Page 18 of The Thorn and the Rose

“Catch me if ye can, slugabeds,” Muir taunted, sweeping past them both at breakneck speed.

Leo laughed and urged his horse on, neck and neck with Thorn as they went after Muir.

Thorn laughed, enjoying himself thoroughly. It was so good to be free and out in the fresh air, even if the weather was grim. For the first time in many weeks, he forgot Marie, and the haunting hazel eyes that visited his dreams and his waking thoughts, and simply enjoyed the moment. He glanced to his left, about to call a taunt to Leo, only to hear a crack and see Leo’s curricle jerk and bounce and overturn, the horse shrieking and panicking as it crashed sideways. The sound of splintering wood rent the air.

Chapter 6

Dearest Ma and Pa,

This is just a little note to tell you I’m going to be staying at Trevick for a few weeks. I took a little tumble – nothing to worry about – but it seems I have broken my ankle.

Now, Ma, before you exclaim and start packing your bags, I’ve seen the doctor and am in excellent hands. Violetta has done all your scolding for you, although it really wasn’t my fault this time. Honestly, it wasn’t.

Thorn and Muir were with me, though Muir left yesterday as Lyall is to be married in a few days, as I’m sure you know, and he needs to get home. Thorn is staying on for a bit to keep me company and protect me from violent females who wish to do me injury. Other than that, I am perfectly well and hope to see you again presently, so don’t go haring off over the countryside. I will write again soon – no, I really will this time – it’s not like there’s anything else to do!

Your loving son,

―Excerpt of a letter to Mrs Alice and Mr Nathaniel Hunt from their son, Mr Leo Hunt.

16thAugust 1845. Trevick Castle, Trevick, Warwickshire.

Leo fidgeted on the sofa. The cast on his ankle was heavy and uncomfortable and he had to put up with the blasted thing for eight weeks. He’d run mad long before then. Thorn had gone out for a ride around the grounds, the lucky blighter. Leo would have given a good deal to be doing the same. He’d tried reading but couldn’t concentrate on the story. For once, the weather was fair and warm, and the idea of spending it stuck indoors was sending him distracted. Well, it wasn’t the only thing.

Violetta was ignoring him. Sitting quietly by the window where the light was best, her head was bent over yet another piece of embroidery. Surely, she must get bored with such pursuits, he thought, marvelling at how still she was, how contained, how very ladylike. The desire to ruffle her and make sparks flash in her eyes was an itch under his skin. Why she made him act like a badly behaved schoolboy, he could not fathom, but she always brought out the worst in him.

She ought to have been married long since, and she’d had some decent offers, but she’d declined them all. Why? She had turned eight and twenty in April and would be considered an old maid by many now, her best childbearing years behind her. Leo scoffed inwardly at the idea. Violetta looked barely out of the schoolroom to his eye, her skin smooth and pearly, her blonde hair caught in a simple knot at the nape of her neck.

Leo gave a heavy sigh.

She didn’t look up.

Frowning, he made a fuss about rearranging his pillows and sat back again, folding his arms. She didn’t so much as glance at him.

Perturbed now and disliking being ignored, Leo reached for the water jug beside him. He poured some into the glass, picked it up and then glowered at it.

“Isn’t there anything else?” he demanded, setting the glass down again in disgust.

“Half past ten in the morning is a little early for spirits, Leo, even for you,” she said mildly, not looking up from her stitchery.

“I didn’t mean spirits,” he retorted. “And what the devil is that supposed to mean? I just want something more interesting. Or am I to be given stale bread to go with it?”

Much to his satisfaction, she set down her embroidery and turned to look at him. “You literally ate half a pig at breakfast,” she said dryly. “Which was barely an hour ago. What else would you like?”

“Something,” he groused, folding his arms.

“A glass of milk?” she enquired sweetly.

Leo pulled a face. “I’m not six.”

“All evidence contradicts that statement,” she replied, returning to her embroidery.

Leo huffed out a sigh, and she put it down again, glaring at him. “Shall I fetch you some lemonade? With a dash of arsenic,” she added under her breath.

“I heard that! And I don’t want lemonade.”

“Oh, the devil take you, Leo. What do you want?”

“I don’t know!” he shot back, irritated. “I’m bored to death and you’re ignoring me.”