Page 22 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
It was Mr. Hale, his valet. He bowed his head slightly.
“My lady,” he said.
Eliza returned his greeting with a small smile. “Mr. Hale. I hope I am not in anyone’s way out here.”
“Not at all,” he said. His eyes dropped to the sketchbook on her lap. “I must admit, I did not expect to see you with charcoal in hand. When you were introduced to us this morning, you looked every bit the proper lady of the house. Not someone who could draw like this.”
She gave a quiet laugh. “I assure you, it is nothing grand. I do it only to steady myself. It is my way of grounding myself when everything else feels too heavy.”
“Then it serves its purpose well,” he said. “But it is more than grounding. You make the page come alive. That is not something everyone can do.”
Eliza looked down at her hands. “Oh well, to my brother and probably half of society, it is not something to be proud of. I only enjoy it because it is the one thing that keeps my mind from wandering too far.”
“You should be proud,” Mr. Hale answered, his tone steady. “You take what is plain and make it bright. A house can have walls and halls, but it is things like this that give it warmth. Do not ever think little of it.”
Her lips curved faintly. “If my friend Clara were here, she would say the exact same thing.”
“Then your friend has sense,” Mr. Hale said with a smile. “She sees what is true when others may not.”
“Yes,” Eliza said softly. “She does. She has always been that way.”
“I have known a few people like that in the past,” Mr. Hale responded.
For a moment, Eliza was quiet. Then she turned her eyes to the sketchbook while still speaking to the valet. “You would get along with her, I think. You both speak in the same way—about meaning and purpose and things most people ignore.”
“Then she sounds like a person worth knowing,” he said. “It is rare to find those who value such things.”
“She is worth knowing,” Eliza said. “I miss her terribly already.”
Mr. Hale shifted his stance, folding his arms lightly. “And yet, I think you will find companionship here as well. The earl, for one, may not show it, but he values more than duty and order. You and he may be alike in ways that surprise you.”
Eliza’s brows lifted at that. “I cannot say I know him well enough to see any likeness. He speaks little, and when he does, it sounds as though he is giving orders on a battlefield.”
Mr. Hale chuckled. “That is fair. The war left its mark on him, and he still speaks as a soldier. But beneath it, there is a steadiness. And steadiness, my lady, is not so far from the grounding you spoke of.”
She frowned a little, her hand pausing on the page. “Perhaps. Yet he has not spoken more than a few words to me. I cannot tell what he thinks at all.”
“In time, you will,” Mr. Hale said. “It may take patience, but you will.”
Eliza glanced back down at her sketch. “I am not sure I have patience left.”
“You do,” he said firmly. “You carry it, even if you doubt it. Look at what you do here. You sit, you watch, you draw line after line. That is enough patience.”
Her lips parted, then closed again. Finally, she said, “I know I keep saying this, but you sound very much like Clara.”
“Then perhaps Clara is right more often than you allow yourself to believe,” he replied with a kind smile.
Eliza gave a small laugh. “She will be unbearable if I ever tell her she was right about this.”
“Then do not tell her,” he said with a grin. “Keep it to yourself, and let her wonder.”
She shook her head, amused despite herself.
Mr. Hale straightened a little. “I should not take more of your time. I only wished to say that your work is worth more than you think. Do not put it aside.”
Eliza looked up at him. “Thank you. That is kind of you to say.”
He bowed his head once more. “It is only the truth.”
