A Lasting Impression

outside. “I was quite good, actually. My husband told me so . . . many times. I lost all of my drawings in the fire.”
    Unprepared for such honesty, Claire didn’t know how to respond at first. But she knew how much losing her Versailles had hurt. “Perhaps, Mrs. Monroe, when your schedule allows . . . you might consider going with me one morning.”
    Eugenia Monroe turned a doubtful eye in her direction.
    “I would welcome your company, ma’am. And the perspective of a fellow artist.”
    Mrs. Monroe didn’t so much as bat an eyelash as she turned back to the window. “Good day, Miss Laurent. Thank you for lunch.”

    Claire felt as though she were living in a fairy tale.
    She peered across the white-clothed table at Sutton—so handsome in his black cutaway coat and white tie—then around the elegant Creole restaurant where they’d enjoyed dinner. Their table overlooked the Cumberland River, and as the sun sank lower, it left a golden trail of light rippling across the water’s surface.
    She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I’m afraid this is too expensive.”
    He mimicked her posture. “And I’m afraid that’s none of your concern,” he whispered back.
    She smiled, but at the same time she felt a nervous knot in the pit of her stomach. The same knot she felt each time she thought about what his reaction would be when she told him the truth about her parents’ art gallery, and how she’d forged the paintings. She would need to confess everything to Mrs. Acklen too, and planned on asking Sutton to accompany her, if he would.
    When the maître d’ presented the dessert menu, she almost declined, until she saw their house specialty. “Beignets, please.”
    “The same for me,” Sutton said.
    She waited for the server to leave. “This has been such a wonderful evening, Sutton. And such a nice surprise. Thank you.”
    He winked and sipped his water. “Only two days until the auction.”
    She made a panicked face, then grinned. She was disappointed that Mrs. Acklen hadn’t returned from Angola yet and therefore wouldn’t be bidding on her painting—a silly dream she’d somehow allowed herself to entertain. “Even if nothing comes from this opportunity for me, Sutton, I want you to know how much I appreciate your belief in me. And in my painting. How much I appreciate everything you’ve done for me while I’ve been here.”
    His eyes narrowed playfully. “Are you planning on going somewhere?”
    “No.” She laughed softly, that nervous knot twisting a half turn.
    A server poured their after-dinner coffee, and Claire sipped hers slowly, savoring the rich chicory taste. So like Café du Monde.
    “I don’t typically discuss business over dinner, but . . .” Sutton pulled an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. “I received this today.”
    Claire pulled a single sheet of stationery from the envelope. A legal document with the heading, The State of Louisiana v. Mrs. Adelicia Franklin Acklen. She didn’t comprehend all of the legal terminology, but she caught words here and there, and when she reached the final paragraph, she began to smile. She kept her voice soft, mindful of patrons at nearby tables. “You won the cotton case!” She raised her coffee cup in salute. “Congratulations, Counselor.”
    He touched his cup to hers. “We won for now, at least. I’m sure the plaintiff will appeal. But . . . thank you for celebrating with me.”
    Watching him, she saw in his eyes at least a portion of what she was already thinking. That while he was very good at what he did, practicing law wasn’t what he most wanted to do with his life, and she prayed again that God would open a door for Sutton to have his dream.
    She slid the envelope back to him, wanting to ask some questions about the case. But not in the middle of the restaurant, with listening ears close by.
    The server returned with dessert and Claire enjoyed every bite, resisting the urge to lick the powdered sugar from her fingers. Outside the restaurant, they discovered that Armstead hadn’t returned with the carriage yet.
    Sutton checked his pocket watch, then offered his arm. “Shall we walk for a while? Armstead will find us.”
    Claire accepted and fell into step beside him. “About the case you won, something I’ve wondered since reading about it in a newspaper article Mrs. Acklen saved . . .” She looked over at him. “Were you there with her? In Louisiana?”
    His smile came slowly. “I was, for some