A Lasting Impression
Acklen to sign an agreement prior to their marriage—which Joseph had readily done—stating that the property and holdings Adelicia brought into the marriage would remain her own. An astute businessman, Joseph had promptly tripled Adelicia’s wealth after only a few years of marriage, so her fortune was never in peril.
Sutton would insist that her third husband sign a similar agreement. His loyalty to Joseph—and Adelicia—would brook nothing less. But there was another part of this puzzle. One that affected him personally.
If Adelicia married again, her husband would likely assume the management role he had been filling since Joseph’s death. Not the legal side of Adelicia’s business, of course, unless the man were an attorney—which Polk wasn’t. But regarding the management of Belmont, Sutton’s services would no longer be required.
Which, when considering he already stood to lose his family’s land, made this case he was working on with Holbrook even more crucial. But even then, in one sense, that victory was only a means to an end. An opportunity that would give him the chance to do what he really wanted to do with his life.
But not if he had a wife beside him who didn’t share his dream.
29
L ate the next afternoon Sutton returned from the law offices to find Cara Netta waiting for him in the art gallery, eager to take the walk she’d requested.
As they strolled the grounds, she peppered him with questions about his day, and he answered, sneaking occasional glances up at the mansion. He wondered where Claire was. Whether she was peering out one of the curtained windows or perhaps giving Pauline another lesson in sketching.
When he’d seen her in recent days, she’d seemed fine. There was no awkwardness between them. But she was always running—fulfilling Mrs. Acklen’s and Madame LeVert’s requests, and now tutoring Pauline in sketching. He didn’t know when she was going to have time to do her own painting. But the auction for new artists wasn’t until March. She still had time.
After touring the gardens, he and Cara Netta made their way toward the stables. For October, the temperatures were still on the warmer side, and fall was still struggling to take firm hold.
“Mother and Diddie and I were discussing a return trip to Europe next summer, Sutton. But only for two or three months this time. Doesn’t that sound divine?”
At the moment, he could think of little else he would’ve liked less. Last summer, he’d been eager to escape Nashville and the memories of war, and he’d welcomed the diversion of Europe—and of Cara Netta, he realized with discomfort. But the thought of repeating such a trip wasn’t the least appealing.
Not wishing to hurt her, he knew it was best she realize his feelings on the subject. “Actually, making a trip like that again doesn’t sound divine to me at all, Cara Netta.” He smiled to soften the opinion. “My focus is far more . . . stateside at present.”
“Well, of course it is,” she said quickly. “With all the concerns you have pressing, that’s understandable. Even . . . commendable.” She smiled up at him. “I’m certain that any day now you’ll receive word that your land is indeed still yours. Then you can start rebuilding your family home.”
“I wish I shared your positive outlook. But I’m not anticipating the review board will decide in my favor. Not if their track record has any bearing.”
“But your family name is so highly esteemed in Nashville, Sutton. Not to mention your own reputation. I’m certain they’ll make allowances for that.”
He gave a bitter laugh. “Those men care no more about my esteemed family name than I do about theirs. The same for my reputation.” The thought of his father’s name and honor being sullied—all because of him—sickened him.
Cara Netta didn’t say anything for a moment, then gestured to the mares grazing in the pasture. “I know how you love horses, Sutton. I do too. That’s yet another thing we have in common.”
He nodded, hearing the forced brightness in her tone. “Yes, it is.”
“I’ve been thinking”—she paused, looking up at him—“about what we discussed in the air balloon that day, floating above Paris. Do you remember?”
“Of course I remember. But I’m a little surprised you do. You were clinging to my arm so tightly.” He gave his shoulder a slight rotation, as though it still ached, and she grinned. Sutton studied her, feeling
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