Page 39 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
His gaze drifted briefly toward the far wall before returning to her. His voice dropped lower, more careful. “The painting was of my mother. Seeing it brought back memories I was not preparedto face. I took that out on you. That was wrong. What you were doing—restoring it—was a kindness. I should have met it with more grace.”
Eliza studied him, her breath catching slightly. She had not expected such open words from him, not so soon. Slowly, she nodded. “Then I hope this place,” she gestured at the atelier around them, “might serve as some small way to make up for my missteps.”
His eyes warmed, just barely. “It should do more than enough.”
Another quiet moment passed. Dust motes hung in the air between them, caught in the shaft of light from the tall window.
“You said the portrait brought back memories you weren’t ready to face,” Eliza said softly at last. “What memories are those?”
He cleared his throat, his jaw tightening.
She drew back slightly. “Forgive me. Perhaps I’ve gone too far.”
Tristan shook his head. “No. You are my wife. You have the right to know.”
Eliza held his gaze. “I assume it involves your mother.”
“You assume correctly,” he said.
But before she could press further, a sharp knock rattled at the atelier door. Both their heads turned.
A footman stepped inside, bowing quickly. “My lord, Mr. Harwood is here. He waits in the drawing room.”
Eliza’s breath caught hard in her chest. She felt her blood turn to ice.
Tristan’s tone remained even. “Tell Mr. Harwood I will be there shortly.”
“Yes, my lord.” The footman bowed again and disappeared.
Eliza’s hands curled into fists against her skirts. “Mr. Harwood?” she whispered, her voice edged with disbelief.
“Yes.” Tristan’s eyes rested on her face with something unreadable. “My apologies for not telling you sooner. Your brother requested an audience with me.”
Eliza swallowed, her throat tight. “Why? What is he doing here?”
“That,” Tristan said, straightening, “is what I am about to find out. You must excuse me.”
He turned and left, his coat brushing the doorway as he disappeared.
Eliza remained frozen in the middle of the room. Her skin crawled as the same question reverberated in her head over and over again, almost like a warning gong.
What in God’s name was Marcus doing at Evermere?
Chapter 11
Tristan walked into the drawing room as steadily as possible with his hands tucked behind him. Marcus Harwood sat on one of the settees closer to the fireplace, a satchel wrapped around his shoulder and a cup of tea in hand.
On the small table before him was a tray of freshly made cakes and biscuits. However, it was clear from what he’d seen that Marcus seemed to enjoy the tea more than the cakes themselves for some reason he could not understand.
Tristan stopped a few paces from him, and Marcus’s eyes snapped up, a sly smile on his face.
“I will be honest with you, Mr. Harwood,” Tristan began, his tone clipped as he settled into the chair facing Marcus, “I rarely take visit requests if they are not made at least a week in advance. It is a rule my grandfather put in place, and I have found it works for me as well.
“Oh,” Marcus responded, and the smile on his face faltered just a little.
Tristan exhaled and continued, “But since you are my brother-in-law, I will make an exception.”
Marcus lowered his cup, a gentle smile spreading across his face. “And I am grateful for the courtesy, Lord Vale. Next time, I will be sure to notify you with the proper formality. It is simply that this chance fell into my lap. I thought it would be a disservice to you if I did not take it at once.”
