Page 40 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
Tristan gave the smallest nod. “Then let us call it settled.”
Marcus leaned back, letting his eyes sweep across the room. “These walls,” he started, tapping the panel nearest to him, “they feel incredibly luxurious. Top of the line, I imagine?”
Tristan followed his gaze but offered nothing more than a calm nod. “My grandfather does not compromise on comfort.”
“I can see that,” Marcus said warmly. His eyes moved again, almost hungrily to the doorway. “On my way in, I passed the stables. Magnificent creatures. And the saddles … They look like they were drafted just for you. They must have cost dearly.”
Tristan shifted slightly in his seat, his expression still, but his eyes narrowing.
Marcus did not stop. “And the cobblestones…when were they polished last? They glimmer in the sun. I just say all in all, the manor is being kept in a remarkable position.”
Tristan cleared his throat. “You’ll have to thank our staff for that.”
“And in the hallway just before this room, I saw a painting of the manor itself. A fine hand must have worked on that canvas. Now, I am certain that would have cost a fortune. No painter in his right mind would take that work without a proper sum.”
The air grew thinner with each observation, and Tristan shifted again in his seat. He pressed his thumb against his knee, then cleared his throat with a deliberate cough.
“Mr. Harwood,” he eventually said, evenly, “are you not missing something?”
Marcus paused, as though he had been waiting for that moment. He set his cup down on the table and folded his hands together. “Yes, I knew I was. I was saving it for last.”
Tristan allowed a small curve of his mouth, but his eyes remained sharp. “And that would be?”
“The cushions,” Marcus said with a grin and patted the arm of his chair. “These feel immensely kingly. Sitting here, I almost imagine I am on a cloud. Pure comfort.”
“No,” Tristan said flatly. His voice cooled.
Marcus cocked his brow. “No?”
Tristan sighed. “Eliza.”
Marcus blinked. “What?”
“You have been in this room for almost ten minutes. Eight of those I have spent sitting with you. You have complimented everything in this house except the chamber pots, and yet you have not once asked about your sister.”
The smile on Marcus’s face faltered again and was replaced by a cold glare. One Tristan could almost swear wasn’t that of remorse or regret.
“Is what you came here for so urgent that you have forgotten who granted you this familiarity in the first place?” he asked, letting the silence carry his words.
Another wave of silence settled between them.
Marcus’s hands clasped tighter in his lap. “I was going to mention her eventually.”
“Eventually,” Tristan repeated, his tone dry. He leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Marcus. “I am afraid that isn’t good enough, Mr. Harwood. She is your sister. The least you could have done was ask after her at once.”
Marcus gave a shallow nod. “You are right, Lord Vale. I trust her well enough in your care, which is why I thought it safe to wait. Still, I should have asked. My apologies.”
Tristan leaned back again, exhaling through his nose. “What is it you wanted to discuss with me?”
Marcus straightened, his voice lowering. “I feel it is best if we move this discussion to your study.”
Tristan’s brow furrowed. “The drawing room is not sufficient for you? Does the light here offend your purpose?”
“No, not at all,” Marcus said quickly. “It is only that your study seems the more appropriate setting for the nature of our conversation.”
Tristan’s jaw tightened, though he kept his voice level. “Very well.” He raised his hand and signaled to a maid waiting by the wall. “Clear Mr. Harwood’s table.”
The maid stepped forward, reaching for the tray.
