Page 19 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

Eliza’s eyes settled on the road speeding past them as the carriage made its way back to the manor. The garden party had been a huge success, and she felt a wave of warmth in her chest, even in the aftermath.

Tristan’s eyes remained settled on her, and she could almost feel the sheer force of his gaze piercing her skin, but she said nothing. Partly because she greatly enjoyed the silence, but mostly because there was absolutely nothing to talk about.

He cleared his throat, and she eventually looked up at him, her eyes bright.

“I must thank you,” he began, his voice low and unusually calm. “I do not know what I would have done had you not swooped in to save me back there with the dowager.”

Eliza tilted her head, studying him. “I am certain you would have come up with something.”

His mouth curved slowly. “Yes. Something like shouting that the ground was cracking beneath us, or perhaps claiming there was a fire.”

Eliza laughed, her shoulders shaking. “You truly dislike uncomfortable silences, do you not?”

“I do,” Tristan responded without hesitation. “Along with some other things. Endless talking. Standing too long in one place.”

Eliza narrowed her eyes with mock severity. “But did you not tell me the other day that you could stand for as long as possible in my room?”

“I am certain I could,” Tristan responded. “I simply despise doing it.”

Her lips curved in a smile. “I understand. There are things I used to do often that I despised as well.”

As Tristan opened his mouth to speak, the carriage jerked forward, its creaky wheels rocking violently against a hidden stone.

Eliza gasped and felt her body lurch forward, nearly losing her balance.

Before she could wrap her mind around what was happening, Tristan’s arms were instantly around her.

A sharp exhale escaped her lips as he steadied her against his chest, and for the better half of a few seconds, she completely forgot how to breathe.

Above them, the driver shouted an apology. “Forgive me, my lord, my lady! A rock in the road I did not see. Are you well?”

Tristan’s voice was steady. “We are fine.” Then he glanced down at her, his arms still firm around her. “Are you well?”

“Yes,” Eliza whispered, though her voice came out as more breathing than actual sound. “I am.”

For what must have been as long as a few minutes, neither of them said anything.

Then, almost like she grew aware of their positions as the carriage continued to move, Eliza snapped out of her momentary reverie.

She cleared her throat immediately and scooted back.

She could still feel his eyes on her as she settled properly against the cushion.

“Thank you for that,” she said, unable to meet his gaze directly.

He shrugged, the dismissal in his voice evident. “It was nothing.”

Well, if it was nothing, why was he still staring at her? She could still feel his eyes boring into her skin like a knife on paper.

His eyes then shifted down to the floor of the carriage. “Is that your book?”

Eliza followed his eyes and reached down and took the book she was holding earlier. It must have slipped from her lap in the commotion. She cleared her throat and lifted it quickly, holding it against her chest.

“Yes. It was given to me by one of the women at the party.”

Tristan squinted at the cover. “I did not know you enjoyed novels.”

“I am full of surprises,” she said, her tone playful. “If you are patient, you may uncover me completely.”

For a moment, his composure wavered. “I should like that very much,” he said, his voice quieter. Then, with a slight cough, he nodded at the book. “But first, I must contend that Mrs. Radcliffe is overrated.”

Her jaw fell open. “You cannot mean that. You truly cannot.”

“I do mean it,” Tristan responded with a straight face.

Eliza pressed her hand to her chest in mock horror. “When I was growing up, I devoured her novels. The Romance of the Forest, The Italian, and, of course, The Mysteries of Udolpho. They shaped my youth.”

“I read some of them as well,” Tristan said. “But I never found the appeal. I thought they were too fanciful. There were too many shadows. It just became rather unrealistic for me.”

She folded her arms, a smile now tugging at her lips. “And just what kind of books did you prefer?”

He exhaled. “I prefer Henry Fielding. His stories are more rooted in realism.”

Eliza burst into laughter, and for almost a minute, she didn’t stop.

“What?” He asked, his voice gentle.

“Only a man like you would prefer Fielding over Radcliffe.”

“It was what I enjoyed growing up,” Tristan said simply.

She leaned toward him, her eyes gleaming. “No wonder you became…” She stopped, almost like she caught herself abruptly.

He turned his head. “Became what?”

“Never mind.”

“No,” Tristan insisted. “I would like to hear it. Became what?”

Eliza exhaled. “A brooder.”

His eyes widened slightly. “A brooder?”

“Yes,” she said, her lips twitching. “You brood a great deal. Do you know it was the first thought I had when I saw you for the very first time?”

“That I was a brooder?”

She shrugged. “Yes. A brooding earl.”

Tristan scoffed. “That is the most inaccurate characterization I have ever heard.”

“Is it?” she asked sweetly, tilting her head.

“I—” he stammered, then stopped, the words slipping from his grasp.

Eliza threw her head back and laughed. “It is fascinating to see you dumbfounded.”

Tristan leaned into his seat, shaking his head, though his lips betrayed the smallest hint of amusement. “I hope you enjoyed it, for you will not see it again.”

“Is that certain?” Eliza pressed.

“It is a promise,” Tristan replied firmly.

They both settled into silence again, and Eliza’s gaze returned to the book in her hand. She still couldn’t look at him without accompanying it with some reason.

Then his voice came again, softer. “We are here.”

Eliza felt her heart grow still as the manor appeared down the road. She couldn’t wait to exit the carriage and envelop herself in the usual silence and serenity she was used to.

The tension in the carriage was slowly making its way above her neck. She took one look at Tristan as his eyes settled outside the carriage window and wondered in that moment what he could possibly be feeling.

***

Eliza was just waking up the next morning when she heard the knock at her door. Her eyes snapped open even more properly, and her eyes settled on the doorknob. Was it Tristan? But then, if it was, surely he would announce himself.

“Enter,” she eventually said.

The door pushed open, and Rose walked in, an eager smile on her face. Eliza looked down at her hands and noticed the envelope wedged between her fingers. Rose stepped forward after curtsying and held out the envelope.

“A letter for you, my lady.”

Eliza took it quickly, her eyes darting to the familiar handwriting upon the seal.

“It is from Clara!” she cried, breaking it open with eager fingers.

She read the neat script, her lips moving silently until she reached the end, then she pressed the paper to her chest with a laugh of delight.

“She will be here within the week. She says she has missed me as much as I have missed her.”

Her excitement escaped her in a small shout, and Rose clapped her hands in delight before embracing her. “That is wonderful, my lady.”

At that moment, Mrs. Yarrow entered, brows drawn in mild disapproval. “Is everything all right in here?”

Eliza froze and felt her cheeks grow completely red. “Forgive me, Mrs. Yarrow. I may have been a little loud.”

The housekeeper’s expression softened. “I am glad for your good news, my lady, but let us keep it gentler. His Grace is still asleep, and you know how sound travels through these halls.”

“Of course,” Eliza said quickly, looking down at the floor. “I shall be more mindful.”

Mrs. Yarrow gave a satisfied nod and left them. As soon as the door closed, Eliza turned to Rose again, her smile wide. The happiness still lingered in her as she seized the maid’s hands.

“Clara, here in Evermere! I can hardly believe it. We have not sat face-to-face in so long. There is so much to tell her.”

Rose returned her joy, though after a moment, she lowered her voice. “I must prepare you, my lady. His Lordship has requested breakfast with you this morning.”

The thought made Eliza’s pulse lift in a different way.

She remembered the carriage ride the evening before…

how the wheel had struck the stone, how she had been thrown forward, and how Tristan’s arms had caught her just in time.

The warmth of that memory followed her while Rose arranged her hair and fastened her gown.

***

When she entered the dining room, Tristan was already at the table. He stood briefly in greeting before they both sat, the smell of warm bread and fresh butter lingering between them.

“Where is Aunt Evelyn?” Eliza asked, glancing at the empty chair beside them.

Tristan reached for his cup. “She has chosen to take her breakfast in her chambers. She said she is not in the mood to use her mouth.”

Eliza arched her brow. “That is unusual. She never turns down an opportunity to speak.”

“Then whatever troubles her must be serious indeed,” Tristan replied.

Eliza smiled faintly. “That is fair.”

She took a sip of her tea, then turned back to him with suppressed excitement. “Clara has written. She will visit this week. Perhaps any day now.”

Tristan nodded, cutting a piece of toast. “I look forward to meeting her.”

Eliza’s fingers tightened around her fork. She thought of shelving the thought in her mind, but at the very last minute, she decided against it.

“And will any of your friends come to Evermere? Surely you must have a few who are close to you,” she asked, looking at him.

Tristan took another bite of his toast. “You know Gideon. He is my friend.”

Eliza laughed. “He is also your valet.”

“That cannot be helped.”