“I wonder how the minx came by it,” he said, returning to his seat. “Could she really have mistaken the portrait for her own?”
“Indeed she could have,” Shannon said. “She is nearly the perfect image of her grandmother.”
Aurora grew thoughtful. “How odd. I used to imagine Clara was a changeling because she looked like no one I knew.”
“Oh, my dear,” said Molly, “I think she is every inch her father’s daughter.”
Brandon smiled softly. “In manner, perhaps. Certainly not in her features.”
Molly’s hands fluttered to her lap as her dinner plate was unobtrusively removed by one of the servants and replaced by a plate of sweetmeats, almonds, and raisins. “What can be more important than her manner?” she asked. “That is where her strength lies.”
“I appreciate you saying so,” said Brandon. “I think so, too.”
Aurora caught Brandon’s eye. “I agree. She is very much like her father in manner.”
Beneath the table Brandon’s hands clenched into tight fists, though he accepted Aurora’s statement at face value, pretending a compliment had been intended rather than a subtle reminder that he was not Clara’s father.
Clara chose that moment to return to the dining room, dangling the locket from her wrist. “Here it is, Mishannon.”
“Thank you, darling.” She accepted the necklace after Clara had climbed onto her chair. Opening the locket, she showed the portrait once again to Clara. “This is your grandmother, Clara, when she was only a few years older than you are now. Her name was Mary Kilmartin Stewart.” Lovingly Shannon passed the tip of her forefinger across the painted miniature. “You’ve given me great pleasure by returning this, Clara. Here, Aurora, this is our mother.”
Aurora took the locket, placing it in the heart of her palm. She stared at it a long moment, then her eyes lifted and settled first on Clara, then on Shannon. She felt the press of tears as she studied her sister’s face, finding in it a certain gentleness that she knew was not reflected in her own. Aurora experienced a hesitancy foreign to her, and uncomfortable with the sudden doubts that assailed her, she resolutely pushed them to the back of her mind. “Thank you,” she whispered, forcing the words past the ache in her throat.
Brandon regarded his wife thoughtfully, trying to name what it was he had just witnessed. There had been a moment, brief to be sure, when he saw Aurora as vulnerable, open to pain and some inner torment. As cynical as he considered himself where Aurora was concerned, he believed that on this occasion she was profoundly moved by the portrait of her mother and that her gratitude was sincere. He noticed that Cody was frowning, as if he was also attempting to make sense of the same puzzle.
Aurora passed the locket to Reverend Whittaker. “Remarkable,” he said, showing it to his wife. In turn Brandon and Cody examined the miniature. Clara found herself sharing the attention with her grandmother’s portrait as each person inevitably looked at her after studying the painting. When the necklace passed into her hands again, she fairly beamed. “My face,” she announced proudly. Dutifully, but rather reluctantly, she started to return the locket to Shannon.
“Would you like it for your own?” Shannon asked.
Brandon held up his hand. “No, Shannon, it is too valuable a piece for Clara to have yet.”
“She’s kept it safe these past months when I thought it lost,” she objected. “Where did you find it, Clara?”
“It fell out of Martha’s pocket when she was tucking me in one night.”
“Does she know you have it?”
“I don’t think so.”
Shannon looked at Brandon. “Martha must have removed it when she was caring for me and never mentioned it because she thought she lost it.” She brushed back a lock of hair from Clara’s temple. “Where have you kept it all this time, poppet?”
“With my other pretties. In the box Unca Cody made for me.”
Shannon appealed to Brandon, then Aurora. “I think it can remain there safely. I truly want Clara to have it.”
Aurora took Shannon’s side. “Say yes, Bran. Clara has already shown she can care for it.”
Brandon surrendered, looking vaguely sheepish. His grin was that of a young boy. “All right. She may have the locket. But keep it with your precious things, young lady, until your mother or Mishannon says you may wear it.”
“May I wear it now?” Clara asked ingenuously.
“Certainly,” Aurora answered.
Cody was inspired to suggest a toast. Since the servants were momentarily elsewhere, he and Brandon excused themselves from the table and went to the sideboard. Aurora requested her drink last, preferring white wine to the burgundy everyone else drank. Cody served the drinks from a silver tray with a flourish that Shannon noticed seemed to amuse even Aurora.
Aurora took her glass, holding it in her lap until Cody had served everyone. She returned Molly Whittaker’s warm smile. When Brandon raised his glass, she raised her own.
“To Mary Kilmartin Stewart,” Brandon said.
