Page 74 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

“Father!”

They both turned at the same time. A girl with long dark braids stood before one of the houses at the edge of the common path, waving with all her might.

“That is my daughter,” Mr. Kale said, smiling at last. “Jane.”

“She is quite beautiful,” Eliza responded warmly.

“Yes, for now. In a few minutes, she will be in tears when she learns I have not let Lemon down for her.”

Eliza’s gaze dropped to the purring cat. “Then we should not delay you.”

Mr. Kale bowed once more, then strode toward his daughter, the cat’s tail flicking lazily as they went.

Eliza remained still for a moment, watching the easy affection between father and child. Then her eyes shifted back to the lords. Marcus stood in the center, his arms moving in wide gestures, his words spilling forth with ease.

Too much ease.

She could see it even from here, the salesman’s charm, the way he painted pictures so vividly that no one thought to question whether they were real. He had them all eating out of the palm of his hand.

All of them except Tristan, she hoped.

Tristan returned a while later and stayed close to her rather than Marcus, answering questions when asked but never joining in the fervor. Eliza noticed that after answering a question fromone of the Lords, he would turn toward the villagers who all stood from the edges and watched.

It didn’t take a soothsayer to see the fear and uncertainty on their faces. None of them liked what her brother was doing one bit, and she couldn’t really blame them.

“Do you think Mr. Kale is right?” Tristan eventually asked quietly, his eyes still fixed on the crowd. “Do you think the Berkeley Project is going to destroy everything the people around here have spent decades building?”

Eliza exhaled, the sound heavy across her lips. She wanted to say something. To find words from the bottom of her heart, but no matter how hard she tried, nothing came forth.

“You know your brother, do you not? Is he an honest man?”

Eliza swallowed. Before she could open her mouth to speak, however, the sky rumbled above them. The roaring music faltered just a little as several heads from around the park tilted upward.

“It looks like you might be right after all,” Tristan said, his voice low enough that only Eliza could hear.

“Oh, certainly. Only when the clouds turn black do you admit it.”

A short laugh escaped his lips, and Eliza let her attention drift back to Marcus’s group. She couldn’t fully make out what they were saying, but some words drew her attention, and not in a good way. Whenever the wind shifted, she would hear words like extraction rights or tenancy adjustments.

The lords spoke of them as if they were small matters, easily arranged. Their tones were casual, almost bored, as if the lives behind those words were nothing more than pieces on a board.

Eliza’s throat tightened, and she felt the pull of it, the current that Marcus was pushing, all under the name of progress.

But progress for whom?

She thought of Mr. Kale’s face when he spoke of the community. She thought of Jane waving from the house, her tiny hands shaking in the air.

And Marcus was still standing there, smiling like a man who had already won.

Thunder cracked across the sky, causing several women to cry out, and the children shrieked in fear, running toward the closest houses.

Tristan touched her arm lightly. “We should think of finding a place to stay.”

She turned to give him a glare, and he rolled his eyes.

“Do not worry. You can say I told you so later.”

“I agree,” Eliza said, her eyes drifting toward the far side of the park where Mr. Kale had pointed earlier. The inn sat beneath the looming clouds, its outside lanterns already lit.