Chapter 22

22

We spent a very pleasant Day, and had a very good Dinner, tho’ to be sure the Veal was terribly underdone, and the Curry had no seasoning.

—Jane Austen, “Lesley Castle”

Viola came by Broadbridge’s later that afternoon to make sure all was well with Mira, and to reiterate their dinner invitation for the following day. She added, “Please do invite Miss Patel to join us as well.”

“Oh?” Claire said. “I did not realize you were acquainted with her.”

“I am not. Armaan gave me a little hint that she is a family friend and might appreciate being included.”

“She might, although I believe Mr. Hammond plans to ask her to watch over the boarding house while we are out.”

“I thought of that. I hope it was not too presumptuous, but I talked to Fran before coming over. She has offered to oversee things here for a few hours. That is, if you and Mr. Hammond don’t mind?”

“I am sure we’d both be grateful.”

Viola glanced around. “I would be happy to invite Miss Patel personally, if she is available.”

“I believe she is upstairs in the nursery, but I will pass along your invitation.” Claire wondered how the woman would respond. She also wished she had a prettier dress to wear—and one she had not worn several times already. Oh, how differently she would have packed two years ago had she foreseen the circumstances she would find herself in! Claire might be tempted to wear another gown from Mrs. Hammond’s trunk if she did not fear Sonali’s censure.

She became aware of Viola watching her in concern. “What is it?”

“Hm? Oh, it’s silly, really. Just wondering what to wear.”

Viola patted her hand. “Don’t give it another thought. Emily plans to bring a few gowns to you tomorrow.”

“That is not necessary. I did not intend to beg for charity.”

“Nothing charitable about it. She only intends to return the dinner dresses she borrowed from your things after you left.”

Claire grinned. “Well, in that case, I shall be happy to accept.”

That evening, after the guests had been served their dinner, Claire joined Sonali and Mira in the morning room.

A moment later, Mr. Hammond entered, looking well-rested and freshly bathed and dressed, his auburn hair still damp, rendering it a shade darker than usual. In his hand, he carried a small tissue-wrapped parcel.

“I am sorry, Mira,” he began. “I should have given this to you long before now. It was in a trunk I had not even looked in since the move. This is the only portrait I have of your amma . It was painted when she was quite young, so I don’t know if it will help you remember her, but you should have it.”

He handed it to his daughter and waited as she pulled back the paper. Claire leaned over to share a look as Mira stared down at it. The miniature was much as Claire recalled. The adolescent with large, dark eyes, wearing jewelry and a beaded veil over her hair.

Mira’s little face wrinkled in some confusion or perhaps disappointment. “She is a girl. Not Amma . Amma did not dress like that.”

Sonali came over and stood behind her chair, bending to see. “Ah!” She drew in a sharp breath. “That is the Vanita I first met, before she began wearing English clothes.”

Claire observed, “You look like her, Mira.”

“I do?” The little girl stood on her chair to look at herself in the mirror over the mantel.

“Be careful,” Sonali warned.

Mira sat back down and again studied the miniature. She shook her head. “ Amma looked more like Uncle than this girl.”

“When you knew her, yes,” her father said. “I believe you are right.”

Sonali scoffed, lip curled. “But he is so dark. And ... masculine.”

“And handsome, you must admit,” Claire added with a streak of mischief. “And their eyes are similar, don’t you think?”

Sonali looked at the image again, gaze softening. “Perhaps.”

Mr. Hammond glanced from one woman to the other, bemusement creasing his brow.

Claire said, “Oh! Before I forget. You are invited to join us for dinner at Westmount tomorrow night. Mr. Sagar asked especially that you be included in the invitation.”

“Did he indeed?”

“Yes. And Mrs. Farrant has offered to come and watch over things here, so we can all go.” She glanced from Sonali to Mr. Hammond and back again. “If you agree.”

Was that a hint of a smile on the woman’s face? “How kind. I ... suppose I could.”

The next day, the Bracegirdles departed with effusive thanks for her generous hospitality. Claire was sorry to see the young couple go and wished them safe travels.

Later, Mary came upstairs and interrupted Claire while she was tidying the bath. “Your sister’s here, miss.”

“Which one?”

“Don’t know. Looks like ye, though.”

Claire looked Mary over. “Are you feeling better?”

The maid’s face reddened. “Aye, miss, thank ye. And thank ye for doin’ my mornin’ chores.”

“That’s all right.” She patted the girl’s arm and headed toward the stairs.

Claire went down and found Emily waiting for her in the morning room, garments over her arm and a small bag in hand.

“You will probably think me a terrible sponger, but I helped myself to two of your dresses when Papa ordered your things boxed up and donated.” She winced. “Perhaps I should not have told you that part. It’s no doubt painful to hear. I’m sorry he was so cruel about everything.”

“I gave him cause, after all.”

“Pish. In any case, I think they still look rather well. I hope you don’t think them terribly out of fashion.”

“And I hope they still fit.”

“Of course they will. You are more slender than ever. I suppose it’s all the work you do here.”

And all the bland food at Aunt Mercer’s , Claire thought but didn’t say it.

Emily added, “Sarah and I both saved a few of your belongings without Papa knowing. I don’t know if Viola or Georgie did.”

Claire nodded. “Sarah brought over a sketchbook, earrings, and a few things I embroidered. I doubt she took any of my gowns. She was still in mourning then, besides being taller.”

Emily squinted in memory. “I believe she kept something else as well, though I don’t recall what at the moment. Never mind. Shall we see how these fit?” She lifted the dresses, followed by the bag. “I brought a set of underthings, as well as satin shoes, in case you could use them.”

“I could, yes.” Claire led the way down to her room.

“And after you choose which one to wear tonight, perhaps I might help with your hair,” Emily offered, laying the clothes on her bed.

Claire took her hand. “Thank you, my dear. I am sorry I did not turn out to be the model older sister you once thought me.”

Emily squeezed her hand in reply. “Nonsense. You were and are the best eldest sister a girl could want.”

That evening Claire went upstairs wearing one of the dinner dresses Emily had brought to her, which still fit and, according to Emily, suited her well. The gown was a pale celestial blue with a fluted border of white crepe.

Mr. Hammond came down the stairs, striking in evening attire. His skillfully tailored dark coat framed broad shoulders, while a sleek brocade waistcoat drew attention to his trim abdomen. His side-whiskers had been neatly trimmed, and his hair appeared freshly cut for the occasion.

He hesitated upon seeing her, his gaze sweeping over her in frank appraisal, and if the warm admiration in his eyes could be believed, Emily was not the only one who thought the gown suited her.

“New dress?”

“Old dress, but I have not worn it in some time. Emily brought it over for tonight.”

“It looks well on you.”

“Thank you.”

She retrieved her cloak from the hall closet and pulled on her gloves.

Miss Patel came down the stairs with her young charge. She had dressed Mira in a gown of pretty rose satin, the hair ribbon from Viola, and the new shoes. Sonali herself wore a traditional sari embellished with golden threads and floral embroidery.

Mr. Hammond bowed. “Good evening. How lovely you three look. I am the luckiest man in Devonshire.”

“You look handsome too, Papa!” Mira exclaimed.

Indeed he did.

At the appointed time, the Huttons’ carriage drew up in front of Broadbridge’s, Taggart once again on the coachman’s bench.

Together they walked out to meet the carriage, and Mr. Hammond assisted one lady in after another. His gaze lingered on Claire, and he gave her hand a warm squeeze before releasing her.

She noticed Sonali watching them as she entered, but the woman looked away without a word—or the scowl Claire expected.

When they arrived at Westmount, Armaan stepped outside to greet them and help them alight. The Huttons stood at the door, wearing smiles of warm welcome.

For a moment, Claire could not tear her gaze away from Viola’s bright, lovely face. She had never seen her sister look so happy, never imagined such a transformation possible for her formerly snappish, self-conscious, and reclusive sister. Had love done that?

Soon they were all ushered inside. Viola slipped an arm through hers and squeezed. “I am so glad you are here.”

And Claire guessed she’d meant not only for dinner, but there in Sidmouth as well.

“Now, I hope you’ve all come to enjoy the company and not fine cuisine,” Viola said, “for our Mr. Chown is no French chef but rather a former military mess cook. He has learned a great deal and improves daily. Even so, you might be wise to moderate your expectations.”

When they were all seated, the man in his stained white apron brought out a covered soup tureen. He set it not at the head of the table but in front of Armaan. With an air of ceremony, he lifted the cover, watching Armaan’s face expectantly.

“Take a whiff of that, gov, and tell me what you smell.”

Armaan leaned closer and sniffed as directed, then sniffed again. “Lemon and ... ginger? And something else...?”

“That’s too-mare-ic. The grocer suggested it.”

Viola asked, “And, em, what sort of soup is it, Chown?”

“Curry of rabbits, ma’am. Found a recipe. Thought it would make a nice change, considering Mr. Sagar and his guests.”

“Our guests,” Major Hutton corrected mildly, perhaps noticing his friend’s unease.

“Thank you, Chown,” Armaan said. “A kind gesture.”

William Hammond smiled. “I love a good curry. And this smells delicious.”

Armaan ladled out bowls of the fragrant stew, and then passed the bread basket.

When they had all been served, they cautiously sampled small spoonfuls, except for Mr. Hammond, who took a hearty bite.

“Well? What say you?” Chown asked.

“It’s quite good,” Armaan replied.

“I like it,” Mira said.

Her father nodded. “So do I.”

Chown looked at Miss Patel, and Claire held her breath. Across the table, Armaan seemed to do the same.

She set down her spoon. “It lacks cumin and coriander and would benefit from more cayenne pepper—”

At Armaan’s sharp look, she quickly amended, “But not everyone likes spicy food, so for a gathering such as this, it is ... practically perfect.”

Chown beamed.

Armaan relaxed, and Claire exhaled in relief. The meal continued, and thankfully the cook had not attempted an entire menu of unfamiliar dishes. Even so, the veal had not been roasted long enough and the vegetables rather too long.

As Viola had said, however, the company was excellent, and the conversation pleasant. That is, until Armaan raised the uncomfortable topic of her time in Edinburgh.

“Were you introduced to any unusual dishes in Scotland, Miss Summers?”

“Oh, I ... Not really. Not unless you count haggis and cock-a-leekie soup. We ate quite plainly.”

“No Scotch collops or clootie dumpling?” Mr. Hammond asked.

“Um. Not that I recall.”

He looked slightly disappointed. “And what took you to Scotland? I don’t think I’ve heard.”

Claire blinked, not eager to lie, especially not with a sister who knew the truth sitting right there at the same table.

Thankfully, Viola spoke up on her behalf. “My sister served as companion to our elderly great-aunt until her recent death. We are glad she has come home to us at last.”

Interest and suspicion flickered in Sonali’s eyes, or perhaps Claire’s guilty conscience caused her to imagine it.

Mr. Hammond seemed about to ask a follow-up question, but before he could, Viola elbowed the major, who blurted, “And how goes your work for the Foreign Office?”

William Hammond stared at him in surprise, mouth slack.

A moment of tense silence followed.

Then Major Hutton revised his question. “That is, I ... understand you once worked for the Foreign Office in a diplomatic capacity. Is that right?”

“Yes, for several years.” Now Mr. Hammond was the one answering awkward questions. “But I recently resigned.”

“That’s right. I remember you telling me. Forgive my stupid question.”

“Not at all.”

Viola, an adept hostess, directed the conversation onto another topic, but Claire was left wondering what sort of work or “secret project” Mr. Hammond might still be doing for the Foreign Office. Or had Viola’s husband simply blundered in his attempt to change the subject?

After dinner, instead of separating, men and women gathered in the candlelit drawing room, which held comfortable furnishings and a pianoforte.

Armaan turned to Viola. “Will you play some of your beautiful music for us?”

When Viola hesitated, he added, “I know you prefer not to play in company, but—”

“I shall play,” Viola said. “ If my sister will sing. She has a fine voice.”

“Oh, I...” Claire wanted to demur, but seeing the entreaty in Viola’s eyes, she found herself replying, “If you’d like.”

“Excellent.” Armaan beamed, and then seated himself between Major Hutton and Miss Patel.

Mira climbed up beside Sonali, and William sat on his daughter’s other side.

The sisters consulted quietly, selected an old piece they both knew, and began the song.

“I go where glory leads me,

And points the dang’rous way;

Tho’ coward love upbraids me,

Yet honor bids obey...”

Oh, the memories that flooded through Claire to find herself singing with her musical sister once again. Although reticent with strangers, Viola had often played for family during evenings at home. And Claire had happily sung with her while their parents looked on with pride and pleasure.

“But honor’s boasting story

Too soon those tears reprove,

And whispers fame, wealth, glory:

Ah! What are they to love!”

As she sang of glory and love, Claire’s vision filled with more images of the past. Then, recalling her surroundings, she risked a glance at the assembled company.

From across the room, she met William’s gaze, his eyes simmering with admiration. But could he ever love anyone as he had his wife?