Page 65 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

The rustle of skirts behind him drew his attention.

Eliza stood in the stable doorway, her shawl drawn close against the breeze. A few strands of hair had loosened, catching the light, softening her expression. She surveyed the yard briefly before her gaze settled on him.

“You’re back sooner than I expected.”

“Repairs were straightforward,” he said, giving her a small, reassuring nod. And they were. Mostly.

She stepped closer. Her attention rested on him in that quiet, perceptive way she had. Not suspicion. Attunement. She noticed what others missed, a shift in tone, the way he set his tools aside, the pause before he answered.

“You look thoughtful,” she said gently.

“Long day,”

True enough. His voice remained steady, but he felt her evaluating the words, deciding whether they fit what she sensed beneath them.

She accepted it with a faint nod. To Thomas, it read as neither conviction nor doubt. Simply… allowing him the space to keep his thoughts to himself if he needed it.

Before he could say more, a figure approached from the far side of the yard.

Ashwood.

His stride was brisk, posture sharp, expression set in that too-practiced mask of authority he wore when he believed himself the center of the estate’s gravity.

“Lady Eliza, you will come to the house at—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Eliza turned toward him, lifting her chin just enough to meet his gaze. Calm. Poised. Entirely self-possessed. The boundary was unmistakable. Something like recognition flickered across Ashwood’s face before he contained it.

He cleared his throat, adjusted his stance, and began again, the edge of command blunted but not gone.

“Lady Eliza… if you would attend me in the house. And you as well, Grey.”

Still stiff. Still resentful.

But altered.

Eliza inclined her head with cool civility. “Of course.”

Thomas set the brush aside and followed as she moved toward the courtyard archway. Ashwood stepped back to allow her passage. A concession he clearly resented but did not challenge.

As they crossed beneath the stone arch, Thomas fell into step a pace behind her. The air shifted. Not with fear. Not urgency. Something quieter. A subtle awareness threading through the household, as though the rhythms he’d known all his life had shifted a fraction out of tune.

He could not yet name it. He did not try.

But as they entered the shadowed hall, he recognized the sensation for what it was. Not secrecy. Not deception. The knowledge, earned over years, that the ground beneath them was beginning to move.

Eliza glanced back at him, her expression searching his face.

Thomas met her with a steady nod. And she went on.

Chapter Thirty-One

Ashwood led them down the narrow back corridor, his footsteps clipped and echoing against the stone floor. The lamps along the wall flickered faintly as he passed, their flames guttering toward him as if drawn by his movement. One candle, nearest his shoulder, sputtered and went dark, leaving a thin curl of smoke drifting upward.

Thomas noticed the extinguished wick.

Eliza pulled her shawl tighter from the chill that followed.