Page 55 of The Earl's Reluctant Artist
“Oh,” Eliza muttered, feeling no other word escape her lips.
His jaw tightened. “She painted anyway, but always beneath his judgment. I believe she carried shame for what she loved.”
Eliza’s heart ached, yet she did not reach for pity. She sensed that was not what he needed. Instead, she met his gaze steadily. “Then perhaps it falls to me to say what she was never permitted to hear. There is no shame in beauty created with honesty and passion. No judgment from another person should ever silence it.”
Something flickered across Tristan’s eyes. Something vulnerable and unguarded. He looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Thank you.”
Neither of them spoke for the next few minutes. Finally, Eliza lifted her cup again, her voice quiet but steady.
“I shall expect Clara with eagerness, and perhaps, when she comes, you will tell me more about the woman who painted before me.”
Tristan’s mouth curved, though not quite into a smile. “Perhaps I will.”
For the next few days, Eliza had nothing else to think about than the imminent arrival of her best friend. The atelier was nearing full completion, and that created another wave of excitement in her as well.
Finally, on a Thursday morning, it happened.
She ran out of her room, her feet carrying her as fast as they could across the hallway before she stopped by the entrance. A dark carriage rolled to a complete halt, letting out puffs of dust right by the steps of the manor. Her expectant eyes watched the veiled window until, eventually, Clara stepped out, nothing but pure excitement on her face.
“Eliza!”
Eliza ran forward and drew her into a firm embrace. In that moment, all the stiff and tight air that came with being on her own completely disappeared. At that moment, it was her and her best friend.
Just like it had always been.
Clara pulled back and studied her with a grin. “I cannot tell for the life of me if you have stayed the same weight or grown thinner.”
Eliza laughed. “Do not be ridiculous, Clara. It is the same weight, I assure you. I have not wasted away just yet.”
Clara arched her brow, skeptical, then bent to take her bag, but Eliza stopped her. “Do not trouble yourself. The maids will see to those.”
“Look at you,” Clara said, shaking her head with mock wonder. “Lady Vale.”
Eliza rolled her eyes but laughed, and together they walked toward the doors. A small sense of pride seeped into her mind as she watched Clara’s eyes scan the hallway and the surrounding panels. She could see the expression of approval in her friend’s smile, and she hadn’t known until right then that it was something she absolutely needed.
“Tristan is not here at present,” she explained as they walked into the great hall. “He had to ride into Yorkshire. But he should return before nightfall.”
Clara nodded, her eyes still roving over the high walls and carved arches. “So this is the famous Evermere.”
Eliza opened her mouth to respond, but the sound of footsteps cut into her words. They both turned and noticed Gideon approaching from the end of the hall. He had his hands behind his back and a somewhat stern look on his face for some reason.
“Mr. Hale,” Eliza said, smiling. “May I present my dear friend, Clara?”
Gideon came closer, his face composed, neither warm nor cold. Clara extended her hand but let it drop when he merely gave her a polite nod in response.
“Mr. Hale is Tristan’s close friend.”
“I am also his valet,” Gideon added, his tone clipped.
Clara studied him with amusement. “You look like you are about to demand why I am not in uniform.”
Gideon’s expression did not shift.
“My goodness,” Clara murmured to Eliza quietly. “He’s very stern.”
At last, Gideon lowered his head just a little. “Welcome to Evermere, Lady Clara.”
Clara narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. “Am I truly welcome?”
