A Lasting Impression

of laughter bubbling up her throat. Shocked he’d done such a thing, she was also delighted. What he’d said to her that day had hurt her, and she’d wanted him to know it. And, oh . . . how good it felt to be able to say what she’d wanted to say, in the moment she’d wanted to say it. And to have it elicit such a reaction! It more than bolstered her courage.
    She peered down at him and lifted a haughty brow. “If you’re just going to sit and stare like that, this is going to take all night.”
    Grinning, he jumped up, dusted himself off, and bowed low. “Consider me at your service, mademoiselle. But first . . .” He joined her in the gazebo again. All traces of humor faded. “Please accept my apology. It was never my intention to hurt you, Claire. Honesty is something I value most highly. But . . . I realize that sometimes I can be too straightforward.”
    Claire studied him. And it was all she could do not to open up to him. To tell him about the forgeries and the gallery and her family’s business. Contrary to the morning when they’d first met in church, she wanted to confess everything. And part of her believed that if she did tell him the truth right now, he would understand and forgive her.
    But another part of her . . .
    Told her how foolish that notion was. Sutton Monroe was an attorney-at-law. Laws she had broken. If she told him anything, that would mean the end of everything. And she couldn’t risk that. Because she had nowhere else to go. And no one to go to.
    “Apology accepted,” she finally said, knowing she didn’t deserve it. Or his kindness. On a whim, she extended her hand. “Friends?”
    He stared for a moment, then slipped his hand—warm and strong—around hers, looking as if he wanted to say something else. And then came that smile. “Friends,” he repeatedly softly, and gave her hand a firm shake.
    Over the next two hours, they toured the estate and hid clues for each of the two teams for tomorrow’s activity, writing them as they went. Twenty-four clues in all. And Claire was certain that if the partygoers had half as much fun as she was having, the party would be a huge success.
    They wrapped each clue in oilcloth, then tied them with a pink or blue ribbon. Then they stuffed them into crevices of statuary, slid them into chinks of loose mortar at the top of the water tower, and sneaked them into the bear house, where the black bear slumbering behind bars never even stirred. They stuck clues in the ironwork of gazebos, in the craggy arms of ancient magnolias, and placed one in the mouth of a stone cobra coiled atop a fountain in the conservatory.
    In the chill of the icehouse, Sutton climbed up a rock wall and left the boys’ clue protruding from a crevice where they would easily see it. Claire first hid the girls’ behind a large block of ice in the corner, but then thinking better of it, she stood, with Sutton’s assistance, on a block of ice and shoved the clue into a crack between two rocks where it, too, would be seen.
    Sucking on slivers of ice he broke off with a pick, they left the icehouse with only two clues remaining to be hidden. Claire fell into step beside him as they headed back across the estate to their last destination.
    Almost giddy from the magnificence of the estate and the variety of buildings and architecture, she sighed. “How did Mrs. Acklen ever dream up all of this?” She looked back downhill toward the conservatory. “She has flowers and trees in there I’ve never even heard of before, much less seen. It feels like you’re in a foreign land.”
    Sutton gave a nod. “She likes rare things. Beautiful things too.”
    “Did you already know Mrs. Acklen when she built the estate?”
    “When she and her late husband built it,” he gently corrected. “And yes, I knew her. Though not as well, of course, as I do now. That was about . . . thirteen years ago. My father was the Acklen family’s physician for many years. Adelicia’s late husband, Joseph, and my father were close friends. Mr. Acklen was also my mentor when I began studying law.”
    They walked in silence together, Claire letting that information sink in. She’d suspected a closer relationship between them, and this explained it. It also explained Sutton’s devotion to Mrs. Acklen. Adelicia, as he’d called her before, wasn’t simply his employer. She was a longtime family friend.
    “Here we are!” Sutton climbed the stairs to the building that would house their last