Page 58 of The Thorn and the Rose

I hope you have recovered from your hectic weekend. I was never prouder of you than to see you come out to society with such grace and looking so very lovely. You realise half the young men of the ton have fallen head over ears for you? Indeed, I should not be the least bit surprised if this letter is buried under an avalanche of poems to your beautiful eyes.

Enjoy this time, my lovely niece, for you do not yet realise the privilege you have in being young and free to choose. Do not be in a rush and snatch at the future as if you fear it will escape you. And do not be too eager to fall in love. It will come when the time is right and the man who is worthy of you will never rush you into making a decision.

The future is not so kind if you make the wrong choice or if you must face it alone, so have a care where you cast your soft glances and sweet words, for fate is listening.

―Excerpt of a letter from The Most Hon’ble Catherine ‘Cat’ St Just, Marchioness of Kilbane (daughter of the Most Hon’ble Lucian and Matilda Barrington, Marquess and Marchioness of Montagu) to Lady Rose Carmichael, (daughter of The Right Hon’ble Phoebe and Maximillian Carmichael, the Countess and Earl of Ellisborough).

2nd May 1849, Dern Palace, Sevenoaks, Kent.

“Thorn?”

Thorn turned to see his brother standing in the doorway. “Pip! Good to see you. Were you expected?”

Pip came into the library where Thorn had been working his way steadily through a bottle of claret to take his mind off more troubling thoughts.

“No, but mother wrote to me and told me how worried she was about you, so I thought a visit from a certain princess might cheer you up.”

As though they’d rehearsed it, the door flew open again and Tilly burst through. “Uncle Thorn, Uncle Thorn, I’m here!”

“Princess Tilly!” Thorn cried out, as he was supposed to, and scooped the little girl up into his arms, swinging her about. He kissed her soft cheek and blew raspberries against her neck until she squealed and shrieked, and Thorn laughed.

“There, see, Papa? I told you I could make him happy again.”

“I never doubted it,” her doting papa said fondly, giving Thorn a wry smile.

“Did you come all this way just for me?” Thorn asked, darting his brother a look of mild exasperation.

“Yes, because you’re sad. Grandma said so.”

“Tilly and I have had words about reading personal correspondence,” Pip added darkly, giving the little minx a stern look.

“But if you just told me what was in the letters, I wouldn’t have to read them,” Tilly replied indignantly.

“Tilly!” Pip exclaimed, giving her a look that made the child huff out a sigh.

“I’m sorry. I know. I won’t do it again.” She linked her arms about Thorn’s neck and gave him a stern look. “You won’t be sad anymore, will you?”

“With you here? Impossible!” Thorn replied earnestly. “Now why don’t you find Pops? He will be so pleased to see you. Look, can you see him? He’s there in the garden.”

“Oh, yes! What a surprise I shall give him. I shall make him jump, just you wait and see.”

Thorn opened the door for her, and she snuck out, creeping like a cat hunting a mouse and taking a circuitous route towards her grandfather. Thorn smiled with amusement and then turned as the door opened once more and his mother came in.

“She found you, then?” she asked, beaming.

“She did, but Mama, what the devil are you playing at, writing and telling everyone I’m falling into a decline?” he said in frustration, running a hand through his hair.

“I did no such thing. I wrote to Pip, not everyone, and I only said I was worried and that you were growing increasingly despondent about the lack of progress we’ve made looking for Marie. Is any of that untrue?”

Thorn sighed and shook his head, watching out the window as Tilly crept up on his father and Montagu made a great show of being frightened half to death. He smiled, but despite his pleasure in seeing his brother and Tilly, and the bright joy she brought into their lives, his heart remained heavy.

“No,” he admitted. “But what do you expect of me? We’ve so little to go on. I’ve been back to that sorry excuse of a man Childe three times. I’ve threatened and bribed and begged, and he’ll give me nothing, just laughs and laughs until it’s all I can do not to strangle him. I’ve searched every family connection they’ve ever had, spoken to everyone still living and their neighbours. No one knows anything. We’ve hired private investigators, and no one has found a trace of her. I begin to fear that she’s—”

“I think there are fairies living in the garden,” Montagu said, blithely unaware of the tenor of the conversation as he came into the library carrying Tilly, who had a pink flower tucked behind her ear. “I caught this one before she could turn me into a toad,” he added solemnly.

“Silly,” his granddaughter said with a giggle as he set her down. “I would never turn you into a toad. A bunny, perhaps, though,” she added thoughtfully.

Montagu narrowed his eyes at the little girl. “A bunny,” he repeated, deadpan.