Thalia, having been apprised of this, spent a large portion of her time in Elliot’s workshop—until she had a better place to work, she would have to avail herself of his space—making a small wooden carving for Lydia. Given Rossi’s prominence and the popularity of his work, she knew even a small gift would be perfectly placed to make the girl happy, and she wanted to do all she could to make Lydia smile.
The girl was eighteen now, of an age to be married in Thalia’s opinion, and the beautiful debutante sculpture, one leg poised as though in a dance, her arms raised elegantly, was the exact way to celebrate such an occasion.
Or so Thalia hoped.
Maxwell, in his usual way, had bought Lydia a stunning ruby necklace, and he handed it to her wrapped in paper with an offhand, “A little trinket, now you are old enough to wear such things.”
Thalia didn’t miss the way Lady Rivenhall’s lips thinned, but Lydia’s eyes lit up when she saw the beautiful piece of jewelry.
“Oh, Maxwell!” she said, reaching over to kiss his cheek. “You are quite the best uncle in existence.”
“Here,” Thalia said, leaning forward. “Allow me.”
She took the necklace and fastened it around Lydia’s neck. It sat prominently against her pale skin, seeming to glow, and Lydia immediately rushed to a mirror so she might admire her reflection.
“Thank you, thank you!” She twirled, letting her skirts fly around her, and Thalia marked the similarity between the pose and the sculpture she had made. “I feel like a princess.”
Maxwell attempted to hide his pleased smile behind the gruffness that Thalia knew he only revealed to others at moments like these. “All right, sit down. It was nothing.”
“We are very grateful,” Lady Rivenhall said to Maxwell, and it was as though she had spoken the words through gargled glass; Thalia could practically hear the reluctance in the words. “But, Lydia, remember, you cannot wear it too often.”
Thalia bit her lip, though she wished she could speak up for Lydia’s sake. Young ladies were not supposed to be too gaudy, but she wanted Lydia to have the opportunity to feel beautiful and valued—all things that every young lady craved.
“I have a little something for you, too,” she said, and held out the wrapped gift. She hadn’t told Maxwell her intention, and she felt his gaze on her now as Lydia took it.
“What is it?” Lydia asked, weighing the sculpture in her hands.
“I commissioned Alessandro Rossi to create this for you,” Thalia said. Technically, it wasn’t a lie; she had commissionedherself, as Rossi, to create this for Lydia. “A symbol of this first year in London. Go on, open it.”
Lydia did, moving carefully, as though she was afraid the package would explode. Then, when the final flap of paper fell away, and the sculpture was revealed, she sucked in an unsteady breath.
The sculpture was small; Thalia could not have created something larger with the time constraints in place. Even so, she had done her best to capture Lydia’s essence, and by the way Lydia looked at it now, with tears in her eyes, Thalia had done it right.
If she had more time, she might have experimented with wax, just like Catherine Andras. But she had no time for that. Later, she would see if she could bring it into being one of hermediums; no doubt she would be able to make commissions faster.
Lydia looked up at her, one hand over her mouth. “This is so beautiful,” she whispered. “You commissioned this from Rossi?”
Thalia smiled. “I wanted you to have something special. It is not every day a lady turns eighteen.”
“Thank you so much!” The figurine was still in her hand, but Lydia flung herself from her chair and embraced Thalia. “It looks just like me.”
“I gave him your likeness.”
“You are too good to me!”
“It’s as I told you when I first arrived here,” Thalia said, smiling over the top of Lydia’s head at Maxwell, who watched them both with a soft expression, far softer than anything she had seen on his face before. “I always wanted a sister. And I hope… I very much hope that even when you marry, we will still be friends.”
“Of course we will!” Lydia said warmly, leaning back to admire the figurine once again.
Thalia had painted it with as much detail as she could, squinting until her eyes ached in the candlelight, as she had endeavored to finish with enough time for it to dry.
Painting was not one of her best skills, but she fancied she had done a good job with this.
“Have you seen it, Maxwell?” Lydia asked, holding it up for his inspection. “I know you don’t think much of Rossi, but youmustadmit this is an excellent piece.”
“On the contrary,” Maxwell said, a small smile playing around his lips. “The statue in my study is a Rossi design.”
Lydia gasped. “No!”
