Page 66 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

Neither spoke.

Ashwood stopped before the side parlor door and reached for the brass knob. His hand closed around it firmly, then stalled. He twisted again. The latch resisted. Metal grated against metal in the quiet hall. The sound lingered strangely in the corridor, harsh enough that Eliza felt the muscles along her spine tighten before she consciously understood why.

Ashwood’s jaw flexed.

“It appears the latch has swollen with the damp,” he muttered.

He tried again. Harder. The door did not yield.

Thomas stepped nearer. “The door wasn’t an issue this morning, sir.”

Ashwood shot him a sharp look, as though the remark were a criticism. Then he pressed his shoulder against the panel, pushing with considerably more force.

Nothing.

Frustration tightened every line of his posture. At last, he stepped back abruptly.

“We will speak here,” he said.

The words landed as a command, as though the door’s refusal were their fault.

His attention shifted to Thomas.

“Grey, you will go to the boundary cottages immediately,” Ashwood said, already assuming compliance. “There was storm damage. I expect a full assessment before nightfall.”

Thomas blinked once. “Now, sir?”

“Yes, now.”

Thomas kept his voice even. “I am scheduled to ride to Thornhaven with the supplies the steward requested. He is waiting for confirmation before repairs can begin.”

“A footman can deliver a few crates,” Ashwood snapped, too quickly.

Before Thomas could respond, Eliza stepped forward with composed grace.

“Mr. Ashwood,” she said, her voice soft and impeccably polite. “The Thornhaven steward asked for Thomas specifically. Sending anyone else risks delay. And unnecessary expense. Storm damage spreads quickly.”

Her logic was clear. Delivered with such civility that any argument would sound petulant.

Ashwood’s nostrils flared. For a single breath, Thomas thought the man might challenge her anyway.

The hallway groaned beneath Ashwood’s shifting weight, the old boards creaking louder under him than they had beneath Thomas or Eliza. A strained, lingering complaint from the house itself.

Ashwood glanced down, irritation flickering across his face.

He stepped back quickly, as though the floor had insulted him.

“Very well,” he said at last, his tone stiff as he reshaped the order. “Grey may go to Thornhaven first. Then the cottages.”

Thomas inclined his head. “Understood.”

Eliza dipped her chin a fraction. Acknowledgment, not triumph.

She turned toward the door Ashwood had failed to open.

Her hand rested lightly on the brass knob.

The latch clicked open softly. Obediently.