Page 41 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

But in doing so, she had placed him under a different scrutiny, one she could withstand, but he could not entirely ignore.

She had spoken for him.

And now he was choosing to step aside for her.

The symmetry of it was painful.

Eliza did not seek him out again that evening. Nor did she send word to ask him to stay. That, she knew, would only confirm the very imbalance she had been trying to avoid.

Instead, she sat at her desk and wrote to Thornhaven, her hand steady, her language precise. She wrote of continuity. Of confidence. Of presence, even in absence.

The irony was not lost on her.

Outside, the house settled into its night rhythms. Somewhere beyond the walls, preparations were underway, saddles checked, tools packed, routes planned.

Eliza did not sleep easily.

She rose before dawn and stood at the window, watching the pale light gather over the fields. The world felt momentarily suspended, the way it did just before something shifted irrevocably.

She did not see Thomas ride out.

That, too, mattered.

Once, she might have accepted absence as the natural cost of restraint. Now it felt intolerable in ways she could no longer dismiss as practicality alone.

By the time the household stirred, he was already gone.

And Eliza understood then that restraint, once shared, could also divide, not through distance, but through mutual consideration taken too far.

The question was no longer whether they would cross the line between them.

It was whether they would recognize it in time to step back together.

Chapter Nineteen

The problem announced itself just after noon.

Eliza was in the library, mid-sentence in a letter to Thornhaven, when the steward entered without waiting to be summoned. His expression was controlled, but the faint tension at his jaw told her what courtesy did not.

“My lady,” he said. “There’s been a disagreement at the lower road.”

Eliza set her pen down at once. “With whom?”

“Two tenants,” he replied. “The repair schedule. One claims priority. The other refuses to yield access.”

She rose. “They’re both Hartleigh.”

“Yes.”

“And neither is inclined to be patient.”

“No,” the steward said. Then, after the briefest pause, “And Mr. Grey—”

“Is not here,” Eliza finished evenly.

The steward inclined his head. “No.”

She reached for her cloak without hesitation. “Take me to them.”