A Lasting Impression

worry about the expense, and she hadn’t. She’d observed Mrs. Acklen throughout the evening, and she seemed pleased enough. Claire had seen her and Lucius Polk dancing together earlier, but surprisingly, only once. And come to think of it, Mr. Polk hadn’t been invited to dinner at Belmont in recent weeks. . . .
    Another swell of guests arrived, and Claire moved off to the side. She stood in the darkness, shielded from the glow of coach lamps, not ready to go back inside.
    “I was shocked too, when I learned the news.” A woman’s voice drifted upward from the lawn below. “And now he’s left with nothing, I hear. Which I’m certain is why she put a hasty end to it. As well she should have, considering her wealth. He’s far below her station now.”
    “But did you hear about his father?” a man replied, his tone a husky whisper. “He was a traitor to the Confederacy. True, he might have refused to sign The Oath, but he was a sympathizer. ” The man said the word as though it were vulgar. “He doctored the Acklens’ Negroes, right here at Belmont, is what I hear. I wager Mrs. Acklen didn’t know that. And here she is, still harboring the man’s son beneath her roof. He’s reaping the sins of his father, if you ask me. . . .”
    The voices faded and the breath in Claire’s lungs went flat. She tried to see the couple below, but darkness obscured their retreat. Sutton. It had to be him they were talking about. But what they’d said didn’t make sense. Unless . . . He’d gotten word from the review board and hadn’t told her yet.
    But he’d promised to tell her once he heard.
    Realizing how long she’d been gone, she walked back inside only to find Cordina and the servers carrying platters of food up from the kitchen to the formal dining room. Savory aromas of roasted beef and turkey wafted toward her. She checked a nearby clock. Almost midnight. Cordina was never late.
    “Miss Laurent?”
    “Mr. Stanton!” Her second dance partner that evening, Andrew Stanton was smooth on his feet, especially for his age. Not that he was old, but Claire guessed he was forty-five, at least. She smiled, having enjoyed his company earlier and remembering how she’d heard his prayer in church and had then taken it for her own. “I hope you’re having an enjoyable evening, sir.”
    “Yes, I am. And largely due to your talents, Mrs. Acklen informs me.”
    “Not at all.” She gave a dismissive shake of her head. “I’ve merely learned that one of the secrets to being successful lies in knowing which person to ask for what advice.”
    He laughed. “It took me nearly forty-eight years to learn that, Miss Laurent. Which means you’re far ahead of me.”
    Forty-eight. She hadn’t been off by much.
    He gestured. “I was thinking of getting something to drink and wondered—”
    “Oh! Of course, Mr. Stanton.” She should have already offered. Not only was he one of Adelicia’s honored guests, he was one of the wealthiest men in Nashville. “I’d be happy to get you something. Would you prefer a cold drink or perhaps some warm cider?”
    His smile came slowly, shyly. “Actually, Miss Laurent, I would be honored if you would allow me to get a drink for you. Then perhaps we could find a quiet corner to visit. If your dance card and responsibilities allow, of course.”
    His request slowly sank in, and Claire didn’t know what to say. She didn’t really want to accept, yet she couldn’t exactly say no. “I would like that very much. Thank you.”
    “Hot or cold?” he asked.
    “Cold, please. Most definitely.”
    Claire watched him walk away and gradually grew aware of stares from guests standing close by. She wondered what they were thinking.
    “Here you are, Mademoiselle Laurent.” Sutton appeared at her side, a glass of champagne in each hand. He held one out. “I hope you’re thirsty.”
    “Sutton, I—” She started to take it from him, then saw Mr. Stanton returning. With a glass of champagne in each hand.
    Sutton moved closer. “Are you feeling all right, Claire? You look a little—”
    “Here you are, Miss Laurent!” Mr. Stanton handed her the drink. “Mr. Monroe, how are you this evening?”
    Relieved they already knew each other, Claire took a long sip from the stemmed glass, uncomfortable in the moment.
    “I’m well, Mr. Stanton. It’s nice to see you again, sir.” Sutton stealthily slipped one of the glasses onto the table behind him.
    “Likewise.” Mr. Stanton sipped his