A Thorne Among The Roses

Epilogue

The third was the signature at the bottom.

She barely had time to take in this unwanted knowledge, it seemed to chill her to the bone,the uncomfortable feeling of an icy touch gripping her by the shoulders. She felt a rush of blood to her head, roaring in her ears, she was expecting to read a trivial note about Byron's business dealings, a meeting postponed, his writing rejected. Not this. She could never have prepared herself for this. The room around her seemed to disappear, fade into the background as she struggled to comprehend what she was reading. Byron had somehow intercepted her mail, a letter addressed to her, intended for her sole attention, the anger was boiling inside her, how dare he!

As she scanned the lines it all became apparent, she had suspected the poem Byron had sent her had not been penned by his own hand, she had not found him as eloquent as would be expected to write words of such beauty.

"She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies."

Elizabeth assumed,cruelly she thought at the time, he had paid someone to write the poem on his behalf. She now wished that had indeed been the case, the truth that was now slowly and horribly dawning upon her was much, much worse.

"And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;"

She was so familiar with the words, having repeated them again and again since Byron had sent her the poem, she loved it and was deeply honoured to think someone had written those beautiful words for her.

"Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies."

The letter was signed as Thomas Thorne, written in beautifully looping calligraphy,accompanied by a small sketch of a rose.

Thomas.

Thomas had written that poem for her.

He had written her a beautiful poem that screamed of love, in a letter that had been intercepted by Byron.

She gripped the letter tightly in her fist as she tore from the room, slamming the front door closed behind her and rushing to her horse, mounting clumsily with the rising anger for Byron and panic for Thomas. She kicked off and rode with the ferocity of a highwayman attempting to escape the sheriff, she could not have ridden faster if the hounds of hell themselves had been at her horse's heels.