Chapter Forty-Three
Eliza found Thomas in the far stable corridor, the one rarely used except for storage. He stood with his back to her, sleeves rolled above his forearms, bracing a beam beneath a warped loft board. A lantern burned beside him, casting a warm, uneven glow across his shoulders.
For a fleeting moment she let herself watch him.
Not because she needed confirmation he was safe, though she did. Not because she wanted privacy, though she did. But because the sight of him, steady and solid and wholly present, quieted something inside her she hadn’t realized was screaming.
She stepped forward.
“Thomas.”
He turned instantly always alert to her voice. Always.
“Eliza,” he breathed, as though relief had struck first and thoughts followed. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I had to come.”
He straightened slowly, reading her face with the same deliberate care he used when assessing the health of an injured animal. His brow furrowed.
“What’s happened?”
She didn’t trust her voice yet. She reached out and pressed her palm lightly against his sleeve, not clutching, not embracing, just grounding.
Thomas stilled.
“Eliza,” he said again, lower, gentler, “tell me.”
She withdrew her hand, gathering her composure. “Margaret Lane came to me. Edmund too. They’re frightened.”
His expression sharpened. “Frightened of what?”
She shook her head once. “Not what. Who.”
He closed the distance between them in two strides. “Ashwood.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Yes,” she said quietly.
Thomas’s jaw flexed. His hands curled at his sides. “What did he do?”
“He came to their door last night,” she said. “Edmund heard him whispering through the latch.”
Thomas swore under his breath, quietly but with a force that shook her.
“He tried to open it,” she added.
His hands curled tighter, knuckles whitening.
Eliza continued carefully, “Edmund said the man whispered, ‘Stay quiet. And remember who protects you.’”
Thomas exhaled, low and controlled. “That is not protection. That’s a threat.”
“Yes.”
“And he did this,” Thomas murmured, “after planting Sammy in my cottage.”
Eliza nodded.
“And after sabotaging Thornhaven.”
She opened her mouth to argue, she didn’t want to assign every wrong to Ashwood prematurely, but Thomas lifted a hand slightly.
“I don’t mean all of it,” he said. “But enough of it.”
They stood close now. The lantern flickered, casting warm shadows along the line of his jaw. She could see the storm in him, tightly leashed, simmering beneath the surface.
“Thomas,” she whispered, “we cannot assume everything ties to him. Not yet.”
He nodded slowly. “You’re right. But we can assume he’s growing desperate.”
She swallowed. “And dangerous.”
“More dangerous,” Thomas corrected softly. “Because he senses the house is against him.”
She blinked. “Do you believe that?”
“Yes,” he said simply, without hesitation. “Hartleigh has aligned itself with you.”
The rafters groaned faintly, as if answering him.
Eliza exhaled. “There’s more.”
His attention sharpened instantly. “Tell me.”
She did quickly, quietly.
“He is watching the West Wing. He scrutinized the supplies ledger. He questioned my whereabouts last night.”
Thomas took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Did he frighten you?”
“No,” she said. But her voice wavered.
He noticed. He always noticed.
“Eliza.”
Her name on his lips carried warmth. Worry.
She looked away, then back again. “He’s circling. Trying to unsettle me. To isolate me.” She straightened. “And I am not going to let him.”
Thomas drew one controlled breath, then another.
“Look at me,” he said quietly.
She did.
“Eliza, you are not alone,” he said. Then, firmer, grounded. “So we stop reacting. We move with purpose.”
Her throat tightened.
“This isn’t just loyalty,” she whispered.
“No,” he said, the word trembling with truth. “It’s not.”
The lantern flickered as though struck by a sudden draft even though no wind stirred. The house seemed to lean closer, listening.
“I’m afraid of what he’ll do next,” she said softly.
Thomas stepped close enough that she felt his warmth. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t have to.
“Then let me carry it for you,” he murmured.
“I can’t ask that,” she whispered.
“You didn’t,” he said. “I offered.”
Something in her gave way, quietly, irreversibly. The tension she had held across her shoulders for days loosened just enough to leave her suddenly, dangerously aware of how badly she wanted to lean into him.
Before she could speak, the stable door rattled sharply, hard enough to jolt them both. Not from the wind. From the house settling with intent.
Thomas’s expression shifted at once. Protective. Ready.
“He’s coming,” he said softly.
Eliza felt the truth in her bones.
“Go,” Thomas said, taking her by the elbow just long enough to guide her toward the side door. “If he finds us together—”
“I know. Come find me when it’s safe,” she whispered.
“Always.”
She slipped through the side door, skirts brushing hay, and vanished into the passage beyond, the house closing around her like a shield.
Thomas watched until she was gone.
Then he turned toward the main stable entrance, shoulders squared, ready to meet whatever Ashwood thought he controlled.