Page 110 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

His hands tightened on the reins, the smallest reaction, but she noticed.

Thornhaven rose in the distance, its gray stone softened by the morning haze. The familiar outline stirred something steady in Eliza’s chest rather than unease. Grief still lived there, quiet and permanent, but it no longer hollowed the place around it. The tenants here had been loyal to Adrian and had extended that loyalty to her, first out of courtesy, then with genuine affection once they saw the attention she gave their needs.

Thomas slowed his horse slightly as they drew nearer.

“Eliza,” he said quietly, “be mindful as we step inside. Those walls remember the man who held them with respect. And it remembers how you honored that trust.”

She met his gaze, understanding at once.

“I have no fear of Thornhaven,” she said. “Only of what has been done in its shadows since.”

Thomas inclined his head. “That is why we are here.”

They rode the last stretch in silence, not heavy or strained, but threaded with shared purpose. The air shifted faintly, as though the house ahead was waiting, precise, quiet, and expectant.

Eliza lifted her chin, steady and sure.

Whatever truth lay inside Thornhaven, she would meet it with Thomas at her side.

And Thornhaven would answer.

Chapter Fifty

The familiar sweep of Thornhaven’s drive loosened something tight in Eliza’s chest, though she did not yet allow herself that relief. The house rose ahead of them, orderly and composed, unaware of how close it had come to grief.

Movement stirred near the steps. The steward hurried forward, his face pale, his hands twisting together as if he might wring an answer from them by force.

Thomas dismounted first. He turned and offered his hand up to her. Eliza took it, the brief pressure firm and sure, anchoring her as she stepped down onto the gravel.

The steward bowed his head sharply.

“My lady. Mr. Grey. I have no words. I believed the errand harmless. I thought he would return within the hour. When he did not, I feared the worst.”

Eliza lifted a hand, the gesture gentle but firm.

“Let us speak inside.”

The foyer closed around them, cool and hushed, the familiar scent of beeswax and old wood wrapping the moment in stillness. The steward followed, his distress plain. Before Eliza could speak again, hurried footsteps echoed from the corridor.

Sammy’s parents appeared, his mother’s shawl crooked at her shoulders, his father’s cap clenched in both hands. They stopped when they saw Eliza. Their eyes searched her face with a desperation that made her breath catch.

She stepped toward them at once. “Sammy is safe,” she said, letting the words land cleanly. “He is at Hartleigh. Warm. Fed. Sleeping.”

The mother folded inward, her hands flying to her mouth as the strength left her knees. The father bowed his head, shoulders rigid, the breath leaving him in a long, shuddering exhale.

Thomas spoke next, voice even and calm. “He was frightened and cold, but he was not harmed.”

The mother’s voice trembled. “He knows these paths. He walks them every day. I can’t understand how he would lose his way.”

Thomas shook his head once. “He wasn’t lost. Someone took him from the path.”

The silence that followed was deep and heavy, but it held. Eliza watched the truth settle into them. She did not soften it. Not this. Lies had no place here.

“He was found quickly,” she added. “That is what matters now.”

The father looked up. “Who would do such a thing?”

Eliza met his gaze without flinching.