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“Altogether it is close to two hundred and fifty thousand pounds! Uncle Reggie says it is twenty times more than the last coronation. Such outrageous extravagance! No members of Parliament will speak out about it publicly, but plenty at Commons are complaining in private. One could build a palace for such a sum. Or fund fifty foundling homes for the orphans of war.”

“Did Uncle Reginald attend the coronation?”

Henri shook her head, her honey brown hair glowing from the golden light of sunset. “Uncle Reggie could not obtain an invitation, but Lord Gwydyr invited him in to visit the Abbey last night to witness the preparations. The King’s procession arrived while he was still at Westminster.”

“It is a pity he could not witness it firsthand.”

“He managed to secure a seat to watch the banquet. There was a temporary gallery built within the hall. I look forward to hearing about it tomorrow.”

“You did not meet with him today?”

“Nay. We spoke last night when he returned home from Parliament, but he had to leave for Westminster early this morning.”

Henri had been at their great-uncle’s home the past few days to assist him with coronation-related duties. Visiting dignitaries, political soirées, and other functions had resulted in all hands on deck at Parliament. It was the first they had seen of her sister since the prior week.

“That is not all. Uncle Reggie says there are plans afoot to build out Buckingham House into a palace. Both Commons and Lords are anxious due to the King’s expensive tastes.”

Madeline pushed her plate aside and took a sip of her watered-down wine. Her thoughts refused to stay tethered to the conversation. Only a week ago, she had known the thrill of success and had impressed even her formidable mother, the premier titan of moulded stone in all of England. Yet it had been some time since she had held a chisel in her hands to shape objets d’art destined to become the models for statues and architectural ornaments across the realm. Business consumed her days. The art that once fulfilled her had been reduced to ledgers and correspondence.

All she could think about was that soon she would turn nine and twenty. She had made no definitive decision that she did not wish to wed one day. With time marching on, the decision to wed would soon be beyond her control. Talk of the coronation did nothing to distract her from the frustration of lonely nights. If she did not marry, she would never know the joy of her own children.

Madeline was approaching a crossroads, but she did not know what she wanted to do about it.

She wished she could speak of it with Henri, but her sister had no inclination toward such matters. Henri enjoyed her work with Uncle Reginald and never discussed courtship or settling down. Madeline had often wondered what her sister would do when Uncle Reginald finally left this world. He was getting on in years, so eventually, she would need to make a change when their great-uncle was no longer around to employ her.

Thinking of death did nothing to lift her desolate spirits. At length, she set down her fork and waited in silence until dinner was concluded.

After dinner, Madeline wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and headed to the walled garden. She would enjoy the evening sky, she decided. It was not at all because she hoped for a visit. Simon appeared less frequently with every passing year. Sometimes weeks would go by without him making an appearance. She knew there was no possibility of courtship between them, that his unfailing commitment to familial duty had long since bound him elsewhere, but it was a secret joy when he did join her in their garden. It reminded her of happier times, when the future had held such potential, she could scarcely grasp the magnitude of her joy.

Madeline exhaled a long breath, the sound catching slowly in the quiet night. Considering the darkness of her thoughts, perhaps it was time to stop visiting the garden. Perhaps it now held nothing but echoes of her youth, a place once filled with promise that had become a reminder of all she had lost.

Entering through the archway, she was startled to see that Simon had arrived before her. She could make out the shape of his head, his broad shoulders, and the white of his cravat, which seemed to gleam faintly in the waning moonlight.

He rose to his feet as she approached, and she noticed he had grown a neat beard since she had last seen him. Close cropped, it framed his angular jaw and lent a certain gravity to the once-boyish face she had known so well.

“Simon!”

“Madeline,” he greeted. “You look lovely this evening.”

Tears prickled her eyes at the polite words. She had once been his Psyche, but she was no longer the girl he had adored. His manner was distant, as it had been these last few years. Each encounter now felt like meeting a ghost of their former selves, a hollow reflection of what had once been so alive. Their conversations had grown stiff and formal, and Madeline would return to the house with a weight in her chest, as though she had brushed past a delightful aspect of her childhood only to find it brittle with time.

She nodded, and they took their seats on the bench. As always, Simon sat on the far edge as though he were afraid to touch her. Madeline revisited her thoughts about whether she should be spending her time in the walled garden. Perhaps it tethered her to the past, a place that could not be revisited. Perhaps she had clung to old dreams for far too long. Perhaps she should venture forth to meet some young men while there was still an opportunity to wed and bear children instead of reminiscing over lost love.

“How have you been?”

The polite question was a stake through her heart, and Madeline had to repress a gasp. Ever so proper. Ever so correct. She remembered the bold, irreverent young man he had been before Nicholas’s fall. She missed the old Simon so. It made her quite resent the Scott family for their sobering influence over him.

If only⁠—

She cut the thought off. There was no patience left for “if only.”

Mama would be pleased if I brought up the subject of courtship.

Mama had hopes for her daughters, which she made known, but she had always given them space to make their own determination. As much as she wanted heirs to their empire of industry, as a leader, she believed if a person was forced into something, it would lead to incompetence and misery.

Eleanor Bigsby had often pointed out that Madeline was the future of Bigsby’s Stone Manufactory, and she must learn to exercise free will if she was to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Browbeating one’s heiress would not result in developing a strong, confident woman who could overcome the male-dominated trade they did business in.

These notions served to highlight the lack of free will she had been demonstrating in this aspect of her life. Madeline realized she was on the brink of a decision, and that this might well be the last night she visited here.