“You have a talent, Miss Pine,” she says.
“Thank you,” Catherine says. “We had—”
“After the judging, I want to hear all about your methods. Who did you paint first? Did you decide on the lighting before or after filling in the figures? And what technique did you use to tap in the leaves?” Mr.Dean continues, finally turning to look at her.
“Of—of course,” Catherine says, going for bright.
He smiles, his cheeks dimpling dashingly, before walking to the final two easels.
Catherine glances at Lady Rosalie. She’s staring after Mr.Dean, crestfallen. He never asksherquestions.
Mother steps forward to grab Catherine’s arm. “Did you hear that? You impressed him,” she whispers.
Catherine’s still watching Lady Rosalie. Her dismay slowly hardens, and she turns to stare back at Catherine, muted fury in her eyes, her mouth pressed into a thin line. Behind her, Lady Tisend stands back from the easels, glaring as well.
Catherine stares back. Lady Tisend wanted a competition, she brought one.
Lady Rosalie wanted a war. Shebroughtone.
Lady Rosalie turns and walks back to her mother, practically stomping. It lights something a little wild and brazen in Catherine’s chest. Lady Rosalie fired the first shot with Mr.Sholle, who’ll be even more eager now. She’s just attacking back. This is what war is. And she came to win.
And when Lady Jones steps up on the platform a minute later, that’s exactly what she does.
“By unanimous vote, the gentlemen have crowned MissPine the winner of the day. Congratulations, MissPine.” Lady Jones, at least, is beaming at her while all the other girls clap politely.
Catherine allows herself one true, proud smile.
Mother hugs her hard. “I knew you could do it,” she whispers.
“Thank you,” Catherine says, pulling back to meet her sparkling eyes.
She looks so happy. So Catherine has to harden her shell. Has to meet Lady Rosalie’s challenges with true gusto. They’re going to win. She can make it happen.
She schools her face quickly. A lady mustn’tgloat, after all.
“Thank you,” she says to Lady Jones, hoping she sounds humble and grateful.
“Now, losers, go eat your sorrows in cake, and MissPine, we shall toast to you when the next round of champagne arrives,” Lady Jones says happily.
There are laughs all around and Mother squeezes Catherine’s arm before stepping away.
“MissPine, you simply must tell me about your painting,” Mr.Dean says, gesturing for her to step back up to her easel with him.
Catherine sneaks one last glance at Lady Rosalie, who’s still glaring back at her. She’s not sure where the playful urge comes from, but she winks. Lady Rosalie’s cheeks turn red and Catherine mentally pats herself on the back.
“How did you manage such fine detail in so short a time?” Mr.Dean asks.
“Well, I didn’t give nearly so much attention to the tree or the platform,” Catherine says honestly. “With another hour I could have done more.”
“But the lack of specificity in the background is what makes the picture so striking. You know, it’s almost an inversion of the Romantics, wouldn’t you say? I simply must have it for my collection.”
“Oh, um, of course,” she says.
It should feel like a victory. Should feel better than making Lady Rosalie glare. It should ignite excitement and anticipation in her belly that Mr.Dean wants to take her work home.
But why on earth would he choose her portrait over Lady Rosalie’s, which highlights him so expertly?
“You know, when I was abroad, I took tea with so many of the great painters. I’ve never had the talent, like yours, to paint, but I have quite the discerning eye.”
