Page 63 of The Thorn and the Rose

Rosemarie jolted at the sound of the familiar voice and then, rather dazed, remembered what she had been told of Montagu. Cold silver eyes, too handsome, terrifying.

“Th-Thomas?” she repeated unsteadily, just as a man ran around the corner and skidded to a halt. His eyes widened at the sight of her and belatedly she remembered what she must look like in her grey rags, with her hair shorn close to her head. She let out a little sob, hardly able to believe it, a part of her wanting to run back to the riot to avoid letting him look at her like this.

“Marie!” he said, and his voice was ragged with emotion. “Oh, my God, my beautiful girl. What have they done to you?”

Rosemarie’s hand shook as she raised it to her mouth to smother a sob, her legs trembling beneath her. Before she could fall, Thomas was there, his powerful arms holding her, his blue gaze steady and reassuring.

“”’Ere, what the devil do you think you’re up to?” demanded a masculine voice from behind them. Thomas’ head came up as the man she’d kicked arrived on the scene. There was a look of such violent fury burning in his blue eyes Rosemarie gasped.

“I’m here to rescue my wife,” he growled. “Would you like to try to stop me?”

The man paused, and then held his hands up in a peaceable gesture and shook his head. “Don’t reckon so,” he said, backing up.

“Good answer,” Thomas replied, turning his attention back to her at once.

“You came,” she whispered in astonishment.

“Of course I did,” he said, smiling at her, though his eyes were too bright and filled with pain, and his voice not entirely steady. “Wherever you go, wherever you run to, I will follow you, Rosemarie.”

“I d-didn’t run,” she said at once, clutching at his coat. “I didn’t!” she protested, tears running down her face as she broke down as she had not allowed herself to do since the first day she had found herself trapped in his hellish place.

“I know,” he said, holding her tight against him. “I confess it took me longer than it ought to have done to realise that, but I know, love. Please forgive me for taking so long to find you.”

She laughed at that, at the idea he thought she might not forgive him for anything. “Take me away from here, please,” she begged. “And Mama and Mills too.”

“Yes,” Thomas said, holding her against him and stroking the soft bristle of her scalp. “We’re taking you home.”

“T-To Magpie Hall?” she asked in confusion.

“No.” Thomas’ face hardened, and he shook his head. “Not there, and not to Gillmont either, before you go getting daft ideas. My father and I will take you to Dern. My mother will take good care of you, and then we shall have the truth between us, Marie, and only the truth.”

The idea of being presented to his mother in such a state as she must appear filled her with horror.

“She won’t want me, Thomas, you must see,” she said urgently. “I’m not good enough, and like this… Oh, she’ll hate me, she’ll think I—”

She didn’t get to say another word, for he kissed her, right there in the halls of the asylum and in front of Lord Montagu. Rosemarie wondered a little hysterically if perhaps she ought to stay after all, because she was insane enough to let him do it.

Chapter 20

Dearest Mother and Father,

I apologise for not having visited much of late. There has been so much to do, and the weeks fly past at such a rate. I only realised this morning it has been six weeks since I saw you last. I hope you can forgive me.

I wanted to come today, but we had a problem with a delivery and a dozen things which needed dealing with and once again the day has escaped me.

I wanted to tell you, however, that I have finally been given the chance that I have been waiting for, the chance to prove myself as a designer. I could wish my employer was anyone else, but I cannot turn my nose up at the opportunity. So, this is to tell you I will begin work for the Duke of Beresford in the new year. It will either make me or destroy my chances for good. I have never been a gambling man, but this time I feel I must throw the dice.

Pray for me.

―Excerpt of a letter to Mrs Minerva and Mr Inigo De Beauvoir, from their adopted son, Hartley De Beauvoir.

13th July 1849, Braddock Asylum, Middlesex, London.

Montagu watched with pride and no little amusement as his son let loose the wrath of the Barringtons upon those in charge of the asylum. Mrs Mills, a most sensible and level-headed woman, had taken Mrs Fortesque and Rosemarie away to a private room where they could ready themselves for departure. Matilda had ensured they had not undertaken their investigations into the asylums without taking a case filled with clothes and the everyday necessities that all women needed, and that had been a godsend. With a rueful smile, Montagu had to acknowledge he’d had nothing to do but look decorative, though he was not so blind to his own power to suppose that wasn’t help enough. Thorn would not have failed to have the women released if he had not been there, however, that much was clear.

“B-But how were we to know the man was not in his right mind?” the director of the asylum demanded, apparently blind to the irony of that question.

“You didn’t even question it, did you?” Thorn asked, his voice quiet but no less threatening for that. “They were helpless women, with no one to speak for them, and you just added them to the list.”