Chapter 17 #2
Tristan’s eyes narrowed at her. “You miss the market?”
“Yes. I miss the noise. The calls of the sellers. The smell of fruit and bread and spice. I have not walked through a proper market in months.”
Tristan regarded her for a moment, then nodded. “Well, if that is what you want, we shall stop.”
Her smile grew. “Thank you.”
The carriage rocked gently along the road, and for a time neither spoke. The only thing that could be heard was the sound of hoofbeats. Then Tristan leaned forward, his gaze fixed on her. “Your brother is a persuasive man, is he not?”
Eliza’s smile faded. “Yes. He can be very persuasive when he chooses.”
“You say that with little joy,” Tristan remarked.
She gave a half-shrug. “He was a lawyer once. He always knew how to bend words until they suited him.”
“Including with you?” Tristan asked, his voice low.
She gave a small, humorless smile. “He did persuade me into this marriage.”
The words hit harder than he expected. Tristan’s gaze lingered on her face, but she did not look at him. Her tone had been flat, and her shoulders grew tense.
“He did?” he asked, almost against his will.
“Yes,” she said, her eyes fixed on the trees rushing past the window.
Tristan leaned back into the seat, his mind circling the admission. He had never asked her what Marcus had said to her, nor how he had pressed the matter. Until this moment, he had assumed she had agreed willingly.
At least as willingly as arranged marriages go. It didn’t feel like she had a choice in what the matchmaker provided for her.
The question burned inside him. What exactly did Marcus say to convince her? Or was she threatened?
The carriage eventually stopped beneath the branches of a wide oak. Beyond the clearing, riders waited, Marcus among them.
Tristan touched Eliza’s hand lightly. “We are here.”
She looked up at him and nodded.
The harvest festival stretched wide before them as they both stepped down. The square was lined with stalls draped in cloth of different shades.
The air was filled with the smell of baked bread, roasted chestnuts, and the hint of sweetened cider. Tristan turned to look at Eliza and noticed the subtle smile on her face as she took in the sights.
There it was.
“What do you think?” he eventually asked, his voice clear.
“I have no words,” she responded, the disbelief in her voice almost as clear as the morning sky.
The sound of laughter rose above the music of fiddles, and children darted between carts, their ribbons flying behind them. He watched Eliza take in more of the sights until her gaze landed on a group of women and children who had gathered by the fountain. She touched Tristan’s arm gently.
“I shall go over there,” she said, pointing toward them. “You may call for me if you need me.”
He frowned. “Are you certain?”
“Yes,” she answered, her tone calm but firm. “You have meetings with half the aristocracy of London today. I doubt they would want my presence even if I insisted. Better I stay out here.”
He studied her a moment longer. “Very well,” he said at last, releasing a slow breath.
She gave a warm smile and made her way across the square.
Tristan watched her kneel beside the children, her dress settling around her.
She laughed as the little ones thrust flowers into her hands and touched her hair.
Then, with a reluctant turn, he moved deeper into the festival where the men waited.
Marcus had gathered them in a side room off the square. The tables in the room were littered with maps and papers. Tristan took his seat calmly and watched Marcus sit at the head, his voice steady and confident.
“Gentlemen,” Marcus began, “as you all know, this project is not simply an expansion. It is an opportunity to tie our fortunes together, to strengthen trade routes, and to build something greater than the sum of our lands.”
Tristan scanned the faces around him. Some were familiar; most of the others were not. He spotted one he knew. It was the baron from the garden party days ago.
“My lord,” Tristan greeted him with a nod.
“Lord Vale,” the baron said, leaning forward with a grin. “I am glad you are here. This will be of interest to you.”
“We shall see,” Tristan responded, his voice almost a whisper.
The baron cleared his throat before continuing, “We wait for a few more, but it seems Mr. Harwood does not intend to wait.”
Marcus cleared his throat and carried on. “The idea is simple. We build new mills. We cut a broader road through the forest and direct trade through our lands. In time, wealth flows not only to us, but to every house allied in this effort.”
The men murmured in approval, but Tristan folded his hands, his gaze steady.
“And the villagers?” he asked at last.
Marcus paused, then smiled as though expecting the question. “They will be fine.”
“Fine?” Tristan pressed. “If I follow this correctly, the project will cut into their farmland and limit their trade. What will happen to those who cannot invest? What becomes of them?”
One of the lords shifted uncomfortably as Marcus’s smile thinned. “There will be mechanisms in place to ensure they are not left behind.”
“What mechanisms?” Tristan asked. His voice was calm, but his eyes narrowed.
“We are still refining those,” Marcus admitted. “But the principle stands. Progress demands adaptation. Once the returns begin, everyone will benefit.”
Tristan leaned forward. “Should that not be the first priority? The lords may be powerful partners, but we all know very well that their interests do not always align with those of the people. If this truly is for growth, then the villagers must see that growth as well.”
Marcus waved a hand, his tone sharp. “We will make it align. Do not worry yourself with every detail, Lord Vale. That is why you have me.”
Something in his voice felt jarring, almost insensitive. Like the villagers were completely an afterthought. Tristan sat back, the discomfort sharp in his chest.
“Perhaps we should pause,” he said finally. “We are still waiting for others to arrive, and the festival outside deserves our attention. Let us take a break.”
The men looked at one another, then nodded. At last, Marcus exhaled, forced to agree. “Very well.”
They all rose and stepped out into the sunlight once more.
The first sound Tristan heard was a boy’s laughter. A child ran toward him, his small legs pumping hard. Tristan recognized the mop of brown hair and the scar on the knee.
“Matthew,” he said with a subtle smile. “How is your leg?”
The boy grinned. “It has been fine, my lord, ever since you wrapped it that day.”
“Good,” Tristan said. He crouched so they were level. “As long as you do not trouble your mother again, it will not give you pain.”
Matthew laughed, bobbed his head, and ran off toward his friends.
Tristan straightened and turned. Across the square, Eliza was still with the children. She had a daisy crown in her lap, and the little girls were weaving flowers into her hair. Something softened in Tristan’s chest, and he took a step toward her.
“Lord Vale,” Marcus’s voice cut in. He had followed him out, glass in hand. “I wanted to continue where we left off. The finer details—”
“You must excuse me,” Tristan said, his tone firm. “I promised my wife I would join her.”
Without waiting for a response, he crossed the square. Eliza looked up as he approached, her smile widening.
“You came,” she said.
“Of course,” he answered.
A boy tugged at his hand, urging him to sit. Tristan lowered himself beside Eliza. At once, the children crowded them, showing him the small wooden toys they carried.
“Do you like soldiers, my lord?” one of them asked.
Tristan examined the little carving. “Yes. Though I prefer when they are at rest.”
Eliza laughed, nudging him gently. “They never believe you smile, you know. You had best prove them wrong.”
“I smile,” Tristan said, his face completely blank. “On occasion.”
The children giggled, and one girl offered him a biscuit. He hesitated at first, but Eliza kept her eyes on him until he took it. The taste of sugar lingered in his mouth as he chewed, and the children laughed once again.
For the next few minutes, they played together, tossing a ball, passing it between them while the children shrieked with delight. Tristan found himself watching Eliza more than the game.
The way she listened intently when the children spoke. The way her hands moved with elegance. Even the sound of her laughter was enough to draw his attention.
Would she be like this if they had children?
He swallowed, the thought almost catching him off guard. Why in God’s name was he thinking about children? Was it the look of peace that settled on Eliza’s face? Or was it something else? Something he couldn’t explain. Something he didn’t want to explain?
He watched the smile on Eliza’s face disappear and narrowed his eyes. The laughter had completely faded, and her gaze had shifted across the square.
Tristan followed it.
Marcus stood near a stall, his wine glass raised at her. Then he turned to the men beside him and toasted them as well.
Eliza’s expression tightened, and Tristan felt his jaw clench. He had thought this would be something he wouldn’t have to interfere in, but it was rather clear now.
Something was going on between Eliza and her brother, and he would have to ask her about it.