Chapter Thirty
Thomas guided his horse into the stable yard just as the late-afternoon light settled over Hartleigh in a low wash of gold.
The air carried that cool edge before rain, the kind that slipped into his collar and settled beneath the skin.
He swung down from the saddle, boots landing solidly on the packed earth.
Nathaniel dismounted beside him, handing off the reins to Matthew, the groom.
Their ride had been uneventful. They walked the boundary paths, noting the repairs needed along the eastern wall, a loose hinge on the south gate, and the streambed rising faster than expected after last night’s storm. Nothing the estate hadn’t seen before.
Thomas wiped the damp from his hands and answered the duke’s final question as plainly as he could.
“The timbers will hold through winter, Your Grace, but they’ll need reinforcing once the frost breaks.”
Nathaniel nodded, the faint crease between his brows more thoughtful than concerned. He paused, then gave Thomas’s shoulder a brief, approving clap.
“Thank you, Grey. Good work.” A brief beat. “I always find myself steadier after speaking with you.”
It was said simply, without ceremony. The sort of acknowledgment given to a man whose judgment had proven sound over time, not a remark meant to be remarked upon. Thomas inclined his head.
“Glad to assist, Your Grace.”
Nathaniel’s mouth curved faintly. He turned toward the house, his cloak brushing the edge of the courtyard stones as he disappeared beneath the archway. The moment dissolved as easily as it had formed.
Thomas took the horse’s reins himself and led the gelding inside.
The familiar motion of unsaddling usually quieted his thoughts, but today a faint restlessness remained though he couldn’t quite name what unsettled him.
The sensation sat low beneath his ribs, persistent enough that even the familiar work of the stable yard failed to fully quiet it.
It might have been the weather pressing in.
Or the way repairs never truly ended. Or the careful composure Nathaniel had taken on these past few days, watchful without explanation.
He brushed down the horse slowly, letting the steady rhythm ease the tension from his shoulders.
The rustle of skirts behind him drew his attention.
Eliza stood in the stable doorway, her shawl drawn close against the breeze. A few strands of hair had loosened, catching the light, softening her expression. She surveyed the yard briefly before her gaze settled on him.
“You’re back sooner than I expected.”
“Repairs were straightforward,” he said, giving her a small, reassuring nod. And they were. Mostly.
She stepped closer. Her attention rested on him in that quiet, perceptive way she had. Not suspicion. Attunement. She noticed what others missed, a shift in tone, the way he set his tools aside, the pause before he answered.
“You look thoughtful,” she said gently.
“Long day,”
True enough. His voice remained steady, but he felt her evaluating the words, deciding whether they fit what she sensed beneath them.
She accepted it with a faint nod. To Thomas, it read as neither conviction nor doubt. Simply… allowing him the space to keep his thoughts to himself if he needed it.
Before he could say more, a figure approached from the far side of the yard.
Ashwood.
His stride was brisk, posture sharp, expression set in that too-practiced mask of authority he wore when he believed himself the center of the estate’s gravity.
“Lady Eliza, you will come to the house at—”
He stopped mid-sentence.
Eliza turned toward him, lifting her chin just enough to meet his gaze. Calm. Poised. Entirely self-possessed. The boundary was unmistakable. Something like recognition flickered across Ashwood’s face before he contained it.
He cleared his throat, adjusted his stance, and began again, the edge of command blunted but not gone.
“Lady Eliza… if you would attend me in the house. And you as well, Grey.”
Still stiff. Still resentful.
But altered.
Eliza inclined her head with cool civility. “Of course.”
Thomas set the brush aside and followed as she moved toward the courtyard archway. Ashwood stepped back to allow her passage. A concession he clearly resented but did not challenge.
As they crossed beneath the stone arch, Thomas fell into step a pace behind her. The air shifted. Not with fear. Not urgency. Something quieter. A subtle awareness threading through the household, as though the rhythms he’d known all his life had shifted a fraction out of tune.
He could not yet name it. He did not try.
But as they entered the shadowed hall, he recognized the sensation for what it was. Not secrecy. Not deception. The knowledge, earned over years, that the ground beneath them was beginning to move.
Eliza glanced back at him, her expression searching his face.
Thomas met her with a steady nod. And she went on.