Page 26 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

The sun had not dimmed yet, but the clouds at the far edge of the sky swelled in a heavy gray. Eliza tilted her head back, lifting one hand to shield her eyes.

“It looks like it is going to rain,” she said, her voice half playful and half certain.

Tristan, standing at her side with his hands clasped behind his back, did not even look up. “I doubt it.”

“It is barely noon and the edges of the sky are beginning to grow dark,” she teased, lowering her gaze to him. “That is certainly the threat of rain.”

“It rarely rains around here, no matter how dark the sky gets,” Tristan responded, calm and sure. “Trust me, we will have a clear day.”

Eliza pursed her lips and lifted her hand in mock surrender. “Very well. When we are drenched and wandering in search of shelter, I shall remind you of this moment. We should at least make arrangements for an inn nearby just in case.”

“There is no need for that, because you know why?” Tristan said again, his tone almost stubborn. “It is not going to rain.”

“Fine.” She smiled despite herself. “Then follow me to the market.”

Tristan cast one glance toward the square where Marcus and the others still lingered, then back to her. “There is still time before the lords arrive. Very well. Lead the way.”

The marketplace was just as she had imagined it. A lively row of stalls on both sides.

“My lady!” a woman called, waving a basket filled with oranges. “Freshly picked, sweetest you shall ever taste!”

Another stepped forward with a platter of butter. “The best you will eat this year, Lady Vale!”

Men shouted the prices of smoked fish and wooden furniture while others asked if there was any service they required.

Eliza slowed, breathing it all in. “Do you smell that?” she asked, turning toward Tristan.

He had slipped his hands into his pockets, walking just behind her as carefully as possible. His expression had not shifted once.

“Tristan?” she called again, her voice louder.

“I smell nothing other than raw meat and a handful of herbs,” he responded, his voice casual.

Eliza laughed, shaking her head. “Exactly. All of it together. Is it not exhilarating? People travel from every corner of the village to lay out their goods, each scent mingling into the others. It feels alive.”

Tristan’s mouth quirked in something that might have been a smirk, though it faded almost instantly. “If one finds joy in such things, I suppose.”

“I do,” she said firmly. “And you should learn to enjoy yourself more.”

“I should try to return to the lords,” Tristan countered dryly, “before your brother bores them senseless with talk of industry and land.”

Eliza arched her brow. “Are you saying Marcus can bore a man like you?”

“I am saying Mr. Harwood has the talent,” Tristan muttered.

She hid her laughter behind her hand and moved on.

The crowd grew thinner near the far end of the stalls, and it was there she noticed a man standing with a cat nestled against his arm.

The animal’s coat gleamed, silver with subtle streaks of white, and its eyes were bright gold. Eliza stopped before she realized it.

“Good God,” she breathed. “That is the most beautiful cat I have ever seen.”

The villager turned toward her with a nod. “Is he not a beauty?”

The cat gave a soft purr, pressing its head into the man’s chest.

Tristan stepped up beside her. “We have not made your acquaintance.”

“Mr. Kale,” the man said, bowing slightly.

“Lord and Lady Vale,” Tristan replied.

Kale’s eyes widened. He bowed again, deeper. “An honor, my lord, my lady.”

“You are going to the festival?” Tristan asked, his gaze landing briefly on the ribbon tied around Kale’s wrist.

“My daughter is there,” Kale said. “She insisted I bring Lemon.”

“Lemon?” Eliza repeated, her brows rising.

Kale smiled. “That is his name.”

She let out a laugh, delighted. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am entirely serious. The cat is called Lemon. And he lives up to it. He is sweet, but quick to sour.”

Eliza reached to scratch behind Lemon’s ears, and the creature blinked slowly, entirely pleased with her attention. “A perfect name then,” she said.

“Why do we not walk back together?” she suggested. “We have just come from the festival.”

Kale agreed at once, and the three of them turned down the path.

As they walked, Eliza kept her hand close to Lemon, enjoying the steady hum of his purr. “What is it you do in the village, Mr. Kale?” she asked.

“I manage an inn on the far side of the park,” he replied.

“An inn?” Eliza’s voice warmed. “And how does business fare?”

He shrugged, shifting Lemon gently in his arms. “We cannot complain. Some days are good, others less so. But enough to live by. At least for now.”

Her brows knit. “For now?”

Kale glanced around, then lowered his voice. “You did not hear it from me, my lady, but there is talk. A rumor about parts of the park being torn down because of some new project.”

Beside her, Eliza felt Tristan’s head snap toward him.

Kale went on, utterly unaware. “They say it will bring trade, wealth, and fine things for the lords. But for such things to be gained, something must be lost. And who bears the loss?” He shook his head.

“Not the aristocrats, that much is sure. The poor landowners, the villagers, they will all be left with nothing.”

Eliza’s throat tightened. She looked down at Lemon, whose tail flicked lazily as he purred on. It was easier to focus on the cat than on the weight of Kale’s words.

The cheer of the market pressed in from every side, but her chest grew uneasy.

The three of them reached the festival again.

The crowd had thickened since earlier, and more villagers had gathered.

She could still see a few more sellers and farmers trying to finish selling the rest of their wares and go back home.

The sky had grown just a smidge darker, but she knew Tristan would not see it as a cause for concern, so she said nothing about it.

Her eyes remained focused on the children who ran back and forth instead with no care for what was happening around them.

Tristan cleared his throat and looked toward the far side of the square, where a group of well-dressed men had gathered. Eliza followed his gaze, and her eyes settled straight on Marcus. The uneasy feeling rose in her throat once again.

“The lords have arrived,” Tristan said, his hand briefly brushing her arm. “I must excuse myself.”

Eliza nodded, though her stomach tightened. She watched him cross the lawn, his stride steady, until he disappeared into the crowd of noblemen.

Beside her, Mr. Kale let out a sound between a grunt and a sigh. “There they are. All of them gathered to make decisions that will fatten their pockets. Not a thought for the common man at the end of the day.”

His words pierced deeper than he might have known. Eliza’s chest felt heavy. She did not want to believe Tristan belonged in that circle, planning ventures that made men like Mr. Kale feel invisible.

Before she could answer, a small tug came at her gown. She looked down to see a boy with messy curls staring up at her, his lip trembling.

“My lady,” he whispered. “George said my ears are too big.”

Eliza bent low, so they were eye to eye, and gently tapped his ear with one finger.

“No,” she said after a moment of mock consideration. “They look perfectly normal to me.”

The boy’s face broke into a smile. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

He giggled and raced back toward his friends, his earlier sorrow forgotten.

“You are good with children,” Mr. Kale noted, shifting Lemon in his arms.

Eliza stood, brushing at the creases in the front of her gown. “Seeing children gives me joy. Their honesty, their laughter… it is a balm for the soul.”

A brief moment of silence passed between them before the older man posed his next question.

“Do you have any of your own?”

She scoffed softly. “No. And I doubt I shall have them any time soon.”

Mr. Kale nodded, as though he understood more than he spoke. Then a tiny voice rang out from the other side of the park.

“Father!”

They both turned at the same time. A girl with long dark braids stood before one of the houses at the edge of the common path, waving with all her might.

“That is my daughter,” Mr. Kale said, smiling at last. “Jane.”

“She is quite beautiful,” Eliza responded warmly.

“Yes, for now. In a few minutes, she will be in tears when she learns I have not let Lemon down for her.”

Eliza’s gaze dropped to the purring cat. “Then we should not delay you.”

Mr. Kale bowed once more, then strode toward his daughter, the cat’s tail flicking lazily as they went.

Eliza remained still for a moment, watching the easy affection between father and child. Then her eyes shifted back to the lords. Marcus stood in the center, his arms moving in wide gestures, his words spilling forth with ease.

Too much ease.

She could see it even from here, the salesman’s charm, the way he painted pictures so vividly that no one thought to question whether they were real. He had them all eating out of the palm of his hand.

All of them except Tristan, she hoped.

Tristan returned a while later and stayed close to her rather than Marcus, answering questions when asked but never joining in the fervor. Eliza noticed that after answering a question from one of the Lords, he would turn toward the villagers who all stood from the edges and watched.

It didn’t take a soothsayer to see the fear and uncertainty on their faces. None of them liked what her brother was doing one bit, and she couldn’t really blame them.

“Do you think Mr. Kale is right?” Tristan eventually asked quietly, his eyes still fixed on the crowd. “Do you think the Berkeley Project is going to destroy everything the people around here have spent decades building?”

Eliza exhaled, the sound heavy across her lips. She wanted to say something. To find words from the bottom of her heart, but no matter how hard she tried, nothing came forth.

“You know your brother, do you not? Is he an honest man?”

Eliza swallowed. Before she could open her mouth to speak, however, the sky rumbled above them. The roaring music faltered just a little as several heads from around the park tilted upward.

“It looks like you might be right after all,” Tristan said, his voice low enough that only Eliza could hear.

“Oh, certainly. Only when the clouds turn black do you admit it.”

A short laugh escaped his lips, and Eliza let her attention drift back to Marcus’s group. She couldn’t fully make out what they were saying, but some words drew her attention, and not in a good way. Whenever the wind shifted, she would hear words like extraction rights or tenancy adjustments.

The lords spoke of them as if they were small matters, easily arranged. Their tones were casual, almost bored, as if the lives behind those words were nothing more than pieces on a board.

Eliza’s throat tightened, and she felt the pull of it, the current that Marcus was pushing, all under the name of progress.

But progress for whom?

She thought of Mr. Kale’s face when he spoke of the community. She thought of Jane waving from the house, her tiny hands shaking in the air.

And Marcus was still standing there, smiling like a man who had already won.

Thunder cracked across the sky, causing several women to cry out, and the children shrieked in fear, running toward the closest houses.

Tristan touched her arm lightly. “We should think of finding a place to stay.”

She turned to give him a glare, and he rolled his eyes.

“Do not worry. You can say I told you so later.”

“I agree,” Eliza said, her eyes drifting toward the far side of the park where Mr. Kale had pointed earlier. The inn sat beneath the looming clouds, its outside lanterns already lit.

“What about that place?” she said, gesturing.