Page 64 of The Seaside Homecoming
“Really?”
Claire’s face heated. A lady without her own sewing supplies? Unheard of. She had not actually promised the girl yet felt embarrassed even so.
Thinking of her sisters, Claire said, “I am sure I can borrowsomething until I have a chance to buy my own.”And the money to do so, she added to herself.
But Mira had already moved on to the next topic, like a bee swiftly flying from one flower to the next.
“Miss Summers is drawing. See?” She pointed to Claire’s sketch pad. “May I learn to draw too?”
“I don’t see why not. That is, if Miss Summers does not mind.”
“Not at all. I have an extra drawing pencil and can give her one of these pages. Perhaps after breakfast?”
After they had eaten, Claire sat beside Mira and provided her with paper and pencil. The little girl set to work, little tongue protruding.
Mr. Hammond came to stand over his daughter. “And what are you drawing,kaddu?”
“Us. You, me, Dolly, and Miss Summers.”
The stick figures were indistinguishable, except that the tallest wore a hat. Self-conscious, Claire said, “You mean Miss Patel, surely.”
The girl shrugged. “I can draw her too.”
Later that day, after luncheon and several hours spent on various projects around the house, Claire returned to the morning room to work through the latest tradesmen’s bills.
Mr. Hammond came in while her head was bent in concentrated effort to decipher a hard-to-read invoice. “Mira mentioned you don’t have your own sewing things. Is that right?”
She kept her head down and hoped he would not notice her flush of embarrassment. “Not presently, no. I neglected to pack a workbag when I left home—I mean, Scotland.”
“Will this do?”
She looked up and saw he held a satinwood sewing box with domed lid and swing handle, painted with a country landscape. He set it on the desk before her.
“This is lovely,” Claire said. “Almost too lovely to use.”
She opened the lid and found the pink silk–lined interior filled with small scissors, pins, needles, threads in various shades, and much more.
“This will do very well indeed.”
“It was my wife’s. No use letting it sit idle. I also have several yards of fabric she meant to one day turn into garments, if you have any use for those.”
“That is uncommonly generous. Thank you.”
Miss Patel walked in. She stopped and glared at the box before Claire. “That is Vanita’s.”
“I know. Miss Summers has need of it.”
“It should go to me. Or perhaps to Mira when she is older. Not to agorilike her.”
“Her skin color has no bearing here,” he said. “Besides, you have your own.”
“Of course I have. But this one is special.”
Claire lifted the box, unsure whether to hand it to the woman or the man. “Here. I can do without. I shall ask my sisters for needle and thread.”
Mr. Hammond’s gaze remained on Miss Patel. “It is mine to give, and I give it to Miss Summers.”
Glancing uncomfortably from one raised chin to the other, Claire said, “Suppose I just borrow it? It will be Mira’s one day, but for now I shall repair her doll’s dress with these supplies.”
