“I see you are settling in,” Evelyn said, her voice smooth and cool, her gaze flicking briefly in the direction of the atelier.
“Yes,” Eliza replied, steadying her tone. “And I have the duke to thank for it.”
“Don’t,” Evelyn said at once, the word sharp but almost amused. “The last thing my father needs is someone stroking his ego.”
Eliza inclined her head and allowed the silence to settle. The hammering from the atelier filled the space between them, each strike echoing faintly through the walls.
At length, Evelyn broke the pause. “So you are serious about this atelier of yours.”
“It is only a hobby,” Eliza said. “I hope you do not disapprove.”
“Not at all,” Evelyn answered, her voice as smooth as ever. “I am a sailor by nature. I get used to things as they come.” Her mouth curved a little more. “My husband, if he were here, would say I was being disingenuous. But you must know I am not.”
Eliza studied her face, searching for insincerity, but found none. “I believe you,” she said softly.
Evelyn’s gaze sharpened slightly. “If Tristan is renovating the atelier for you, perhaps there is something in this marriage beyond convenience.”
Eliza gave a short laugh, though it sounded weary to her own ears. “I doubt it. I angered him this afternoon, and he has not spoken to me since.”
Evelyn let out a laugh of her own, richer than Eliza expected. “Do not worry yourself. Tristan has always been the sort to stew in his feelings until he is able to swallow them.”
Eliza frowned at that. “That is unhealthy.”
“Of course it is,” Evelyn said with lightness. “The man was in the army, for God’s sake. I am afraid that was already a given.”
That earned a soft laugh from Eliza, despite herself. “Still, it seems a poor way to live.”
“Perhaps. But he has managed all the same.” Evelyn’s tone carried a finality to it. Then she softened slightly. “Do not fret. He will come around. If he can get past your painting hobby, he can certainly get past whatever else has unsettled him.”
Eliza lowered her gaze for a moment before meeting her eyes again. “Thank you. That is comforting to hear.” She smoothed her shawl. “But I must go. I promised the men some lemonade.”
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, though her smile remained. “Of course you did. Well, I must not delay you.”
Eliza began to step away, but Evelyn caught her hand gently, halting her. Eliza turned, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.
“My dear,” Evelyn said, her voice lower now, “you are married to my favorite nephew.”
Eliza narrowed her eyes faintly. “I thought he was your only nephew.”
Evelyn’s smile deepened, her eyes glinting. “Same difference. The point, Eliza, is that you do not need to call me Lady Howard. Aunt Evelyn will do just fine.”
Eliza blinked at the shift, then gave a small nod. “Very well. Thank you … Aunt Evelyn.”
Evelyn released her hand, her expression still fixed in that poised smile.
Eliza dipped her head once more, then turned and continued down the corridor, her thoughts spinning. She had set out only to offer refreshment to the workers, yet somehow she had walked away with a new form of address for a woman she was not yet sure she trusted.
Still, she held onto her composure as she made her way toward the kitchens, the echo of Evelyn’s words following her every step.
***
The next morning came with muted light that stretched through Eliza’s windows. She sat still while Rose, her maid, brushed her hair into order for breakfast. Rose’s fingers were gentle, the brush moving in slow strokes. Eliza studied Rose’s full cheeks and bright red hair in the mirror and exhaled.
“Rose,” she said after a moment, her voice low, “is Lord Vale in the dining room yet?”
“I cannot tell, my lady,” Rose replied. “I’m not permitted in there. That is for Mr. Gideon, his valet. He would know.”
Eliza shifted in her seat. “And have you seen Mr. Gideon this morning?”
