Page 80 of A Shadow Amongst the Roses

“That,” he said, lifting his gaze to hers, “is what saved him.”

They held each other’s gaze in the dim candlelight. Hers full of resolve, and his full of gratitude and something deeper he dared not voice.

“We need to move him before dawn,” Thomas said. “Somewhere Ashwood won’t think to search.”

Eliza nodded. “Where?”

Thomas stood, offering her his hand.

“First,” he said, his voice low and steady, “we go where no one will interrupt us. And then we decide—together.”

Eliza took his hand.

The moment their fingers touched, the house above them shifted, just a soft creak in the beams, but enough to tell her it approved.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Dawn arrived reluctantly, a thin wash of silver filtering through the high chapel glass. The storm had quieted, though the wind still pressed at the walls in low, restless sighs.

Eliza had not slept.

Thomas had barely sat down.

The boy dozed beneath the heavy cloak Thomas had draped over him, small fingers curled into its wool as though anchoring himself to something solid. Each breath came easier now. Slower.

Eliza stood beside the cold stone altar, hands clasped more tightly than she realized, watching Thomas.

He was leaning against the wall near the crypt door, arms folded loosely, but fatigue marked him clearly. Damp curls clung to his temple. His shoulders were set in that particular way she had learned to recognize as watchfulness layered over exhaustion. He had not allowed himself to rest. Not yet.

And he was watching her as carefully as he watched the shadows.

She felt the attention like a steady presence at her back. Not intrusive. Not demanding. Simply there.

“Thomas,” she whispered.

He lifted his gaze at once. “Is he waking?”

She glanced toward the boy, reassured by the slow rise and fall of his chest. “No. I only…” she hesitated, then exhaled, “…needed to say something.”

His expression softened, as though he understood the pause as much as the words. “Then say it.”

She stepped closer, the chill of the chapel floor biting through her slippers. The cold had settled into her bones hours ago, but it was not what troubled her now.

“When I found him,” she said slowly, choosing honesty over composure, “I was afraid. Not only for him. For you. For what it meant.” The words cost her something. She let that show. “I didn’t trust anyone else. Not Nathaniel. Not the staff. Not even Clara.”

She lifted her eyes to his. “Only you.”

Saying the words aloud left her strangely unguarded, as though something she had protected for months had finally stepped fully into the light between them.

For a moment, he did not speak. Surprise crossed his face first. Then something deeper took hold, something that steadied rather than unsettled him.

“I won’t fail you,” he said quietly.

Her chest tightened. Not because she feared failure—but because she knew he meant it as a promise, not a reassurance.

“I know,” she said.

A small rustle interrupted them. A groan. Sammy shifted beneath the cloak, turning toward the sound of their voices.