Page 22 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

When Tristan told her about the ball that would be held in her honor, Eliza’s first thought, in fact, was fear. She had never had to organize something where she would be the one everyone came to see.

“Do not worry. It is only going to be a few friends and family members,” Tristan had reassured her.

So, for the next week, she engaged with the servants and footmen to plan the ball. The lingering thought that she might make a fool of herself did not disappear throughout the planning process. One of the nights, she was even certain Mrs. Yarrow noticed her anxiety.

“You do not have to worry, my lady,” the housekeeper had said, her voice filled with care. “It is only for one night.”

***

Days later, when she stood in front of the door, her heart pounded every single way but straight. Her hand settled on her gown, and she tried to listen to the sound from the other side of the room. She could hear footsteps, and a part of her tried to count them.

Ten?

Twenty?

A hundred?

The music did not exactly help in keeping her focus either, and the thought of having to go in there and face the guests alone seemed to terrify her to the core. She tried to slow her breathing and keep calm but it did little to nothing to help her growing anxiety.

From the sound alone, the ballroom was full. More people than she had expected. More eyes than she wanted.

Her breath came shallow. She told herself it was only a ball. She had been to dozens. Yet her feet would not move.

Why was she suddenly nervous?

She closed her eyes for a moment and let the truth press hard against her chest. This was not like other nights. This was not someone else’s celebration.

“Lady Vale,” Clara’s voice called behind her, immediately pulling her back to the present. “Do not tell me you are nervous over a simple event.”

Eliza opened her eyes, turning to her friend. Clara stood with her arms folded and her head tilted as if she already knew the answer.

And that was because she did.

“Why are you still out here?” Clara continued. “I thought you’d be inside already.”

Eliza let out a shaky breath. “When Tristan first mentioned this ball, I thought it would be simple. That I could step inside, smile, and own the room. But now —” Her voice broke. “Now I do not know if I can even open the door.”

Clara’s brow pinched. “What are you talking about? This is not your first ball. It is not even your twentieth. Why tonight? What makes this one different?”

Eliza pressed her hand to her waist as if it might calm her.

“At those other parties, I had nothing to fear. They were never about me. I could move through the crowd, and no one cared. Tonight, it is different. Tonight, every glance will fall on me.”

Clara nodded, a wave of understanding crossing her face. “Oh.”

“And Marcus is in there,” Eliza added, almost like an afterthought.

“Ah,” Clara said, her eyes softening. “I forgot your brother has to attend these things.”

Eliza gave a bitter laugh. “I would have prayed for him to stay away. But he is here, and I cannot send him away.”

“Unfortunately,” Clara said with a small smile.

Eliza opened her mouth to speak, but the tall doors pushed open. They both turned and watched Evelyn step out, her eyes searching the hallways. The surprise on her face could cut glass when she laid her eyes on them both.

“Good heavens,” Evelyn said, her voice cutting. “I may be getting old, but is it not tradition for the hostess of a ball to normally be at the ball?”

“She is only dealing with a little nervousness,” Clara said quickly. “I’m attempting to help her through it.”

“What does she have to be nervous about?” Evelyn scoffed. “These are only the local gentry. Nothing to fear here. If it were London, I would understand. Those people would tear you apart for one wrong move.”

Eliza watched Clara give Evelyn a flat look. “Thank you, Lady Howard. Your words, as always, are eternally comforting.”

“It is fine, Aunt Evelyn,” Eliza muttered, even though everything in her voice proved otherwise.

Evelyn ignored them both, lifting her chin. “Do you need me to drag you in by the wrist? Would that help?”

Eliza straightened. “No. I will be fine.”

“Good,” Evelyn said. “And you know what else will be fine? Making your entrance. Preferably before supper. Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” Eliza said, her voice quiet but firm.

Evelyn leaned in, lowering her tone. “Then hurry. I cannot watch those shameless spinsters hover over your husband for another minute.”

With those words, she opened the doors and spun into the ballroom, and the doors swung close behind her.

Clara gave a low whistle. “Is she not a wonder? If sharp words were blades, she could cut through steel.”

Eliza’s lips tugged into the smallest smile. “Something like that.”

“But she is right,” Clara said more gently. “This is not the time to hide. Everyone inside came for you. Do not let fear take it from you. Walk through those doors and show them you have nothing to be afraid of. I will be there with you the whole time. And so will Lord Vale.”

Eliza’s chest tightened even more at the thought, but Clara reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Now come, I am certain Lady Howard will return with reinforcements if we do not make it in there on time.”

Eliza drew in a deep breath. Then another. She smoothed her gown, letting her palms trace the folds, as if summoning courage from the fabric itself.

She eventually stepped forward, feeling her slippers tap against the polished floor, and pushed the door open.

The ballroom shone with light from almost every direction, and the chandeliers above reflected the light onto the polished floors.

Eliza stood at the edge, her knuckles interlocked as she looked around.

Men and women moved around the room in their finery. Couples danced a quadrille on the dance floor.

Clara stayed close, speaking quietly to her every now and then. “You see? You had nothing to worry about. Everyone looks charmed already.”

Eliza gave her friend a warm smile in response, glad for what she was trying to do. But she still felt the wave of tightness pressing down on her chest.

At least until she heard his voice.

“My lady?”

She turned around and swallowed. Tristan stood right in front of her, his coat sharp and a calm smile resting on his face. She studied the way his dark coat stretched over his broad shoulders. His hair was slicked back, and a gentle smile rested on his face.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked.

She hesitated. Dancing meant stepping into the center of all those watching eyes. Still, something in his tone kept her relaxed. Or was she just thinking what she wanted?

Without lingering too long, she placed her hand in his. “Yes.”

He led her onto the dance floor, and they began to move. Their steps were careful at first, as if any wrong move would break the subtle rapport between them.

However, as the music carried them along, something shifted. The light brown in his eyes grew softer, and for a moment, the distance that often stood between them completely faded.

“You are lighter on your feet than I expected,” he eventually said.

She raised a brow. “Was that meant as a compliment?”

“It was.”

“Then I will accept it.”

A smile appeared at the corner of his mouth, and the tightness in her chest loosened. For a moment, it felt like laughter might escape her.

The dance ended too soon, and he led her back toward the side. They stayed together after that, talking about the men and women in the ballroom. For a very brief moment, the crowd seemed to completely disappear around them.

She was with him. Just him.

And nothing could break this moment.

“Lord Vale.”

Eliza’s eyes snapped shut, and she felt her stomach twist. She would recognize that voice even if she heard it while unconscious.

Marcus stood before them, his smile tight, his eyes glinting with calculation.

“Brother,” Eliza said coolly.

Marcus all but ignored her by bowing slightly and looking straight at Tristan.

“Might I borrow Lord Vale for a moment? There are a few matters best discussed in private.”

Tristan’s jaw shifted. “Mr. Harwood, this is hardly the place—”

Marcus pressed on smoothly. “It will not take long. And I promise, my lord, you will want to hear it.”

Tristan’s gaze lingered on Eliza before he gave a short nod. “Very well.”

Eliza’s stomach twisted even more as Marcus laid a hand on Tristan’s arm and steered him toward the door and into the hallway. She watched them go, the unease growing in her.

She was still staring at them when a glass of water appeared in her line of sight.

“Here,” Clara said, holding the glass out to her. “You need this more than I do.”

Eliza accepted the water but barely tasted it. Her eyes remained fixed on the hallway.

“You see?” Clara said, smiling. “Nothing to fear tonight. I told you—”

“Clara,” Eliza cut in, her voice low. “Would you … manage the guests for a while? There is something I must do.”

Clara blinked. “What is it?”

“I cannot explain,” Eliza said, shaking her head. “Please. Just help me.”

Clara hesitated, then nodded. “Go.”

Eliza slipped away, her slippers gliding quickly across the marble floor. Before she could get to the hallway, a woman intercepted her, face bright.

“My lady, congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Eliza responded, her impatience evident.

“What a splendid event!” the woman continued anyway. ‘You must tell me, where did you find the tapestries?”

“Hmm…” Eliza trailed off instead, her eyes still fixed on the door.

“And the claret, good heavens, it must have cost—”

Eliza gently tapped the woman’s shoulder. “I am glad you are enjoying yourself, my lady. Please, drink as much as you wish.” She moved forward and then paused, her voice softening but firm. “Not too much though.”

The woman blinked at the dismissal, and Eliza moved on.