Page 69 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

She broke the seal. The faint smell of sealing wax lingered.

Her eyes scanned the first line.

And she inhaled sharply.

Whatever lay on the page had the potential to shift everything.

She read on.

Lady Eliza Somerton Thornhaven,

I write with apologies for the intrusion, yet circumstances allow me no alternative.

Your late husband, Lord Thornhaven, left certain matters unresolved, matters which now bear directly upon your safety and position.

You are no doubt accustomed to hearing many things of him, both kind and unkind.

What I will say is this: Not all that was done in his name was done by his hand, and not all who acted on his behalf did so with honor. You are in possession of information, perhaps unknowingly, that others may seek.

For your protection, and for the integrity of the estate, it is necessary we speak privately.

Tomorrow at noon, come to the small gallery off the west corridor.

The one with the portraits no one remembers.

I will wait no more than ten minutes.

If you choose not to come, I shall take your silence as a refusal to involve yourself further, and the burden of what comes next will fall upon others, perhaps unfairly.

You may bring no escort. You may tell no one.

For your own sake, Lady Eliza, do not ignore this request.

— A Friend to the Truth

Eliza read the letter twice. Then a third time.

The room did not change around her, the fire still hissed softly, the shadows held, but the air felt thinner, as though the walls themselves had pulled closer to listen.

She set the letter down slowly, her fingertips resting on the folded edge. The handwriting was elegant, controlled, unhurried. Someone had taken care with the script. Too much care.

Her pulse did not race. Her breath did not break.

Yet a cold tension settled slowly beneath her ribs, steady enough that she recognized instinct before fear had fully formed. Fear was not her first instinct.

Caution was.

Adrian’s name drew the faintest tightening in her chest, not a wound, more an echo. The letter did not sanctify him. It did not condemn him. It spoke of complication.

Not all that was done in his name was done by his hand…

She lifted her gaze to the window. The sky beyond was flat gray and heavy with weather. The moment felt suspended, fragile as frost.

Someone believed she possessed information. Someone believed she might be in danger. Someone expected her to come alone.

That troubled her more than any mention of Adrian.

Eliza had never been naïve. Widowhood had stripped any remnants of that long ago. This required clarity. A warning… or a trap?