1st Jan, 1895 — Padmore Winter Fair
Nick had made little progress towards marriage in the last year, although he had meant to – both for the prospect of a large dowry that might give him some leverage over the bookshop, and so that he, generally, felt less like a failure. (His only previous attempt at marriage, after all, had ended in the love of his life choosing someone else.)
He was certainly not looking to fall in love this time around – he had learned his lesson there – but he rather thought it might help if a woman actually found him agreeable enough to court him. Not that he knew why they wouldn’t, but... when he had passed that odd booth in Diagon Alley yesterday, he had, on a whim, figured that he could be more charming, more likeable.
It had probably been a waste of the sickles he’d been charged for it, to be honest. Better not think of it again. Nick had been loitering opposite the patch of the park being used for the snow sculpture competitions, cradling his mulled wine and eyeing up the nearest competitor to him, who was...
Ahem. Possibly the worst sculptor he had ever seen. Was this the magical or the non-magical bracket? He could scarcely even tell. He must have been staring for too long, because the snow-sculptor in question met his gaze. Nick bit his lip, fighting the urge to laugh. They really shouldn’t have let you join, he had been ready to remark, but in fact, what he heard come out of his mouth was instead, an utterly sincere sounding – “I was just thinking how wonderful it looks already! You must have done this before!”
He was certainly not looking to fall in love this time around – he had learned his lesson there – but he rather thought it might help if a woman actually found him agreeable enough to court him. Not that he knew why they wouldn’t, but... when he had passed that odd booth in Diagon Alley yesterday, he had, on a whim, figured that he could be more charming, more likeable.
It had probably been a waste of the sickles he’d been charged for it, to be honest. Better not think of it again. Nick had been loitering opposite the patch of the park being used for the snow sculpture competitions, cradling his mulled wine and eyeing up the nearest competitor to him, who was...
Ahem. Possibly the worst sculptor he had ever seen. Was this the magical or the non-magical bracket? He could scarcely even tell. He must have been staring for too long, because the snow-sculptor in question met his gaze. Nick bit his lip, fighting the urge to laugh. They really shouldn’t have let you join, he had been ready to remark, but in fact, what he heard come out of his mouth was instead, an utterly sincere sounding – “I was just thinking how wonderful it looks already! You must have done this before!”
