The Rose of Thorns

Every Rose Has Its Thorns

        "And the heart that is soonest awake to the flowers is always the first to be touch'd by the thorns."-Thomas Moore

      Young Mistress Cathburough looked over her shoulder nervously; her flashy new shoes clattering much louder than she had anticipated. Although they put her at quite a disadvantage when it came to matters of stealth, she could not help but admire the supple leather crafted expertly to mould to her petite feet. Just one of the many perks of being rich, she thought smugly to herself; as a wry smile spread across her lips.

       Although it did not seem like it, under her feathery blond hair and far-too-flawless to be natural exterior held a brain. A brain; that had managed to elevate her from the daughter of a humble candle maker to the wife of a minor lord.

        Not so long ago she had been Emily Waxton, a village girl who lived a simple existence, but those days were behind her now. No longer would she freeze during cold winter nights. No longer would her skin itch under low-quality cotton blouses. No longer would she have to wake up early and help her father in the shop. 

      "Who's the dreamer now," she whispered smugly to no one in particular. Her words held a hint of bitterness as she looked back upon memories that had stayed ripe in her mind like a freshly inflicted beating .

       A dirty brown boot stepped onto the only mirror she owned, grinding it slowly into the dusty ground. The owner of the boot ,Rubaya, a village bully, towered menacingly over her, face twisted in a malevolent smile. "How are you going to look at yourself now, princess?"

      Her tear streaked face looked down at the mirror, only shards now. It had taken a months salary to save up for it, and there it was, broken. Like her dreams. "I'm not a Princess...yet...but when I am my first order is to keep swine out of the streets." She braced herself for the impending strike. Although prepared, it hurt none the less. Her queenly valour left her as soon as it had arrived. The bully walked away finally satisfied when her victim had crumpled into a heap on the ground, crying over bruises and broken glass. How are you going to look at yourself now princess?

     Despite the loss of her beloved mirror, she had still found ways. Emily had been confident that if she practised walking gracefully just a bit more, or learned a new way to tie up her hair, a prince would come for her and sweep her away. Every morning on her usual candle delivery route, she would stop at the lake to sigh at her reflection. Sometimes when she felt especially daring she would take a detour to the cathedral and gawk at herself through stained glass windows. Usually these endeavours ended with Sister Caroline barking, "Vanity is a sin, child!” and chasing her out.

      If only Rubaya could see her now. She was no longer Emily Waxton, the silly little girl with her head in the clouds. Now she was Emily Cathburough, and all of her dreams had come true. 

     Marrying Lord Cathburough had been the easy part, thought the adept social climber. Desmond was awkward around women and far too hapless to get one of his own. She had no problem pursuing him, and with the bat of an eye and a few coy smiles, he was hers. His aging parents, who had long given up the idea of their son finding a spouse embraced her wholeheartedly. Words like "Thank God! I thought he was hopeless" and "I can't believe it finally happened," were frequently whispered around the quaint surrounding villages and the sleepy country side were all gossip involving Cathburough manor was held with high esteem. 

     The news that a very much alive AND beautiful woman by the name of Emily Waxton had fallen for the slightly less alive and gawky Desmond Cathburough was a hard pill to swallow...but miracles did happen.