Page 51 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
“She is fine,” he eventually responded, his voice curt.
The duchess took a step closer. “The key to any true garden is arrangement. You must think of it as a symphony. Roses, lilies, lavender…they must all play in concert.”
“Indeed,” Tristan murmured, already feeling the weight of her words press down.
She continued without pause. “This bed alone took three weeks to plan. Each hue was considered, and each leaf was accounted for. That is what makes it art, Tristan. One cannot simply tossseeds into soil and expect harmony. It requires vision, patience, discipline…”
Tristan’s gaze flicked toward the house. There was no escape without appearing rude. He drew a breath and braced himself.
“And I have not even begun on the lilies,” she pressed on, her eyes bright with certainty. “They are the true stars of the garden. Their stems—”
“Forgive me, madam,” a new voice cut in, and Tristan turned at once.
Eliza was approaching from the other path, her steps quick but graceful. Her face was composed, though her eyes darted once toward him before settling on the dowager.
“I saw you talking to my husband and thought it would be shameful of me if I did not ask,” Eliza said, her tone bright, “how did you manage such command of the color yellow? It is striking.”
The dowager blinked, then softened at once. “My word. What a keen eye you have.”
“I could not see such an arrangement and resist asking,” Eliza said with a polite smile. “Will you tell me everything about it? Please, I must know.”
“Of course, child,” Margaret said, delighted. “Come, walk with me.”
The dowager turned, already beginning her explanation anew, and Eliza fell into step beside her.
As she passed him, Eliza glanced back. For the briefest instant, their eyes met, and Tristan mouthed aThank you.
Her lips twitched before she returned her gaze forward, drawing the dowager duchess away with her questions.
Tristan exhaled, the tightness in his chest reducing, and turned back to the roses.
Chapter 14
Eliza’s eyes settled on the road speeding past them as the carriage made its way back to the manor. The garden party had been a huge success, and she felt a wave of warmth in her chest, even in the aftermath.
Tristan’s eyes remained settled on her, and she could almost feel the sheer force of his gaze piercing her skin, but she said nothing. Partly because she greatly enjoyed the silence, but mostly because there was absolutely nothing to talk about.
He cleared his throat, and she eventually looked up at him, her eyes bright.
“I must thank you,” he began, his voice low and unusually calm. “I do not know what I would have done had you not swooped in to save me back there with the dowager.”
Eliza tilted her head, studying him. “I am certain you would have come up with something.”
His mouth curved slowly. “Yes. Something like shouting that the ground was cracking beneath us, or perhaps claiming there was a fire.”
Eliza laughed, her shoulders shaking. “You truly dislike uncomfortable silences, do you not?”
“I do,” Tristan responded without hesitation. “Along with some other things. Endless talking. Standing too long in one place.”
Eliza narrowed her eyes with mock severity. “But did you not tell me the other day that you could stand for as long as possible in my room?”
“I am certain I could,” Tristan responded. “I simply despise doing it.”
Her lips curved in a smile. “I understand. There are things I used to do often that I despised as well.”
As Tristan opened his mouth to speak, the carriage jerked forward, its creaky wheels rocking violently against a hidden stone.
Eliza gasped and felt her body lurch forward, nearly losing her balance. Before she could wrap her mind around what was happening, Tristan’s arms were instantly around her. A sharp exhale escaped her lips as he steadied her against his chest, and for the better half of a few seconds, she completely forgot how to breathe.
