Page 13 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

Eliza took one last look at the mirror and adjusted her hair.

She swallowed and let her thoughts remain in one place.

Ever since her rather brutal encounter with Tristan that afternoon, she had refused to leave her room in fear of running into him.

She didn’t know if she could bear the hurt look in his eyes.

She stepped out of her chambers anyway and headed down the hallway. Tristan should be in his study by now, which meant the chances of running into him were low. The sound of hammers pounding into nails and into walls filled her ears as she walked.

As she grew closer to the room, the noise grew even louder. Finally, she paused by the doorway and watched the men work in what she could only describe as chaotic coordination. She continued to watch how the men worked in silence and bliss until she broke the silence.

“Good evening,” she said softly.

The workers turned, some wiping their brows, others dipping their heads. “My lady,” they said in return before continuing their work.

Eliza walked slowly across the room, her eyes running over the walls, the light, the growing order. “It looks wonderful,” she said with genuine warmth. “I love how it is coming together.”

The head of the workers, a tall man with broad shoulders and a dark beard, stepped closer. His expression was careful, as though he were not entirely convinced. “You are certain you love what you see, my lady?”

She gave him a small smile. “Yes. Very certain.”

“Are you completely certain?” he asked again, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Her brows lifted at his persistence. “I am. I promise you, I am quite pleased.”

The man finally gave a single nod. “Good.”

She tilted her head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shook his head quickly, his voice flat. “No reason.” Then he stepped back, returning his gaze to the men at work.

Eliza lingered a moment, curious, but decided not to press him. Instead, she asked, “When last did you all take a break?”

One of the younger workers answered between strokes of his hammer. “A few hours ago, my lady.”

“Then I’ll have some lemonade sent up,” Eliza said firmly. “Or at least some water. It isn’t right to keep working without it.”

The bearded man shook his head again. “That won’t be necessary.”

But Eliza smiled faintly and lifted her chin. “It will be done anyway. I’ll see to it myself.”

Without waiting for another protest, she turned and left, the noise of their labor following her into the quiet corridor. She made her way toward the kitchens, her steps echoing in the long hallway, when a door opened suddenly, and Evelyn Howard stepped out.

Eliza stopped and composed herself quickly. “Lady Howard. It is you.”

Evelyn’s lips curved into the faintest smile, her brows arching. “I should hope so.”

Eliza gave a polite nod, unsure whether to laugh or not. “I see you are well this evening.”

“I see you are settling in,” Evelyn said, her voice smooth and cool, her gaze flicking briefly in the direction of the atelier.

“Yes,” Eliza replied, steadying her tone. “And I have the duke to thank for it.”

“Don’t,” Evelyn said at once, the word sharp but almost amused. “The last thing my father needs is someone stroking his ego.”

Eliza inclined her head and allowed the silence to settle. The hammering from the atelier filled the space between them, each strike echoing faintly through the walls.

At length, Evelyn broke the pause. “So you are serious about this atelier of yours.”

“It is only a hobby,” Eliza said. “I hope you do not disapprove.”

“Not at all,” Evelyn answered, her voice as smooth as ever. “I am a sailor by nature. I get used to things as they come.” Her mouth curved a little more. “My husband, if he were here, would say I was being disingenuous. But you must know I am not.”

Eliza studied her face, searching for insincerity, but found none. “I believe you,” she said softly.

Evelyn’s gaze sharpened slightly. “If Tristan is renovating the atelier for you, perhaps there is something in this marriage beyond convenience.”

Eliza gave a short laugh, though it sounded weary to her own ears. “I doubt it. I angered him this afternoon, and he has not spoken to me since.”

Evelyn let out a laugh of her own, richer than Eliza expected. “Do not worry yourself. Tristan has always been the sort to stew in his feelings until he is able to swallow them.”

Eliza frowned at that. “That is unhealthy.”

“Of course it is,” Evelyn said with lightness. “The man was in the army, for God’s sake. I am afraid that was already a given.”

That earned a soft laugh from Eliza, despite herself. “Still, it seems a poor way to live.”

“Perhaps. But he has managed all the same.” Evelyn’s tone carried a finality to it. Then she softened slightly. “Do not fret. He will come around. If he can get past your painting hobby, he can certainly get past whatever else has unsettled him.”

Eliza lowered her gaze for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “Thank you. That is comforting to hear.” She smoothed her shawl. “But I must go. I promised the men some lemonade.”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, though her smile remained. “Of course you did. Well, I must not delay you.”

Eliza began to step away, but Evelyn caught her hand gently, halting her. Eliza turned, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.

“My dear,” Evelyn said, her voice lower now, “you are married to my favorite nephew.”

Eliza narrowed her eyes faintly. “I thought he was your only nephew.”

Evelyn’s smile deepened, her eyes glinting. “Same difference. The point, Eliza, is that you do not need to call me Lady Howard. Aunt Evelyn will do just fine.”

Eliza blinked at the shift, then gave a small nod. “Very well. Thank you … Aunt Evelyn.”

Evelyn released her hand, her expression still fixed in that poised smile.

Eliza dipped her head once more, then turned and continued down the corridor, her thoughts spinning. She had set out only to offer refreshment to the workers, yet somehow she had walked away with a new form of address for a woman she was not yet sure she trusted.

Still, she held onto her composure as she made her way toward the kitchens, the echo of Evelyn’s words following her every step.

***

The next morning came with muted light that stretched through Eliza’s windows. She sat still while Rose, her maid, brushed her hair into order for breakfast. Rose’s fingers were gentle, the brush moving in slow strokes. Eliza studied Rose’s full cheeks and bright red hair in the mirror and exhaled.

“Rose,” she said after a moment, her voice low, “is Lord Vale in the dining room yet?”

“I cannot tell, my lady,” Rose replied. “I’m not permitted in there. That is for Mr. Gideon, his valet. He would know.”

Eliza shifted in her seat. “And have you seen Mr. Gideon this morning?”

Rose nodded. “Yes, my lady, but only briefly. Five minutes in the servants’ hall, nothing more.”

Eliza studied her reflection in the glass. “And did he…well…did he appear as though my husband had left the manor this morning? Perhaps something in his demeanor?”

Rose paused in her brushing. “I’m sorry, my lady. I could not tell. Mr. Gideon is not a man who shows much in his manner.”

Eliza gave a short, rueful smile. “No. I suppose he is not.” She lifted her eyes to Rose’s in the mirror. “You must not apologize. You were not meant to know.”

Rose returned her focus to the hair, tying it up neatly, while Eliza tried to hold herself steady, even though her thoughts scattered in different directions.

Why did she care so much whether Tristan was there or not?

Why should his absence trouble her? Was it because, unlike before, she had been the cause of his withdrawal?

That thought lingered uncomfortably in her head, and she hated the way it made her feel. It was like she had wronged him more than she had intended.

“My lady,” Rose said gently, breaking into her thoughts. “I did hear something spoken of in passing. There was mention of a special guest.”

Eliza blinked and turned a little. “A special guest?”

Rose nodded. “Yes. Supposedly, someone is to arrive at the manor this evening. That is all I heard.”

Eliza frowned. “Someone? And is this someone familiar with the manor? Or is this a friend of His Grace?”

“I couldn’t say, my lady. Only that there is to be a guest. The rest was not shared with me.”

Eliza nodded once, settling her hands in her lap. “Very well. Do not trouble yourself further. Thank you, Rose.”

Rose smiled. “Your hair is finished, my lady. You are ready for the morning.”

Eliza rose, straightening her dress before making her way down the hall. The sound of her steps carried softly as she neared the dining room, but her thoughts filled her head with noise. Soon, the doors opened and she stepped inside.

At the long table sat the duke, stern and still, and beside him was Evelyn, bright in her manner as ever. Evelyn looked up at once and raised her brows.

“Darling, what a relief you have joined us,” Evelyn said with a smooth laugh. “I thought we might have to climb the stairs and settle ourselves outside your door to wait.”

Eliza paused, uncertain. “You needn’t have—”

“She is being sarcastic, my dear,” the duke cut in, his tone plain.

“Oh.” Eliza flushed faintly, a nervous smile breaking over her lips. “Yes. Of course.” She gave a light laugh and moved to take her seat.

She could feel Evelyn’s eyes on her as she placed her napkin on her lap, but she said nothing about it. Instead, she moved to a more pressing subject. “Will Tristan be joining us this morning?”

Evelyn leaned back with an amused look. “Tristan could grow a beard in that study of his and no one would ever know.”

Eliza’s heart sank a little. She had been hoping to see him, to find some way to speak, to offer an apology for their quarrel. She glanced at his empty chair, its vacancy too obvious.

After a pause, she cleared her throat. “I was told a guest is expected at Evermere later today.”

The duke looked up, his brows drawing together. “A guest?”

“Yes.”