Page 60 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

Eleanor’s expression gentled. “Thomas sees patterns before others see fragments. He will notice. But do not draw him in yet. The more Ashwood believes him uninformed, the safer he remains.”

Eliza nodded.

Eleanor rose, her hand resting briefly on Eliza’s arm. Steady. Warning.

“Remain calm,” she said. “This is only the first move. Hartleigh has endured worse men than Ashwood. So will you.”

When she left, the room felt larger, though not empty.

Eliza returned to the ledgers.

Ashwood was careful. Methodical. But not careful enough.

He believed her isolated. Uninformed. Passive.

He was wrong.

As she turned another page, she sensed movement in the corridor. Soft steps. Familiar cadence. A presence she did not need to see to recognize.

Thomas.

He paused at the threshold, unwilling to interrupt, yet unable to walk on.

She did not look up.

Her voice carried, low and assured. “It will be all right.”

He stilled. She felt the words reach him, settle.

Then he moved on, quiet as breath, steady as truth.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Thomas noticed the change before anyone spoke of it.

It was in the way the grooms hesitated when answering him. In the way two of the younger gardeners exchanged glances when he asked for the week’s supply lists. In the pause Mr. Crowthorne took before replying, a man normally forthright to the point of bluntness now measuring what could safely be said aloud.

The estate had grown careful. Not with him. Around him.

He stepped into the long tool room behind the stables and stood for a moment, measuring the quiet. The familiar sounds, the clink of metal tack, the scent of oiled wood and dried earth, usually steadied him. Today they felt strained, as though the place itself were holding its breath.

Ashwood had begun something.

Thomas wiped his hands and stepped back into the yard. Sunlight crossed his face, warm and grounding. He didn’t need specifics to know when danger was circling. He had grown up here. First as the blacksmith’s boy, then as a gardener’s apprentice, and later as the man entrusted with the practical workings of the estate. He understood Hartleigh’s rhythm.

This shift was deliberate. Someone was pulling threads. And Thomas knew exactly who.

He made his way toward the Hall, not hurried, but deliberate. Eleanor had once told him he read the ground like some men read books. It had always been true.

Inside, he slowed as he passed the small morning room.

Eliza stood at the desk, a ledger open before her. Her posture told him everything. Shoulders set. Chin lifted just enough to signal resolve. The stillness of someone absorbing an unpleasant truth without yielding to it.

She did not look up. She didn’t need to.

Thomas stopped just short of the doorway. He did not announce himself. He did not step closer. He simply remained where he was, present without intrusion.

After a moment, her voice reached him, low and certain.