Page 12 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

Clara moved them along.

“Mr. Halden,” she said. “A friend of my husband’s family. He has interests along the coast.”

Mr. Halden bowed. He was tall, well-groomed, and entirely forgettable in the way of men who had learned when to recede. He spoke pleasantly of weather, roads, and the state of the harbor.

Eliza listened, nodded, and placed him where he belonged, potentially useful, not presently concerning.

“And this,” Clara said, her hand resting lightly at Eliza’s elbow, “is Mr. Ashwood.”

The name meant nothing.

The man did.

Mr. Ashwood rose as she approached. His movements were unhurried, economical. His hair was dark, touched only faintly with silver at the temples. His expression was open, his attention focused without pressing.

“Lady Thornhaven,” he said. “It’s a pleasure.”

His voice was unremarkable. Eliza noted it, and the fact that he seemed unconcerned by that.

“I believe we have not met,” she said.

“No,” he agreed. “Though I have heard you spoken of.”

She inclined her head. “I hope favorably.”

“Precisely,” he said, smiling. “Though without excess. I find the most interesting people are seldom discussed in extremes.”

The remark was observant rather than ingratiating.

Eliza held his gaze a moment longer than politeness required. He did not rush to fill the space.

“And what brings you to Hartleigh, Mr. Ashwood?”

He did not answer at once, not from hesitation, but consideration.

“I advise,” he said finally. “Quietly. Mostly to families who prefer their affairs to remain that way.”

“I imagine discretion is valued,” Eliza said.

“It is,” he replied. “By them, and by me.”

Clara returned, wineglass in hand. “Mr. Ashwood has been helpful these past months,” she said lightly. “He has a talent for seeing how matters might resolve themselves if given time.”

Ashwood smiled at her. “Only because I prefer order that doesn’t announce itself.”

Her interest sharpened not because of the words, but because of how comfortably they were offered.

The conversation shifted. Lady Finchley spoke of a charity engagement. Mr. Halden mentioned a delayed shipment. Glasses were raised. Laughter passed easily between them.

Eliza spoke when addressed. She listened more than she spoke.

And she noted it, not the attention itself, but its shape.

Bodies angled toward her. Pauses lingered a fraction longer when she spoke. Glances were exchanged when she moved between groups.

She was being observed.

She stood near the window when Ashwood joined her again, this time without pretext.