Page 92 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

“Well, that is because most people avoid it,” Tristan said, raising his lantern higher. The glow revealed thick dust on the shelves and walls. “There are no guest rooms here or ballrooms. Only the bones of Evermere.”

“Bones of Evermere,” Eliza repeated. “You make it sound like a castle out of a Gothic novel.”

Tristan turned to look at her. “Perhaps it is.”

Her fingers brushed the wall as she walked, almost as if touching the past itself. “And you know the way well?”

“I know it enough.” He glanced back at her. Her gown moved lightly as she followed, her steps careful but curious. “My grandfather used to say the archives hold every secret we have ever buried.”

She gave a small, doubtful laugh. “And do you believe him?”

Tristan’s lips curved faintly, the expression brief. “We are about to find out.”

They resumed walking again, and at that exact moment, her slipper caught on a loose stone. A sharp gasp escaped her mouth as she pitched forward.

“Eliza!” Tristan caught her arm before she could fall. His grip was firm, the lantern shaking in his other hand.

Her balance returned, but her hand lingered in his, longer than necessary. She looked up at him, breathless.

“It seems you are always catching me.”

He released her, stepping back to give her space. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said with a laugh that softened the tension. “But I should probably fall less, should I not?”

A small smile escaped him despite himself. “It would save me the trouble.”

They moved on until the passage widened into a tall chamber. The air was cool, carrying the smell of old parchment. Dust covered the shelves. Parchments and scrolls filled the long tables, untouched for years.

“This is it,” Tristan said, setting the lantern on the desk. Its glow threw the room into a soft golden haze.

He pulled out a chair for her. “Sit. This may take hours.”

She sat, smoothing her gown, her eyes sweeping across the shelves. “Where do we begin?”

Tristan spread out a map across the desk. His voice was calm, but the edge of determination cut through it. “We begin with Mr. Harwood. As we already know, so far, his plan is not about prosperity. It is a power play. He wants to re-zone the land, strip tenant protections, and tie Evermere to investors who do not care for the people here. But to do that, he needs one thing.”

Eliza leaned forward, brows furrowing. “What is that?”

“The duke’s approval. It is why he needs me on board. It is quite essential for his plan.” Tristan tapped the parchment with one finger. “With it, Mr. Harwood has power. Without it, he has only ideas.”

She rose, moving closer, and brushed dust from a ledger. “Show me.”

Together, they sifted through the documents. She was even more helpful than he could have imagined. Once in a while, a name would pop up in one of the ledgers, and she would point at it.

“Lord Sinderby,” she had said one time, running her finger across the name on the paper. “I remember him.”

“You do?” Tristan had asked.

“Yes. He was one of my father’s business partners. I do not remember much, but I believe they were in the coal mine business together. Lord Sinderby had a lot of mines, and my father generated the workers to shell the mines of their coal.”

“I see,” Tristan responded, his voice solemn. “Eliza, in case you ever want to talk to me about your father—”

“I will come to you,” she responded, a laugh crossing her lips. “Even though you are not the best with words and emotion?”

“I will do my possible best,” he responded, his voice tame.

She nodded and returned her gaze to the ledgers. They continued to flick through, examining business dealings, taxes, transactions that went back decades, until all of a sudden, a sharp gasp escaped Eliza’s mouth.