Page 69 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

Her expression grew warm. “Do you mind if we stop at the market on our way back?”

He glanced at her. “What is it you wish to buy? The maids can fetch whatever you require.”

“I know,” she said. “But it is not the same. I just…miss it.”

Tristan’s eyes narrowed at her. “You miss the market?”

“Yes. I miss the noise. The calls of the sellers. The smell of fruit and bread and spice. I have not walked through a proper market in months.”

Tristan regarded her for a moment, then nodded. “Well, if that is what you want, we shall stop.”

Her smile grew. “Thank you.”

The carriage rocked gently along the road, and for a time neither spoke. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of hoofbeats. Then Tristan leaned forward, his gaze fixed on her. “Your brother is a persuasive man, is he not?”

Eliza’s smile faded. “Yes. He can be very persuasive when he chooses.”

“You say that with little joy,” Tristan remarked.

She gave a half-shrug. “He was a lawyer once. He always knew how to bend words until they suited him.”

“Including with you?” Tristan asked, his voice low.

She gave a small, humorless smile. “He did persuade me into this marriage.”

The words hit harder than he expected. Tristan’s gaze lingered on her face, but she did not look at him. Her tone had been flat, and her shoulders grew tense.

“He did?” he asked, almost against his will.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes fixed on the trees rushing past the window.

Tristan leaned back into the seat, his mind circling the admission. He had never asked her what Marcus had said to her, nor how he had pressed the matter. Until this moment, he had assumed she had agreed willingly.

At least as willingly as arranged marriages go. It didn’t feel like she had a choice in what the matchmaker provided for her.

The question burned inside him. What exactly did Marcus say to convince her? Or was she threatened?

The carriage eventually stopped beneath the branches of a wide oak. Beyond the clearing, riders waited, Marcus among them.

Tristan touched Eliza’s hand lightly. “We are here.”

She looked up at him and nodded.

The harvest festival stretched wide before them as they both stepped down. The square was lined with stalls draped in cloth of different shades.

The air was filled with the smell of baked bread, roasted chestnuts, and the hint of sweetened cider. Tristan turned to look at Eliza and noticed the subtle smile on her face as she took in the sights.

There it was.

“What do you think?” he eventually asked, his voice clear.

“I have no words,” she responded, the disbelief in her voice almost as clear as the morning sky.

The sound of laughter rose above the music of fiddles, and children darted between carts, their ribbons flying behind them. He watched Eliza take in more of the sights until her gaze landed on a group of women and children who had gathered by the fountain. She touched Tristan’s arm gently.

“I shall go over there,” she said, pointing toward them. “You may call for me if you need me.”

He frowned. “Are you certain?”