Chapter 24

24

Public Subscription Rooms, Sidmouth. John Marsh has the honour of respectfully announcing to the Nobility and Gentry ... a Concert of Vocal & Instrumental Music.

—Advertisement, Exeter Flying Post

Emily and Viola visited Claire again on Sunday afternoon to ask her to accompany them to a concert in town the following night.

Emily added, “Although I should mention Mr. Craven and his sisters might be there. I don’t believe you’ve met them, but you have a ... mutual acquaintance in a certain lord. And they seem rather curious about you.”

“No, I don’t know them. How odd. Thank you for inviting me, but I had better stay here.”

“It would not have to spoil the concert,” Viola said. “Just meet them and move on.”

“It’s not only that,” Claire said. “I should not abandon my duties here so soon after spending the evening at Westmount.”

“But I know you would like the music,” Viola insisted, “and we would very much like your company.”

Claire was about to decline again when Mr. Hammond wandered into the morning room.

“Mr. Hammond, please convince her,” Emily pleaded. “Claire loves music. Not as much as Vi does, but a great deal. And she has had so little enjoyment the last few years.”

“What are we talking about?” he asked.

Emily raised an advertisement cut from the Exeter Flying Post. “There’s to be a ‘concert of vocal and instrumental music’ tomorrow night, but Claire does not think she should leave the boarding house to join us.”

“Indeed she should. I thoroughly agree. I will be here and will happily watch over things.”

“Don’t you wish to attend yourself?” Claire asked.

“Me? Music?” He shuddered theatrically. “Abhor the vile stuff.” He winked, then added, “I have work to do and can easily accomplish it down here. Please do go, Miss Summers. You have been working hard, and I appreciate your efforts. Broadbridge’s is already a better and more hospitable place, thanks to you.”

Satisfaction warmed Claire, and Viola beamed.

“See? You must go now! The major and I shall collect you in our carriage.”

“Very well, I am outnumbered. Thank you all. I shall no doubt enjoy it.”

Mr. Hammond sat at the desk while Claire walked her sisters out. In the hall, Emily stepped close and lowered her voice. “I do think it will be a pleasant evening, despite the possibility of having to endure that man’s friends.”

Claire’s stomach knotted. “I suppose it is inevitable I should meet such people eventually. But I appreciate the warning.”

When it was time to change for the concert the following night, Claire donned the second dress Emily had returned to her. The high-waisted gown was of fine gauze over a white slip with a bodice of pale rose satin. The full, short sleeves were slashed with the same satin. Over her bare arms, she wore white over-the-elbow gloves.

Mary helped with her hair, pinning it up and adding silk roses. Claire put on her long-lost earrings and wished once again she’d not had to pawn her aunt’s necklace.

When the maid finished, Claire said, “Thank you, Mary. And how is your sewing coming along?”

“Well, I think. I’ve been practicin’ on the scraps ye gave me.”

“Good. Being able to help with mending will add to your qualifications should you ever seek another place.”

“Aye, miss. And one day I could sew for my family. If I had one.”

“That too.”

Viola and Major Hutton dropped off Emily and Mr. Thomson first and then came for Claire in their carriage. She could have easily walked the short distance, but they’d insisted on driving her there. From the livery, they walked together to the assembly rooms, where they surrendered their cloaks and hats and went to find seats. Claire sat between her sisters, while their husbands sat on their opposite sides.

The Sidmouth band played a few opening numbers, and then the visiting musicians performed a stirring program. Viola had been right. Claire enjoyed the fine music. It nourished her soul like rain and sunlight revive a plant kept in the dark too long.

She reached over, took Viola’s hand, and whispered, “Thank you.”

Tears shimmered in Viola’s eyes, and she held tight to Claire’s hand and did not let go.

Another memory struck Claire then. Of sitting beside a young Viola, six years her junior, at the Finderlay pianoforte and gently positioning her small fingers on the keys—fingers that had soon outpaced Claire’s skill, thanks to lessons from a music master and hours of practice. Now Claire gratefully squeezed those same fingers once again.

At the concert’s conclusion, they all rose and mingled with others in attendance. Emily, James, and Jack spoke to a fine-looking older gentleman and his wife, while Viola introduced Claire to a Mrs. Fulford and Mrs. Robins, acquaintances from her charity work.

After a brief chat, they turned away, planning to rejoin the others, and instead came face-to-face with an unfamiliar trio: two elegant women and a well-dressed man.

The older of the two women greeted Viola. “Good evening, Mrs. Hutton. If you recall, we met at Sea View when you visited your mother and sisters.”

“Ah. Mrs. Harding. That’s right. We met in passing.”

The woman gestured to her companions. “And this is my sister, Miss Craven, and my brother, Mr. Sidney Craven.”

Her glittering gaze landed on Claire. “And who is this, pray? If I am not mistaken, I notice a marked resemblance to your sister Emily.”

Viola squared her shoulders. “Allow me to introduce my sister Miss Claire Summers. Claire, these three are guests at Sea View.” Viola turned back to the trio with a cool smile. “I trust you are enjoying your stay?”

“Yes, yes,” Mrs. Harding replied. “Although most disappointed not to meet your eldest sister before now.”

Confused, Claire faltered, “Why ... should you be disappointed? I don’t believe we have met before.”

Mr. Craven spoke up. “Sadly, no. But I have heard your beauty described and am delighted to find those descriptions were not exaggerated in the least.”

His praise made her uncomfortable. “Good gracious,” Claire said with a weak laugh. “That is too much flattery.”

“Not at all. Well deserved, I assure you.”

Mrs. Harding said, “We have a mutual acquaintance. I wonder if you have heard from him recently. Lord Bertram?”

Emily’s warning echoed in Claire’s mind and bile climbed her throat. She swallowed it down and attempted to appear unaffected. “Why do you ask?”

The woman watched her closely, then said, “Oh, just curious if he had contacted you. So difficult to pin these men down! Do you know his future plans?”

“I have no idea. Nor do I care. I saw him briefly in Edinburgh when he visited my great-aunt, but otherwise I have not been in contact with the man in years.”

“No? Good. That is, thank you. Good evening.”

The trio walked away.

“What was that about?” Claire whispered.

Viola lowered her voice as well. “Emily believes Miss Craven has set her sights on Lord Bertram and fears you may threaten that plan.”

“I don’t see how.”

“Did he truly travel all the way to Edinburgh to call on Aunt Mercer?”

“Yes, although I’m not sure why. He spoke briefly with me as well. Apologized for what happened but certainly did not renew his long-ago addresses. Miss Craven has nothing to fear from me. Now, come. The others are waiting. Let’s take our leave.”

When Claire returned to Broadbridge’s, she found Mr. Hammond in front of the fire in the morning room. Waiting up for her?

He rose when she entered. “I just made a fresh pot of tea, in case you should like some when you returned.”

“Thank you. I would.” She set aside her outdoor things and joined him in the morning room, sitting in a nearby chair.

He reclaimed his seat, poured for her, and asked, “How was the concert?”

Claire sipped, then answered, “The music was excellent.”

“And the company?”

“Of course I enjoyed spending time with my sisters and their husbands.”

“Was the concert well attended?”

“Yes. Quite a crush. Viola introduced me to a few of her friends, who seemed pleasant enough.”

He regarded her curiously. “But...?”

She looked over at him. “Hm?”

“I must say, for someone who just attended a concert, you seem ... well, disconcerted.”

She looked down, feeling self-conscious, the scene washing over her anew: the awkwardness of talking with friends of Lord Bertram’s, their appraising looks, prying questions, and cloying flattery.

“It’s nothing, really. I met a few people staying at Sea View. Apparently we have a mutual acquaintance.”

“From Scotland?”

Claire shook her head. “From England. They seemed to think I should be familiar with his plans, but I could tell them little. They were...”

“Rude?” he suggested.

“Not rude exactly, but I ... could not like them. I am glad they are not staying here.”

She set down her cup and rose. “Well, I am off to bed. Thank you again for the evening off and for the tea.”

Claire felt his gaze follow her in thoughtful silence as she left the room.

A few days later, Armaan came to the house again.

Claire greeted him warmly. “Good day, Mr. Sagar.”

“Armaan, please.”

“Very well. And you must call me Claire. Come in. I know Mira will be delighted to see you.”

He stepped inside and she took his hat and hung it on a peg. “I believe she is upstairs with her father. Why don’t you wait with Miss Patel while I let her know you are here.”

She led him into the morning room, where Sonali sat stitching. “I will return as soon as I can.”

On her way up the stairs, she heard Sonali say, “It’s first names now, is it? I suppose you admire Miss Summers as Mr. Hammond does. Yet I wonder if she is all she appears to be.”

Claire paused, hand tight on the railing, and held her breath.

“Jealousy does not become you, Miss Patel,” he replied.

Sonali huffed. “Of course you defend her. But I doubt she is as respectable as she pretends. A supposedly genteel young lady traveling to Scotland alone? Is that not where the English go for the elopements? And now she is here and not living with her family? Most suspicious.”

Voice cool and clipped, Armaan said, “Let me make something perfectly plain. Major Hutton is my closest friend. His wife, whom I also esteem, is sister to Miss Summers. If you think I will thank you for spreading malicious gossip about her, you are wrong. I want nothing to do with it. And if you think I would be interested in a mean-spirited woman, even were she the only Indian woman in all of England, you are quite mistaken.”

A chair squealed as it was pushed back.

“Mr. Sagar, wait!” Sonali called. “I am sorry, and ashamed. I deserved that rebuke. Please forgive me.”

“It is not me you have wronged.”

Claire hurried up the stairs, blood roaring in her ears. She felt as ashamed as Sonali claimed to be. For as much as she appreciated Armaan’s defense, she knew she did not deserve it.

Some time later, while Mira was occupied with her father and uncle, Sonali came and found her belowstairs.

Claire stiffened, bracing herself for another unpleasant confrontation.

Instead the woman said, “I wish to apologize, Miss Summers. I have been resentful and bitter and mean. In truth, I have felt threatened by you—afraid to lose my place in this family. Yet my uncertain situation is not your fault. I have wronged you, and I hope you will forgive me.”

Claire stood there, momentarily rendered speechless. For even if this apology had been prompted by what Armaan had said, the humble contrition in the woman’s expression seemed utterly sincere.

Claire laid a hand on her arm, half expecting the woman to throw it off. “I forgive you. And I hope we can be friends.”

Tears brightened Sonali’s large, dark eyes. “I would very much like that. I have missed having a friend.”

When Claire entered the morning room later that day, Mr. Hammond looked up from the day’s post. “Ah. Just the person I was thinking of. Sir Thomas Acland has invited me to an evening party at his estate. Probably to introduce me to a few other politicians and local officials. There’s a rumor the Russian ambassador and his wife may also be there. Will you accompany me?”

Claire drew up in surprise. “Me? No. I could not attend uninvited.”

“The invitation is addressed to myself and a guest of my choosing. I choose you.”

Claire’s body warmed, heart tingling at his words.

“That is kind of you, but ... how would we get there?”

“I suppose I will have to hire a post chaise or at least a horse and gig.”

And the two of them would journey alone together at night?

As if guessing her thoughts, he said, “Perhaps Mary might accompany us.”

Claire replied, “Let me think about it, if you don’t mind. When is it to be?”

“In one week.”

Claire turned away, mind and stomach churning. She hesitated to accept the invitation for more than propriety’s sake. She knew Mr. Hammond was attracted to her and might be growing attached to her. She should tell him everything and walk away. Allow him to find someone else—someone who truly deserved him.

But she did not want to walk away.

The next day, Emily and Viola came to the boarding house again. Emily handed her a piece of embossed stationery that looked strangely familiar.

“What is this?” Claire studied it.

“An invitation to an evening party.”

Claire stared in some astonishment at her name on the official-looking invitation. “But how?”

“James added you to the guest list—with Sir Thomas’s approval, of course. Do say you’ll come. Several gloomy politicians will be there, so we’ll need help enlivening the mood, as well as another woman to even the numbers. I have even convinced Sarah to come. Viola and the major will be there too. You could wear the white-and-rose dinner dress again. It would be perfect for an evening party.”

Claire admitted, “Mr. Hammond also suggested I attend ... as his guest.”

Emily’s dark eyes sparkled. “Did he indeed?”

“I was reluctant to agree, but now that my name is officially on the guest list...”

“You’ll come! Excellent,” Emily said. “I’m so glad. The cabriolet at our disposal has a hood but seats only two.”

“So,” Viola interjected, “you are welcome to ride with Sarah, Jack, and me, as our carriage is larger.”

Claire nodded. “Mr. Hammond said something about hiring a chaise or gig, but I was not sure I should travel alone with him.”

“There would be room for him as well,” Viola said. “And less room for gossip.”

Mr. Hammond came into the room. “Ah. Mrs. Thomson. Mrs. Hutton. A pleasure to see you both again.”

“Mr. Hammond. We were just speaking of you.”

“All good, I hope?”

Claire explained, “Emily’s husband has procured an official invitation for me, and Viola and her husband are offering to convey us both in their carriage to Sir Thomas’s party.”

“Excellent. That’s all sorted, then. Thank you very much. And please do thank your husbands for me.”

“The major and I are happy to do it.” Viola met his gaze directly. “We want there to be no mistake. My sister is not alone in the world, without the protection of family.”

For a moment Mr. Hammond stood stock-still, only the deep lines between his eyebrows giving away his displeasure. “I know that. I would never take advantage, even if she were.”

“Good. I am glad we understand one another.”

“We do.”

Good heavens! Claire thought, mortification heating every pore. What had happened to her shy, reclusive sister? This Viola was a woman to be reckoned with.

Despite the embarrassment, her sister’s protective gesture touched Claire’s heart.

Later that day, they all gathered in the morning room, including Armaan, ready for Mr. Filonov to unveil his portrait.

The artist pulled back the covering and looked first at Mira. “So. What do you say?”

Mira gasped and pressed her hands to her mouth, then clapped loudly. “It is Amma !”

Claire could hardly believe the transformation from pencil sketch to full color portrait. “You are a master, Mr. Filonov.”

“Sank you, my dear.”

“I don’t know how you accomplished it and so quickly,” Mr. Hammond said. “I see Miss Summers’s dress. Miss Patel’s braid. The girl in the miniature, and Mira, as well as Armaan. Yet I blink and look again, and I see my wife, Vanita, as she was.”

Mr. Filonov laid a hand over his heart. “You honor me, sir. You are pleased?”

“More than pleased.” He sent Armaan a sour look. “Although I am not sure I like my wife having Armaan’s eyes.” His lip quirked. “I shall endeavor to overlook it.”