Page 41 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

It felt rather strange to Tristan that everything that had happened for the last few weeks had managed to strengthen his relation with Eliza.

Other couples who were not even set up by greedy brothers would not have lasted this long; he was well aware of that. Yet, it felt like the trials and tribulations they had both faced had pushed them out the other side, leaving them feeling much more victorious than ever.

As he walked along the path that led to the trimmed hedges of the manor, the thoughts continued to settle even further into his head.

“My lord,” a maid greeted as he walked, throwing him a mild curtsy.

He responded with a brief nod.

Soon, he found the duke by the hedges, cane balanced in his hand. The old man’s gaze was fixed on the atelier’s window, where they could see Eliza painting through the glass.

“She steadies us all, does she not?” the duke murmured. “Even when she thinks she paints only for herself.”

Tristan slowed his steps as he grew closer to his grandfather. “She paints more truth than words can carry.” His voice was just a little lower than he had intended.

The duke turned, his eyes sharper than Tristan expected for his years. He reached into his coat, then pressed something into Tristan’s palm.

Tristan opened his hand. It was an old ring made of pure gold.

“It belonged to your mother,” the duke said. “She specifically requested that I give this to you when I was certain that you were well enough to stand on your own. What I have seen in the last few days has told me all I needed to know.”

Tristan’s breath caught. “I never thought you would say that to me.”

The duke exhaled, his voice edged with regret. “It took me far too long. Forgive an old man his pride.”

Tristan closed his fingers over the ring, the weight of it more than metal. “There is nothing left to forgive.”

The duke’s eyes shone briefly, but he only nodded and turned back toward the house, leaving Tristan standing with the ring tight in his grip.

He entered the atelier quietly, ignoring the soft rays of the sun as he closed the door behind him.

The air smelled blatantly of oils and canvas.

Eliza stood at her easel, her brush in hand, and the apron over her dress marked faintly with paint.

On the wall, his mother’s portrait hung, the restored colors warm and alive.

He stopped, staring, and his chest tightened at the sight.

Eliza noticed, turning with a crease of worry in her brow. “Tristan?”

He said nothing. His eyes instead remained fixed on the painting.

“You are staring so hard that it does not make it easy to tell what you are thinking. Does the portrait displease you?”

“Displease? Quite far from it.”

Eliza narrowed her eyes but said nothing.

“It humbles me,” Tristan eventually said, his voice rougher than he meant. “You have managed to give me back a piece of her I thought was gone forever.”

Her lips curved in a quiet smile. “Well, it was not hard. All I had to do was paint what you already carried.”

He stepped closer, the ring hidden in his hand. His pulse quickened. Then, with no flourish or practiced words, he gave her a tense stare.

“Eliza,” he said steadily, “will you renew your vows with me, not out of duty, this time, but out of love?”

Her eyes widened. For a moment, she only stared. Then her hand rose to her lips, and a soft laugh broke through, tangled with tears.

“You know you never needed to ask, Tristan. But if you wish to make me weep in my atelier, then yes. A thousand times.”

He wrapped his hand around hers.

“We should celebrate,” she whispered. “But not only for ourselves. For everyone. We owe them joy as much as we owe it to ourselves. Let it be big, humble, and for the village.”

Tristan tilted his head. “A wedding for Evermere?”

She nodded, smiling through her tears. “Yes. Let them dance and sing. Let them see that light comes after darkness. That is the marriage I want.”

He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. “Then let us marry again, in the sight of all.”

She brushed her eyes and laughed. “And you will let me choose the flowers this time?”

“I will let you choose everything.”

For a long moment, they stayed close, her brush still in one hand, his hand holding hers. The portrait of his mother watched from the wall, no longer a reminder of loss but of love carried forward.

The ring gleamed faintly in the morning light. He raised her head to his and leaned closer, his lips sealing hers in a kiss that gave them both the exact closure they needed.

A month later, they would have a big wedding. One that would be spoken about for days.

***

Eliza hoped for a big celebration, but she had no idea just how big it was going to get. People came from all parts of the countryside just to celebrate with them, and she had no idea how she managed to remain up and standing through all of the felicitations.

She walked beside Tristan, her hand settled in his, and every step felt lighter than the last. People stopped them along the way, offering smiles, blessings, and cups raised in cheer.

“Evermere has not seen such joy in years, my lord!” one villager called, his voice rising above the music.

Tristan nodded, a faint smile escaping him. “Then may it never see less.”

The reply drew a cheer from those nearby, and the fiddles picked up a faster tune. Children darted around, playing with each other and with animals. Eliza’s heart swelled watching them, their laughter ringing out in the dusk.

Not far ahead, Clara twirled on the grass, her face flushed with color. Gideon tried to match her steps, his boots clumsy against the rhythm.

“You are stepping on my toes, Captain!” Clara teased, her eyes sparkling.

“Then it must be the boots,” he answered with mock seriousness. “They were made for battle, not for waltzes.”

She blushed, laughing all the same. “Still, I prefer you clumsy to absent.”

The words softened, almost lost in the music, but Eliza caught them. Tristan must have, too, for he leaned closer.

“I suspect Evermere will soon celebrate another wedding,” he murmured.

Eliza raised her brow, amused. “You think so?”

“I have seen that look in a man’s eyes once before … my own, when I first looked at you.”

Her breath caught, but she smiled, squeezing his hand. “Then perhaps you are right.”

Villagers moved to clear a space in the center of the makeshift dancefloor, where a circle formed and more joined in the dancing. Trays of bread, roasted meats, and pitchers of ale passed from hand to hand. A boy no older than six stumbled into Tristan’s side, clutching a sugared bun.

“Sorry, my lord!” the child squeaked, face smeared with sugar.

Tristan ruffled his hair. “No harm done. Just be sure you save some for the others.”

The boy nodded furiously and ran off again, leaving Eliza laughing softly.

The duke sat a little apart beneath the wide oak tree, but even he allowed himself a smile, his cane propped against the bench.

Villagers had gathered around him, offering him cups and drawing him into their talk as though he were one of them, not their duke.

The sight warmed Eliza’s heart in a way she hadn’t expected.

Lanterns swung higher as twilight deepened. Someone called for a toast, and cups rose into the fading light.

“To Lord and Lady Vale!”

The cheer that followed lifted into the sky, rolling through the crowd. Eliza’s cheeks warmed at the sound, her heart full. Tristan met her gaze, the flicker of lanterns dancing in his eyes.

As the music softened, they slipped away from the crowd for a moment, walking the quieter path along the garden edge. The hum of voices trailed after them, fading beneath the chirp of night insects.

“I have a question,” Eliza asked, her voice low. “Do you ever wonder if we would have found our way without all the trials?”

Tristan’s jaw tightened as he considered. Then he shook his head. “No. Because it was the trials that led me to you.”

Her throat tightened, words tangling in her chest. “Then we are both fortunate. We did not just endure … we found love.”

He stopped, turning to face her fully. The lantern light caught his features, gentled them. He leaned forward, his lips brushing hers in a kiss that felt just as steady as the feeling of joy in her heart.

“In each other’s arms,” he whispered against her mouth. “Always.”

THE END