A Lasting Impression

around them fell away, and he looked toward the mansion to see Claire starting down the steps. Knowing she wouldn’t have made that descent without being prompted, he caught Adelicia’s discreet signal for her to join them—a quick flick of her wrist, a gesture she usually reserved for servants.
    And the discovery that she used it with Claire . . . disturbed him.
    “We’ve missed you, Sutton.” Cara Netta wove her arm through the crook of his. “Very much.” She pressed close.
    Hearing what she was really saying, he caught the knowing smiles of the women around him and felt himself tense, grateful Claire was still some yards away. “You’ve all been missed very much too. I feared Mrs. Acklen might redecorate the entire mansion again while anticipating your visit.”
    While Adelicia laughed and shushed his comment away, Sutton attempted to introduce an inch of space between himself and Cara Netta, without success.
    Cara Netta ran a hand along his upper arm, and squeezed. “The gardens are exquisite, Sutton. Perhaps you might show them to me following dinner.”
    Surprised at her forwardness—and at the generous display of bosom her dress permitted at this angle—Sutton nodded politely, then felt a none-too-subtle check in his spirit. He realized Cara Netta wasn’t being overly forward, not when considering the understanding between them and those long months spent traveling together in Europe.
    It was his behavior that was making him uncomfortable. The way he’d allowed himself to become too close to Claire. Encouraging the friendship beyond what was proper for a man in his situation, however innocently done at first. But this situation wasn’t Cara Netta’s fault. It was his own, and it was therefore up to him to rectify it.
    Cara Netta gave his arm a tug, and he realized she was awaiting his response.
    “Yes,” he whispered down. “I’d be honored to show you the gardens later. That will give us a chance to talk.”
    “And . . .” She smiled. “To get reacquainted.”
    His collar tightened at the look in her eyes.
    “Sutton . . .”
    He turned, grateful for Diddie’s interruption.
    “You must ask Cara Netta about the sonata.”
    It took him a few seconds to place what she was referring to. Finally remembering, he covered the lapse of memory with a gentlemanly bow and used the opportunity to extract himself from Cara Netta’s affections, mindful of Claire standing just behind Adelicia, waiting to be introduced. He would have made the introductions himself, but it was Adelicia’s privilege as mistress of Belmont and Claire’s employer. “I have no doubt that Cara Netta has mastered that Haydn sonata by now. Which one was it . . .”
    “Number thirty-seven in D major , ” Diddie supplied, loving pride in her eyes. “And yes, she’s mastered it. I don’t see how she plays with such vivacity. And flawlessly!”
    Cara Netta gave her sister a lighthearted frown. “You ought not tell such fabrications, Diddie.” She glanced at Sutton. “Though I can get through it passably well now.”
    “Passably well?” Madame LeVert shook her head.
    “Following dinner this evening”—Adelicia eyed Cara Netta, her gaze holding playful indulgence—“you shall play the sonata. I insist! And we will decide for ourselves whether mastered is an appropriate term.”
    Cara Netta curtsied. “As you wish, Mrs. Acklen. But I beg you, do not hold me responsible should any of your guests develop a sudden ache in their heads.” Her comment drew muted laughter.
    “Ah . . . Miss Laurent.” Adelicia motioned for Claire to come closer.
    Sutton tried to catch Claire’s attention but to no avail. Her trepidation was understandable. The LeVert women were daunting enough each on their own terms. But taken together as a whole— and with Adelicia . . .
    “Thank you for joining us, Miss Laurent.” Adelicia gestured. “Allow me to introduce to you Madame Octavia Celeste Valentine Walton LeVert, the most accomplished woman of my acquaintance, and one whom I am deeply privileged to call my dear friend.” Adelicia wordlessly took hold of Madame LeVert’s hand, and the two exchanged a glance. “And these two lovely women are her daughters, Miss Octavia Walton LeVert, whom we affectionately call Diddie.”
    Diddie dipped her head, smiling.
    “And this dark-haired beauty”—Adelicia slipped an arm around Cara Netta’s shoulders—“is Miss Henrietta Caroline LeVert, whom we all know as Cara Netta. And in