Page 102 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
He felt Eliza’s gaze on him. When he finally met her eyes, she looked pale, torn between fear and urgency. Her hands twisted in her lap.
“Is everything all right?” he eventually found himself asking.
“Well,” she said suddenly, her voice breaking into the silence. “There is something I have not yet told you.”
Every head turned toward her.
Tristan watched her continue to speak, swallowing hard. “This morning, Clara and I went walking in the park. We saw a certain woman … a Miss Flick Ashcombe.”
“Mrs. Flick Ashcombe,” Tristan repeated, a wave of recognition hitting him harder than he could imagine. He could recognize the name in a daze. It had stood out sharply to him the first day he heard it, and it still stood out now. “That was the matchmaker I met in London. She was the one who introduced you to me.”
Eliza swallowed, continuing anyway. “She was moving as though she did not wish to be seen. We followed. And we found her speaking with Marcus.”
Tristan froze. “What?”
Eliza nodded, her words tumbling out now, rushed and trembling. “They quarreled. I could not hear every word, but she accused him of betrayal. He spoke to her with coldness, with threats. She cried. And then he left her there, in tears.”
Tristan shuffled his feet slightly, feeling his mouth grow tight. “Miss Ashcombe and Mr. Harwood.”
The duke’s eyes swept toward Tristan. “If your matchmaker and her brother know each other … That means …”
“The marriage was a setup,” Tristan finished.
“She was his choice all along,” Eliza muttered, and the room went completely still.
Tristan felt the world tilt for a moment, the puzzle pieces colliding into place. He gripped the back of a chair to steady himself.
“Tristan …” he could hear Eliza call, but the blood in his body ran hot.
“So he used her,” he said slowly. “He used her to trap us both.”
Eliza lowered her head. “Yes.”
The duke’s face hardened, his jaw set like stone. “Well, now we know we need to act fast. It is clear this Mr. Harwood is not acting alone.”
“I agree,” Lord Howard responded, eventually stepping away from the mantel.
“Something tells me this woman is part of something larger and is not the only one at that. He may have his own circle of frauds who weave marriages and contracts for their gain.”
Tristan turned to Eliza again. She looked stricken, her hands trembling against her dress.
“I should have spoken sooner,” she whispered. “I should have told you before. Perhaps I was afraid of what you would think. That I was blind, or foolish, or …” She trailed off.
The duke surprised them all by leaning forward and giving a small smile. “My dear, truth, even late, is better than silence forever. Do not carry shame for what was never yours to bear.”
Her eyes widened at his gentleness, and Tristan’s chest tightened again. He wanted to echo his grandfather’s words, to tell her that she was braver than she believed, but his voice caught in his throat.
Howard stepped even further toward the trio. “Then we must act. If Ashcombe has been his ally, she must be pressed. She will know more. And with the right hand guiding her, she will speak.”
The duke nodded firmly. “She must be brought here at once. We cannot wait for Mr. Harwood to control the tale. We shall have her confess before them all.”
Tristan nodded but said nothing. The drawing room was immediately thrown into unimpeachable silence.
The duke rose, his movement slow as he beckoned a servant who stood near the entrance of the drawing room.
“Your Grace,” the servant, a young blonde-haired man, greeted, bowing immediately.
“I need you to send word to the magistrate. We need to find a woman called Miss Flick Ashcombe,” he ordered.
