Page 74 of The Seaside Homecoming
Claire set aside the green day dress to alter and returned toher perusal of the trunk. She pulled out an evening dress of ivory silk embellished with tiny seed pearls. Lovely. Too lovely. She would not dare wear it. Beneath it lay a matching reticule, a few pairs of stockings, and a marigold-yellow embroidered sari and matching skirt.
One final item lay nestled on the bottom. A small tissue-wrapped parcel. A jewelry case, perhaps? She unwrapped it and found a framed miniature portrait.
Claire lifted it closer. For a moment she thought the subject was Mira. But as she studied the image, she realized the figure depicted was an adolescent girl or young teen. She wore a sari like Sonali’s and a beaded veil over black, center-parted hair. A jewel adorned her forehead, and gold earrings dangled from her ears.
This must be Vanita Aston when young. She wondered if Mr. Hammond knew the miniature was in the trunk, and guessed not.
Rising, she carried it upstairs and across the passage to his apartment. There she hesitated, then knocked on the outer door.
A few moments later, Mr. Hammond opened it a mere crack.
“Ah, Miss Summers. Um...”
He glanced over his shoulder. At what? A visitor? The aforementioned guards? She thought again of the soldiers she’d seen marching past. Delivering the secret project, whatever it was?
He slipped out through the narrow opening and quickly shut the door behind himself. “Everything all right?”
“Sorry, I did not realize you had a guest. I just found something in the trunk I thought you should have.”
She extended the portrait, face up.
He stilled, expression transfixed. He slowly reached out and accepted it gingerly. Reverently.
“I forgot this was in there. I packed in a hurry, without much forethought.”
“Your wife, I assume?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
His chin trembled. He turned his face, but not before she saw the tears in his eyes.
“Forgive me,” Claire said. “I should not have given it to you so abruptly, without warning.”
“No. It’s not ... It is only the surprise of seeing it again.”
He paused, throat working, and she knew he was fighting for control. After an audible swallow, he continued. “It’s the only portrait I have of her, painted when she was quite young. I meant to have another commissioned after we married. I meant to do a lot of things....”
His shoulders shook. Claire reached out to lay a hand on his arm but stopped herself before touching him. “Again, I apologize. I shall leave you.”
She turned and retreated. At the opposite door she glanced back and saw him still standing there, shoulders hunched, apparently gathering himself before returning to whatever—or whoever—awaited him inside.
Two days later, alterations complete, Claire donned the modified day dress, feeling supremely self-conscious as she did so. She looked at herself in the small mirror in her room. It was a rather plain dress, except for the small embroidered flowers on the bodice. And with her own fichu knotted like a neckerchief, the ends dangling over her chest, those adornments were barely noticeable.
She began her workday as usual by helping Mary carry up the breakfast things for guests and family alike.
“Pretty dress, miss,” Mary said.
“Thank you.”
Sonali came into the morning room. Mira sometimes insisted, Claire knew, on charging over to her father’s room in the mornings and walking down with him. So Sonali entered alone.
Sonali looked at Claire, gaze riveted on the dress and a scowl upon her face.
She muttered something in a foreign tongue, then said, “That is Vanita’s dress. Why are you wearing it?”
Claire’s stomach sank. “I am sorry. I did not intend to upset you. I selected the plainest of her dresses and thought I had changed it enough that it would not be obvious.”
“I embroidered those flowers myself. I would recognize them anywhere.”
