A Lasting Impression

counsel. But she sensed a more personal bond there too. So securing his good opinion was paramount to making this a more permanent arrangement.
    “In the name of Jesus, we pray . . .”
    Claire quickly bowed her head again and closed her eyes.
    “Amen.”
    “Amen,” Claire echoed softly with everyone else, careful not to look in Mr. Monroe’s direction.
    Fork raised, Mrs. Acklen gave a queenly nod, and dinner ensued. “Children, I’d like to introduce Miss Claire Laurent. I’ve already told you a bit about her. She’ll be working with me over the next few days to plan William’s birthday celebration.”
    Claire smiled at the boy sitting beside Mr. Monroe, fairly certain that he was William.
    “You may remember that Miss Laurent was born in Paris,” Mrs. Acklen continued.
    Her daughter leaned forward and peered down the table. “We just got back from there.” Her lower lip pudged. “It’s so pretty!”
    Claire smiled. “Yes, it is. But it’s also very lovely here.”
    The little boy next to her leaned closer. “Mama knows the emperor of France. Do you know him?”
    “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him.” Claire sipped her lemonade, relishing the cold against her throat, as well as the boy’s short attention span and apparent affinity for sweet potatoes.
    “Miss Laurent, allow me to introduce my children.” Mrs. Acklen looked at the older boy seated to her right. “This is my eldest son, Joseph. He’s sixteen and will be returning to school. So he’ll only be with us through the weekend.”
    Joseph was a handsome boy with a head of thick, dark brown hair, and was undoubtedly the son of the man in the portrait.
    “William is our birthday boy. He turned eleven while in New York, on our way back from Europe, and I assured him that we’d celebrate in style upon our return.” Mrs. Acklen beamed. “Sitting next to you, Miss Laurent, is Claude, who is nine. He’s as sharp-witted as he is precious, so be on your guard. And this”—she patted her daughter’s arm—“is Pauline, who is six . . . going on twelve.” She smiled. “My children are my greatest treasures.”
    Claire looked around the table. “And I can see why. It’s very nice to meet all of you.”
    Joseph nodded, again in a manner much like his mother, while William eyed her with meager interest. Only Claude and Pauline offered welcoming smiles.
    Claire returned them, directing her next comment to the youngest Acklens. “Do you both enjoy attending school? Seeing all of your friends?”
    Silence rewarded the questions, and Claude and Pauline looked to their mother.
    “Actually, Miss Laurent, the childrens’ private tutor returns to Belmont in two weeks.” Mrs. Acklen’s tone, though genteel, held a touch of correction, and Claire nodded as Claude and Pauline let out yips of excitement. Mrs. Acklen quieted them with a hushing hand. “Miss Heloise Cenas has been with us for many years now. She oversees the children’s studies in remarkable fashion. I don’t know what we would do without her.”
    Claire started to say “How very nice” but decided that simply nodding again and concentrating on her meal was the safer choice.
    A moment passed, the only sound the tinkling of silver cutlery on delicate china.
    “I’m certain, Miss Laurent,” Mrs. Acklen continued, “that you’re dreaming up some wonderful plans for William’s birthday celebration.”
    Hearing a request in the woman’s tone, Claire hurriedly swallowed the bite of lima beans and washed it down with a gulp of icy lemonade, which rushed a chill to her head. “Yes, ma’am.” She smiled at William for good measure, though he still didn’t return the gesture, and she wondered whether the details were meant to be a surprise for him. “I had intended to discuss them with you first . . . privately.”
    Mrs. Acklen shook her head. “I think William would be interested in knowing what you have planned.” She glanced at her son, whose expression conveyed considerably more interest than moments earlier. “So . . . do tell us all, Miss Laurent. What are your thoughts at the moment?”
    Claire rested her fork beside her plate, eyeing her remaining sweet potatoes. She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “Well . . .” Excitement rose inside her as she imagined the scene in her mind. “Turning eleven is a special time in a child’s life, and . . .”
    She glanced at William, whose features instantly dulled.
    “And . . .” Scrambling