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“It is good,” Henry began, noting how the initial pleasure in Agnes’ face slowly slipped into suspicion.
Agnes seemed to always know when he was about to follow a pleasant remark with something more critical.
“Why do I have the feeling a ‘but’ is sure to follow?”she said with a sigh.
An amused grin settled on his face before he spoke.
“But… there are some inconsistencies.”
Agnes furrowed her brows and peeked at the drawing once more. She placed a hand on her hip in disbelief.
“Impossible! Whatever do you mean?”
“Well,” Henry murmured with the book held up, to show Agnes what he meant. “You see this line here where the length of her skirt meets the lower hem? I believe a more suitable curve would add more body to the dress itself.”
Agnes sat in silence as Henry pointed out areas of her sketch that needed improvement and explained them gently. Despite her defensiveness, she crossed her arms over her chest and accepted the criticism.
“And this here. The shading could be deeper around the neck, to accentuate Miss Murray’s jawline. Depth can be more important than the shape itself.”
“You see theseinconsistenciesas flaws, Uncle, but I think of them as quirks. Yes, special touches that make this sketch my own,” Agnes returned confidently with a smile, her chin raised. “I quite like it!”
Henry couldn’t help but laugh at Agnes’ conviction, and he certainly didn’t fault her for it. Rather, he shook his head and mirrored her merriment.
“Agnes, I only critique your sketches to help you improve your work. How else will you learn?”
“Critique all you wish, but I will not accept there are any flaws in this drawing,” Agnes jested, feigning stubbornness.
“My dear artist, with no body to her sketches,” Henry teased with another light laugh. Fortunately, Agnes saw the humor in it as well, clearly enjoying their banter.
Henry went to offer the book back to her, but she only tightened the fold of her arms. She puffed her chest out to challenge him and his evaluation.
“Very well. Why don’t you try it yourself if you think it is so easy, Uncle?”
Henry immediately regretted his assessment, for once Agnes got an idea in her mind, it was often difficult for her to forget it. He stood from the stool and shook his head to pass on the proposed contest.
“I couldn’t possibly, Agnes.”
Upon his refusal, Agnes narrowed her eyes at him once again and turned her smile into a sly one. She was working something out in her mind, and Henry didn’t like the look of it.
“What’s the matter? All you must do is sketch Miss Murray better than I. If you win, then I will admit my inconsistencies. If I win, you will confess there is nothing wrong with my sketch.”
Henry placed a hand on his hip and took in Agnes’ expectant look. He was charmed by her terms, yet he wasn’t so sure Florence would like being subject to his artistic eye. Henry wasn’t sure if he could withstand it either. “There is much I need to attend to.”
Agnes embraced her mischief and raised her brows. “You are afraid of being bested by a fifteen-year-old girl, aren’t you?”
Now that was something Henry wouldn’t stand for. He gave Agnes a somewhat disappointed look before he scoffed and sat back down on the stool. While her accusation had crept under his skin, he meant to participate only as a favor to Agnes and her studies.Or so he told himself.
“Fine. Expect to be dazzled by my drawing then,” Henry provoked teasingly. He positioned himself more comfortably on the stool, holding the sketchbook and selecting a fresh page.
Henry glanced up at Florence and noticed the hesitant look on her face. Still, she regained herself and looked toward him for instructions. He pointed vaguely at her.
“Florence, put your hands together and slightly bend your elbows so they point outward. And look to the side, as if you’ve noticed something interesting in the distance, if you will.” Henry directed her rather curtly, despite not meaning to.He was finding it terribly difficult not to let his attraction to Florence get the better of him.
He watched as Florence followed his orders, bending her elbows slightly, while she clasped her hands together gently, as if waiting with all the patience in the world. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, as if she was nervous. Then, she turned her chin just enough to keep one side of her face visible to him.
The gentle breeze swept her dress up lightly, and Henry hoped to capture that small detail.
“Very good,” Henry murmured, more so to himself than Florence. She didn’t move a muscle.
