Page 24 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
Evelyn gave a sharp laugh. “I thought she was carrying on a secret affair. To think she was only painting is quite unbelievable.”
Tristan nodded as Evelyn shook her head, half amused and half scandalized. “But now it makes sense. A woman of her status could hardly let it be known. An affair may have been unforgivable, yes, but at least it was something society could name.”
Tristan ground his jaw as his aunt continued to speak.
“Painting, however? There is no excuse for that. People who do that barely have time for anything else. My dear, I can almost forgive her secrecy.”
Tristan sighed. “Perhaps. But I remember the look on her face. The quiet contentment. She loved it, and that was enough.”
Evelyn nodded and said nothing else. His aunt almost seemed to understand, for some reason, that this was his time to speak.
Tristan looked back toward the garden again. “I see that same look now on Eliza’s face. She has found some measure of peacewith her sketches, and I cannot think of taking that from her. I cannot be like my father.”
Evelyn moved closer and rested her hand on his arm, giving it a small squeeze. “Whether society deems it proper or not does not matter now. What matters is harmony between the two of you. Because that is what sustains a marriage.”
Tristan made no answer. His eyes remained fixed on the bench below.
“Tell me,” Evelyn said after a moment, her voice lighter again, “have you spoken with her about it?”
He let out a breath. “I have not spoken with her about anything. Not since the wedding.”
“What in God’s name are you doing then?” Evelyn asked, her eyes sharp.
“I am giving her space,” Tristan said firmly. “She has been through enough, and I do not wish to crowd her. I believe she deserves time to find her place here.”
Evelyn leaned closer, lowering her voice as though confiding a great secret. “Darling, the very last thing newlyweds ought to give each other is space. It belongs to strangers, not to couples bound by vows.”
Her words struck him more than he wished to admit, and he shifted slightly, looking away from her knowing eyes.
Evelyn smoothed her gloves. “Well, I will not press you further. You are just as stubborn as your father, and no amount of my talk will change that in a day.”
A brief laugh escaped his lips as she took a step back. “Oh well.”
She smiled as well. “Now, I am off with the ladies. There is a gathering, and I should not be late. Plus, I expect to find you less brooding when I return. Do you hear me?”
She moved toward the door, her perfume trailing lightly behind her. At the threshold, she looked back once, her eyes gleaming with something between affection and warning.
Then she was gone.
The study was silent again, and Tristan stood unmoving at the window, Evelyn’s words circling in his mind. He looked down once more to the garden, where Eliza bent over her sketchbook, her hand steady on the paper, then he drew in a long breath.
Space or no space, his aunt was right. Something had to shift.
***
Tristan sat in his study again the next morning. The sun was brighter, and it cut rather sharp lines across the floorboards. From his window, he could see the garden below. She was there again, his wife, with her sketchbook. She sat on the bench with her back straight, the light falling across her shoulders. He watched her tilt her head, then lower it as her hand began to move over the page.
He found himself staring again, and a part of him wondered how many hours she could sit like that.
Could she do that all day?
At last, he forced himself away from the window and sat at his desk where the estate ledgers waited. He had just begun reading through the sheep tallies when a knock sounded on the door.
“Come in,” Tristan said, his eyes not leaving the page.
The door opened, and Gideon stepped in, a stack of books tucked beneath his arm. He crossed the room and put them on the desk with a dull thud.
“Here are the volumes you asked for, my lord,” Gideon said.
