He rose. “You’ve never been a great reader of books, Hen. No need to start now.” He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “Time to get on with it, then. I’ve a contest winner to declare.” He peered at his sister’s sketches once more with a heavy sigh. “I’m afraid I can’t choose you. That wouldn’t be fair. Though I rather think you’ve tied with the lady painting the teacups. Beautifulanduseful, the both of you.” He nodded decisively.
Henrietta spared him a quick glance. “Who assigned you judge?”
“Myself.”
“I’m not sure it works that way, Tobias.”
“Everything works any way you want it if you decide it does.”
She laughed. “For you, perhaps.”
He wiggled his eyebrows at Henrietta before turning toward Maggie’s pedestal. There remained a large handful of artists’ works to review, but as Henrietta had pointed out, his decision was likely to be overruled anyway. No one listened to good sense—his good sense—when they should. He might as well return to Maggie.
His blood boiled and he rolled his shoulders to calm his nerves. She didn’t want him. Why keep attempting to change her mind? Honor alone did not drive him back to her again and again. He knew that. He liked the sound of her laugh, and how she’d looked in that frayed banyan, and how she’d tasted, too. His steps quickened and gravel crunched angrily beneath his boots. He could never change her mind. Not unless … not unless he told her all. And he couldn’t do that. Some secrets he’d take to his grave.
He skid to a stop and looked up at Maggie on the pedestal. She bit her lip and grinned at him with her eyes. His heart sped up, yelling at him to move, to make it to her side, so he could … what? Propose again? Fool heart.
Maggie’s grin disappeared, and she cocked her head to the side. She looked worried. And cold. And … what if he told her everything and shedidn’tlaugh at him? She was as unlike Celia as the spring was unlike the winter. That was to say, entirely. What if he told her just enough to change her mind? She desired stability. He could offer it. But she had no clue. Unless he told her.
He began his journey across the garden again, this time much more slowly, his gaze trained on Maggie the whole time. He stopped only when his waist met marble.
Maggie fairly danced on her perch. “Finally! You’re supposed to be keeping me from utter boredom.”
He clasped his hands behind his back and rocked onto his heels. “Were you despondent during my absence?”
She sniffed. “I would say yes, but it would go to your head. Why doyoulook despondent?”
“I’m not despondent. I’m thoughtful.”
“You look irritated.”
“I’m not.”
“Iam.” She played with the fur on her collar. “I don’t like being seen by all these people. I’m best at staying in the shadows. I prefer to be overlooked.”
No one should overlook her. Ever. “Seen? They do notseeyou, not even when you’re up here, right in front of them.” He knew what it felt like to be visible but not seen.
She stared down at him quizzically.
He paced away from her, spun on his heel and paced back. “Don’t you want to come down from there yet?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “But I promised, so here I stay. Tell me what you saw. What are they all making? Am I good inspiration?”
“The best,” he grumbled. “They’re making all the things they do best, sketches, teacups, and such.”
“Well, is any of it any good? Whose is the best?”
“The teacups.” He frowned. “Or Henrietta’s dress designs. But I may be biased.”
“Oh! She’s participating! Well, that makes it worth it, I suppose. But”—her gaze skittered over the assembled artists—“I am more than ready to be done with this.”
He wanted her done with this, too. It made her uncomfortable, andthatmade him angry. He turned and leaned against the pedestal. His position brought him closer to her skirts. They almost swayed around his head, curtaining him off from the world. She smelled of fresh air and flowers. He closed his eyes and savored it.
“You’re still scowling!” she said from above. “Quick! Tell a flippant joke or your face may stick that way.”
He opened his eyes and bounced off the pedestal to face her. “No. I can’t be flippant about this. They think they see you, but they don’t. They’re all out there turning you into something you’re not.”
She grew still as a statue, her mouth open slightly, the only sign she still lived the huff of warm breath in the chilly air.
