Page 103 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
“Tell him this is a matter of grave urgency and that she must be brought here as soon as possible.”
The servant bowed and, just as he had come, left the room almost immediately.
Tristan exhaled, his shoulders tense. His mind spun with the revelation, with the risk. At least now they had something solid, something to wield against Marcus.
Eliza sat still, her eyes fixed on the fire. He wanted to reach for her, but before he could move, footsteps came fast down the hallway.
The door burst open, and a young footman, breathless, stepped inside. “My lord … my lady …” He swallowed hard. “Miss Flick Ashcombe has just arrived at the door. She asks for entry.”
Every voice fell silent.
The duke’s cane pressed against the floor with a sharp click. “Already here?”
Tristan’s heart pounded, and Eliza’s lips parted, her face pale.
Lord Howard’s eyes narrowed. “Is this not quite convenient?”
“Yes,” Tristan found himself responding before he could think too hard about it. “Yes. This is quite convenient.”
The duke looked back at the servant. “Bring her in here at once.”
Chapter 27
The drawing room grew silent as the servant turned to leave. Eliza felt her chest rise and fall quickly, as if the air around her had thickened and grown heavy. Miss Flick Ashcombe was here, at their door, and soon she would stand before them.
She folded her hands together, pressing them tight to keep them from shaking.
The truth she had expressed to Tristan earlier still thundered in her ears. Now it was no longer memory or suspicion. Now the woman who had shaped her fate and caused all of this to happen in the first place was only a few yards away. She laughed at just how cunning fate was.
She could feel Tristan’s eyes on her as a slightly uncontrollable chuckle escaped her lips. She could even feel him take a step closer, about to ask what happened when the door eventually opened, freezing all his movements and intended concern all at once.
They all looked up at the door at the exact same time and watched Miss Flick enter slowly, as if every step cost her strength. She clutched a small satchel against her chest so hard that her knuckles were white.
Eliza noticed how quickly her eyes darted around the room, first landing on her, then shifting quickly to Tristan, then the duke. Her lips parted, but no words came.
The sight of Lord Howard, who by now had returned to resting by the mantel, seemed to terrify her even further.
“Miss Ashcombe,” Eliza said, her voice clear despite the chill in the air.
Flick remained stiff, and then all of a sudden, she took one step back toward the door.
“Miss Ashcombe,” Tristan called, the confusion in his tone prevalent.
Her voice cracked, thin and broken, “I must apologize… I did not know there was going to be a … No I cannot … Surely you must understand why I can—”
It was the duke’s turn to speak so he leaned forward in his chair, his cane planted firmly against the polished floors. “You will speak, Miss Ashcombe. Whatever brings you here tonight, say it.”
Miss Flick’s eyes filled with tears. She shook her head, backing toward the door again. “Not here. Not before all of you.”
Her distress was raw, and Eliza’s heart clenched. She remembered being cornered by Marcus, her own voice silenced, her choices stripped away. She knew full well exactly how the woman standing before them felt.
Lord Howard’s deep voice broke the moment before anyone else could speak. “If my presence hinders truth, then I will not remain.”
Eliza turned quickly to him. “My lord, you do not have to…”
But Howard had already straightened, his gaze sweeping across the room. “The truth must come out and better it be spoken than swallowed. I will take my leave.”
He bowed slightly to the duke, then to Eliza, and stepped past Miss Flick without another glance. The door shut behind him, leaving the air taut and close.
