Page 52 of The Thorn and the Rose

Marie blushed and got up, tugging the blanket around her again. “Mama, it’s… it’s not how it looks. This is Lord Thomas Barrington and…”

“I know who he is, child,” her mother said, looking remarkably stern considering how frail and vague she’d appeared in the garden.

“I beg your pardon, Mrs Fortesque. The fault is entirely mine,” Thorn said at once, thanking God she had not entered a little earlier when Marie had been in his arms. “I had no right to enter her room. Miss Fortesque told me to go but I am afraid my desire to speak with her overrode my gentlemanly instincts. I humbly beg your forgiveness.”

“Hmph,” her mother said, though he thought perhaps her lips twitched a little. “I ought to have words with your father about this, but… well, the least said soonest mended, I suppose. I must insist you leave at once, though.”

“Yes, of course,” Thorn said, hurrying to the bed and picking up his hat. As loath as he was to leave Marie, he did not wish to set off on the wrong foot with her one remaining parent. Besides which, he needed time to think.

“But might I request the pleasure of your company for dinner tonight?” he added, not wanting to wait too long to see Marie again. “I am staying at The New Inn.”

“Oh,” Mrs Fortesque said, her expression lighting up. “Oh, that… that would be most welcome. Thank you, my lord.”

Thorn glanced at Marie, whose face had fallen.

“What is it?”

“We’ll shame you,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper. “We’ve nothing proper to dine in, and you’ll be embarrassed to be seen with us.”

“Nonsense,” Thorn said firmly. “I could feel nothing of the sort. I should be proud indeed to be dining with two such lovely women. However, if it will make you more at ease, I will arrange a private parlour for us, away from prying eyes, and we shall have a pleasant evening together.”

Her expression smoothed out, her eyes shining as she stared at him, making him feel about ten feet tall. “How very kind you are.”

“It is entirely my pleasure,” he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. Her breath hitched as his mouth brushed her fingers and Thorn winked at her, gratified by the way her colour rose. Happily, her mama did not seem to notice the exchange; she had other things on her mind.

Mrs Fortesque looked up at him as he went to bid her good day, eyes bright with anticipation as she asked, “Lord Thomas, do you think perhaps there might be roast lamb on the menu?”

Chapter 17

Ash,

Meet me at the club tonight, I want to celebrate.

Bella has had another brat, a girl named for me. Leona! Isn’t that the best thing you ever heard? I’m going to run down to meet her at the weekend if you want to come, but tonight I’m going to wet the baby’s head, so I’ll see you in Portman Square at ten. Don’t be late.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Leo Hunt (son of Mr Nathaniel and Mrs Alice Hunt) to The Hon’ble Ashton Anson (son of The Right Hon’ble Aashini and Silas Anson, Viscountess and Viscount Cavendish).

6th April 1847. Magpie Hall, Winchelsea, East Sussex.

Rosemarie watched as her mother escorted Lord Thomas out of her room, hearing their footsteps fade as they went back down the stairs. Her mind was a whirl, her heart alight with anticipation for the evening to come, when she would see him again. Giving a little laugh of astonishment, Rosemarie went to the window, needing to see him now, if only for a moment. Her emotions were in turmoil as she tried to relive the past moments, the revelations, and the profound relief that her instincts were not so very awry. She had not understood how she could have developed feelings for such a dishonourable man. Knowing that she had not, that her heart had known better than her head, was intensely reassuring.

Her breath caught as she saw him emerge from the house, the sunlight glinting in his gold hair. He glanced up at the window and smiled, blowing her a kiss, before bowing and walking away. Rosemarie touched her fingers to her lips, remembering the feel of his mouth moving over hers, the feel of his powerful arms clasping her in his embrace. How right it had felt, how safe, and how she longed to experience it again.

The creak of a hinge had her turning back to the room, expecting to see her mother come to scold her, but it was not her mother standing in the door to her bedroom. The door that led to her dressing room was open instead, and a man she barely recognised stood facing her. He was gaunt, his face haggard, a straggly, ill-kempt beard at his chin. The clothes he wore were shiny with dirt and the stench of alcohol and stale sweat reached her nose.

Marie’s breath caught, and she took a step back.

“Everett!”

“You recognise me then, darling sister, the man you left to rot in gaol while you carried on like a bedamned trollop!”

Before she had sense or time enough to move, he had closed the distance between them, delivering a backhanded slap that sent her reeling backwards, banging her head on the wall behind her. She gave a little cry of pain, but he did not give her a second to recover herself. Everett grabbed hold of her throat, holding her in place, his hazel eyes so like her own, but gleaming with anger as he stared down at her.

“Miss Nichols put herself out of my hands, there was nothing I could do to save her from her fate, but I will save you, Rosemarie.” With his free hand, he stroked her hair in a sick parody of a loving brother’s caress. “It’s not your fault, I suppose. I ought to know by now that women are faithless creatures, disloyal and foolish. It is in your nature to submit to flattery, for your minds are weak and shallow and open to temptation. But on this occasion, I have arrived in time to keep you safe. So don’t you worry, little sister. I shall take you away somewhere he will never find you, and you will be safe from his influence. I promise you that.”

Rosemarie tried to shake her head, the dreams of a bright future too new and vivid in her mind to let them go so easily.

“Do you think you can stop me?” he said, a contemptuous smile at his lips.