Two large tables had been set up in line on the terrace that was shaded by a terracotta tile roof overgrown with roses and grape vines.

Thornton thought to himself the place was too idyllic for words. It would be nothing short of theft to steal Margaret away from such a beautiful place where she was surrounded by so many people she loved.

He watched her as she stood with Mrs. Ford, Lady Elisabeth, Mrs. Kearney and Lady Aldridge, her dark curls gleaming in the sunlight, contrasting with her skin and pastel dress. Seeing her again reminded him about everything he'd missed about her and he took a great delight in refreshing the memory of her.

Yes, he remembered those very straight shoulders. How could he have forgotten that upturned haughty chin and the way it rose every time after she showed emotion, as if to reaffirm she was composed and dignified. How typical it was of her to stare with silent watchful eyes as others talked. But something had changed! She did not only look and answer in as few words as possible. He could see her talking as well, her neutral mask slipping all the time as she told one thing or another. Now her face naturally moved along with whatever she told, and Thornton longed to know what tales went along with the expressions on her face. It wasn't very dramatic, to the average viewer she would still appear introverted, especially compared to the way her cousin-in-law's whole body moved as she spoke.

'It's a good thing the wine's cold. There's no way I could survive this temperature otherwise. And this is evening! I don't think I want to live in Spain between morning and evening', complained Mr. Ball.

'Ha! Nor do we sometimes, my friend. That is why we hold siesta. But be glad, summer is at its end. And this is a colder weak actually', Jaime smirked.

'This is colder?' cried Sir Aldridge in horror, dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief again. 'Good grief.'

'What is a siesta?' asked Mr. Kearney.

'It is a – Manuel what was the word again? – sleep. After lunch at noon. It is very hot then. The most hot. With food in the belly, and warmth outside, we sleep until it is better. Then we work again.'

'Sleep in the middle of the day?' Mr. Kearney asked, face scrunching. 'Why how odd. But you cannot sleep at work?'

Manuel said something to Jaime in Spanish. They both laughed before Jaime responded to his brother in Spanish, before turning to Mr. Kearney with a grin.

'We sleep at home, of course.'

Mr. Ball and Mr. Kearney both looked like they tried to hide their horror at the thought of workmen going home to sleep for some hours.

They shiver but most men have fallen asleep at some point in the afternoon. It was normal on ships, and he himself had every now and then fallen asleep in his office as well.

'I take it you work longer afterward? We English usually stop with work around five', Thornton suggested.

'Yes. We go on until eight on most days. Except for today, of course.'

Thornton nodded, satisfied. A rational explanation. His lips quirked when he saw Mr. Ball and Mr; Kearney nod upon realizing the Spanish did not work fewer hours.

'And other exceptions', laughed Manuel 'It is our company and it has been doing very well. Yes. We can choose the hours. We do not need to waste all our day working.'

'Waste?' asked Mr. Ball in surprise.

'We work to live. We don't live to work. Life has to be lived!' laughed Manuel.

Now it was Thornton's time to conceal a frown.

It was such a luxurious way to look at life. He had slaved away day after day after his father's death, denying himself everything. Even as a company owner he worked long hours, oftentimes at work before morning light until hours after it was dark again. Yet he could not fault their reasoning. Once had worked enough, he had also spent more time with his family. He had even invested in his own free time with Mr. Hale.

His days of indulgence were over, and he didn't have the mindset to just take time for himself as if he was entitled to it.

Fortunately the other men laughed, Sir Aldridge clinking his glass with the Spaniards.

I see how Margaret became so relaxed, surrounded by such easy manners, quick laughers and relaxed attitudes.

They were soon ushered to the tables, decked with all kinds of small dishes and large bottles of wine. The servant left as soon as it was put on the table.

They sat down without seating arrangements, and even more surprising was that they had to fill their plates themselves. But it was a recipe for quick easy conversation and jovial spirits as the dishes were passed along, or plates were extended to where someone could put an extra amount of beans on the plate.

'So, Signor Ball, where is your lady?' asked Jaime, sat beside the man himself.

'I don't have one.'

'You don't?' The dark haired Spaniard now looked at Mr. Thornton across of him.

'Do you have a woman home, Signor? Or are you too married to work?'

The turn of phrase was even more sad given that he would soon lose that lover too. He nodded quietly, and turned to his plate, denying his eyes the desire to seek out the person he had wished to marry. She sat too close, only one seat beside Jaime.

'So you are the men we need to watch. For a risk of seduction. For our sister', the young one laughed before he got an elbow of his sister. 'Au, què? Juliette? Ah, yes. I apologize. The words. I speak English for business, not to discuss family. It is cousin, right? No, that is for men. Or is it for women too? Your words, they are all the same. How can you tell when you speak of a man or a woman? I was confused. We are a tight family. I am a brother, he is a brother, Richard is a brother, Juliette is a sister. I forgot that technically Margaret isn't that close.'

What was it? Either the man had forgotten or mixed the words for sister and cousin-in-law, or he thought of Margaret as a sister. One mistake was an accident of vocabulary, the other a wrong thought. He hoped it was the latter. If he thought of Margaret as a sister, he hopefully didn't think of her as a potential wife.

John discarded the jealous thought. He had no right to it. Manuel had said himself their family business was doing very well. He could offer Margaret a good life in a beautiful place right beside her last living relative. He wasn't so stupid as to not see the appeal of the brothers and what they had to offer, and Margaret was a catch in her own right. And they weren't so much family that it was inappropriate.

'Manuel, come now. I won't hear you speak of my friends in that way as if they were predators instead of honourable men', Margaret chastised.

His eyes flew to her at the sound of her distinguished voice, ever as southern and refined. Her gaze met him, unsettling him again. He would have rather had she did fear her friends. She put aside the idea that they wouldn't try to seduce her too easily, as if it was entirely inconceivable. But it had happened in the past. He had tried and failed.

He managed a faint smile, the kind a prey would give a hunter knowing it was caught and had failed to escape the trap. Was he a predator instead of an honourable man? He thought they'd parted on better terms.

Her thin eyebrows creased, before understanding seemed to dawn on her. Her full lips moved, forming around the shape of five letters. Sorry.

He merely quirked up a single corner of his mouth before he looked away. She had not been wrong. He had always been too rough to be a true proper gentleman.

He did not seek her out, but he remained aware of her motions, listening to her conversation despite that he understood nothing of it. She was speaking to Mrs. Ford in Spanish. It was odd to hear her delicate voice in a language like Spanish, it sounded so different. But she sounded shy, as if she didn't want to fully commit to the sounds typical of the language yet, and there were long breaks where she sought for words, sometimes giving in and saying the word in English hoping the lady would understand.

When after dark candles were lit and Manuel started playing his guitar while Jaime showed a "proper Spanish dance" with Margaret at the same time as the wedded Ford pair did, John decided that coming here was both the worst and best decision in his life. It was a stinging pleasure to be in the room with her, and feel her presence. He was keenly aware of just how far removed they now were. Her eyes twinkled as she spun around in Jaime's arms, even now he'd gotten back to her he would never have her as close as he'd had her in Liverpool, despite how close they would stand or how much they would speak.

The pair looked good together, the man young and strapping refined.

The dance ended and it was decided the company would retire for the night, to return early the next morning while the weather was still cool.

'This will be a story to tell, I'm sure. Won't it?' laughed Margaret's old friend as they said goodbye.

'It depends on what happens', answered Margaret mysteriously.

'Oh well, if nothing exciting happens we can still make something interesting of it, can't we?'

John noted with a bemused smile that Margaret's cheeks turned red. Her eyes shot up, connecting with his before she looked away again, biting her large bottom lip.

'Oh hush. I'd much prefer a true to life account.'

That was how he knew Miss Hale. Rational and sensible. Preferring the truth and not embellishing stories and memories to make them more sensational to the ear of the listener.

'If true life stories were happier, we wouldn't need fictional ones', Mrs. Kearney sighed.

Margaret looked up at her friend, an tired expression on her face.

He shouldn't be listening in, but he couldn't help it. He had to get out the door and they were in the way.

'Yes. So I've come to notice.'

With those words Mrs. Kearney took her leave of Margaret. Thornton strode towards the door in a couple of long steps.

'Goodnight, Mr. Thornton', he was surprised to hear Margaret say.

He turned towards her, dipping his head.

'It was a delightful evening Miss Hale. I thank your family for their generosity in having us. Not many would take in such a large group of strangers.'

'They are quick to love and trust, especially when they have been given the seal of approval by one of their own. It was them who came up with it, I didn't even tell them about the people I met in Liverpool with the intention of convincing them to invite you over. I hadn't a clue.'

'That only further shows their kindness, to invite us to make you happy without you asking for it. Without you telling them we were good people to have around.'

'I told them plenty of times how all of you were the best of people. I believe they have heard a story about every single one of you. Manuel even – Oh I shouldn't say – he even asked me one time why all my friends seemed to be so nice when most Englishmen he knew aside from my … cousin, were so unpleasant.'

'Ha!' Thornton huffed. Margaret's eyes twinkled but she kept silent.

'They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and it appears it does. Did you not once have quite a different opinion on how nice we all were?' he had meant to tease, but he soon realized by the way her eyes dimmed and smile fainted that it was perhaps too sharp a call back to the bumpy road they'd travelled before arriving in friendship town.

'People grow, opinions change. And, make no mistake, I can still vehemently disagree with you probably.'

Suddenly Thornton was seized by an impulse to read that novel and find out how the main characters ever got over their enormous differences.

'I don't doubt it, Miss Hale. But that doesn't daunt me.'

Arguments are preferable to not hearing a word from your lips in months, he finished in his head.

'No, I don't believe it would've. You'll break before you bend back', Margaret responded kindly.

John managed a faint smile in response, but the words pierced his heart. Pieces of his armour, personality and hope had been chipping away for months. He had always believed himself to be above breaking. Breaking was what his father had done and he absolutely refused, refused to even admit to the possibility.

He would not be like father like son. He could not do that to his mother, nor could he do that to himself after he'd worked so hard. However, he did feel he was standing on the edge of the abyss, unable to get away.

He inched closer to the door.

'Tomorrow, then?' he asked.

Margaret nodded, bidding him goodnight a final time.

In his bed that night, he thumbed through another hundred pages of bickering, social arguments and negative emotional spirals of both main characters as Elinor Rose and Jonathan Ironwood faced several setbacks. The girl's mother had died in a carriage accident, both the millworker and his daughter had died, one because of fluff and the other because of a mill accident. Just like his life, happiness was nowhere in sight by the time he put the book away.

If only they talked, he could comfort her during her time of hardship, John mused.

I could have comforted my Margaret too, if only she hadn't rejected me.

But perhaps it had been a blessing she'd refused him, he didn't want to drag her down in his misery spiral.