Page 20 of The Seaside Homecoming
Finally, she heard footsteps approach from within and the door latch click. She held her breath. What manner of man would W.H. be?
When the door opened, the figure who appeared was not a man at all, but a woman—a slight, dark woman with a sharp nose, black hair parted in the middle, and dressed in draped fabric like a large shawl or robe.
“Yes?”
Claire had assumed W.H. was a man. Had she been mistaken?
She forced a smile. “I am Miss Summers. C.S.? I wrote about the partnership in the boarding house.”
The woman’s shrewd gaze moved over Claire, from the top of her bonnet to her hemline.
“Are you W.H.?” Claire asked. “Have I come to the right place?”
Those same dark eyes narrowed. “I think not.”
Claire’s stomach dropped. “Am I too late?”
“Your services are not required, madam. He has me.”
“Oh. I ... see.” Claire’s throat burned, and she blinked back tears.
“Good day.” The woman shut the door and none too gently.
For a moment Claire stared at the closed door, heart sinking, then turned and met Mary’s frightened eyes.
“What now?” Mary asked.
“I don’t know.”
A whistled tune caught her ear. Claire turned and saw a man striding toward the house, a trim man of perhaps forty, with fair skin and auburn side-whiskers showing beneath his flat wool cap. He was dressed in a light double-breasted coat atop close-fitting leather breeches. Over his lower legs, he wore canvas gaiters, or “spatterdashes,” for protection against wet brush. She recalled her father dressing in similar fashion to go out shooting. This man carried no gun, however, but rather a long, pointed stick.
“May I help you?” he asked. “Have you come to inquire about a room?”
“No, I ... I’m sorry. Are you W.H.?”
“If you mean William Hammond, then yes. This is my establishment.”
She swallowed a nervous lump and attempted a smile, hoping to make a good first impression. “I am Miss Claire Summers. C.S.? I wrote about the partnership and have brought the fifty pounds. Though perhaps I am too late.”
“Too late?”
She gestured toward the door. “The woman who answered my knock. Has she already accepted the partnership?”
He frowned, clearly perplexed. “Who are we talking about?”
“She did not give a name. Dressed in a brightly colored, em, sari, I believe?”
One corner of his mouth twitched in grim humor. “Ah. Sent you away, did she?”
“Well, she made it clear she was here before me and has a prior claim.”
“Indeed she does. But not as my business partner.”
“Oh?”Then a prior claim as what?Claire wondered.
He angled his head to regard her from beneath the brim of his hat. “Please tell me you do not also possess a jealous, hot-blooded nature?”
Claire lifted her chin. “Certainly not. I am an Englishwoman.”
