Page 96 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist

“What is it?” Eliza asked, her voice sharp and her eyes narrowed.

“I do not know,” Clara responded, her voice genuine. “It just feels so strange to be this far from London and somehow still have this many eyes on me.”

Eliza smiled. “I understand completely. Evermere has its own kind of watchful crowd. They may be quieter, perhaps, but the last thing they are is less curious.”

Clara nudged her and laughed. “I am beginning to see that now. And how do you fare,Lady Vale? Are you still nervous every time you must stand in front of them?”

Eliza exhaled, shaking her head. “Less nervous than before. You see, Tristan has a way of steadying me, even when I do not expect it.”

Clara’s eyes lit with interest. “Ah, so he steadies you now? Tell me more.”

Eliza hesitated, her fingers pressing down against her dress as she tried to find a way to express her words. “I cannot explain it properly. I mean, he is stern, but … there is patience in him, too. I find myself speaking more freely than I thought I could.”

Clara nods. “Hmm.”

Eliza looked up at her. “I know that look.”

“Well, if you feel this way toward the Earl, perhaps this is a step toward fondness,” Clara responded. “A dangerous step, nonetheless, but it is one.”

Eliza swallowed, feeling her lips curve into a small smile. “Well, maybe I do not want to think about it yet. Let us talk about you. What exactly is going on with Mr. Hale?”

Clara stopped mid-step, heat rising in her cheeks. “Eliza.”

“You have to know it was only a matter of time before I asked,” Eliza said innocently. “But judging from your face, I believe I have my answer.”

Before Clara could protest further, Eliza’s attention shifted. A flicker of movement ahead caught her eye. Near the hedges, a woman was walking briskly, her bonnet tilted low as if to shield her face.

Eliza narrowed her eyes as she caught the side frame of the woman. Something struck her. “I know that woman.”

Clara followed her gaze, her eyes narrowing as well. “Wait, I do, too.”

The recognition slammed into Eliza like a hurricane, and everything suddenly fell into place. The facial structure and the look on the woman’s face grew the familiarity in her.

“That is Miss Flick Ashcombe,” she eventually said, swallowing.

Clara followed her gaze. “It looks like her. But why is she moving so quickly? It is almost as though she does not want to be seen.”

Eliza felt suspicion stir in her chest. Something about the way the woman had looked at her at the ball, the kind of things she happened to know about Tristan, and the way she wouldn’t spend a minute more with her. She swallowed and turned to Clara.

“Come. Let us follow.”

Clara frowned. “Eliza …”

“Look, we can just go quietly behind her,” Eliza urged. “I have a feeling something is not right.”

Clara sighed, almost as if she realized she couldn’t convince her anymore. “Fine.”

They both slipped off the main path, careful not to let their shoes press too loudly against the gravel. Their whispers carried low between them.

“This feels improper,” Clara murmured. “Following a woman in secret like this.”

Eliza’s heart thudded. “I have my suspicions, Clara, and they are telling me this woman has something up her sleeve. Something we have to know.”

Flick hurried past a hedge arch and disappeared while Eliza and Clara crept after her, their steps cautious. Soon, they both arrived in an even more secluded section of the park, where the gardens were quieter.

“Do not move too close,” Eliza whispered.

Soon, Flick stopped, and they did, too. A man stepped out from the other side of the arch in the garden.