Page 59 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
“Will you speak to these friends about the Berkeley Project?” he asked.
Tristan’s mouth tightened. “Not yet. I am still weighing my options. Mr. Harwood presented it well enough, and the folio he left does appear in order. But you know as well as I do that presentation and truth are not always the same thing.”
Gideon nodded gently. “Caution suits you, my lord.”
“Caution keeps men alive, we both know that,” Tristan said evenly. Then he leaned forward even more, his voice dropping. “Still, I may go along with it after I meet with Mr. Harwood again.”
Gideon made no remark as he adjusted the set of Tristan’s sleeves, but Tristan caught the flicker in his eyes. He did not press. Instead, he allowed the silence to hang until he himself broke it.
“It is pleasant, is it not?”
Gideon looked up. “What is, my lord?”
“The change of atmosphere.” Tristan exhaled through his nose and gave the faintest smile.
“Change of atmosphere?”
Tristan shot him a glare. “My wife’s friend. Lady Clara.”
“Ah,” Gideon said, his tone unreadable.
“She has breathed some kind of new life into the manor,” Tristan continued. “Even Grandfather tolerates her company, and that is no small feat.”
Gideon gave a mild grunt, which made Tristan glare even harder at him. “You have reservations.”
“My lord—”
“Do not deflect. Tell me what you think.”
Gideon hesitated, then straightened his shoulders. “If you insist, then yes. I find Lady Clara somewhat vain. She is a bit too bright for my liking.”
Tristan chuckled. “A bit too vain, you say?”
Gideon nodded.
“You, Gideon, need more time among the London elite. There you would see true vanity.”
“With all due respect, my lord,” Gideon responded, his voice dry, “that sounds like a nightmare.”
Tristan laughed. “That is because it is. The elite is a pageant of nothing but peacocks. Believe me, compared to them, Lady Clara is mild.”
Gideon said nothing, but Tristan continued anyway.
“She might be just a smidge too vibrant, yes. But being vibrant is not a fault, is it?”
Gideon pursed his lips, conceding with a nod. “Perhaps you are right.”
“I usually am,” Tristan muttered, half under his breath, though the edge of humor remained in his voice.
He crossed back to the mirror, inspecting the line of his coat, then looked back at Gideon again. “In fact, I have considered organizing a ball. A proper one to introduce Eliza into local society. What do you think? Tell me plainly if it is a terrible idea.”
Gideon narrowed his eyes. “The issue here, my lord, is not whether the idea is terrible or not.”
Tristan blinked. “What is the issue then?”
Gideon grabbed a linen from the floor, then began to fold it. “For as long as I have known you, you have always thought balls were unnecessary. I am only finding it a bit hard to believe that you suggested this.”
Tristan nodded. “Well, I did not come up with it on my own. Aunt Evelyn had suggested it this morning at breakfast and would not stop pestering my grandfather until he agreed to it.”
