Maggie swallowed. She could do this. She could withstand the one afternoon. She felt Tobias’s warm body nearby. He’d not moved from his spot at her side, and he seemed now to be shielding her from onlookers, glaring fiercely into the crowd. Her heart rose up into her throat. Only Raph had ever protected her with such ferocity before. But not even he could save her from her mother’s designs. She sighed. “I’ll do it, Mama. Tell me where to stand. I can’t very well lie on a pedestal like the tulip last year.”
“Not precisely, no, but …” Her mother led her through the doors at the back of the ballroom and out onto a balcony that looked down into the gardens. Below—a short pedestal, just big enough for a woman to stand on.
“What’s that for?” Tobias had followed them, sticking close to her.
“That,” Maggie answered, “is for me to stand on.”
“A variety of jokes are occurring to me, but all of them low-hanging fruit. I’ll spare you.”
“My eternal gratitude is yours, Mr. Blake.”
The guests surged around them, pouring outside, and jostling them about, but Tobias held Maggie steady.
Maggie’s mama smiled up at Tobias. “Will you be participating in the contest, Mr. Blake? You’ll have all afternoon to gaze your fill on my daughter.”
So that’s what this was about. Mama had decided not to wait for fate to run its course. She was giving it a helping hand. Or rather, an insistent push.
“No,” Tobias said. “I’ll keep your daughter company instead. I’m not, after all, an artist myself.”
Maggie snorted.
Mama’s face fell. “But, oh, but you mustn’t, Mr. Blake! If you keep her company, you’ll ruin the composition I’ve arranged with the garden and the pedestal and Magnificent. There’s no space for you there. It would throw everything out of balance.”
“How long does the competition usually last?” Tobias asked.
“All day!”
“Then I’m afraid I must ruin your composition, my lady. It would be ungentlemanly of me to leave Lady Maggie alone with no distraction all day long. She may sink into the doldrums, and then what would happen to your contest? You’d have a sulky, sad model halfway through. That, Lady Waneborough, would ruin the composition, don’t you think?”
“Oh, but surely Maggie could keep a chipper countenance throughout when so much is at stake.”
“I assure you, Mama,” Maggie said, “I could not. I’m afraid Mr. Blake will have to keep me company.”
“I’ll keep my distance, Lady Waneborough.” He held a hand over his heart. “I swear I will do my best to not ruin your carefully-planned composition.”
Mama eyed Mr. Blake like he was trying to cheat at cards. “Are you sure you don’t wish to draw her or paint her or compose a poem to her beauty?”
“I’m quite positive I could not do her justice, my lady.”
“Very well, then. Keep her company if you must.” Mama turned to Maggie. “Now take your place on the pedestal, darling. Everyone is waiting.”
Maggie set her chin and pulled up tall. “Very well.” But each step down the balcony and toward the pedestal felt like wading through mud. She stopped before it and favored it with her nastiest glare.
“It won’t care about your fierce face, Pocket Princess, thoughIadmire your ferocity.”
Maggie swirled around. Tobias stood far enough away from her she could not touch him if she stretched out her arms. If he stretched his arms out, they might graze the tips of their fingers.
“Come closer,” she demanded.
“Only to help.”
“With wha—ack!”
Tobias swept her up into his arms and deposited her on top of what was to be her perch for the rest of the day. He wrapped strong hands around her waist until she stood steady, and when he removed them and stepped back, she wrapped her own arms around her middle to keep his heat from dissipating in the cold air.
She shivered. “I would have brought my pelisse, hat, gloves, and muff had I known this was my fate. And I would have eaten breakfast.”
Tobias nodded, turned abruptly, and marched back up to the balcony.
