Page 46 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

“You’re tired,” Thomas said softly.

“Yes.”

“You won’t rest if you don’t step away from this.”

She smiled faintly. “From you?”

His mouth curved in response. “From everything.”

She considered that, then nodded. “Walk with me.”

He did not ask where.

They left the sitting room together and moved through the corridors side by side, not touching now, yet each step carried the awareness of space newly charged. The house was awake but subdued. Servants moved with practiced discretion, doors opened and closed with care.

They stepped outside into the pale morning.

The garden lay damp from the night, the grass jeweled with moisture. The air carried the clean scent of earth and something just beginning, the sky washed clear of the previous days’ lingering gray.

They walked without speaking at first.

“When I left,” Thomas said, “I told myself I was protecting you.”

Eliza glanced at him. “And now?”

“Now I know I was protecting myself.”

She absorbed that quietly. “From what?”

He did not answer at once. When he did, his voice was low. “From wanting something I had no right to name.”

The words struck somewhere older than the moment itself. Eliza remembered suddenly the summer Adrian taught her to ride the north trails too quickly, laughing recklessly while Thomas followed behind in silence, watching every turn she took as though caution itself had become instinct around her long before either of them understood why.

Her steps slowed.

They reached the edge of the lower path, where the hedges curved inward, sheltering the narrow way from the rest of the grounds. The world felt suddenly distant, the house a pale presence behind them.

“Eliza,” Thomas said, stopping.

She turned to face him.

“You don’t ask for things you’re not prepared to carry,” he continued. “And I don’t offer what I can’t stand behind.”

Her breath shifted. “We’re speaking carefully again.”

“Yes,” he said. “Because care still matters.”

She studied him, the steadiness she had always known, now threaded with something sharper. Not uncertainty. Intention.

“I don’t want you to protect me by leaving,” she said.

“I won’t.”

“And I won’t protect you by silence.”

He nodded. “Good.”

The air between them drew taut, not fragile but alive. Eliza became aware of the morning light against his face, the faint crease between his brows more thoughtful than concern. Without thinking, she lifted her hand and smoothed it away.