Page 20 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

Her laughter rose again. “The point is, I know very little about you. One way to know a person is through those who see him most clearly.”

Tristan set down his cup, his eyes narrowing faintly. “You are asking about my friends?”

Eliza lifted her shoulders. “Is it not the best way to get the full picture of someone’s character? Through the people who study the canvas?”

He leaned back, his tone dry. “You did not just compare me to one of your portraits.”

Eliza hid a smile. “Should that not be a compliment?”

“Not to me,” he said evenly.

She studied him a moment longer. “I cannot tell if you are being serious.”

“I am,” Tristan replied, his gaze falling briefly to his plate. “My mother used to call me that. A canvas. She painted often, like you.”

The playfulness immediately disappeared. Eliza set her fork down, sensing the change in his voice.

“I see,” she said softly.

He swallowed, as if forcing the words.

Eliza exhaled. “If you do not wish to speak about this matter—”

Tristan shook her head. “Not at all.”

“All right,” she responded.

He drew a breath and pressed on. “I was only searching for the right way to say it.”

“Say what?” she asked, her voice etched with nothing but utter curiosity.

Tristan grabbed a glass of water. “My father did not care for her painting. He mocked it, dismissed it, sometimes, he even forbade her altogether. He made it difficult for her to find pride in her work.”

“Oh,” Eliza muttered, feeling no other word escape her lips.

His jaw tightened. “She painted anyway, but always beneath his judgment. I believe she carried shame for what she loved.”

Eliza’s heart ached, yet she did not reach for pity.

She sensed that was not what he needed. Instead, she met his gaze steadily.

“Then perhaps it falls to me to say what she was never permitted to hear. There is no shame in beauty created with honesty and passion. No judgment from another person should ever silence it.”

Something flickered across Tristan’s eyes. Something vulnerable and unguarded. He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Thank you.”

Neither of them spoke for the next few minutes. Finally, Eliza lifted her cup again, her voice quiet but steady.

“I shall expect Clara with eagerness, and perhaps, when she comes, you will tell me more about the woman who painted before me.”

Tristan’s mouth curved, though not quite into a smile. “Perhaps I will.”

For the next few days, Eliza had nothing else to think about than the imminent arrival of her best friend. The atelier was nearing full completion, and that created another wave of excitement in her as well.

Finally, on a Thursday morning, it happened.

She ran out of her room, her feet carrying her as fast as they could across the hallway before she stopped by the entrance.

A dark carriage rolled to a complete halt, letting out puffs of dust right by the steps of the manor.

Her expectant eyes watched the veiled window until, eventually, Clara stepped out, nothing but pure excitement on her face.

“Eliza!”

Eliza ran forward and drew her into a firm embrace. In that moment, all the stiff and tight air that came with being on her own completely disappeared. At that moment, it was her and her best friend.

Just like it had always been.

Clara pulled back and studied her with a grin. “I cannot tell for the life of me if you have stayed the same weight or grown thinner.”

Eliza laughed. “Do not be ridiculous, Clara. It is the same weight, I assure you. I have not wasted away just yet.”

Clara arched her brow, skeptical, then bent to take her bag, but Eliza stopped her. “Do not trouble yourself. The maids will see to those.”

“Look at you,” Clara said, shaking her head with mock wonder. “Lady Vale.”

Eliza rolled her eyes but laughed, and together they walked toward the doors.

A small sense of pride seeped into her mind as she watched Clara’s eyes scan the hallway and the surrounding panels.

She could see the expression of approval in her friend’s smile, and she hadn’t known until right then that it was something she absolutely needed.

“Tristan is not here at present,” she explained as they walked into the great hall. “He had to ride into Yorkshire. But he should return before nightfall.”

Clara nodded, her eyes still roving over the high walls and carved arches. “So this is the famous Evermere.”

Eliza opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of footsteps cut into her words. They both turned and noticed Gideon approaching from the end of the hall. He had his hands behind his back and a somewhat stern look on his face for some reason.

“Mr. Hale,” Eliza said, smiling. “May I present my dear friend, Clara?”

Gideon came closer, his face composed, neither warm nor cold. Clara extended her hand but let it drop when he merely gave her a polite nod in response.

“Mr. Hale is Tristan’s close friend.”

“I am also his valet,” Gideon added, his tone clipped.

Clara studied him with amusement. “You look like you are about to demand why I am not in uniform.”

Gideon’s expression did not shift.

“My goodness,” Clara murmured to Eliza quietly. “He’s very stern.”

At last, Gideon lowered his head just a little. “Welcome to Evermere, Lady Clara.”

Clara narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. “Am I truly welcome?”

He did not answer that. Instead, he turned to Eliza. “If it pleases my lady, I must see to his lordship’s shirts.”

Eliza nodded. “Of course, Mr. Hale.”

He turned sharply and departed, leaving Clara staring after him.

“He doesn’t seem like a friendly fellow,” Clara said once his footsteps faded.

“Be careful,” Eliza cautioned gently. “He served in the war.”

Clara snorted. “Oh well, that explains the manner. He’s the brooding soldier type, is he not?”

“It’s certainly a problem here at Evermore,” Eliza muttered with a small laugh, and together they climbed the stairs toward her chambers.

Once inside, Clara’s gaze moved eagerly about the room, taking in the tall windows, the delicate curtains, and the neat arrangements upon the writing desk. “This is lovely. It is far grander than the rooms you had at your home.”

“I shall try my best to not be offended by that.”

Clara turned to Eliza, a smile on her face. “Oh, you know what I mean.”

Eliza smiled. “The maids are preparing your chamber now. It will not be long. But for the moment, we can stay here.”

Clara flung herself onto a chair, stretching as if she had traveled a hundred miles on foot. “Then let us catch up at once. I cannot wait to hear everything.”

Eliza settled opposite her. “Where do I begin? The atelier, perhaps. Tristan had it renovated for me. It is nearly finished, and I shall finally have a place to paint.”

Clara leaned forward, eyes wide. “So he does not mind? Not one objection?”

“Not at all,” Eliza replied. “His mother used to paint as well. He told me that a few days back.”

“Ah,” Clara said, nodding. “That makes sense.”

Eliza hesitated, her fingers playing along the fabric of her skirt. “He is beginning to open up to me, in small ways. But sometimes I wonder if it will all vanish tomorrow. If he will retreat again into silence.”

Clara tilted her head. “Is that what you are worried about? For him, or for yourself?”

Eliza’s lips pressed together. “For the marriage itself. What if it does not work?”

Clara chuckled softly. “It has been, what, two months? Do not start to discourage yourself so soon, Eliza.” She smirked. “Or should I say Lady Vale?”

Eliza groaned. “Only when the servants are around. Aunt Evelyn insists on it.”

Clara’s brows rose. “Aunt Evelyn? Do I even want to know the story behind that?”

Eliza waved a hand. “You will meet her soon enough. And you will understand why I say it that way.” She reached for Clara’s hands, squeezing them tightly. “I am simply glad you are here.”

Clara’s eyes softened. “I am glad, too.”

They fell into another hug, one that Eliza clung to, perhaps longer than she should have, but she could not help it.

Eliza could feel it even now as she stared at her friend.

Her overall mood had changed. It would only be a matter of time before her friend’s arrival properly affected all of Evermore.