Page 35 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

The morning was yet to fully begin, but Tristan could already feel the weight of the next day pressing down on him. The gathering Marcus had called, the lords who would demand answers, the schemes waiting to ensnare them.

Everything gnawed at him like a steady but dull ache beneath his stomach. He couldn’t wait to get this over with. To eventually challenge Marcus and know exactly what his goal was at the end of the project.

He tried to push the thoughts aside and keep his features calm. For now, Eliza did not need to see the storm raging in him. At least not more than she was already aware of.

He stood in the drawing room as his grandfather spoke quietly with Lord Howard.

Both men looked perfectly at ease, though Tristan could feel the sharpness in their presence.

They were men who had weathered storms far worse than this.

His grandfather had wasted no time, of course, in telling Lord Howard about everything that had been happening so far.

The way some man had been quietly purchasing lands around Evermere, and what it could possibly mean.

“This is clearly a daylight land grab if I have ever seen one,” Lord Howard whispered after the duke finished narrating everything that had happened so far.

“You cannot let this Mr. Harwood and whoever his cohorts might be get the better of you. That would do nothing except cause irreparable damage.”

The duke looked up at Tristan, who remained standing by the edge of the door, the look on his face saying Do you hear him?

“I am working on it as we speak, Uncle Howard,” Tristan responded.

As Lord Howard opened his mouth to speak once again, Eliza stepped in, her light step drawing every eye.

Her bright green dress reflected the flecks of sunlight that drifted in through the tall windows.

She had tied her hair back loosely, a few strands brushing her cheeks.

When she smiled in greeting, Tristan felt something inside him ease.

The duke’s expression softened. “My dear,” he said, holding out his hand. “You bring warmth into this room.”

Eliza curtsied, her cheeks touched with color. “You are kind, Your Grace.”

Lord Howard stepped forward with a slight bow. “And may I say, Lady Vale, I see why your name has reached so far already. You carry yourself with quiet strength. It is rare.”

Tristan watched Eliza’s eyes widen slightly. “I hardly deserve such praise, my lord. I only do what I can.”

Lord Howard’s gaze lingered on her, approving and steady. “That is exactly why you deserve them.”

Tristan’s throat tightened. He had been worried …

worried that these men would see her as nothing but a woman of misfortune who managed to find her way into the web of Evermere’s riches.

The fact that her brother was an architect of what could possibly be the manor’s downfall did not exactly help matters.

Yet what he saw now was different.

They studied her with respect. With belief, and it made his heart ache with something he could not easily name … gratitude perhaps? Or was it pride? Perhaps it was something sharper that pressed against the edge …

Wait.

It couldn’t be …

Was it …

The duke rose, interrupting his flow of thoughts and the damning conclusion growing in his head. Tristan’s eyes settled on his grandfather as he stepped forward, leaning on his cane.

“Shall we?”

“Shall we what?” Tristan asked, his eyes narrowed.

The duke and Lord Howard both turned to him at the same time, the amusement in their faces quite clear. “Your wife promised us a glimpse of the new atelier.”

Tristan turned to Eliza, who only looked back at him with a mild shrug. Then she hesitated for a heartbeat, after which she smiled. “Yes, of course. If you will follow me.”

They walked down the corridor, their steps falling in rhythm. Tristan walked slightly behind, watching the way the duke and Lord Howard sauntered at Eliza’s side, speaking with her as though she had always belonged here.

When they entered the atelier, Tristan watched the duke stop short. His eyes swept across the canvases, the light pouring over sketches and finished works alike.

“Good heavens,” he murmured. “It has changed entirely since I last stepped inside.”

Eliza looked down, shy now. “It is nothing extraordinary. Only small pieces of myself put on canvas.”

Lord Howard moved closer to a painting of the village in the middle of the harvest festival. Eliza had managed to capture the atmosphere in colors and brush strokes.

“Small pieces?” The duke repeated, his eyes settling on Eliza.

“My dear, this is no small thing. This is life, caught and held. You remind me …” His voice faltered, then he cleared his throat, and his voice remained steady.

Tristan knew exactly where he was going, but he let him finish speaking anyway.

“You remind me of Tristan’s mother.”

Tristan watched Eliza’s throat bob. A reaction he had expected.

“Oh,” she eventually responded, words clearly failing her.

The duke continued anyway, almost like he was unaware of what she could possibly be feeling. “She had the same eye for drawing and the same carefree spirit you had.”

The room fell still, and Eliza’s eyes widened, then softened. “I … I do not know what to say.”

“You do not have to say anything,” Lord Howard replied quietly. “Just know that you are honoring her memory with every painting.”

The duke gave a single, slow nod. “Indeed, you do. She would have admired you.”

Tristan’s chest ached as he looked at Eliza. She glanced back at him, uncertain, almost flustered under their praise. He wanted to cross the room, take her hand, and tell her she had nothing to doubt. Instead, he stayed where he was, forcing his hands behind his back.

Eliza cleared her throat. “If you will allow me, my lord, I would like you to have one.”

Howard turned, startled. “One of your paintings?”

She nodded quickly. “Yes. I know it is not much, but … if it would please you, I should be honored.”

For a moment, Howard said nothing. Then he stepped closer and bowed his head. “It would please me greatly. I shall treasure it.”

Eliza’s cheeks turned pink. She moved toward a smaller canvas resting against the wall. A quiet landscape … the inn, its sign just visible, the fields beyond. She lifted it carefully and held it out.

Howard accepted it with both hands. “Thank you, Lady Vale. This is more than a gift. It is a reminder that Evermere’s spirit lives on in good hands.”

The duke smiled faintly, though his eyes drifted toward Tristan. “Yes,” he said. “Very good hands.”

Tristan felt the weight of that look. He gave the smallest nod in return.

“Your Grace, where do you think this would fit in my house? I am thinking I could put it on a wall in the drawing room.”

A sly smile crossed the duke’s face. “And that is if Evelyn lets you.”

Lord Howard turned to Eliza, the smile on his face clear. “That is also true.”

Tristan laughed, and soon, the conversation shifted. Lord Howard mentioned the lords, the murmurs of discontent, and the way they needed to make sure Marcus’s plans did not succeed.

At the mention of Marcus, Tristan had turned to Eliza.

He noticed how stiff she had gotten and how her fingers had brushed over the edge of a chair.

He noticed how the guilt crept into her posture and saw how her eyes flickered down as though she was the one to blame for all of this in the first place.

The feeling that had unsettled him back in the drawing room came again, except a bit stronger.

No, this couldn’t be just pride.

Lord Howard’s words carried on in the background, but Tristan barely heard them. He watched Eliza instead.

He wanted to speak, to cut across the room and tell her she was not guilty, that Marcus’s schemes were his alone. He wanted to shield her from even the hint of that shadow. Instead, he remained still, though the vow burned in his chest.

I will not let Mr. Harwood ruin her. I will not let anyone harm her.

He had done enough already, and she had carried enough blame. He was wise enough to know that from here forward, whatever happened next would be on him and him alone. The determination in him continued to rise with each passing second.

Whatever comes tomorrow, she will not stand alone.

The duke leaned on his cane. “We must let Lady Vale rest. She has given us more than we deserve today.”

Howard raised his head. “Indeed. And she has given me something I shall never forget.” He glanced at Eliza one last time, his eyes warm. “You honor your house, my lady. And you honor your husband.”

Eliza’s lips parted, and she dipped her head again. Tristan could see it clearly from where he was standing. She was completely unable to form words.

“We shall be right behind you as well,” he eventually said, stepping forward and placing a hand gently at her back as he guided her toward the door. He could feel the tension in her and the way her body seemed to hold everything just a bit too tightly.

He wanted to tell her right there, in front of them all, that she was enough. That she was more than enough. But the words caught in his throat, as well. It felt almost like his mouth wouldn’t cooperate with his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

They all returned just the way they had come back to the drawing room. On the way back, Lord Howard had given the painting to one of the maids to give to Evelyn so they could take it home.

Eventually, they stepped in once again.

Tristan closed the door behind them and motioned for Eliza and his grandfather to sit. Lord Howard remained standing by the mantel, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes thoughtful but sharp.

Tristan remained standing as well, the pressure in his chest making it impossible to rest.

“So,” Lord Howard said, turning to him. “About this Mr. Harwood. Do you have a plan?”