Page 25 of The Thorn and the Rose

“I can’t. I certainly can’t let you walk off alone,” he protested stubbornly.

“There was a hackney rank just outside the gardens,” she said, sounding quite calm. “I’ll be perfectly safe. Goodbye, Mr Barry.”

“Damn it, Marie, no. You can’t just disappear again, not after sending me that letter, not after worrying me to death, it’s not fair.”

Her lips quirked at that, something like amusement glinting darkly in her eyes. “Oh, but Mr Barry, did no one ever tell you? Life is not fair. Not in the least.”

“I will write to my brother,” he called after her. “Come to me again, Marie, so I can help you.”

She didn’t look back, and there was nothing he could do but watch her go. He could not force her to stay, could not risk drawing attention to them, nor was he the kind of man to override a woman’s will and impose his own upon her. No doubt he ought to follow her, ought to see if she would lead him to her brother. Pip would certainly expect it. Except that would feel like betraying her and he could not do that. He would not tell Pip about this meeting, either. He wouldn’t tell anyone.

It wasn’t over; he told himself. There was something between them and despite her maddening reticence, he was certain she felt it too. That kiss… He had felt that kiss to the marrow of his bones, to his soul, and he was damned if he’d believe it had not been the same for her. She had felt the power of it too, felt the connection flare between them, more than desire, more than attraction. It had felt like finding something that had been lost, and he would not let it go. Yet he could not force her hand. He could only trust in fate, in the tangled threads that had brought them together, and believe that they would meet again.

Chapter 8

Dearest Phoebe,

I hope you will forgive me for not having been in touch much of late. I’ve been hiding at Goshen Court, as I’m sure you must know.

I’ve been hiding a secret too, Bee, for which I hope you may find it in your heart to forgive me. Mother and Father know now and have been kinder to me than I have had any right to expect. Certainly, kinder than I deserve.

I have a daughter. Ottilie – though everyone calls her Tilly. She is the most beautiful thing I ever saw, and everyone who sees her falls under her spell. I did not know her mother was pregnant; I swear this to you. I only discovered my daughter’s existence when she was sent to me, her mother having perished in childbirth.

Please believe me when I tell you I did not hide the truth for any other reason than my own shame. Tilly is bright and lovely and utterly perfect, and I love her so much it terrifies me. Please, Bee, come and meet her, even if you wish to rage at your damn fool brother for his idiocy.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Right Hon’ble Philip Barrington, The Earl of Ashburton, to his adopted sister, The Right Hon’ble Phoebe Carmichael, The Countess of Ellisborough, (children of The Most Hon’ble Lucian and Matilda Barrington, The Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu).

19thAugust 1845. Lincoln Inn Fields, Holborn, London.

Rosemarie hurried away and did not look back. Her mind was a tangle of confused thoughts and emotions, and she no longer knew what to think, who to trust.

She had believed Mr Barry had been sincere in his desire to help her, to keep her safe. The look in his eyes when he had first seen her that morning had made something bright and lovely flare to life in her chest. She had wanted so badly to believe in that look, to trust in the words he had given her. Yet, he had said all the things that Everett had told her he would say, promising to take her away and keep her safe, and then he had told her he would take her to Gillmont, to the Sons of Hades' home for their used women. Was that how he saw her? Had that kiss been a prelude to making her his mistress? Did he think to dally with her for a while, perhaps then to gift her some money and leave her to sink into obscurity and shame with the other women they had cast aside? Bile rose in her throat, her stomach tightening into a knot. Fool. What a fool for believing she could trust a man. Any man. If even her brother could turn into a monster, what hope was there in trusting a stranger? Yet Mr Barry had not felt like a stranger. He had felt familiar and dear and… and she was clutching at straws, living in a dream world like her mother and refusing to face the ugly truth.

No. Not her. She was stronger than Mama, and she had a brain in her head. She would let all these men believe they were using her, but she would play her own game. In the end, they would see that she’d outwitted them all, and won freedom for herself and for her mother, from the tyranny of anyone who thought to control them.

She nodded at the first hackney driver and told him to take her to the train station and almost shrieked in surprise as the door swung open to reveal her brother.

“Get in,” he commanded tersely.

Rosemarie recovered herself, glancing behind her to be sure Mr Barry had not followed her, but there was no sign of him. She ignored the swift pang behind her ribs and told herself she was glad of it. Settling herself in the carriage, she watched as her brother swung the door closed and rapped on the roof of the hackney, which lumbered forward.

“So, you’ve been spying on me again,” she observed, studying his face.

“Why not? Can I not trust you, Rosemarie? If you are doing as I ask, surely it would please you to know your brother is near, ensuring your safety.”

She snorted at that. “As if you give a snap of your fingers for that.”

Everett’s face darkened, and a thrill of fear skittered down her back. She must remember to guard her unruly tongue.

“If anyone were to lay a hand on you, I would kill them on the spot,” he said, the words spoken with such violence that her heart leapt to her throat.

Cautiously, Rosemarie licked her lips. “But he did not,” she said with as much calm as she could muster, guessing that Everett could not have seen them from whatever vantage point he’d chosen once they had sat down, or he would have punished her for it. The idea that perhaps she deserved punishing flitted into her mind, for she could still feel that kiss burning her lips, something warm and exciting blazing in her blood that she refused to regret. Perhaps she was wicked and deserved to live at Gillmont. As for Everett, his words were no more than pretty window dressing. He would kill no one for advances towards her, but he would blame her. That was the way of things for women in this world. It was a truth she was learning the hard way. She would do these things her brother demanded, for she had no choice, but in the end, she would be punished for it, either by him or those who discovered her duplicity. No. She would be gone before that day, she reminded herself, disappeared like a pantomime villain, taking every item of value she could lay her hands on and her poor witless Mama too. There were secrets hidden at Magpie Hall, secrets even Everett did not know, things she had discovered as a child and kept to herself, exulting in a discovery that was hers and hers alone.

Everett frowned, leaning towards her. Her reassurance that Mr Barry had behaved like a gentleman had not pleased him, just as she had suspected. For he wanted Mr Barry to be a villain, and he wanted Mr Barry to be mad with desire for her, or else his plan would not work. “But he did make advances? He wished to see more of you, to rescue you?”

Rosemarie stared at him in contempt. Could he not see the incongruity of the situation?

“He wishes to rescue me,” she agreed. “He was most gallant and very… concerned for my wellbeing.”