Page 46 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
Tristan tilted his head. “Your sketches are quite … intricate. I had not expected such detail.”
She looked up, surprised by the quiet compliment. “Thank you.”
“You also do not have to worry about using the garden for much longer. The atelier should be finished in two days,” he added. “Then you will have the proper space for all of this.”
She felt her chest lift. “That is wonderful. Thank you again.” She hesitated, then said, “I wrote a letter inviting my friend Clara to visit. I hope you do not mind.”
“Not in the least,” he replied without pause.
Eliza smiled, relieved. “Good. I miss her company.”
Her words seemed to remind him of something. He straightened a little. “That does bring another matter to mind. A close friend of mine, Sir Gordon, has invited us to a garden party. I meant to tell you before your brother arrived yesterday.”
Her eyes widened. “A party?”
“Yes.”
She looked down at her plain dress and laughed softly. “I would not even know what to wear to something like that.”
Tristan’s lips tugged faintly, a very tiny smile resting on the edges of his face. “Do not worry. I am sure the seamstress will whip up something suitable.”
“I hope so,” she said, half laughing again.
The silence that followed was far from uncomfortable. It was light. Perhaps just the lightest form of silence she had experienced with him so far.
“Well,” he said at last, clearing his throat, “I should return to my study. There are matters I must see to.”
She nodded. “Of course.”
He tilted his head slightly, then turned and walked back across the garden.
Eliza watched him go, her pencil still warm in her hand. A smile slowly crept over her lips. Perhaps she could grow used to this.
And maybe…just maybe, she could even learn to make a marriage of it.
Chapter 13
Gideon was already holding a towel when Tristan stepped out of the bath. The cold water dug into his skin as the morning air settled on him, and Gideon stood by the edge of the door, a towel resting on his outstretched hand.
Tristan took it and wrapped it over his shoulders, his hair damp against the linen.
“The water was cold today,” Tristan muttered, rubbing his arms briskly.
“My apologies, my lord,” Gideon replied at once. “I’ll see that it is warmer tomorrow.”
Tristan gave a short laugh. “It is fine. Do you remember how we had nothing but freezing water in the field? At least this was clean.”
Gideon folded the used towel neatly in his hands. “We were fortunate compared to many. Most soldiers went days without washing.”
“Imagine that,” Tristan said dryly. He sat down, stretching out his legs. “And that being one of the least terrible things a man endured at the front.”
Gideon gave a small nod. “True enough. Imagine.”
Tristan finished drying his hair and set the towel aside. Gideon was ready with a crisp white shirt, holding it out with the sleeves open. Tristan pushed his arms through and let Gideon fasten the buttons.
“If there were any way to avoid Lord Gordon’s garden party,” Tristan said, his voice edged with reluctance, “I would have done it already. I’m not sure I care to stomach society’s chatter again.”
Gideon smoothed the shirt across Tristan’s shoulders before answering. “You’ll get the hang of it quickly, my lord. These things always seem worse in thought than they are in practice.”
