“Am I even worthy of this?” She whispered to herself, unable to steel the words in her heart any longer.
The door creaked, and Clara’s voice broke through. “Do not tell me you are already doubting the masterpiece.”
Eliza turned quickly, startled. Clara swept into the room in her usual fashion, the low ends of her bright blue dress brushing against canvases.
“You have not even seen it yet,” Eliza muttered.
“It is your work. I am certain it is a—”
She froze as her eyes settled on the painting, then she looked back at Eliza with raised brows.
“That is the most dreadful thing I have ever seen,” Clara said, though her tone was more amused than cruel.
“I know—”
“I mean, what are you even trying to paint here?”
“I know,”
“Good God, even looking at it is giving me a headache. I mean, how do you even—”
“Clara!” Eliza snapped.
Her friend turned to look at her, the amused expression still resting on her face.
“Trust me,” Eliza continued, her voice a bit lower. “I know.”
“Well,” Clara resumed, her voice softer. “What exactly happened?”
Eliza sighed. “Is it not clear? My mind is unsteady.”
Clara stepped closer, folding her arms. “Ah. Then this is not about the painting. Thank heavens.”
“Thank heavens?”
Clara laughed. “For the briefest of moments, I thought you were losing your ability to paint. Well, it is clear this is about your brother.”
Eliza’s throat tightened at the sound of his name, and she nodded. “I cannot stop thinking about it. His schemes, his lies. And Tristan … how much more can he bear? I feel as though my brother’s corruption shadows me as well. As if it makes me … less.”
Clara’s face softened. She pulled out a stool and sat beside her. “Eliza Harwood, you are not your brother. His sins are his own. Do not chain them to your name. Lord Vale knows who you are. So do I. Goodness, even Aunt Evelyn, who is a harsh judge of character, knows who you are.”
Eliza turned to look at Clara, saying nothing.
“None of us would let his deceit define you.”
Eliza looked down, voice faint. “But what if his schemes ruin everything? Tristan, the estate, even this marriage?”
Clara reached out and took her hand. “Then you will fight it. With him. Love and loyalty prevail when nothing else does. That has been true for every family, every marriage worth anything. You must believe it.”
Eliza blinked fast, her eyes stinging. She nodded. “I will try.”
“Good,” Clara said, giving her hand a squeeze. Then, in a deliberate change of tone, she pulled back and stood. “Now, enough gloom. I came here for something far more important.”
Eliza tilted her head. “More important than my canvas and despair?”
“Indeed.” Clara turned toward the chair in the corner and pulled out a gown draped across it. She twirled the fabric with a grin, holding it against herself. “Tell me if this is good enough.”
Eliza blinked. “Good enough for what?”
