A Lasting Impression

Claire the feeling she was attempting to tell her something without saying it outright, which wasn’t like Mrs. Routh at all.
    Not nearly as eager to meet the LeVerts as she had been earlier, Claire checked her dress one last time and walked outside to the portico, shy of descending the stairs and entering the fray of hugs and familiarity.
    Seeing the exchanges of affection should have warmed her heart. But instead they roused within her a yearning to belong that eclipsed everything else, and that edged up the veil on this precarious, make-believe existence she was living.
    She didn’t have anyone in her life who would greet her so warmly after an extended absence, nor anywhere she could go “to break her journey” should she travel. And standing here, at the top of the stairs, taking it all in, she felt alone and insignificant.
    But not until she saw Cara Netta turn and see Sutton, then run to greet him, hug him, and give him a quick peck on the cheek—and watch Sutton return her embrace—did Mrs. Routh’s comment begin to make sense.

27

    T he moment Sutton dreaded had arrived, and the fact that he dreaded it as much as he did—even as he hugged Cara Netta—only compounded his guilt. And that Claire stood watching from the front steps only made it worse.
    He should have told her about Cara Netta. He’d known it that night following her accident and he knew it now. He’d spent the week contemplating, searching . . . But he hadn’t been able to think of a way to explain to her what was going on inside him. Mainly because he was still sorting it out himself.
    “Mr. Monroe!”
    He turned to see Madame LeVert headed straight for him, arms outstretched, and he gladly surrendered daughter for mother. They embraced, and Sutton was reminded again of how important this woman and her family were to Adelicia. “What a pleasure to see you again, Madame LeVert. You’re looking very well, ma’am.” From his peripheral vision, he kept an eye on Claire—standing on the portico, off to one side. “I believe the extended stay in New York agreed with you, ma’am.”
    “My dear boy, it is not New York to which I owe any improvement in my countenance. It was my anticipation of seeing you, and Adelicia, and Belmont again that buoyed me on.”
    He still couldn’t see her without thinking of her late husband. He missed Dr. LeVert’s dry wit and knowledgeable insights, and knew that the three most important women to Henry LeVert were still grieving the man’s passing these two years later.
    “How is she?” Madame LeVert whispered. “She looks more rested and content than I’ve seen her in a long time.”
    Sutton kept his voice low. “She took your suggestion—along with my strong encouragement once we returned—to heart and hired a personal liaison.”
    Madame LeVert’s eyes brightened, and Sutton nodded toward Claire, who was inching her way back toward the front door. Madame LeVert followed his gaze, and Claire froze as though having been caught in a crime.
    Uncertainty clouded her expression, and Sutton sent her a smile, hoping to allay her nervousness. “She assists Mrs. Acklen with nearly everything now, and performs her duties with grace and efficiency.” He leaned closer. “Adelicia’s quite pleased.”
    “That’s high praise, Mr. Monroe. I’m especially eager to meet this liaison now.” She smiled and patted his arm. “Anyone who can please Adelicia Acklen is certain of pleasing me.”
    “Mother, would you please stop monopolizing the South’s most handsome and eligible bachelor?”
    Sutton had no trouble keeping a straight face with Madame LeVert’s older daughter, Diddie. “I’m certain she would, Miss LeVert. If only that gentleman were present.”
    Everyone laughed. Everyone but Diddie.
    “ Miss LeVert? That’s what you’ve taken to calling me now, young man?”
    Sutton let his smile show. “Hello, Diddie. How are you?”
    “I’m exhausted, Sutton, and my back aches.” She grinned and rewarded him with a hug. “And I’m most grateful to be out of that carriage and onto solid ground again. And to the exquisite grounds of Belmont, no less. I almost feel as if I’ve come home.”
    Diddie—always unpretentious, speaking her mind, yet not without a certain charm. Sutton wondered, as he had before, why she’d not yet married. Surely it wasn’t for lack of suitors. Only three or four years his senior, she always made a point of reminding him of his junior status.
    Conversation