A Lasting Impression

Stanton, I . . .”
    “I would be honored if you would call me Andrew.”
    Biting the tip of her tongue, she nodded. “Andrew . . . I truly enjoy your company but”—she took a deep breath, recalling what she’d rehearsed—“at present, I’m not at all in a position to consider a relationship of the nature I believe you’re wanting. In fact, I . . .” She didn’t want to hurt him. “I think it would be best if we didn’t see one another again.”
    To her surprise, he smiled. “That was a carefully worded—and well-rehearsed—response, Claire.” Understanding softened his expression. “From the moment you misunderstood and thought I wanted you to get me a drink at the reception, you’ve been transparent with me. I appreciate that about you. And while I appreciate your friendship, it would be remiss of me to let you think that is all I feel for you. Or all that I hope you might one day feel for me.”
    The crackle of the fire ate up the silence, and the only word Claire could hear in her mind was transparent. That’s the last thing she’d been. With him. With Sutton. With everyone. But it’s what she now wanted to be more than anything in her life.
    “Andrew—”
    He held up a hand. “No need to say anything else tonight. I hadn’t planned on broaching this subject, although I am glad it came up.” In true gentlemanly form, he kissed her hand, then rose and called for the carriage. “I’ll see you back to Belmont.”
    Andrew helped her with her coat, and the weight in the pocket served as a reminder.
    She withdrew the book. “I appreciate it very much, but I can’t.” She laid it on a side table.
    He promptly handed it back. “It was a gift, Claire. Between friends. With no expectations beyond that.”
    Seeing his determination, she didn’t argue as he turned for his coat and gloves. The carriage ride back to Belmont was quiet, and when they rounded the corner and the moonlit silhouette of the darkened mansion came into view, Claire felt a homesickness inside her. One she hadn’t felt in a long time.
    Only it wasn’t for a place. It was for a person.
    The carriage stopped by the front steps just as Eli descended them, lantern in hand. He assisted her from the coach, and Andrew escorted her to the door. “Do you have any idea when Mrs. Acklen will be returning?”
    “In a couple of weeks, I believe. But no later than March, for the art auction.”
    “She told me you were planning on submitting an entry for the auction for new artists this year. I’m looking forward to seeing that. Mr. Monroe also sings your praises in that regard. And in every other as well.”
    Claire perked up. “ Mr. Monroe commented to you about me?”
    Andrew’s expression grew timid. “Yes, though . . . I somewhat imposed myself upon him. I pulled him aside at the reception and told him I was interested in getting to know you better. And I inquired whether any gentleman had previous designs on your affections.”
    Claire’s heart skipped an odd beat. She remembered seeing them in the central parlor, speaking, shaking hands. “If it’s not too forward of me, what was Mr. Monroe’s response, exactly?”
    Andrew took a moment to answer. “He said that you were the finest young woman he’d ever met and that he knew of no firm reason why I shouldn’t pursue a friendship with you.” He studied her beneath the single portico lantern Eli had lit. “However . . . I can clearly see one. Right now. In your eyes.”
    Claire lowered her gaze, but he tilted her chin back up.
    A slow, somewhat resigned smile moved over his face. “Sutton Monroe is a very lucky man, Claire. Does he know?”
    “Know?” she whispered.
    “That you love him.”
    Tears tightened her throat. She shook her head, then shrugged.
    He said nothing for a moment, then brushed a chaste kiss on her forehead. “Thank you, Claire, for a beautiful evening. And for the gift of your friendship.”
    Claire stood inside the entrance hall, a hand raised in parting as Andrew’s carriage pulled away. She slipped her gloves into her empty pockets, the copy of Les Aventures de Télémaque safely tucked on the side table in Andrew’s foyer.
    Then she went straight to her room and wrote Sutton, and told him she and Mr. Stanton had “compared notes,” and that she wanted him to come home.
    And not just to come home, but to come home to her.

    Claire slipped through the doors of the church and made her way down the aisle toward Mrs. Acklen’s