Page 35 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
Eliza said nothing, but he could tell she had a lot to say just by the look on her face. The way her eyes bore into him seemed to say everything she couldn’t.
Everything she didn’t want to.
“I ...” He trailed off, unable to take his eyes off the portrait. It was like he was staring at a portal through Eliza’s hand.
He cleared his throat again. “I … will take a break. For now.”
She said nothing, and he could tell she wanted to.
“I apologize once again. Please excuse me,” he stated, then turned around to leave. He could feel her eyes on him as he walked out of the room, but he didn’t turn back to confirm them. Not once.
The hammering sound resumed as he made his way down the hallway. This time, though, he could tune it out because nothing else occupied his thoughts except the image of his mother.
Chapter 10
Eliza took one last look at the mirror and adjusted her hair. She swallowed and let her thoughts remain in one place. Ever since her rather brutal encounter with Tristan that afternoon, she had refused to leave her room in fear of running into him. She didn’t know if she could bear the hurt look in his eyes.
She stepped out of her chambers anyway and headed down the hallway. Tristan should be in his study by now, which meant the chances of running into him were low. The sound of hammers pounding into nails and into walls filled her ears as she walked.
As she grew closer to the room, the noise grew even louder. Finally, she paused by the doorway and watched the men work in what she could only describe as chaotic coordination. She continued to watch how the men worked in silence and bliss until she broke the silence.
“Good evening,” she said softly.
The workers turned, some wiping their brows, others dipping their heads. “My lady,” they said in return before continuing their work.
Eliza walked slowly across the room, her eyes running over the walls, the light, the growing order. “It looks wonderful,” she said with genuine warmth. “I love how it is coming together.”
The head of the workers, a tall man with broad shoulders and a dark beard, stepped closer. His expression was careful, as though he were not entirely convinced. “You are certain you love what you see, my lady?”
She gave him a small smile. “Yes. Very certain.”
“Are you completely certain?” he asked again, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Her brows lifted at his persistence. “I am. I promise you, I am quite pleased.”
The man finally gave a single nod. “Good.”
She tilted her head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shook his head quickly, his voice flat. “No reason.” Then he stepped back, returning his gaze to the men at work.
Eliza lingered a moment, curious, but decided not to press him. Instead, she asked, “When last did you all take a break?”
One of the younger workers answered between strokes of his hammer. “A few hours ago, my lady.”
“Then I’ll have some lemonade sent up,” Eliza said firmly. “Or at least some water. It isn’t right to keep working without it.”
The bearded man shook his head again. “That won’t be necessary.”
But Eliza smiled faintly and lifted her chin. “It will be done anyway. I’ll see to it myself.”
Without waiting for another protest, she turned and left, the noise of their labor following her into the quiet corridor. She made her way toward the kitchens, her steps echoing in the long hallway, when a door opened suddenly, and Evelyn Howard stepped out.
Eliza stopped and composed herself quickly. “Lady Howard. It is you.”
Evelyn’s lips curved into the faintest smile, her brows arching. “I should hope so.”
Eliza gave a polite nod, unsure whether to laugh or not. “I see you are well this evening.”
