Page 119 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
“You are staring so hard that it does not make it easy to tell what you are thinking. Does the portrait displease you?”
“Displease? Quite far from it.”
Eliza narrowed her eyes but said nothing.
“It humbles me,” Tristan eventually said, his voice rougher than he meant. “You have managed to give me back a piece of her I thought was gone forever.”
Her lips curved in a quiet smile. “Well, it was not hard. All I had to do was paint what you already carried.”
He stepped closer, the ring hidden in his hand. His pulse quickened. Then, with no flourish or practiced words, he gave her a tense stare.
“Eliza,” he said steadily, “will you renew your vows with me, not out of duty, this time, but out of love?”
Her eyes widened. For a moment, she only stared. Then her hand rose to her lips, and a soft laugh broke through, tangled with tears.
“You know you never needed to ask, Tristan. But if you wish to make me weep in my atelier, then yes. A thousand times.”
He wrapped his hand around hers.
“We should celebrate,” she whispered. “But not only for ourselves. For everyone. We owe them joy as much as we owe it to ourselves. Let it be big, humble, and for the village.”
Tristan tilted his head. “A wedding for Evermere?”
She nodded, smiling through her tears. “Yes. Let them dance and sing. Let them see that light comes after darkness. That is the marriage I want.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. “Then let us marry again, in the sight of all.”
She brushed her eyes and laughed. “And you will let me choose the flowers this time?”
“I will let you choose everything.”
For a long moment, they stayed close, her brush still in one hand, his hand holding hers. The portrait of his mother watched from the wall, no longer a reminder of loss but of love carried forward.
The ring gleamed faintly in the morning light. He raised her head to his and leaned closer, his lips sealing hers in a kiss that gave them both the exact closure they needed.
A month later, they would have a big wedding. One that would be spoken about for days.
***
Eliza hoped for a big celebration, but she had no idea just how big it was going to get. People came from all parts of the countryside just to celebrate with them, and she had no idea how she managed to remain up and standing through all of the felicitations.
She walked beside Tristan, her hand settled in his, and every step felt lighter than the last. People stopped them along the way, offering smiles, blessings, and cups raised in cheer.
“Evermere has not seen such joy in years, my lord!” one villager called, his voice rising above the music.
Tristan nodded, a faint smile escaping him. “Then may it never see less.”
The reply drew a cheer from those nearby, and the fiddles picked up a faster tune. Children darted around, playing with each other and with animals. Eliza’s heart swelled watching them, their laughter ringing out in the dusk.
Not far ahead, Clara twirled on the grass, her face flushed with color. Gideon tried to match her steps, his boots clumsy against the rhythm.
“You are stepping on my toes, Captain!” Clara teased, her eyes sparkling.
“Then it must be the boots,” he answered with mock seriousness. “They were made for battle, not for waltzes.”
She blushed, laughing all the same. “Still, I prefer you clumsy to absent.”
The words softened, almost lost in the music, but Eliza caught them. Tristan must have, too, for he leaned closer.
