Page 55 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

Only confirmation.

By the time Hartleigh came into view, its windows glowing softly against the dark, a small pulse of anticipation stirred in her chest. Warm and immediate enough that she felt herself smile before she reached the house. Not of duty.

Of return.

She entered the house quietly, removing her cloak in the hall. A footman approached, then paused.

“Mr. Grey asked that you be told he’s in the west garden, my lady. If you wished to see him.”

“I do,” Eliza said. “Thank you.”

The garden was hushed beneath the stars, the paths pale in the moonlight. Thomas stood near the old yew. He looked up at once when he saw her.

“You’re back,” he said.

“Yes.”

“How was it?”

She considered, then smiled. “Affirming.”

His expression softened. “Good.”

She stepped closer, the warmth of the evening still with her, the satisfaction lingering like something carried rather than claimed.

“They see Hartleigh differently now,” she said. “Through me.”

“They always have,” he said.

She studied him. The steadiness she trusted was there, threaded now with something brighter. Something that answered her own.

“I missed you,” she said.

The words were simple. Unprotected.

Thomas’s breath released. “I noticed.”

She smiled. “Did you.”

“Yes,” he said. “The house did too.”

They stood together beneath the open sky, the garden holding them without comment. As though this was not a pause, but a pattern taking shape.

Thomas reached for her hand, his touch steady, familiar now. For a moment he simply held it. Then, with a care that felt deliberate rather than hesitant, he bent and pressed a brief kiss to her brow.

Eliza closed her eyes, just for an instant. Not in surprise. In understanding.

She understood then that joy did not diminish when she stepped back into the world. It followed her home.

Joy did not need protection.

It needed only room.

It followed her home.

And Thomas, standing beside her in the quiet beneath the stars, had become part of that home now. Not as refuge. Not as indulgence.

As something chosen. And lasting.