Page 120 of The Seaside Homecoming
“Not half as sorry as I am. What am I to do?”
Claire considered. “We have some time yet before your condition becomes obvious. But you should probably talk to Mr. Hammond about it fairly soon.”
“I’d die of shame! Could ye talk to ’im for me?”
Claire hesitated. “Very well. I will do what I can, but I can’t promise he’ll keep you on. Ultimately that’s up to him.”
“I understand.”
“Good. For now, let’s go down and help with breakfast.”
Later, when Claire told him, Mr. Hammond frowned at her from across the desk of his private study.
“With child?” He shook his head. “I am as compassionate as the next man, Miss Summers, but it is not the done thing. How do we know this Liam MacBain was truly serious about marrying the girl? Perhaps his flight had more to do with putting distance between them. It would not be the first time a man has fled his responsibilities.”
Well I know it, Claire thought. “Please. Just read his letter.” She thrust it toward him.
He read and then looked up with a furrowed brow. “Let me think on it for a time, will you? Consider what is best to be done.”
“Of course.”
Claire took her leave. She privately feared he would decide employing a visibly pregnant housemaid would prove too damaging to his respectable establishment. And if so, she could not fully fault him.
Oh, why was the woman always to blame and left to face the consequences alone?
28
Snapping the fingers in Country Dancing and Reels, and the sudden howl or yell too frequently practiced, ought to be avoided.
—Thomas Wilson,A Companion to the Ball Room
The day of the Killerton party arrived. Claire was excited about it until she recalled how eagerly she had looked forward to the Parkers’ house party, and that had ended in disaster. She resolved not to do anything at this party she would later regret.
In the afternoon, Claire began dressing herself as best she could in the evening gown of white gauze and satin. She curled her hair with the hot iron and then gathered her long gloves and reticule.
Mary had offered to help her dress, but the Huttons would soon come for them, and the maid had failed to appear.
In desperation, Claire scooped up a handful of pins and a silk rose and climbed the stairs to the attic.
When she entered the maid’s room, Mary sat up in bed. “Sorry, miss. I fell asleep sewin’. Awful tired these days.”
A quarter of an hour later, dress fastened and hair pinnedhigh on her head and adorned with the silk rose, Claire made her way downstairs to the hall, hoping she had not kept the others waiting.
Mr. Hammond looked up as she descended, and her breath caught. How broad-shouldered and dashing he looked in evening attire: dark blue tailcoat, white waistcoat, and white cravat over knee breeches with stockings and black leather shoes. His auburn hair had been brushed back from his forehead and gleamed in shades of amber and brandy in the light of a nearby wall sconce.
She felt his steady gaze on her as she descended the remaining stairs, her pulse accelerating with each step that brought her nearer to him.
Worried she might trip, she gripped the railing with one hand, and with the other held her skirt. Reaching the bottom, she looked up and found him staring at her, lips parted.
“Good evening.” Candlelight reflected in his green eyes. Admiration shone there as well. “How beautiful you are.”
She looked down, self-conscious, and plucked at the simple white skirt. “I wore it to the concert, but Emily assured me it would be appropriate for tonight too.”
“It becomes you very well.”
“Thank you.”
“Here. Allow me.” He retrieved her cloak from the hall closet, and after a moment’s hesitation, she turned so he could lay it over her shoulders. His hands rested lightly on her upper arms before lifting too soon.
