‘This room is an abomination to the senses. Anything you have brought with you will be an improvement.’
God, but her smile was delightful. Men should be fighting over themselves to ask her to marry them. It was surprising no one had fought duels over her in the past.
‘I have another Kissyfur drawing.’ She opened the parcel slightly and slid a sheaf of paper out, before handing it to him.
This time the drawing was not just of the bear-man she had created, but of the creature in a woodland setting surrounded by other animals. The creation looked nothing like him and yet he could see hints of himself within it. She’d managed to capture his hair exactly as it would look if he were leaping towards something. He wasn’t sure how she had managed it, because he didn’t think he had leapt anywhere during the time they had known one another, or perhaps since he was a child, but he could tell it was based on him, nonetheless.
‘I am embarrassed to have sent you that book Freddie recommended; you are far more talented than you implied.’
‘That book was wonderful. I have always had a problem with drawing hands and now I think I have got it.’ She pointed hesitatingly towards the claws. ‘Not that these are the same as a human’s, of course, but I…’
‘They are superb.’
She ducked her head but not before he saw a fierce blush cover her skin. ‘Thank you,’ she mumbled.
‘There is no need to thank me for a compliment on your work. This is not merely dabbling with watercolours, Sophia; you have a real talent. Certainly as much as Albizzi, if not more so.’
She nodded once, twice, not seeming as happy with his words as she should be. Christopher didn’t often ponder the way of the world, but he knew that if Sophia had been born a man, this talent would have been nurtured until she was a celebrated artist with a grand exhibition in her name. As it was, he would be one of the only people to see her work, making him incredibly privileged.
‘There is something more.’ She bent down and picked up the parcel but paused before she could reach inside it. ‘Actually, now I come to think about this, I am not sure it is quite the thing. I went back, you see, and took the likeness, but I do not know if I have done it justice.’ Her words were tumbling over one another, not really making any sense. Her skin was turning redder, as if she was truly embarrassed by what she had brought with her. ‘Do you know, I think it needs more work before you see it. I should not have brought it with me.’ She moved to put the parcel back down on the settee, but he caught it lightly between his fingers.
‘Did you bring this here to show me?’
She held her body still and for a moment he thought she would not answer, then she gave one, jerky nod.
‘I do not understand why you are so coy about it. Has someone criticised your painting in the past?’ Christopher was beginning to understand this about Sophia. Visiting her family home was like stepping into a nest of demanding kittens. Her sisters were mostly harmless, ridiculous plots notwithstanding, but they were not like Sophia. They almost fell over each other to be the one who got to speak and did not appear to put much thought into it before blurting out whatever was on their minds. Sophia was the exact opposite. She was thoughtful and pensive and if one of her sisters had said something negative about her drawing, then she would have taken it to heart, believing it to be the truth because she would always think before she spoke and she expected the same from others.
‘No,’ she said quietly. ‘No one has ever told me my drawing is bad, but…’ She forced a smile. ‘It does not matter. I am making more of this than I ought. I have made this whole thing awkward. It is nothing much. If you do not want to keep it, I will happily take it back. Please, take a look.’
Reaching into the parcel, he found a sheaf of thick paper inside. Gently, he tugged it out and held it up to see it better.
‘You know,’ said Sophia, hovering by his side, ‘now that I see it in the light, I realise how badly it misrepresents the original. I will take it back after all. I need to shade a bit around his feet and, do you see what I mean about the hands? It is an insult. I should never have…’ Her fingers closed around the edges of the paper as if she meant to tear it from his hands.
Christopher said nothing, because he couldn’t.
Sophia must have returned to the exhibition several times, because the drawing he held in his hands was of the boy who had remindedhim of Sebastian. She had not painted the rest of the scene from the original, but she had captured the likeness uncannily. She had also changed some of the details. While the artist’s boy had been blond, she had replaced the hair with dark strands to match him and the rest of his brothers. It was such a strong likeness to the young Sebastian he had once known that it took his breath away.
‘Stop trying to take it away from me, Sophia.’ His words sounded stern when really, he wanted to fall to his knees and thank her. There were far too few images of Sebastian and none that really captured his essence and if she damaged it while trying to tug it from him, then he would be devastated.
She dropped her hands but did not step away from his side as he continued to stare at it. When he finally placed it on the table and turned to face her, he realised that her eyes were glistening, as if she were trying to hold back tears.
‘I have overstepped,’ she whispered. ‘I should never have done it.’
‘Sophia, I…’
A single tear fell and he reached up and wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. ‘I have absolutely no idea why you are upset.’
‘I feel foolish.’
He tucked an escaped strand of her hair behind her ear. ‘You will have to explain why to me, because this is the greatest gift I have ever received.’
‘Oh, no, that is going too far. I mean, look at all this.’ She gestured to the room at large, none of which held a candle to her drawing.
He should stop touching her, but some of her lovely curls were touching the backs of his fingers and his thumb was lightly pressed against the curve of her jaw. Instead of moving away from his touch, he was sure she was inching closer to him.
‘It only cost me the paper,’ she said softly, her fingers lightly grazing the back of his hand that rested against his thigh.
‘And your time,’ he said, turning his palm, holding himself still as she slipped her hand into his, their fingers interlinking. Her skin against his was both a relief and a new type of torture. He sensed that one wrong move would send her startling back and perhaps, he should let that happen; she was innocent, and he wasn’t. But not touching her now would be a tragedy. Besides, it was not as if he were ravishing her on the rug; somehow this gentle connection was more intimate.
