A Lasting Impression

So if she hadn’t wanted to go, why was it bothering her that she’d not been invited?
    She prodded Athena forward through stands of pine and white birch, hoping the path led where she thought it would. She leaned forward and gave Athena’s neck a rub, appreciating the animal’s speed and strength, as well as Mrs. Acklen’s permission to ride the mare whenever she desired. Never in all her days could Claire have afforded such a fine mount.
    That last thought lingered, settled, and the reason for her frustration became clearer, and reached far deeper than disappointment over not being invited to coffee. She didn’t belong in Adelicia’s world of wealth and privilege. She had no right to be there. The world of afternoon teas, fancy silk dresses, and evenings at the opera was as foreign to her as racing thoroughbreds at Nashville’s Burns Island track was to Athena.
    The pretty black mare tossed her head as though voicing her disagreement at the thought. Claire ran her fingers through Athena’s mane. “It doesn’t make you any less a fine horse, pretty girl,” she whispered. “It just makes you”—she thought of Sutton and Cara Netta—“different from them.”
    Seeing Antoine DePaul had done more than frighten her. It had forced her to see herself again for who she really was—Claire Elise Laurent, daughter of Gustave and Abella Laurent. Her father, an art dealer who had made his living selling fraudulent paintings from a second-rate gallery. And her maman, the gifted, but misguided, artist who had painted them.
    But even more than showing her who she was—Claire’s throat thickened with unshed tears—seeing him had revealed who she wanted to be. Herself, only, truer. More honest. Without the past dogging her heels and without the feeling that, at any moment, her old self could show up and wreak havoc. But how did she become that person she wanted to be without sacrificing everything she now enjoyed?
    The path ahead opened as she’d hoped it would. She dismounted and stood close to Athena, holding the mare’s bridle and looking out across the valley, feeling small and insignificant. And yet, strangely, not as alone as she’d once felt.
    Belmont sprawled below, the mansion and grounds professing a different kind of splendor when viewed from this height. The flourish of fall was only days away and she wished the canvases and paints she’d ordered would hurry up and arrive. Not that she would have time to paint now.
    Bitter irony tinged her tongue. She was in the perfect place to create, literally surrounded by beauty and where she had the opportunity for her work to be seen by people of influence, and yet she had no supplies. And even when they did finally arrive, she would have no time to paint. She had the social event of the season to plan!
    She half laughed, half sighed.
    She still believed God had led her to Belmont, and was grateful to Him for that. But why lead her to a place with such opportunity, and then keep her so busy she couldn’t pursue her painting? She wanted to create something that would last. That would stir people’s emotions so they would feel the passion she poured into her work and would recognize her giftedness.
    She reached up and scratched Athena behind the ears. Not only did she see little evidence of God’s plan for her painting, she also didn’t think His timing was very—
    The distinct thud of hoofbeats sounded, and Claire turned toward the treelined path to see a horse and rider cresting the hilltop. Recognizing both, she smiled.
    Sutton reined in beside her, out of breath. “You’re a hard woman to catch.”
    She peered up, shading her eyes from the sun. “You followed me?”
    “I tried.” He leaned forward and rested his arm on the saddle horn. “You and Athena tore out of there pretty fast.”
    “I did not. I waited until after Mrs. Acklen and the LeVerts left to go to coffee.” Hearing a hint of defensiveness in her tone, she smiled and glanced at Athena. “This pretty little girl just needed to work off some frustration.”
    Sutton dismounted, his hair windblown. “And what about this pretty little girl . . .” He reached up and tugged a curl at her temple. “Has she worked off her frustration too?”
    Claire’s heart did a little flip. He’s a friend. He’s only a friend. Remembering the stay calm look he’d given her at breakfast, she shook her head. “I hope my feelings weren’t too obvious.”
    “Only to me. But I know what to look