A Lasting Impression

genuine affection for her. But was it the strength of feeling a man should feel for his future wife?
    Her smile faded. “You said you thought each man—and woman—ought to spend their life doing what God created them to do. That they should do no less, and could do no more.”
    He grew curious at the look in her eyes, and where she was headed. “You have a very good memory, Cara Netta.”
    “I agreed with what you said, and I know you’ll be the most celebrated attorney in Nashville someday. And who knows where that will lead? You could become a judge or even a senator.” She looked down and bit her lower lip, and only then did Sutton realize how nervous she was.
    She didn’t say anything for a moment, then moved closer and laid a hand on his arm. “I wish Father were here to deliver this news. He would have done better at it than I will, I’m sure. And I know it would have given him great pleasure because . . . he thought the world of you, Sutton.”
    Sutton looked at where she touched him, wondering at the nervous quality in her voice. “Your father was a fine man. I admired him a great deal.”
    “Which is only part of what makes all of this so perfect.” She took a breath, held it, and then exhaled. “Mother has found a house here in Nashville. That she wants to buy us. As a gift.”
    He stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
    “I know it’s a lot,” she said, her words coming fast. “And I hope I’m not getting too far ahead of . . . where we are, but a man in your position needs a home of his own. In town. I know you want to rebuild on your family’s land, and we’ll do that too, but it makes so much sense to have a house in Nashville proper as well. And Mother knows—just as I do—what a success you’ll be at the law firm when you make partner. Mrs. Acklen says you’ll likely be the youngest partner they’ve ever had. And there’ll be room enough for your mother to come and live with us, if you’d like.”
    “Cara Netta—”
    “And there’s a stable, Sutton. A small one, granted. But big enough for four horses, so you can dabble in your hobby in the evenings and on weekends when we’re not”—her violet eyes sparkled—“out at the opera, or dining with heads of state, or entertaining dignitaries. And in time, if you still want to, we can purchase a larger estate, where you could own thoroughbreds like—”
    “No . . . Cara Netta.”
    She blinked. “But . . . I thought you would be pleased.”
    “Pleased that I don’t have the means to provide for you in the manner in which you’re accustomed? And expect?”
    A frown formed. “I never said that.”
    “I know you didn’t. You’re too good and fine a woman to do that. But that’s what I hear in this . . . very generous offer from your mother. That I must flatly refuse.”
    Her mouth slipped open. “But why?”
    “Because a man wants to provide for his wife and family himself, Cara Netta. This man, anyway.”
    “This would simply be Mother’s wedding gift to us, Sutton. And it would be Father’s too, if—” Her voice broke. “If he were still here.” She looked away. “Most men of my acquaintance would be pleased at this offer, and frankly”—her expression lost a bit of its sparkle —“would accept it with gratitude.”
    “Then I’m sorry to disappoint. And regarding my hobby . . .” Hearing the defensiveness in his voice, he took care to soften its edge. “As I explained to you before, or tried to . . . When I shared with you about wanting to own a thoroughbred farm, I didn’t simply mean I wanted to own it, Cara Netta. I want to run the farm, train the thoroughbreds myself.”
    Shades of understanding shadowed her features, and he realized she’d understood his aspiration from the start—she just didn’t share it.
    She stared at him for the longest time, then lowered her head. And in a blink, Sutton saw future years passing before him. He could almost feel the soft brush of yet-to-be-lived memories on his face. It would be so easy, in one sense, to follow this course—to marry Cara Netta, to become the wealthy son-in-law of Madame Octavia LeVert, to have a fine house in Mobile, and another in Nashville, and yet another on the coast. He would have his thoroughbred farm in no time, though it would never be the one he’d envisioned. Nor would it be the life Cara Netta had envisioned either. And he wouldn’t be the husband she wanted. Not really.
    What confounded him was why she seemed so set on