Page 33 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
Tristan spoke over him again, sharper now. “You will use the lime finish. If the cost requires increasing your payment, then submit a request for it. But do not presume to decide what my wife will or will not notice.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“And do not make insinuations about how she chooses to spend her hours, either. Not in my hearing. Am I understood?”
The man’s shoulders hunched as though bracing himself. “Yes, my lord. Very well. We will proceed with the lime. My apologies.”
“Good.” Tristan’s tone left no room for further debate. “Carry on.”
He turned on his heel and strode from the room, Gideon falling in step behind him. They walked in silence down the hallway, the sound of hammers fading into the distance.
They got to his study in less than a minute, and this time, Gideon stepped in first. Tristan removed his gloves and walked right behind him, his eyes scanning the room like it had changed since he left it. He watched Gideon cross the room to his table and inspect the fresh batch of correspondence that must have arrived in their absence.
“Anything new for me?” Tristan asked, tugging off his gloves.
“As a matter of fact, yes.” Gideon reached into the pile and drew out an envelope, sealed with a pressed floral emblem. “This arrived an hour ago.”
Tristan broke the wax and unfolded the parchment, scanning the lines carefully. His brow lifted slightly as he read to the end. “A garden party.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Tristan flipped the invitation shut between his fingers. “And we are invited. Lady Vale and myself.”
“That is usually the case with such events,” Gideon said mildly.
Tristan leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk curving his mouth. “Indeed.” He tapped the edge of the invitation against his palm. “Well, then. I had better deliver the news to Lady Vale myself.”
“As you wish.”
Tristan rose to his feet one last time and made his way out of his study. If he were to inform his wife of the party they were to attend, he might as well do it now and get it over with.
Perhaps it was because of the continuous hammering on the other side of the manor, or just the mere fact that he was too deep in thought to think, something pushed him to step into Eliza’s chambers without knocking.
When he realized his mistake, it was too late. He caught her in the middle of pushing something under her bed. Something framed.
He stopped short, realizing his mistake and her actions almost at the exact same time.
“Tristan,” she greeted him, pushing away the stray strands of hair off her face. “I did not hear you come in.”
“Forgive me,” he said, his voice clipped, a sharp contrast to her nervous chuckle. “I should have announced myself.”
Her hands smoothed her gown as though nothing had happened. “It is all right.”
But his eyes narrowed. “What was that?”
Her head tilted, her lips pressing into a small smile. “Nothing.”
“That was not nothing.”
“I—” She froze.
His eyes remained focused on her.
She exhaled almost in exasperation.
He could almost see the gears turning in her head like she was desperately trying to think of something to say. When she spoke again, her voice was a bit clearer.
“It is nothing you should concern yourself with, Tristan.”
