Page 64 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

“Of course,” Eleanor said at once. “Clara will see that you are comfortable.”

“Clara,” Eleanor said, rising, “please see Mrs. Lane and her son settled and have Carter see that Mrs. Lane’s effects are attended to.”

Clara stepped forward at once. “Come with me. You must be cold.”

Margaret rose, guiding Edmund gently, and inclined her head to Eleanor before following Clara from the room.

When the door closed, silence returned.

Nathaniel scrubbed a hand over his face. “Eleanor. What do we do.”

Eleanor’s gaze remained on the ring. “We proceed with order. Not fear.”

Eliza spoke quietly. “Do you believe her.”

“I believe she believes herself,” Eleanor said. “That is enough for now.”

Thomas appeared in the doorway then, drawn by instinct rather than summons. His gaze moved to Eleanor. To Eliza. To the ring. His jaw set, barely perceptible.

“Do you require anything, Your Grace,” Thomas asked.

“Not yet.”

He inclined his head and withdrew.

The house settled again, the way old houses did when something new entered that did not yet belong.

“Truth,” she murmured, almost to herself, “has an inconvenient way of revealing itself, when it is ready.”

The clock chimed the half hour.

Time, indifferent.

And Hartleigh waited.

Chapter Thirty

Thomas guided his horse into the stable yard just as the late-afternoon light settled over Hartleigh in a low wash of gold. The air carried that cool edge before rain, the kind that slipped into his collar and settled beneath the skin. He swung down from the saddle, boots landing solidly on the packed earth.

Nathaniel dismounted beside him, handing off the reins to Matthew, the groom. Their ride had been uneventful. They walked the boundary paths, noting the repairs needed along the eastern wall, a loose hinge on the south gate, and the streambed rising faster than expected after last night’s storm. Nothing the estate hadn’t seen before.

Thomas wiped the damp from his hands and answered the duke’s final question as plainly as he could.

“The timbers will hold through winter, Your Grace, but they’ll need reinforcing once the frost breaks.”

Nathaniel nodded, the faint crease between his brows more thoughtful than concerned. He paused, then gave Thomas’s shoulder a brief, approving clap.

“Thank you, Grey. Good work.” A brief beat. “I always find myself steadier after speaking with you.”

It was said simply, without ceremony. The sort of acknowledgment given to a man whose judgment had proven sound over time, not a remark meant to be remarked upon. Thomas inclined his head.

“Glad to assist, Your Grace.”

Nathaniel’s mouth curved faintly. He turned toward the house, his cloak brushing the edge of the courtyard stones as he disappeared beneath the archway. The moment dissolved as easily as it had formed.

Thomas took the horse’s reins himself and led the gelding inside. The familiar motion of unsaddling usually quieted his thoughts, but today a faint restlessness remained though he couldn’t quite name what unsettled him. The sensation sat low beneath his ribs, persistent enough that even the familiar work of the stable yard failed to fully quiet it. It might have been the weather pressing in. Or the way repairs never truly ended. Or the careful composure Nathaniel had taken on these past few days, watchful without explanation.

He brushed down the horse slowly, letting the steady rhythm ease the tension from his shoulders.