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“I had a frame made,” Mary said, gesturing at Joan, “to display them when they are not being worn.” It was more a shallow box, with two oval niches lined in black velvet. The two miniatures fit perfectly inside and gave the effect of a pair of portraits. “It was thoughtful of Mary and Henry to give us such a gift,” Seven said later, when we were back at the Hart and Crown. He slid his arms around me from behind and laced his hands over my belly. “I haven’t even had time to take your picture. I never imagined my first likeness of you would be by Nicholas Hilliard.” “The portraits are beautiful,” I said, covering his hands with mine. “But . . . ?” Seven drew back and tilted his head. “Miniatures by Nicholas Hilliard are sought after, Seven. These won’t disappear when we do. And they’re s
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