them, she asked herself? Should she bear all the guilt for what had transpired when he had done nothing to mollify the crowd? Indeed, there would have been no riot at all if it were not for his stubborn refusal to find the means to reach across the divide of masters and men and find a common understanding.
She felt her anger rise at the coldness of his manner with his workers. Had he not also struggled against poverty to bring himself to his current position? Had he no heart to consider the hardship of those now beneath him, who depended on his good judgment and fair management for their very livelihood?
She tugged vehemently at the laces on her boots. How could he have brought innocent foreigners into the midst of this trouble to replace the hard-working men he had employed for so long?
But it was not anger that she felt as she recalled his pale, unmoving face. A cold chill descended over her and stilled her hands. Although she believed his methods were misguided, she could never condemn him to pain ... or worse. How helpless he had appeared for those few, perilous moments when he had lain before her — no longer the proud master and governor of fortunes, but simply a man who, like any other, was vulnerable to the cruel whims of fate.
She thought of the misfortunes he had endured — his father’s suicide had sent him down a path in which there was no recourse but to strive and work to alleviate the hardship of poverty and shame. He had borne it well and had gained stature in his diligence.
After hanging her skirt, she pulled her muslin nightgown from the drawer. Slipping it over her head, she recalled how she had wrapped her arm firmly around his waist to help him up the stairs. She blushed anew at the remembrance of how their bodies had been pressed together.
She scrambled into bed and tried to banish any further thoughts of him, recalling the comforts of childhood, when her existence had been happy and secure. She closed her eyes to shut out the world around her, but she could not escape the images that floated through her mind, despite her mental protests and endeavors to distract herself to other contemplations.
Her heart quickened as she remembered the dizzying clarity of his blue eyes as he had held her wrist. She had never been so close to a man’s face before. A heated flush flowed from within her breast and warmed her face. Why had she not stepped away at once?
She tossed her head to the side to shake the vision away, feeling the beating of her pulse as her chest rose and fell in flustered confusion. She would not think of it — she would not! She had done only what she felt was right, tending to him as any good Christian woman would.
With a rustle of sheets, she turned to her side and slid her hands under her cheek, resolutely shifting her contemplation to her mother’s health and the hope that she would find relief from her r ecent sufferings. Weary from all the tumult of the day, she eventually slipped into a fitful sleep.
*****
Gathering darkness steadily consumed the fading rays of twilight as Mr. Thornton paced the confines of his office. The lantern on his desk cast long shadows along the wall. He paused at the window and narrowed his eyes to discern the dim form of the portico across the way where he had awoken in a haze to the sight of her angelic face. He had thought it a dream: her eyes alight with earnest care as she called his name — she who had castigated him forcefully for his inhumanity! But it had not been an illusion, for she had risen instantly to steady him when he had swayed, grasping him firmly with her own delicate hands.
His breath came slowly as he recalled how she had clasped her arm tightly around his waist. He had never imagined that she would touch him in that way. He felt a shudder of rapture as he remembered how her body had securely nestled against his. His heart throbbed with a fierce longing to feel that close contact once again, to gather her in his arms as
She felt her anger rise at the coldness of his manner with his workers. Had he not also struggled against poverty to bring himself to his current position? Had he no heart to consider the hardship of those now beneath him, who depended on his good judgment and fair management for their very livelihood?
She tugged vehemently at the laces on her boots. How could he have brought innocent foreigners into the midst of this trouble to replace the hard-working men he had employed for so long?
But it was not anger that she felt as she recalled his pale, unmoving face. A cold chill descended over her and stilled her hands. Although she believed his methods were misguided, she could never condemn him to pain ... or worse. How helpless he had appeared for those few, perilous moments when he had lain before her — no longer the proud master and governor of fortunes, but simply a man who, like any other, was vulnerable to the cruel whims of fate.
She thought of the misfortunes he had endured — his father’s suicide had sent him down a path in which there was no recourse but to strive and work to alleviate the hardship of poverty and shame. He had borne it well and had gained stature in his diligence.
After hanging her skirt, she pulled her muslin nightgown from the drawer. Slipping it over her head, she recalled how she had wrapped her arm firmly around his waist to help him up the stairs. She blushed anew at the remembrance of how their bodies had been pressed together.
She scrambled into bed and tried to banish any further thoughts of him, recalling the comforts of childhood, when her existence had been happy and secure. She closed her eyes to shut out the world around her, but she could not escape the images that floated through her mind, despite her mental protests and endeavors to distract herself to other contemplations.
Her heart quickened as she remembered the dizzying clarity of his blue eyes as he had held her wrist. She had never been so close to a man’s face before. A heated flush flowed from within her breast and warmed her face. Why had she not stepped away at once?
She tossed her head to the side to shake the vision away, feeling the beating of her pulse as her chest rose and fell in flustered confusion. She would not think of it — she would not! She had done only what she felt was right, tending to him as any good Christian woman would.
With a rustle of sheets, she turned to her side and slid her hands under her cheek, resolutely shifting her contemplation to her mother’s health and the hope that she would find relief from her r ecent sufferings. Weary from all the tumult of the day, she eventually slipped into a fitful sleep.
*****
Gathering darkness steadily consumed the fading rays of twilight as Mr. Thornton paced the confines of his office. The lantern on his desk cast long shadows along the wall. He paused at the window and narrowed his eyes to discern the dim form of the portico across the way where he had awoken in a haze to the sight of her angelic face. He had thought it a dream: her eyes alight with earnest care as she called his name — she who had castigated him forcefully for his inhumanity! But it had not been an illusion, for she had risen instantly to steady him when he had swayed, grasping him firmly with her own delicate hands.
His breath came slowly as he recalled how she had clasped her arm tightly around his waist. He had never imagined that she would touch him in that way. He felt a shudder of rapture as he remembered how her body had securely nestled against his. His heart throbbed with a fierce longing to feel that close contact once again, to gather her in his arms as
Similar Books
