Page 8 of The Thorn and the Rose

Pip swallowed hard and hugged her closer. “They will love you, just as I love you, with all their hearts.”

“Best of all?” she pressed, curling her small fingers in his cravat, and mangling it beyond repair.

“Definitely best of all,” he agreed, smiling now.

“Good,” she said, grinning at him and making his heart swell with such love and tenderness for this little girl who had upended his world so that it was hard to breathe.

“It is good,” he agreed, though he felt sick and hot and the desire to turn and run became a prickle of sweat down his spine. He reached the back door and turned the handle, glancing up and down the corridor, relieved to find it empty. Though his parents’ staff were amongst the most loyal to be found anywhere, servants gossiped, and he had timed his arrival at what he had hoped to be a busy time, in the hour before the midday meal was served.

Muted voices reached him from the kitchen, orders being called and obeyed, and Pip hurried along the corridor, heading for the nearest staircase. He made it without being seen, by some miracle, and hurried up to the ground floor and through the back rooms, exploding breathlessly into the entrance hall.

“Philip!”

Pip turned, suddenly aware that this was happening too fast, that he wasn’t ready, but it was too late. His father, the Marquess of Montagu, immaculately dressed as always, his expression inscrutable, regarded him from across the expanse of shiny marble floor.

“Father,” Pip said, suddenly discovering his tongue had been nailed down.

Montagu looked from him, to Tilly, and back again. His expression didn’t change. Before Pip could bolt or throw up—either seemed equally likely—his father closed the distance between them. He stared at Tilly, his keen gaze taking in every detail before he spoke.

“Good afternoon,” he said, his cool silver eyes warming as he looked at her. He held out his hand in an oddly touching, if formal gesture. “I do not believe we’ve been introduced.”

“I’m Tilly,” she said shyly, squeezing the marquess’ fingers briefly before clutching at Pip’s cravat again. “Who are you?”

“Well,” said Pip’s father, regarding her intensely, “I am Montagu, but I rather think I am also your grandfather.”

Pip swallowed hard as his father met his gaze for a long, dreadful moment. Then he returned his attention to Tilly and his expression changed to something quite different, warm and welcoming and entirely delighted. “I am very pleased to meet you, Tilly, and I know someone else who will be very eager to meet you. Your grandmama is a lovely lady, the best grandmama anyone ever had, in fact. She does not know you are here, or anywhere, you see, so this will be a very big surprise.”

He shot Pip a look that promised retribution for that fact. Pip’s stomach tied itself into a tight knot. Tilly wriggled in his arms, which he now realised had tightened rather too much.

“Down!” she demanded with her usual imperiousness. Pip set her down and she gazed up at his father before lifting her arms in the air.

“And now up,” his father observed with a smile, lifting her into his arms. “There. How do you like me? Will I do?”

Pip held his breath as Tilly’s small hands traced a line down his father’s forehead, down his nose. She put her palms one on each cheek and stared at him, quite as though she was measuring him for suitability. Despite the stress his nerves were under, Pip let out a strangled laugh at the idea the Marquess of Montagu might not meet her high standards. His father ignored him, focused entirely on Tilly.

“Well, child?”

“Yes,” Tilly said with a regal nod.

“I am relieved to hear it.”

“You like me?” Tilly asked then, a tremor of unease beneath the question that broke Pip’s heart.

Before he could reassure her that of course her grandfather liked her, terrified the wrong words might unwittingly be spoken, Montagu replied.

“Of course I like you. I like you very much, and I have been waiting a very, very long time to meet you. I wish it had not been so long, but we won’t worry about that. You are here now, and I am so… so very happy about that. Welcome home, child.”

There was the faintest catch in his father’s voice, a too-bright sparkle in his eyes and Pip’s throat tightened. Had he known? All this time?

“Father…” he began.

“Not now,” Montagu replied, the words clipped as he shot a hard look at his son. He turned back to Tilly, and it seemed impossible that look had ever existed as he regarded the little girl he held with such obvious delight. “Now, it is time to surprise your grandmama. I warn you, she’s going to be so happy, she’ll cry a good deal.”

“Happy tears?” Tilly said, frowning a little.

“Happy tears,” his father agreed with a nod. “Are you ready? I’m afraid she’ll kiss you and hug you a good deal, too. She’ll probably feed you cake as well. Do you think you can stand it?”

“I like cake,” Tilly said with a giggle.