Page 81 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

Why would men from outside Evermere pour money into this place? Why through borrowed names and hidden hands? The only answer, of course, was that it was not charity at all. It was something more sinister.

Something she could bet Marcus already knew of.

She forced a smile at Isabella, offered her hand in thanks, then stepped back into the open air. But the unease followed her, heavier than anything. The questions needed answers, and she had to find a way to get them.

Chapter 21

Tristan entered the room later that evening, the stress of the day pressing down on him. He had been in a carriage for so long, his body was beginning to feel numb. The door closed behind him, and he looked up. Eliza sat near the bed, her posture upright. The flickering fire around the room reflected rather softly on her eyes.

“You were gone for an awfully long time,” she said.

“I was,” he answered, removing his gloves and setting them on the table. “The meeting stretched more than I expected.”

“I see.”

“Yes,” Tristan responded, sitting by the other side of the bed and taking off his coat. “If we were back in Evermere, now would be the time Aunt Evelyn would ask what monster rumpled my coat on my way back.”

That earned a soft laugh from Eliza. One that seemed to be music for his ears. He rose to hang his coat over the back of a chair.

“And?” she asked, leaning forward.

Tristan stared at her, his face blank. “And what?”

“What came of the meeting with the lords? Did they agree with you?”

He shook his head. “Not all. A few of them said they would think about it. Most of them were adamant. They will not budge unless Mr. Harwood himself calls the whole thing off. Now, should the project move on, he will need my grandfather’s approval to proceed.”

Her lips pressed together. “So it depends on my brother entirely?”

“And my grandfather,” Tristan said. “And believe me, trying to talk some sense into either of them can prove to be a Herculean task.”

Eliza exhaled, her eyes steady on him as he returned to the bed. “I understand that very well.”

A tense moment of silence passed between them, and the only sound to accompany it was that of the logs burning in the fireplace.

Eliza broke it before he could think of what to say. “So, what made you change your mind?”

He turned to her. “What do you mean?”

“I knew you had some doubts here and there at the beginning,” Eliza continued. “But I knew they were not enough to keep you rigid on this new decision of yours. What exactly did you see on your walk with Mr. Kale this morning?”

He folded his arms and leaned against the chair. “Things I should have seen much earlier before letting this entire project run this far in the first place.”

She leaned closer, though they were both still on opposite sides of the bed. “Things like what? All you said was that we could not move forward unless we were certain the people would not suffer.”

He paused again before responding. “I saw the lives of the people this project would affect. Farmers, tenants, men with families, women who keep their homes, children who run through the fields. All of them would lose something. Their land. Their work. Perhaps even their homes. I realized they would bear the weight of it. The lords may profit, but the villagers would suffer.”

Her brows lifted. “And you cannot accept that.”

“No.” His voice was steady. “I cannot. I served in the war, Eliza. I know what it is to see men lose everything. I will not bring that on my people now, not under my watch.”

Eliza turned from him then and rose to her feet. She crossed to the other side of the bed and sat at the side, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

His eyes landed on her, the confusion on his face palpable. She lowered her eyes, silent for a long moment.

Tristan continued to study her. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes,” she said quickly.