The gallery still smelled faintly of fabric and wood when I returned the next afternoon to begin packing the pieces for shipment home. The air felt gentler than it had during the evening of the presentation, but the memory of it lingered in the walls. I could almost hear the soft footsteps of guests as they moved between the displays, the way they leaned in to examine a stitch or let their fingers drift lightly over the edge of a hem.

Julian was near the entrance, speaking quietly with one of ...