Page 2 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

Eliza stood before the mirror as it captured her face in the soft light of the morning.

Her eyes settled on her reflection, and she watched in wonder as her reflection stared back at her.

Her cheeks were framed with brown hair, and they fell in rather loose strands that seemed to brush her shoulders.

Her hazel eyes looked wider than usual and had a slight hint of red about them.

She hadn’t been sleeping properly as of late, and she needed to remedy that as soon as possible.

Her frame was slight and her shoulders were narrow.

They filled out her gown, which was plain in color.

She brushed her hair with slow strokes, pressing her lips together as if the motion would steady her thoughts.

She was halfway done with her hair when the door creaked open.

Ruth, the serving maid, curtsied before stepping in, her voice low and careful. “Miss, your brother is here.”

Eliza’s brush stilled. “He is back?”

“Yes, miss. And he brought a friend with him.”

Eliza swallowed. “Thank you, Ruth.”

Ruth dipped again and slipped out of the chamber.

Eliza placed the brush on the dressing table with a trembling hand.

Her heart jumped and then sank. She rose to her feet, lifting the ends of her gown as the fear started to get the better of her.

The best way to avoid Marcus’s anger was to remain out of sight.

And that was what she intended to do.

She hurried out immediately, her slippers practically digging into the wooden floorboards as she left her chamber.

The staircase stretched before her, its edges lined with dust and the steps stripped of polish.

She remembered when it used to shine with no consequence.

When light from the tall windows spilled across it like gold.

Now it looked dry and brittle, a reminder of the former grandeur she used to live in.

She descended quickly, her dress still gathered in one hand. Her feet crossed the faded carpet of the hall, each step echoing in the emptiness. She glanced behind her as though expecting someone to appear.

She turned back too late and collided with a solid form. A gasp escaped her lips.

“Watch where you are going, you half-wit!” Marcus snapped, pushing his hand out and shoving her aside.

Eliza stepped back, her heart pounding in her chest with no limit. She watched him smooth the lapel of his coat with sharp flicks of his fingers, his mouth drawn into a thin line.

“I beg your pardon,” Eliza said quickly, her cheeks flushing as she managed to exhale.

Marcus looked down at her, but the man beside him drew her eyes instead. His figure was taller than her brother’s, and his coat was dark and well cut. His gaze met hers and softened faintly.

“Miss Harwood,” the man said with a polite bow. “I am Mr. Coltrane.”

Eliza dipped her head just slightly. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“I am about to have a very important meeting with Mr. Coltrane,” Marcus said, his voice rising with authority. “If you know what is good for you, make yourself scarce.”

Eliza clenched her hands together, the knuckles growing white.

She watched as Marcus and Mr. Coltrane walked toward the opposite end of the house.

Her teeth pressed hard together. If Marcus already saw her, she might as well take her chance now.

There was something she needed. Something she was certain he could provide for her.

She drew a breath and stepped forward. “Marcus, now that you are here, there is something I would like to ask of you.”

Marcus stopped mid-step and turned slowly, his dark eyes boring into her, heavy with disdain.

“Well, speak, Eliza,” he said. “Not all of us have time to waste.”

Eliza rubbed her hands together, her gaze falling to the floor and then back up again.

“I had hoped to purchase some hues for my painting. I meant to go to the market this morning, but I have no money. I wondered if you might give me some.” She swallowed.

“You could even lend it, and I will repay you when I have it.”

A low laugh broke from Marcus, and he stepped toward her until the space between them seemed to shrink.

“When you have it? Eliza, have you lost all sense? We are growing penniless by the second. The house is disintegrating around us, yet you ask me for colors.”

“I only—”

“You only waste breath,” Marcus cut in, his voice sharp and filled with scorn.

“Look around you. Look at where we currently live. This house once stood proud, a glorious mansion with endless maids and cooks. Now we are reduced to one servant and a girl in the kitchen who cannot apparently tell what fish should taste like—”

“Anna is trying her best —”

“Did I say you could speak?”

Eliza’s chest rose and fell, the words burning her throat.

“Let us say I lend you the money, how would you repay me?” Marcus demanded.

He lifted his boot and tapped the sole against the floor.

“You are as useless as this bit of leaf at the bottom of my shoe. You do nothing but sit before a canvas all day and draw useless images. You have no prospects, no suitors of worth, no skill that would keep you fed for even a week. And still you ask me for colors.”

Her throat tightened, and she bit the inside of her lip until she tasted blood.

Marcus leaned closer, his words low but edged with cruelty. “The only responsibility I have, dear sister, is to keep you alive, and I do that by feeding you. Anything else is a frivolity, and for you, a luxury.”

Eliza lowered her eyes. “I am sorry. I only meant to ask—”

“Well, you meant wrong.”

Eliza swallowed. “You must accept my apologies.”

A wave of tension passed between all three of them before Marcus eventually broke it.

“Make certain you never ask me that again,” he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. He turned on his heel and strode away with Mr. Coltrane, leaving her rooted to the spot.

Left alone, she felt her skin start to crawl with embarrassment. Her vision blurred, and she blinked hard, but the sting in her eyes did not fade.

“Miss,” Ruth’s gentle voice broke through as she hurried forward and touched Eliza’s arm. “Do not cry. Please, do not let your brother’s words fall too deep. It will be well.”

Eliza forced a breath, steadying her voice, though it wavered. “Yes, Ruth. I am well aware of that, believe me. I know it cannot continue this way.”

Ruth gave her a searching look. “No, it cannot. Do you need me to fetch you anything? A handkerchief, perhaps? Maybe a handkerchief for your eyes?”

“You are too kind,” Eliza stated. “But you do not have to worry. The worst of it is all over, I suppose.”

Ruth said nothing. Instead, she only nodded and remained rooted to the spot. Eliza brushed her sleeves against the falling tears in her eyes and cleared her throat.

“Tell me, Ruth,” she said, “Who is Mr. Coltrane? Is he someone we used to know? Something about him seems oddly familiar.”

“I do not think so, miss,” Ruth answered softly. “But if you will forgive my forwardness, I cannot help but wonder what mischief your brother is plotting this time around.”

Eliza’s lips pressed into a thin line. She lifted her chin and nodded faintly. “I cannot help but wonder as well.”

***

The afternoon light slid lazily through the tall window, softening the hard lines of Eliza’s chamber.

She sat with her easel near the window, her brush moving gently across the canvas.

A shallow plate of hues rested at her side, the colors new and precious.

She had asked her only friend, Clara, for money to purchase them.

She could still hear Clara’s voice in her mind as she painted.

Do not fret, Eliza. I only want you to pay it back when you can.

Her hand trembled slightly with gratitude as she dipped the brush into the vivid blue.

For a moment, she allowed herself to breathe.

The scent of oil and pigment filled the room, intense but somewhat soothing.

Her brush moved, laying out the lines of stone steps, tall drapes, and windows filled with light.

She was not painting what lay outside her window. There was nothing worth painting there. All she could see now were broken shutters, cracked stones, and a courtyard overrun by weeds. No, she painted what had once been, what the house used to be like when her parents were still alive.

She painted the mansion as she remembered it, when it looked graceful and stately and when it was filled with the hum of life.

The tall cobblestone steps shone in her imagination, and the courtyard brimmed with polished carriages. Drapes of ivory fell in soft folds from high windows, and the sun pressed hard against the bright walls.

She painted the grandeur of yesterday. The one she could no longer get back. The thought struck her just as it had come.

Her throat tightened, and she set down the brush for a moment. Tears filled her eyes as she folded her hands together.

“Papa. Mama.” Her voice was low and uncertain as she pressed her palms against her knees.

“You always said you would be with me. Yet it feels as though you have abandoned me.” She raised her gaze to the ceiling as if the light might carry her words.

“I remember the dinners you gave. I remember the plays we attended, the carriage rides through town. Now we have nothing, except enough to keep us from starving.”

She bent her head again, lifting the brush but not moving it.

“Marcus is no solicitor anymore. He was caught stealing, and he has brought disgrace upon us. I have had to borrow from a friend for these colors.”

Her breath caught, and she blinked against the sting in her eyes.

“This cannot be the life you wished for me. I know you wanted better, and I want better, too. I want freedom. I want to escape his hand upon me. If you hear me … if you truly are still with me … please send me a sign.”

The door burst open without warning, and Marcus stepped in, his boot digging into the floor with purpose. She watched his eyes sweep over her painting before settling on her face, and she gently lowered her brush.

“I suppose it would be too much to ask that you knock before entering my room.”

He shut the door behind him with a click. “The last thing you want to do is waste my time with sass.”

Her lips pressed tight. She placed the brush on the table before her and waited. Whatever her brother had to say, it couldn’t be worse than anything he had said before.

“I’ve brought news,” Marcus eventually said, walking across the chamber with deliberate strides. He sat down on the edge of her bed, his hand settling on his coat. “Good news.”

She arched her brow. “What news?”

“It has all been arranged,” Marcus began, his tone measured and calculated. “You are to marry Lord Tristan Vale, the Earl of Evermere.”

For a moment, she could not speak. She blinked at him, uncertain whether she had misheard, then, at the very last minute, a sharp and quick laugh broke from her lips.

Marcus narrowed his eyes at her. “Did you hear what I just said?”

“Yes. Did you hear what you just said?”

“Yes,” Marcus responded, his voice flat and devoid of any kind of humor.

“And it is quite hilarious,” Eliza said, shaking her head. “You have either taken up a role as a court jester, or you have finally lost your mind.”

His expression hardened. “You will not speak to me in that manner.”

“Is this a joke? No lord would ever agree to marry a girl from a family in ruin. I have nothing to offer, Marcus. No inheritance or promise of dowry.”

Marcus’s mouth curved into a smile, even though it held nothing but mischief.

“It is fortunate you need not worry about that. Lord Tristan knows nothing of our state. All he knows is that you are the daughter of a powerful baron, with noble connections and wealthy friends. As a female, you are left with a small inheritance held in trust. That will be difficult to disprove.”

Her breath left her sharply. “You mean to have me enter into marriage by deceit? You truly have gone mad.”

He rose and crossed the room, stopping near the small table where her brushes lay. “This is everything we have been hoping for.”

She stood, squaring her shoulders. “No. It is everything you have been hoping for. I will not do it.”

His eyes narrowed. “You have no choice.”

“I am certain that I have a choice in whom I marry. I will not submit to a scheme or give myself to a man under false pretenses.”

Marcus’s hand came down hard on the table, rattling the bowl of colors. “Need I remind you again of our situation? Our father is gone. We have no income, no standing. The roof falls in each passing day, and the walls rot around us. Your purpose to this family is to make yourself useful.”

Her lips trembled, but she held her ground. “You are the reason we are in this state. You squandered what we had on dishonest dealings and disgraced our name. Why should I have to pay for your transgressions?”

Marcus leaned close, his face tight with fury. “Enough.”

Eliza exhaled and continued to watch him.

His gaze fell on the canvas by the window. The painted drapes and carriages gleamed in vivid color.

“And this?” he said with a sharp laugh. “This is what you do while the house decays? A child’s game. It will never feed you.”

Her hand clenched against her skirts. “There must be another way.”

“There is none,” Marcus said. His voice cut across the chamber like a knife. “If you refuse, then the house will crumble over our heads, and you will bear the blame.”

He straightened and smoothed his coat again as he walked toward the door. Then he grabbed the doorknob and turned to her. “You will marry him. And that is final.”

He stepped out, and the door shut tight behind him.

Eliza stood still, her breath uneven. Her hand trembled when she lifted the brush again, but she could not bring herself to paint. She stared at the bright colors she had bought at such cost. She would have to marry an unknown earl.

She had no choice.

Better to face a stranger than the wrath of her brother.