A Lasting Impression

hall.
    Sutton followed. “Ask for Armstead, Mrs. Acklen’s coachman. I’d be happy to accompany you too, if you desire.”
    “No,” Claire said quickly, a little too quickly, she realized after the fact. “Thank you, Sutton, but . . . I imagine your day is rather full, and I have several errands.” One of which she was still debating the wisdom of making, but she certainly couldn’t see to if he were along.
    “I understand.” He motioned for her to precede him into the entrance hall. “Have you decided on a theme for the party yet?”
    She gave him a look, and he held up his hands as if declaring a truce. “It was merely a question.”
    “I’m still working on it. But I’m getting closer.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Even though she still had no clue what she was going to do, she was getting closer simply by the process of elimination. The cumulative number of ideas inhabiting the universe pertaining to children’s birthday parties was shrinking rapidly due to their lack of appeal to Adelicia Acklen. Which therefore meant she was getting closer.
    The door to the library opened, and Mrs. Acklen stepped out. Claire sucked in a breath.
    “Oh, Mr. Monroe, I’m glad you’re here. I just opened a telegram. . . .” Mrs. Acklen held up a piece of paper. “It’s one I believe you’ll find most encouraging.” With a nod, she included Claire in the conversation, and Claire saw a definite glimmer in her eyes this time. “The LeVerts will be departing New York soon and have requested to break their journey at Belmont. They’ll be here the first week of October.”
    “October . . . That’s barely three weeks away.” Sutton’s voice had changed somehow. “That is wonderful news.”
    Claire looked beside her. She didn’t know Sutton well, by any means. But she knew him well enough to know he didn’t truly consider that wonderful news.
    Mrs. Acklen folded the telegram. “Miss Laurent, the LeVerts are a fine family with whom we traveled while in Europe. Madame LeVert is a dear friend, and she tells me that her daughters will be in her company as well.” She gave Sutton’s arm a quick pat. “I should ask Cordina to prepare onion soup like you and Cara Netta shared that one evening. Remember? At the café near the Louvre. It will be like Paris all over again.”
    Sutton agreed, returning her smile, but his exuberance seemed forced. In fact, it appeared he was rather uncomfortable about the LeVerts’ visit.
    The only question Claire had, much to her surprise, was who was Cara Netta?
    Claire hated to admit it, but Mrs. Acklen had been right. If she had tried to walk into town, it would have been a disaster. The roads were a mucky mess of mud and dung. Simply walking across the street without slipping or stepping in something vile was an accomplishment. And the smell . . .
    She grimaced, dodging a pile of something she didn’t care to dwell on. The afternoon’s warming temperatures were only making conditions worse.
    “Here, ma’am—” The carriage driver jumped down from his perch. “Let me take that for you.”
    Claire handed him the package. “Thank you, Armstead.” She accepted his outstretched hand and did her best to knock the mud from her boots before climbing into the carriage. The same carriage she’d seen Sutton get into at the train station. She’d known from the carriage’s exterior that it was nice. But inside . . . Supple leather and thick crushed velvet. The definition of elegance.
    “You ready to head back now, Miss Laurent?”
    Claire peered out the window and down Elm Street, still debating. She breathed out, barely able to read the name Broderick Shipping and Freight on the sign above the door at the far end of the avenue. Something inside told her to go back to Belmont, as Armstead suggested.
    But she wanted her mother’s locket, and it grated on her to think of a man like Samuel Broderick having it. If he still did.
    She’d already done her shopping and had stopped by the train station. According to their records, no trunks had arrived in her name, which led her to think that Antoine DePaul hadn’t arrived either.
    Looking down the avenue, she weighed her options, and finally decided. “I have one more stop to make, if you don’t mind, Armstead. It’s down this street a short way.”
    “Wherever you wanna go, ma’am. Just say the word.”
    When the carriage reached the corner, Claire rapped on the side of the door as Armstead had told her to do. He stopped the