Page 16 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

Eleanor set her teacup down with a faint click. Her gaze lingered on Eliza a moment. “If this is too much,” she said at last, “you need only say so.”

Eliza folded the paper and placed it on the table with care. “It isn’t too much.” She did not add that she would still decide the terms.

Clara’s shoulders loosened slightly, as though she’d been holding herself poised for refusal. “Good. I thought you would prefer to be included rather than—”

—rather than managed.

Clara did not finish. She did not need to.

Eliza met her gaze. “I do.”

Clara gave a small, earnest nod. “Then we’ll treat it as a discussion, not a decision.”

Eliza’s smile was faint. “That would be wise.”

Eleanor’s hand shifted toward Eliza’s, then paused, as if uncertain whether to offer comfort or trust. At last, she simply said, “You always did see things clearly.”

Eliza did not answer at once. Praise, here, was rarely simple.

“I had to,” she said finally.

Clara moved toward the sideboard and poured tea as if the act could restore calm. “Mr. Ashwood suggested the wording may have been drafted with haste,” she said. “He thinks it can be improved.”

Eliza’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Mr. Ashwood suggested.”

Clara looked up. “Is that wrong?”

“No.” Eliza’s voice remained even. “It’s simply… notable.”

Because Ashwood’s presence was never accidental. Because men who advised quietly often listened loudly. Because Hartleigh, for all its softness, still had a spine of power running through it, and today that spine had decided she should be present for its adjustments.

Eliza lifted her teacup and took a slow sip. The tea was hot enough to ground her, bitter enough to keep her awake.

“Very well,” she said. “I will attend.”

Eleanor’s expression softened with relief. Clara’s brightened with gratitude.

Eliza set the cup down. “But I will not be hurried through it.”

Clara’s smile held. “Of course not.”

Eleanor sighed. “Thank you, my dear.”

Eliza did not correct her. Gratitude made people careless.

She rose and moved toward the window, more for space than view. Outside, the garden lay still beneath the overcast sky. The rose beds were quiet. The work Thomas had resumed would be finished soon. The cuttings would be cleared. The shape restored.

She found herself watching the path, expecting him without admitting it.

A movement near the hedge caught her eye. A figure crossing at an angle, basket in hand. He did not look up, but the simple fact of him, his steadiness, his purpose, eased something in her chest.

Eliza turned back to the room.

“Will you dine with us afterward?” Eleanor asked. “Just something simple. I dislike days like this ending with everyone scattered.”

Eliza considered. The meeting would leave its residue, no matter how carefully she spoke.

“Yes,” she said. “Something simple would be welcome.”