A Lasting Impression

joujou, ” Claire said, stepping closer. “At least that’s what we called them in France. It means little toy. With Eli’s help, I contacted a woodworker in town this afternoon. He was kind enough to carve a sample for me.”
    “Turn it over, Mr. Monroe,” Adelicia instructed, a smile in her voice. “See what Miss Laurent painted on the other side.”
    He did as she asked. And though he couldn’t explain why, he felt a stir of caution mingle with his surprise.

19

    S utton moved into the lamplight and held the joujou closer, astonished at the detail with which Claire had captured a miniature rendition of the Belmont mansion. The tiny replica of the manor, painted on the joujou in a ruddy hue identical to the original, included the white columns, the balconies with black cast-iron trim, the cupola and parapets, even the statues adorning the roofline.
    He studied it more closely, then realized . . . while she had depicted the major architectural details of the mansion, she’d somehow also captured that swept-away feeling one experienced when first glimpsing the magnificent estate. And on the side of a child’s toy, no less. No wonder Adelicia was pleased.
    He would have been pleased too, if not for a lingering sense of doubt about Claire. Mrs. Routh’s comments from moments earlier only fed that concern.
    “You painted this, Miss Laurent?” Hearing the disbelief in his own voice, he rushed to clarify. “I mean no disrespect, I assure you. I’m simply . . . surprised. And impressed.”
    “No offense taken, Mr. Monroe.” Appreciation lit Claire’s features. “I’m glad you’re pleased. That you’re both pleased. As Mrs. Acklen and I were just discussing, the theme of the party will be Hidden Treasures. All of the games and party favors will center around that theme. We’ll put each joujou in the bottom of a drawstring bag, and then fill each bag with candy.”
    “And . . .” Adelicia reached for something on the table behind her. “We’ll also be giving these away. It’s called a bombonnière, which is French for sweet box . It was Miss Laurent’s idea to paint them with a picture of the mansion as well, as you can see.” She indicated the scene Claire had painted on the lid, similar to the one on the toy, only larger. “We’ll give them to parents as a token of our thanks, and inside—hidden away like a treasure—will be a mixture of sugared almonds and roasted cashews.”
    “Well done, ladies.” Sutton had to admit, the theme was brilliant. “It appears as though you have everything planned, and all in typical Belmont fashion.”
    “We do indeed.” Claire’s exuberance hinted at anticipation that Sutton wished he could share at the moment. As he helped her gather her items into a box, he considered that she probably had no idea how important this children’s party was to Adelicia. It wasn’t simply a birthday party for William. It was the first small step in Adelicia’s reintroduction to society since the family had returned from Europe.
    The grand tour had been the talk of Nashville while they’d been gone, or so he’d been told. And the lavish redecoration of the mansion and refurbishing of the gardens that Adelicia set into motion before leaving had only fueled the gossip. For months. So he especially appreciated Claire’s attention to the details.
    With a gracious curtsy, Claire bid them good night. And the fleeting backward glance she gave him at the door did his heart more good than it should have.
    Adelicia immediately turned to him, but Sutton waited for a moment. He crossed the study, peered outside into the quiet hallway, and closed the door. He knew better than to sugarcoat the news. Adelicia always preferred the straightforward approach.
    He pulled the envelope from his pocket and held it out. “It’s from the attorney in St. Francisville, Louisiana. The district court has ruled that you must pay Mr. Alexander Walker twenty-five thousand dollars for his assistance in the sale of the cotton.”
    Stone-faced, Adelicia took the envelope, seated herself in her chair, and read the letter. Then she promptly refolded it, saying nothing. But Sutton could almost hear her thoughts from across the room.
    He claimed the chair beside her. “We knew there was a chance of this happening.”
    Her lips firmed. “Mr. Walker’s wife met us in New Orleans that morning over two years ago. She accepted the payment of five hundred dollars on behalf of her husband’s