Page 22 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

“Yes.”

Thomas said it quietly, without admiration or surprise, as though he had expected nothing less from her since they were young enough to race through Hartleigh’s corridors without understanding how sharply adulthood would divide the paths before them.

With anyone else, the observation might have carried expectation beneath it. Approval. Obligation. Thomas offered neither. He simply saw her clearly enough that pretending required more effort than honesty.

“And they’ve remembered that.”

She smiled faintly. “They have.”

He gestured toward the bench beneath the yew. “Sit a moment.”

She hesitated, not because she wished to refuse, but because the invitation was so plainly personal. Then she crossed to the bench and sat, folding her hands in her lap.

Thomas resumed his work without fuss, kneeling to adjust the stone, testing its balance.

“They’ll keep asking now,” he said, his gaze on the task. “Once people realize you’ll answer.”

“I don’t mind answering,” she said.

“No,” he agreed. “You wouldn’t.”

He set the stone in place and rose, dusting his hands. “But you shouldn’t have to answer everything.”

She looked at him. “Is that a warning?”

He met her gaze steadily. “It’s an observation.”

The air between them held.

“I know the difference,” she said.

“I thought you might.”

They fell quiet again. A bird darted through the hedge, scattering a brief flurry of leaves. Somewhere beyond the garden, a door closed. Hartleigh continued its careful breathing.

“I won’t stay long,” she said. “There are accounts I promised to review.”

He glanced toward the house, then back to the stone at his feet. “They’ll still be there.”

“Yes,” she said. “They always are.”

He hesitated, then added, “You don’t need to prove anything here.”

The words landed more deeply than she expected.

She rose. “I know.”

But certainty, she was learning, did not arrive all at once.

They stood facing one another, closer than propriety required, farther than intimacy allowed. For a moment, it seemed as though something might be said, something that would shift the ground they had so carefully kept level.

Instead, Thomas stepped back.

“I should finish this before the rain comes,” he said.

“Of course.”

She turned away, her pulse a shade quicker than before. As she walked back toward the house, she became aware, not for the first time, that steadiness could be interrupted.