Page 23 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

The hallway grew quiet as she moved closer to Tristan’s study. A wave of murmurs filled her ears, and the closer she got, the clearer the conversation became. She pressed herself against the wall, listening. She immediately recognized Marcus’s tone among them.

“When we rebuild the junction, it will be the only access. Control it, and everything else follows.”

Another voice rose, “And the landowners in those parts?”

“Leave them to me,” Marcus responded smoothly.

A third voice spoke up. “The Collins will not give up farmland so easily. It has been in their family for generations.”

“Before them it belonged to another,” another man said. “Even the Collins must see that things cannot remain unchanged forever.”

“And what of the path to the marketplace?” a fourth man asked. “It is the only road through the woods.”

“I was coming to that,” Marcus responded, his voice dropping.

Eliza leaned closer, hoping to hear more. Then the beads at the hem of her dress brushed against the wall. She couldn’t stop the sound before it traveled.

They all heard it, and the voices inside fell silent.

“Did you hear that?” one of them muttered.

Her heart leapt to her throat, and she pressed flat against the wall, her breath wavering.

“Close the door,” Marcus ordered. “You cannot be too careful.”

A moment later, she heard the door click shut, and silence followed.

Eliza exhaled shakily. She couldn’t hear anything anymore.

Turning quickly, she made her way back toward the ballroom, her mind racing. What was Marcus plotting this time?

What had she just stumbled into?

***

“Oh, there you are,” Tristan’s voice broke into her train of thought. She turned and watched him approach her gently, his footsteps easy on the polished floor. “I thought you’d run away again.”

“I would not do that,” Eliza responded, her voice soft. Marcus raised his glass, and she clinked hers gently with his. They both sat by the terrace and watched the crowd mingle with each other.

“There is something I must tell you.”

Eliza frowned. Tell me?

“We are to meet your brother tomorrow at the local harvest festival,” Tristan continued, oblivious to the questions growing in her thoughts. “I thought it was high time we finished the discussions and got straight down to business once and for all.”

Eliza swallowed, her fingers gripping her drink just a bit tighter. “And you want me to come with you?”

He turned to her, his brow raised. “Would that be a problem?”

“Not in the slightest,” her response was quick. “So tell me about this so-called project of yours. Or would that be too forward of me to ask?”

“You are my wife, Eliza. You are never too forward to ask me anything.”

The reassurance in his voice was almost intoxicating.

“And it is called the Berkeley Project,” he continued.

The words turned around in her head, like a wardrobe with a false bottom. Something that had more to it than meets the eye.

The Berkeley Project.

The thought lingered in her head as Tristan started to explain everything to her about the project so far. It lingered even when he was eventually done.

The Berkeley Project.

Tristan leaned closer as the murmur of voices continued to fill the hall. “Well? What do you think of it?”

She tilted her head, pretending to weigh her words with care. “It does sound like … a nice project.”

His brow arched. “Nice? That is all you have to say?”

“Yes,” she responded, a teasing edge in her voice. She could hear the mild frustration in his tone, and for some reason, something told her to pursue that. “It is nice. Quite simple and tidy enough. Does it not please you to hear it?”

He gave a low chuckle. “Not in the least. A man brings his wife into his confidence about matters of investment, and all he earns for his trouble is ‘nice?’”

She could practically hear the disgust in his voice as he mentioned the word.

“Well, I could say more,” she responded, her voice solemn. “It is… very nice”

Tristan let out a breath, shaking his head. “You are enjoying this quite well, are you not?”

“You cannot begin to imagine,” she responded, her eyes filled with amusement.

Their words lingered between them, playful, but she could feel it.

They were edged with something more. Something she wished they could keep exploring right here and now.

In fact, for a moment, she thought he might respond to her quips with a smile.

He looked past her shoulder and frowned. She followed his gaze.

A boy darted across the floor, chased by two of his younger companions. Their laughter seemed to ring even louder than the music.

“Do not run too much,” Tristan called, his voice firm. “You will fall.”

The boy looked back, then kept running, his legs flying behind him.

Tristan muttered, half to himself, “Why do I even bother?”

Eliza pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “Because you enjoy giving orders, perhaps?”

He looked at her, one brow still raised. “I shall try not to take offense at that.”

“Please do,” she said lightly.

His gaze moved again, scanning the room. Then he straightened. “Excuse me a moment. That is Lord Graham near the wall. If I do not speak to him, he will think I have snubbed him.”

Eliza smiled. “I am certain everyone already thinks that.”

He gave her a pointed look, though she could see the hint of humor behind it. “Do not worry. It is your day. You can be as merciless as you want.”

“You were the one who married me,” she replied.

“I shall never live it down,” he said, his tone dry, before moving away toward Lord Graham.

Eliza watched him go, her smile fading slowly. Once his tall figure was lost among the guests, she allowed her eyes to wander across the crowded room.

She noticed a few noblemen she had yet to meet but knew she would as she continued to move in Tristan’s world. Her eyes caught Marcus sitting at a table with a few more men she didn’t recognize.

He leaned back in his chair, speaking with two lords, a glass of wine in hand. His laughter was loud.

Much too loud.

And his expression smug, in that way she knew too well. Her chest tightened as she crossed the floor with steady steps. When she reached the table, she greeted the men politely, then looked straight at her brother.

“Might I have a moment with Mr. Harwood?”

The men glanced at one another, surprised, but rose from their seats with murmured excuses. Marcus’s glare darkened.

“Please forgive me!” she murmured behind them as they all left.

“What do you want?” Marcus said through clenched teeth.

“You will know,” she answered calmly, “if you come with me.”

His jaw worked almost like he wanted to refuse, but after a pause, he stood, pushing back his chair. He followed her out into the hallway, and the doors closed behind them, muting the music.

Eliza turned, fixing him with a steady gaze. “What are you up to?”

Marcus feigned confusion. “What do you mean?”

“This new venture of yours. What are you trying to drag my husband into?”

He gave a sharp laugh. “Your husband? Need I remind you who got you that husband in the first place?”

Her eyes narrowed. “That is not what I am speaking of, and you know it. I know you, Marcus. You always have something hidden up your sleeve, and it never ends well. I would very much prefer you not involve Tristan in it.”

Marcus leaned closer, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “Since when did you grow so possessive? You sound almost fond of him.”

“That is none of your concern,” she shot back.

“My dear sister,” he drawled, “I have a project that could make us all richer. If your husband wishes to invest, who am I to stop him?”

Her teeth ground together, her chest burning. She wanted to strike him and tear that stupid smirk from his face, but she stood still.

At last, he stepped back, his expression hardening. “Do not bother me again tonight. I did not come here for you.”

Eliza lifted her chin. “This is my ball.”

“Which does not negate a word I just said,” he replied smoothly.

Then he turned, his coat brushing past her as he walked back toward the hall.

Eliza stood frozen for a moment, her heart pounding, her thoughts knotted. She hated the feeling this gave her. Marcus was planning something. And whatever it was, it had Tristan’s name drawn into it.

She drew a long breath and forced herself to follow him back inside, her face composed and her steps measured. It was a good thing Tristan had invited her to come with him the next day. Perhaps she could see first-hand what her husband and her brother were both about to step into.