Page 14 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
Eliza narrowed her eyes. “And what is that?”
Clara cleared her throat. “You shall not fret tonight. You shall not cry. You will allow me to stay with you, and tomorrow, you will walk down that aisle with your head held high. And if this earl dares to disappoint you, I shall come to Evermere myself and lecture him until he begs for forgiveness. I do not know where it is, but I am certain I can find it.”
Eliza’s lips curved into a faint smile despite herself. “I am certain you will terrify him.”
“Good. Let him be terrified. A husband ought to respect his wife’s friends.”
Eliza reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Thank you, Clara. Truly. I do not know what I would do without you.”
Clara squeezed back. “And you never shall. Not while I draw breath.”
With those words, Eliza pulled Clara into another hug, this time around, letting her friend’s soothing embrace provide relief, even if only for a moment.
Eliza still clung to Clara’s embrace, when the door burst open without a knock, and Marcus stood in the doorway, his eyes sharp with disapproval.
“Why in heaven’s name are you still lying about?” he demanded, his tone carrying more accusation than inquiry. “You ought to be sorting through every gown in your closet, by now, Eliza. You are to be a bride tomorrow, not a sloth.”
Eliza stiffened, but Clara rose from the bed at once, her expression calm. “She is just about to begin, Mr. Harwood. There is no need to be so loud.”
Marcus turned his gaze to Clara, narrowing his eyes. “If you wish to remain in this house as a friend to my sister, then advise her properly. This marriage cannot fail, and yet it very well will if she continues to sulk like a child.”
Clara stepped closer to him, folding her arms. “We both know that you are eager to rid yourself of Eliza. You may drop the pretense of concern. No one here is deceived by it.”
Marcus’s mouth twitched, and he leaned forward to retort, but Clara acted swiftly. With a snap of her wrist, she grabbed the door and slammed it in his face. Eliza’s eyes widened as the sound echoed through the room.
For a moment, only silence followed. Then Marcus’s voice rang from the other side, sharp and furious.
“Open this door at once, Clara, or you shall regret it.”
Clara bent close to the wood, her lips parting gently. “You must forgive me, Mr. Harwood. Your sister is not in a state to entertain you just now. She has her monthly visitor. I mean, unless of course you wish to come in and see for yourself.”
The pause on the other side was heavy and uncomfortable. Then Marcus’s voice returned, lower and clipped.
“No.”
Clara and Eliza exchanged looks as his footsteps retreated down the hall. After he was gone, Eliza pressed a hand to her mouth tostifle the laugh that threatened to burst free. Clara straightened, her face smug with triumph.
“You are outrageous,” Eliza whispered, and then the two of them dissolved into a quiet fit of laughter.
When at last they calmed, Clara grew solemn again. She returned to the bed and sat beside Eliza. “He is insufferable, but he is also right in this one matter. You must pack, dear. There is no more time to waste.”
Eliza nodded reluctantly. Together they began pulling gowns from the small wardrobe, laying them across the bed. Most were older and duller than when they were bought, but Clara moved through them with determination.
As they worked, Clara’s gaze caught the stack of canvases set upon the table. She reached for one, holding it up, and her lips parted in awe.
“Eliza,” she breathed, her eyes wide. “These are extraordinary. Good God! Look at the color, the life in every stroke. They are beautiful.”
Eliza’s hands faltered as she folded a gown. “I am glad you think so. Those may well be my last ones for some time.”
Clara’s head snapped toward her. “Why would you ever say that?”
“Because it is obvious,” Eliza replied softly, her gaze fixed on the bundle of fabric in her lap. “The Earl of Evermere ... whoever he may be, will not be tolerant of a wife who paints. Such things are frivolous in his world. So my brushes will be put away once I cross that threshold.”
Clara set the canvas down, placed her hands upon her hips, and shook her head. “It amazes me how you imagine you have this man fully pegged when you do not even know the shape of his nose or even the sound of his voice. You are making him into a tyrant before you have even met him.”
Eliza lifted her chin. “I must be ready for what awaits me.”
Clara leaned down until their eyes were level. Her voice was firm. “What you must be ready for is to refuse to surrender yourself entirely. What you create with your hand is a gift. You breathe life into canvas, Eliza, and it would be a sin to abandon it. Whatever husband you gain, whatever new household you enter, you cannot give that up. You must not.”
