A Lasting Impression

mother, her blood ran cold. “Uncle Antoine . . .” Of its own volition, the name left her lips.
    “ Bonjour, ma petite! ” Antoine rose from the settee, looking elegant and far too much at home in his surroundings.
    Mrs. Monroe scrunched her shoulders. “I love it when he talks that way. He’s so charming!”
    Claire stared, too stunned to speak.
    Antoine DePaul crossed the room and leaned in as though to kiss her cheek. But Claire turned her head. His smile never broke.
    “It’s been too long, Claire. How are you, dear?”
    She kept her voice low. “What are you doing here?”
    “I’m visiting my niece,” he said, loud enough for anyone in the hall outside to hear him. “After all, we’re family, you and I.”
    Heart pounding, she gestured. “I’d like to see you privately, please.”
    Antoine returned to the settee and took his place beside Mrs. Monroe. “I think I prefer this room, Claire. It’s so”—he glanced about—“ rich looking.”
    The thud of horse’s hooves sounded through the open window, and Claire’s heart dropped to her stomach. She looked out, relieved to see it was Zeke and not Sutton. If Sutton were to find out about her this way, he would think she was only telling him because she was being forced to.
    “Expecting someone, Claire? Perhaps the gentleman I saw you with last night?”
    Claire looked back at him.
    “Did you enjoy the opera? It looked as though you did from where I was seated. Below you, toward the back. Then again, the private balcony where you were seated was rather dark, and you did seem . . .” He gave her a knowing look. “Well, shall we say preoccupied at times?”
    Claire’s face heated.
    “Miss Laurent,” Mrs. Monroe said, apparently having missed what Antoine had hinted at, “tell Cordina to set another place so your uncle can join us for lunch.”
    “I wish that were possible, Mrs. Monroe, but”—she leveled a stare at Antoine—“he’s unable to stay for lunch. He has an appointment in town. Don’t you, Uncle ?”
    He met her eyes, seemed to debate his choices, then stood. “I guess I do need to be on my way. Madame Monroe—” He bowed and kissed her hand. “ Au revoir, my dear. It was a pleasure meeting you and hearing all about life here at Belmont. Pity I wasn’t able to meet Mrs. Acklen. Perhaps I’ll come back some other day.”
    “Oh yes, do.” Mrs. Monroe patted his hand. “She’s the loveliest woman. She and I are the dearest of friends.”
    Shaking on the inside, Claire followed him into the entrance hall, closing the door to the tête-à-tête room behind them. She opened the front door and gestured him through it, but he paid her no mind.
    He studied Ruth Gleaning, then made a show of looking around the room. “You land on your feet well, Claire.”
    “You need to leave.”
    “I will. Once I get what I came for.”
    “I’m not giving you anything. And you’re not taking anything from here either.”
    He inhaled. “On second thought, lunch does smell delicious.”
    “Please,” she said, hating the pleading quality of her voice. She closed the front door so no one could walk up on them unannounced. “You have no right to be here.”
    He raised a brow. “And you do?”
    Her grip tightened on the door handle. How many times had she asked herself that question? And she knew the answer, only too well.
    She felt so helpless, at his mercy. Was this what everything was coming down to? After she’d finally committed to telling the truth. After she’d begged God to make something more of herself than she ever could. She breathed deep, trying to still the trembling inside her. “I’m not painting for you anymore. Like I told Papa, I won’t do it.”
    He looked at her for a moment, then scoffed. “Of course you will. Unless you want me to speak with your employer—” he glanced at the portrait—“Mrs. Adelicia Franklin Acklen.” He spoke the name slowly, each syllable accentuated. “I’m guessing she doesn’t know yet about the family business we had in New Orleans.”
    “ Your business—and Papa’s. Not mine.”
    “You were just as much a part of things as we were, Claire Elise. You knew it then. And you know it now. I can see it in your eyes.” He shook his head as though pitying her. “You never were good at lying.”
    “Unlike you and Papa,” she said, fearing at any minute that someone would walk around a corner.
    He took a step toward her. “Mrs. Acklen is a very wealthy woman, and I