Page 67 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

Tristan felt his chest tighten. “That must have been … harsh.”

“Harsh,” Graham agreed. “But more than that, it was a waste. A waste of her love, a waste of her years. She would ask to walk in the gardens with me, and I would refuse. She once painted me a small portrait, and I never even hung it on the wall. And then, one morning, she was gone. Illness took her in weeks. Do you know what I felt as I stood at her grave?”

“What?”

“Regret. That is what I carried. Regret is the cruelest companion, Lord Vale. Believe me when I tell you, do not let it be yours.”

Tristan’s throat worked, but no words came at once. His eyes drifted back to Eliza. She was laughing again, her hands outstretched as the children pulled at her gown for more sweets.

“My point,” Graham said, his voice just as steady, “do not be afraid to let someone in. It may seem like a burden, but a woman like that—” he gestured gently toward Eliza “—if you lose her, you will spend the rest of your life wishing you had not. And wishes are no cure for the years.”

Tristan breathed slowly, still watching her. At last, he turned back to Lord Graham and exhaled. “I thank you for your counsel.”

“See you tomorrow, then,” Graham said, straightening his coat.

“I look forward to it.”

The older man slipped back into the crowd, leaving Tristan alone with thoughts that pressed heavier than before.

He hadn’t registered what he was feeling when a brush of familiar silk came at his side. Evelyn appeared, her eyes sharp as ever. She looked across the room with the intensity of a hawk, then back at him.

“Aunt Evelyn,” Tristan greeted her.

Evelyn shuffled her legs. “It is turning out well, is it not? The people seem to like Eliza.”

“She is a good person,” Tristan said.

Evelyn smiled faintly. “This is a good thing you have done. A pity Howard is missing it. He would have enjoyed such an evening.”

Tristan lifted a brow. “I am sure they have balls in America, Aunt Evelyn.”

She gave a short laugh. “No doubt they do, though I wonder if they have chandeliers half so fine.”

Tristan laughed.

“So, is this a sign that the marriage might work after all?”

He shook his head. “I only meant to introduce Eliza to the local society with this, that’s all. Do not read into it.”

Evelyn’s eyes narrowed, edged with amusement. “Of course you did.” She tapped his arm lightly. “Whatever you tell yourself, Tristan.”

Before he could answer, she slipped back into the crowd, leaving the words lodged in his chest.

Whatever you tell yourself.

His gaze pulled back to Eliza. She was still surrounded by children, smiling as she offered the last of the biscuits. One little boy tugged at her sleeve, and she bent down again.

For a reason he could not name, Tristan found himself holding his breath.

***

The morning after the ball was quieter, much to the relief of every person in the house. Breakfast had barely ended when one of the footmen entered the hall. He bowed low, his hands folded behind his back.

“My lord, the carriage is ready.”

Tristan pushed back his chair and stood. “Very well.”

Eliza rose as well, adjusting the lower parts of her gown. Evelyn, who sat across the table, looked up with sharp eyes. “She is coming with you?”