Page 25 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
Tristan looked up at him and shook his head. “I still have not grown used to hearing you say that.”
Gideon’s mouth tugged into a smile. “I have grown used to saying it.”
Tristan raised a brow. “So easily?”
“I have always been quick to adapt,” Gideon said.
Tristan leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “You know what might help me adapt?”
Gideon tilted his head. “What?”
“A game of archery.” Tristan’s voice lightened, though only slightly. “I shall ask my grandfather to have a few targets set up in the back courtyard. Perhaps you will find yourself humbled.”
Gideon laughed under his breath. “If memory serves, I remember beating you once or twice back then. I still remember the look on your face. It was glorious.”
Tristan chuckled, shaking his head. “That was years ago. I have improved since then. After the war, I spent the better part of two years at the hunting lodge and learned to draw and release untilmy arms ached. Trust me, Hale, I am not the same man with a bow as I was then.”
“Mm,” Gideon said with a grin. “We shall see.”
Silence fell for a moment. Gideon shifted his weight, his hands behind his back, and Tristan leaned forward over the ledgers once more.
“If that’ll be all, my lord,” the valet eventually said, making to turn around.
Then Tristan again, his voice lower. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Anything,” Gideon replied at once, steadying his feet back to their original position.
Tristan lifted his eyes from the page. “Has my wife eaten today?”
The question seemed to catch Gideon off guard as his brows rose, though only for a moment.
“I cannot say, my lord. That is a matter for Mrs. Yarrow. But from what I have seen, the lady spends much of her time in the gardens. Hours, in fact. So it is not far off to assume she eats little.”
Tristan drew in a breath and let it out again slowly. “That is not very healthy, is it?”
Gideon hesitated, then stepped closer to the desk. “If you will permit me, my lord, that is not the problem.”
Tristan lifted his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“The problem is not whether she eats or not. The problem is whether she eats with you. You have not spoken a word to her since the wedding.”
Tristan swallowed, letting the words hang heavy between them. Then his jaw tightened, and he looked down at the ledger. “I have my reasons.”
“I know your reasons,” Gideon said, his voice devoid of malice. “I remember the nights at camp, when you told me you never meant to marry. You said often that a wife meant vulnerability. That you could not afford such a thing.”
Tristan closed the ledger with a sharp snap.
“But you have one now, my lord, whether you like it or not,” Gideon went on, unflinching. “She cannot be ignored like a ledger or a post on the field.”
Tristan pressed his fingers together, his elbows on the desk. He said nothing, though his chest rose and fell in a measured rhythm.
“I do not mean any disrespect,” Gideon added after a pause. “You know I never would. But if you treat her like a stranger, she will remain one. And then all of this—” he paused and gestured toward the window, and the estate beyond “—will weigh even heavier on you.”
The room grew still, and for a moment, nothing could be heard except the faint tick of the mantel clock.
At last, Gideon stepped back and bowed slightly, his expression softer now. “Think about it, my lord.”
Then he turned and moved toward the door. Tristan’s eyes followed him, but no words came. He watched as the door closed behind him, leaving him alone once more in the study.
