Page 6 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
Ruth dipped again and slipped out of the chamber. Eliza placed the brush on the dressing table with a trembling hand. Her heart jumped and then sank. She rose to her feet, lifting the ends of her gown as the fear started to get the better of her. The best way to avoid Marcus’s anger was to remain out of sight.
And that was what she intended to do.
She hurried out immediately, her slippers practically digging into the wooden floorboards as she left her chamber.
The staircase stretched before her, its edges lined with dust and the steps stripped of polish. She remembered when it used to shine with no consequence. When light from the tall windows spilled across it like gold. Now it looked dry and brittle, a reminder of the former grandeur she used to live in.
She descended quickly, her dress still gathered in one hand. Her feet crossed the faded carpet of the hall, each step echoing in the emptiness. She glanced behind her as though expecting someone to appear.
She turned back too late and collided with a solid form. A gasp escaped her lips.
“Watch where you are going, you half-wit!” Marcus snapped, pushing his hand out and shoving her aside.
Eliza stepped back, her heart pounding in her chest with no limit. She watched him smooth the lapel of his coat with sharp flicks of his fingers, his mouth drawn into a thin line.
“I beg your pardon,” Eliza said quickly, her cheeks flushing as she managed to exhale.
Marcus looked down at her, but the man beside him drew her eyes instead. His figure was taller than her brother’s, and his coat was dark and well cut. His gaze met hers and softened faintly.
“Miss Harwood,” the man said with a polite bow. “I am Mr. Coltrane.”
Eliza dipped her head just slightly. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“I am about to have a very important meeting with Mr. Coltrane,” Marcus said, his voice rising with authority. “If you know what is good for you, make yourself scarce.”
Eliza clenched her hands together, the knuckles growing white. She watched as Marcus and Mr. Coltrane walked toward the opposite end of the house. Her teeth pressed hard together. If Marcus already saw her, she might as well take her chance now.There was something she needed. Something she was certain he could provide for her.
She drew a breath and stepped forward. “Marcus, now that you are here, there is something I would like to ask of you.”
Marcus stopped mid-step and turned slowly, his dark eyes boring into her, heavy with disdain.
“Well, speak, Eliza,” he said. “Not all of us have time to waste.”
Eliza rubbed her hands together, her gaze falling to the floor and then back up again. “I had hoped to purchase some hues for my painting. I meant to go to the market this morning, but I have no money. I wondered if you might give me some.” She swallowed. “You could even lend it, and I will repay you when I have it.”
A low laugh broke from Marcus, and he stepped toward her until the space between them seemed to shrink.
“When you have it? Eliza, have you lost all sense? We are growing penniless by the second. The house is disintegrating around us, yet you ask me for colors.”
“I only—”
“You only waste breath,” Marcus cut in, his voice sharp and filled with scorn. “Look around you. Look at where we currently live. This house once stood proud, a glorious mansion with endless maids and cooks. Now we are reduced to one servant and a girl in the kitchen who cannot apparently tell what fish should taste like—”
“Anna is trying her best —”
“Did I say you could speak?”
Eliza’s chest rose and fell, the words burning her throat.
“Let us say I lend you the money, how would you repay me?” Marcus demanded.
He lifted his boot and tapped the sole against the floor. “You are as useless as this bit of leaf at the bottom of my shoe. You do nothing but sit before a canvas all day and draw useless images. You have no prospects, no suitors of worth, no skill that would keep you fed for even a week. And still you ask me for colors.”
Her throat tightened, and she bit the inside of her lip until she tasted blood.
Marcus leaned closer, his words low but edged with cruelty. “The only responsibility I have, dear sister, is to keep you alive, and I do that by feeding you. Anything else is a frivolity, and for you, a luxury.”
Eliza lowered her eyes. “I am sorry. I only meant to ask—”
