked joy. “I am going to be Richard’s wife, Pru! I am going to be his!”

 

Richard opened his dressing room door, eager to dress and go find Manon, but he was waylaid by his valet Bright.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but you have only one hour to ready yourself. I have your bath prepared, and you can have a quick bite afterwards. Now if you would care to sit down so that I can shave you, then we will start.”

With a sigh, Richard surrendered to his valet’s care but he wondered if perhaps there would be a few moments later on, because he desperately needed to see Manon.

“Do you know if Miss Favier has woken yet, Bright?” Richard inquired, striving to keep his tone neutral.

Bright grinned broadly while he began lathering his master’s face in preparation for a shave.

“The activity in her quarters started an hour ago, sir. I saw Miss Butterworth coming up the stairs at nine o’clock with Mrs Briskley and two maids following her. Do not concern yourself, sir. Mr Thornton has everything well in hand. He will give the signal when it is time to set off for the church.”

Richard met Bright’s positively glowing gaze in the mirror, and it abruptly dawned on him in full force. He was getting married today. In just two hours from now, he would be Manon’s husband. If she was indeed preparing herself for their wedding, Manon could not possibly have seconds thoughts about becoming his wife.

With a broad grin, he settled down in his chair and willingly surrendered to Bright’s ministrations.

 

Bessie put the finishing touch to Manon’s toilet by adding just a spot of rouge on her already flushed cheeks.

“There, miss,” she said, beaming with pride, “now you can go and marry Sir Richard!”

Manon gazed at her own image in the large cheval mirror, happiness warming her heart. Her wedding dress of sea-green taffeta had a snug bodice that dipped just enough to reveal the curve of her breasts. The neckline left her shoulders bare so that Maman’s pearls were shown to their best advantage. Elbow-length sleeves encased Manon’s slim arms, while her hands were clad in short, white chiffon gloves. The gown’s skirt was narrow and in the Empire style, hugging her slender hips in flowing lines and ending in a short train, as to emphasize Manon’s upright bearing. Her thick auburn hair was left unbound, but Bessie had styled the long waves with tiny pearl clasps so that Manon’s face was framed with heavy wings on both sides. It gave Manon a regal air, which she liked very much. After all, she was marrying a noble of the realm.

“Thank you, dearest Bessie!” Manon whispered, taking the girl’s hands in hers. “You will stay with me after I marry, I hope?”

“Yes, Miss, I would be happy to! My mum no longer needs my presence, since my younger sister took over the task of caring for her.”

“How is your mother, Bessie? I am truly sorry for not asking earlier about her health, but my own circumstances have kept me vastly occupied recently.”

“She is doing better, miss. Thank you for asking.”

At that moment, the door opened. Jake Davies led a splendidly dressed Jéhan into the room, and Manon gasped in surprise.

“Oh, mon chou! You look absolutely magnificent! How you have grown over the last weeks, little brother!”

Jéhan drew himself up to his full height of three-foot-four. He was indeed tall for his five years.

“Manon, no more calling me French names. I must become an English gentleman.” The way her little brother eyed her, Manon had no doubt he would become just that. She hid her smile and curtsied.

“I beg your pardon, Sir John. I forgot my manners.”

Then Jéhan grinned broadly at her and went to embrace his sister.

“I am glad that you are marrying Uncle Richard, Manon,” he said and kissed her cheek.

Manon inwardly grimaced at the name Jéhan still called her beloved. They had, of course, tried to explain it all to Jéhan, but to no avail. At five years old, notion of legal descent was too hard to comprehend. To Jéhan, Richard would be considered his uncle until he came to an age when he knew enough about life to understand. Manon was just immensely relieved that Jéhan had never been told that he had once been considered to be the heir to Richard’s title.

“My firstborn son will be the next Baronet Bearsham, sweet,” Richard had explained to Manon. “However, I promise you that Jéhan will never lack for anything for as long as he resides under my roof. He will be allowed to make his way in life as he wishes, and I will not withdraw the funds that my father wanted him to inherit when he comes of age.”

All this had overwhelmed Manon with joy, of course.

It is time, miss,” Bessie said, interrupting Manon’s thoughts. “Here is Miss Butterworth to take you to the wedding carriage.”

 

In St Wulfram’s Church, Richard was waiting for Manon to arrive.

He was pacing in front of the small blue stone altar, an exquisite piece of stonemasonry, with little, elegant niches, in which red sandstone saints stood.

Richard, however, did not notice those tiny pieces of art. He was growing more nervous with every minute that passed. Would Manon still want to become his baronetess? What if she had changed her mind after he had initiated her so forcibly, last night? He damned himself now for not having been more circumspect. He should have…

“Here she comes, Rich,” Lucian’s voice dragged him back from his dismal thoughts, and Richard swivelled round toward the church entrance. Yes, there she was, his Manon, and what a sight she was to behold!

 

In the brand new, white-and-gold wedding carriage, especially bought by Richard as a wedding present to his bride, Manon fantasized with rapt anticipation about what was to come in the next hours. Today, she was Richard’s bride! They were about to be joined in matrimony, for the rest of their lives. Joy, pure and hot, sped through her heart like wildfire. A bright smile curved her lips.

Her brother, sitting on the bench opposite, saw it and asked, “What are you smiling for, Manon?”

Of course, Manon mused. Jéhan was too young to understand that this was a pivotal day in his sister’s life. In all their lives, for that matter.

“I am smiling because you look so extremely handsome, mon chou. And also because you are giving me away to my future husband, which is only right, since you are my only living male relative.”

Jéhan reflected on this for a while, his young face screwed up in concentration. “Is that what a brother must do, Manon? Must I give you away forever when you marry Uncle Richard?”

“No, my sweet, I will not be away from you at all, ever. You are going to do a very important thing, my love. It is an English tradition to give away a woman to her husband. A brother places his sister’s hand in that of her husband because he entrusts her welfare and happiness to the man she loves. To the man she wants to spend the rest of her life with.”

She stroked his cheek and smiled fondly at him. “My sweet Jéhan,” she said, fighting down the huge lump in her throat, “you will always be the dearest person in my life. You are my one and only brother whom I love more than life itself.”

The carriage stopped at the foot of the low knoll that bore St Wulfram’s Church, a fortress-like Saxon building. Manon stepped down, her hand held by Jake Davies.

“Are you ready, Master John?” he asked Jéhan. “Yes, Mr Davies,” the boy replied solemnly and took up his position beside his sister.

The tones of Jeremiah Clarke’s “Prince of Denmark March,” performed by the village organist and accompanied by one of Brighton’s renowned trumpet players, began resonating through the nave. Every head turned toward the open double doors in anticipation.

Manon, her small hand in that of her brother, was stepping down the aisle towards the man of her dreams, who was awaiting her at the altar.

Oh, how handsome he was, her Richard! His finely tailored coat of moss green superfine wool covered a shirt of the sheerest white lawn and a cream-coloured silk waistcoat over a pair of buff buckskin breeches. He stood solid as the rock he truly was, his long, muscular legs encased in rust-coloured boots of the softest leather. In his trembling hand, he held his black beaver hat.

It was his bright blue eyes, however, that captured Manon’s gaze in rapt, intense love. She returned it with her beautiful green gaze, equally full of love.

Finally, their day had broken. At last, their lives would truly begin.

 

2021 Trailers

 

 

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