Page 29 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

“Yes.”

He studied her a moment, his voice gentler. “You’ll manage.”

Eliza’s mouth tightened. “I always do.”

Thomas’s gaze held hers. “That’s what I meant.”

The words landed quietly, and with them something else. Not comfort. Understanding.

Eliza drew a slow breath and stepped back, forcing herself to return to motion.

“I should go to the library,” she said.

Thomas nodded. “They’ll ask you for everything today.”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll answer,” he replied, not approval, not criticism. Simply certainty.

Eliza paused, then said, “Not everything.”

Thomas’s eyes flicked to hers. A brief, unreadable look.

“No,” he agreed. “Not everything.”

Once, conversations like this would have required no translation between them. Thomas had spent enough years beside Hartleigh’s daily workings to understand the tensions beneath its surface long before titles or authority entered the matter. And Eliza, who had known him since youth, understood equally well that he resisted being pulled into the visible machinery of the estate, no matter how often others relied upon him behind the scenes.

She turned away, walking toward the library with her cloak gathered close, the corridor narrowing around her like a held breath.

Behind her, Thomas returned to his work.

But the steadiness she carried from him was altered now, sharpened.

It had edges.

And Eliza suspected that once you noticed the edges, you could not unsee them.

Chapter Thirteen

The library had been prepared for decision.

The long table stood cleared except for a neat stack of ledgers, the surface polished to a low gleam that caught the light from the tall windows. A fire burned at half strength, enough to warm without distracting. Chairs had been arranged with care, not evenly spaced, but deliberately placed.

Eliza saw that as she crossed the threshold.

She entered without ceremony, her presence shifting the room before anyone spoke.

Nathaniel rose immediately. “Eliza.”

She inclined her head. “Your Grace.”

Ashwood followed a beat later, bowing with professional smoothness. He held a sheaf of papers, already annotated. His expression was attentive, not ingratiating.

“Thank you for joining us,” Nathaniel said. “I thought it best—”

“To proceed,” Eliza said gently, taking the chair Eleanor usually favored. The chair carried a familiarity she did not claim, accepted. Eleanor’s steadiness had never asked to be inherited, but it lingered all the same.

Nathaniel paused, then nodded. He resumed his seat, his movements precise but not entirely settled.