Page 63 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

Ashwood stood with the receiving party only because he had been visiting earlier and had not yet taken his leave. He bowed politely to Margaret. Eliza noticed the faint, assessing tilt of his head.

Margaret did not acknowledge him. She clearly did not know who he was.

Eleanor turned to Ashwood with impeccable courtesy. “Mr. Ashwood, thank you for your company this afternoon. We will continue privately from here.”

A dismissal. Perfectly phrased.

Ashwood accepted it with a shallow bow. He lingered only long enough to remain polite, then withdrew toward the gardens with unhurried steps.

Inside, the withdrawing room had already been prepared, fire lit, chairs arranged, tea untouched. Clara guided Margaret and her son inside while Mr. Carter paused with their small trunk near the stairs, awaiting instruction.

Margaret remained standing until Eleanor motioned her to a chair. She sat carefully. Edmund climbed into her lap at once, seeking anchor rather than comfort.

“Mrs. Lane,” Eleanor said, “tell us what brings you to Hartleigh.”

Margaret swallowed. When she spoke, her voice trembled only slightly.

“I was married,” she said. “To Lord Adrian Hartleigh. In good faith.”

The room shifted.

Not visibly. Internally.

Nathaniel inhaled sharply.

Clara’s fingers tightened around her handkerchief.

Margaret reached into her reticule and drew out a small velvet-wrapped object.

“I did not come seeking favor,” she said. “Only my son’s rights.”

She unwrapped the cloth.

A signet ring lay in her palm, its crest catching the firelight.

Eleanor did not react outwardly. She accepted the ring only long enough to acknowledge it, then set it gently on the low table between them. No comparison. No judgment.

Eliza understood at once what this would change. A slow tension spread through her chest as the reality settled into place. The Hartleigh crest did not belong in a stranger’s hand.

Edmund shifted in his mother’s lap, watching Eliza with solemn curiosity.

She offered him the faintest smile. Nothing reassuring. Only kind.

“He is six,” Margaret said quietly. “His father named him Edmund. After his grandfather.”

Eleanor absorbed this in silence.

“When Lord Adrian died,” Margaret continued, “I waited for word. None came. As my son grew, people began to question his future. His name.”

Her voice wavered. “So I came here. To ask what is just.”

“You have been brave,” Eleanor said. “You and your son will remain here as our guests while we consider what you have brought before us.”

Margaret’s shoulders eased, not into comfort, but breath.

Eleanor continued evenly, “You are welcome to dine with us this evening, should you wish it. There is no obligation.”

Margaret hesitated only a moment before answering, her voice careful. “You are very kind, Your Grace. But Edmund has had a long journey, and I would prefer to remain with him quietly tonight, if I may.”