Page 68 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

“Yes,” Tristan replied evenly.

“What a pity,” Evelyn said with a sigh. “I was rather hoping the two of us might take a walk in the gardens later this afternoon.”

The duke, seated at the head of the table, folded his paper and looked toward her. “Do you not have that meeting this same afternoon with Lady Fitz?”

Evelyn groaned so dramatically that Eliza covered her mouth to hide a laugh.

“You had to remind me, did you not, Father? Lady Fitz is a bloodsucker. She will keep me in her rooms for hours and force me to sample her dreadful perfumes.”

“Is there anyone you actually like, Aunt Evelyn?” Eliza asked, her voice crisp.

Evelyn shut her eyes, almost like she was trying to think about the answer. “I will have to give you a response when you return from your journey, dear.”

Eliza could not help but laugh then. “Clara is still in her chambers. I could send her to keep you company if you prefer.”

Evelyn froze, her fork hanging midair. “Clara, you say?”

Eliza nodded.

Evelyn shook her head at once. “On second thought, I shall take my chances with the bloodsucker. Even misery has limits.”

Tristan allowed himself a laugh, rare though it was. “Then the matter is settled. We must be off.”

The duke wished them well, and the pair left the hall together.

The carriage rolled down the long and bumpy road, the wheels crunching against gravel. Through the open window, the air was sharp and bright, and the scent of leaves could be perceived, although just faintly so. Eliza leaned forward, her eyes filled with curiosity.

“What is that tower over there?” she asked, pointing toward a grey tower in the distance.

“That is the old mill,” Tristan responded. “It has been idle for years, though they say the water there still runs the clearest in the county.”

“And that field?”

“Tenant land. Barley, most likely. They send half the yield to market and keep the rest for themselves.”

Eliza nodded, but her gaze never seemed still. Tristan noticed how she was always turning toward some detail, some new corner of the land she had not yet noticed. After a while, she shifted her eyes back to Tristan and pushed her back against the cushion. “This meeting with Marcus…What is it truly about?”

Tristan rested one arm on the window frame. “It is to finalize the arrangements for the Berkeley Project. Just a bunch of formalities and numbers. The kind of dull necessities that no one enjoys but everyone must endure.”

“And you want me there?” she asked.

He lifted one shoulder. “I have found that meetings are more bearable when you are present.”

Eliza’s laugh surprised him, bright and unguarded. “I cannot imagine how. I hardly ever say anything of use.”

“Your presence is enough,” Tristan replied simply.

She studied him for a moment before shaking her head. “I hope you know you cannot take me to every meeting.”

“No,” he said. “But I can take you to the ones I choose.”

She smiled faintly and turned back toward the window. The smile lingered on her lips, and he found himself watching it until the road curved and the view ahead drew her attention again.

“What are those people doing?” she asked.

He followed her gaze. A line of carts and people with baskets filled the road in the distance.

“Today is the local harvest day,” Tristan explained. “They carry their crops to the market. Prices will be low, since everyone sells at once.”