Page 78 of The Thorn and the Rose

Her hands skimmed his back, exploring his body as he loved her, growing bolder as he whispered words of praise, of how lovely she was, how good she felt, how much he adored her, until there was no breath for words. Thorn slid a hand down her body, seeking the place that would tip her over the edge into bliss, wanting her to come with him.

Rosemarie gasped, her hips bucking as he caressed her, sending him deeper as pleasure erupted through him. A harsh cry escaped his lips as he spent inside her, shuddering with the joy of it as she clung to him, holding on as she followed him into the joyful climax of their love.

Thorn, braced on his elbows, stared down at her, his body still vibrating with the force of everything he’d felt and given. He felt changed somehow, in some indefinable way that he could find no clever way to articulate, other than to say, “I’m yours, Marie, body and soul. I love you.”

Rosemarie blinked up at him, her eyes sparkling as she reached for him again. “As am I, Thorn. I am yours, for always. Don’t ever let me go.”

Not having any argument with this, Thorn lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her again.

Epilogue

Mama,

What can you tell me about Lady Fidelia Ponsonby? I see her often around the gardens here, drifting about like a sad little ghost. She doesn’t speak to anyone, she seems afraid to do so, but there is such an aura of sorrow that clings to her I cannot help but fear for her. Has there been some tragedy? Every day she walks to the lake and stares down into the water and I am horribly afraid of what is going on in her mind.

―Excerpt of a letter from Mr Hartley De Beauvoir to his mother, Mrs Minerva De Beauvoir.

Dearest Hartley,

Regarding Lady Fidelia, I will tell you what I gleaned from Matilda. She had several seasons, but despite being quite lovely and having a generous dowry, she didn’t really take. She was very shy and unprepared for the ton. The duke guarded his girls very close, and they had little society before they came out so it must have been a shock to them.

I don’t doubt she had offers enough, though. Matilda wondered if there was some scandal surrounding her, but the duke squashed it if there was. I think it was rumoured she was to marry the Earl of Whishen, which I hope never comes to pass. He’s a decent enough fellow, but hugely fat and old enough to be her father. Matilda suspected she had a tendre for Lord Elsmere, rather a loose screw, though he has a good deal of address, but not a penny to his name. Her father would never have countenanced it.

After that, she disappeared from society due to ill health. I am sorry to hear your description of her, for according to Matilda she was a sweet girl, which is remarkable considering her father. I believe her sister is out now, quite a different kettle of fish, by all accounts.

Hart, have a care. I know you feel sorry for the girl, but she is the daughter of a duke. Whilst I would never advise you not to help anyone in distress, guard yourself there, my dearest son. Any friendship between you could lead to no good.

―Excerpt of a letter to Mr Hartley De Beauvoir from his mother, Mrs Minerva De Beauvoir.

20th July 1850, Somewhere near Rye.

“But this is Rye, why are we here? Oh, Thorn, do stop teasing and tell me where we are going? Surely not to Magpie Hall?” Rosemarie demanded in frustration. He’d been aggravatingly secretive about the trip they were taking, just telling her he had something to show her. She knew he’d been up to something for months now, some surprise for her that he was mightily pleased with himself about, but try as she might, she could not get him to explain what it was he’d been doing.

Thorn only grinned at her and folded his arms. Rosemarie gave a huff and subsided to watch as the familiar and beloved countryside of her childhood past the carriage windows. When they began the climb to the Strand Gate at Winchelsea, she knew without a doubt that he was taking her home. Why though?

“Thorn,” she said, not wanting to upset him or spoil whatever he had in mind, but feeling she had to speak. “I… I don’t really want to see the Hall again, not when it’s in such a wretched state and there’s nothing I can do for it. The old place looks so lonely and neglected and it breaks my heart.”

“I know, love,” Thorn said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “That’s why we are here.”

Rosemarie stared at him in confusion.

“Look,” he said, gesturing to the carriage window.

Turning her head reluctantly as the carriage turned onto the driveway, Rosemarie gasped as she saw the front garden, the grass neatly trimmed, every hedge and tree clipped and pruned. As the hall came into view she was presented with gleaming windows and a building that looked well-tended and loved. She turned back to Thorn with wide eyes. “What have you done?” she asked him in wonder.

Thorn said nothing but helped her down from the carriage and led her to the front door where Mrs Mills was waiting for her.

“Welcome home, Lady Rosemarie, I cannot tell you how happy I am to have you here.”

“Mills?” Rosemarie said in confusion. “I… I don’t understand.”

“Ah, well, I reckon his lordship will explain,” she said with a grin. “Everything’s arranged, just like you asked, my lord.”

“You’re a marvel, Mrs Mills, thank you so much for all your hard work. I could not have done it without you.”

“It was my pleasure, I assure you,” Mills said stoutly. “It’s about time the Hall welcomed its rightful mistress back again.”

Too bewildered to speak, Rosemarie allowed Thorn to lead her into the house.