The banquet was finally winding down, the drama of Clara's revelation leaving an odd energy in the air. As guests began to depart, I noticed Mr. Beaumont still watching me from across the room, that same puzzled expression on his face.
"He can't seem to take his eyes off you," Arthur murmured beside me.
I shifted uncomfortably. "It's strange. The way he mentioned Clance..."
Arthur's hand found the small of my back. "Do you want me to tell him to stop staring?"
"No," I shook my head. "It's fine. I'm just... confused."
When I looked up again, Mr. Beaumont was wheeling Clara toward us, Dominic trailing behind them.
"Mrs. Sterling," Mr. Beaumont said, his voice gentle, "I hope you'll forgive my earlier rudeness. It's just that—" He paused, studying my face again. "The resemblance is remarkable."
"Resemblance to whom?" I asked.
His eyes took on a faraway look. "A woman I knew many years ago. Beatrice Hayes. You have her eyes, her mannerisms."
