Page 108 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

The carriage slowed as they approached the house, and the horses stamped at the gravel. Gideon reached across and straightened Tristan’s coat with a firm tug.

“There,” he said. “At least look like a man who knows what he is doing.”

Tristan gave him a sharp look, but the corner of his mouth lifted despite the weight pressing on him. “I cannot tell because it feels like I am still sometimes treated like a boy.”

“Only when you forget who you are, my lord,” Gideon said.

The carriage eventually jolted to a complete stop, and silence fell between them. Tristan’s hand tightened once on the door handle.

“If I can face bullets, I can face words,” he said at last.

He pushed the door open and stepped down into the cool night. The lanterns threw long shadows across the gravel, and the low murmur of voices swelled from the house ahead. Every nerve in his body was taut, but his spine stayed straight.

The battle had begun.

The hall smelled of polished wood, tobacco, and way too much wine. Crystal chandeliers cast golden light across velvet curtains and heavy oak tables, and laughter rang too loud. Tristan recognized that kind of laughter as he stepped closer to the house. It was the kind that tried to mask the unease underneath.

Marcus stood near the center, his wine glass in hand and the smile on his face broader than the surface of a babbling brook. His smooth voice carried effectively around the room as he spoke, but then he faltered as Tristan approached the door.

“Lord Vale,” he said as Tristan entered. “At last. I feared you might miss the toast.”

“I would not dream of it,” Tristan answered, his voice even.

You have no idea what you are about to step into, Mr. Harwood.

Several lords raised their glasses.

“To Evermere’s future!” one cried.

The others echoed, voices clinking against each other’s glasses.

Tristan accepted a glass but did not drink. His eyes moved across the room as he studied the men even further. They were all men of wealth, men of hunger, men who spoke of vision but looked only at maps and numbers. He had always been blind to this, but now he saw rather clearly that their cheer was for the numbers and not for the people.

Good God.

Marcus spread his arms as if unveiling a stage. “Gentlemen, we stand at the edge of history. Evermere is no longer a quiet estate. With the Berkeley Project, it shall be a hub. A gateway. Imagine mills humming, rails cutting across fields, warehouses filled with goods. The countryside will no longer be stagnant. It will be alive with industry.”

The room stirred with nods and hums of agreement.

One lord leaned forward, voice thick with drink. “And the trade routes, Mr. Harwood, you said they will link to the coast?”

“Precisely,” Marcus said, his smile deepening. “A central artery for commerce. We will compete with the largest estates in the kingdom.”

Another lord laughed. “And with competition comes profit.”

Tristan kept his face calm. “Tell me, Mr. Harwood,” he said lightly, “what of the farms? The orchards, the grazing lands … the soil that has fed families for generations. Where do they stand in this vision?”

Marcus waved his hand. “They will adapt. New work will come. Men who once plowed fields will find employment in the mills, and their sons will learn trades. My most sincere apologies, my lord, but you of all people should know that we cannot cling to the past forever.”

Tristan tilted his head. “Employment in mills, yes. But whose mills? Yours? Theirs?” He gestured to the gathered lords. “And when the farms are gone, will their sons truly find a place? Or will they be pushed out eventually when their land is gone and their names forgotten?”

The murmuring in the room shifted. Some eyes lowered. Marcus’s smile stiffened.

“Progress demands sacrifice,” he said. “Evermere cannot remain a backwater while the rest of the country surges ahead. These changes will elevate us all.”

“Or elevateyou,” Tristan said softly.

The remark drew a ripple of uneasy laughter. Marcus bristled but recovered, raising his voice. “Do you think I speak only for myself? Gentlemen, do you not see? This is for Evermere’s greatness. For the future.”