A Lasting Impression

Acklen told Mother he’ll be a full partner one day.” Possessiveness colored Cara Netta’s voice. “One day not far off, I’m guessing.”
    Diddie’s soft smile held agreement. “Mr. Acklen thought very highly of him, as do the current partners in the firm.”
    Claire watched Sutton jog down the front steps, leather satchel in hand, and she felt a stir of desire for him. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead, and even this early in the day, the shadow of tomorrow’s beard and a smile that could melt snow in winter gave him an almost roguish quality.
    He appeared every bit the future young law partner—and deserved a wife equal to that status. Claire glanced again at Cara Netta and the word thoroughbred came to mind. Sutton appreciated the finer things in life, and he deserved them too.
    At the last minute, Diddie deftly stood and switched to sit on Claire’s side of the carriage, scooting the boxes to one side and leaving the space beside Cara Netta available for Sutton. It was a calculated move but not meanly meant, Claire knew. It was simply what one did when knowing the heart of a beloved sister. Just as summer followed spring, and winter followed fall, it was understood that Sutton and Cara Netta belonged together. Anyone looking on would know that.
    Claire felt a telling tug of jealousy. So why was she having such a hard time accepting that fact?
    “Hello, ladies . . .” Sutton opened the door and started to climb in. “Miss Laurent!” He paused, and Claire would’ve sworn she saw a light come into his eyes. “I didn’t realize you would be shopping with the LeVerts today.”
    “Actually, I didn’t either.” Claire stole a look at Cara Netta, who was looking back at her—not in a happy way. “Mrs. Acklen asked me to come into town this morning on an errand, and the LeVerts were kind enough to let me share their carriage.”
    Sutton claimed the seat next to Cara Netta, and seconds later the carriage lurched forward. He raised one of the windows and Claire welcomed the breeze in the close quarters. With no prompting, Diddie and Cara Netta proceeded to give him a full accounting of everything they’d purchased that morning.
    The carriage stopped briefly at a thoroughfare, and Claire noticed passersby looking their way. No doubt, looking at the Clarence. Or at the handsome couple seated behind its glass partition.
    The carriage continued on, and Diddie and Cara Netta showered Sutton with questions about his day. Claire listened with interest as he responded. But when the conversation turned to the pie shop, she focused out the window at the steady stream of pedestrians.
    Businessmen hurrying to their next appointments, women clutching infants while Negro nannies followed, baskets and toddlers draped over their arms. Negro men swept front porches and hefted crates of dry goods into wagon beds, their muscular forearms rippling and glistening in the sun. Boys squared off on street corners, hawking newspapers and soggy sacks of boiled peanuts, while still others dogged the heels of suited men, begging to shine their shoes for a penny.
    And yet here she sat in a fine carriage because of her position as Mrs. Adelicia Acklen’s liaison, with new dresses enough to fill a wardrobe, and with her dreams of painting on the horizon. Life didn’t seem fair sometimes, all the sudden twists and turns it could take. Even when those turns were working in her favor. Especially then . . .
    Because she knew she wasn’t deserving.
    The carriage slowed again, and she leaned forward to catch a bit of breeze. A man crossing the street caught her eye. His clothes so stylish, the manner in which he carried himself so proper. His back was to her, but he paused and turned in her direction, and stilled.
    His face suddenly registered, and Claire felt herself falling forward, even as she pressed her body back against the cushioned seat.

32

    A ntoine DePaul! Heart in her throat, Claire told herself to breathe. She could hear Diddie talking beside her but couldn’t make out the words over the roar in her own ears. Sutton was focused on Cara Netta, who was focused on him, all while her own world spiraled downward.
    Please, God, please . . . Don’t let him approach the carriage. She gritted her teeth and willed the carriage to move. Just move! She didn’t dare look out the window again. She just kept praying, over and over—pulse racing—that Antoine hadn’t seen her.
    “Miss Laurent?”
    Claire turned to see