A Lasting Impression

it high as the girls clapped in excitement, and as the boys lowered their heads. Then she had an idea. . . .
    “As I give the girls their prizes,” she continued, knowing the boys would perk up soon enough, “I need the boys to form a single line down the stairs, starting with William, and then number off, beginning with one. Be sure to remember your number!”
    “What are you doing?” Sutton whispered behind her.
    “I’m improvising,” she whispered back as she distributed the unassembled kites and congratulated each girl.
    “Why does that frighten me . . . ?”
    Smirking, she pretended to ignore him. “Now, will the captain of the girls’ team please join me here.” The girl did as Claire bade. “And will the rest of the young ladies please make a line down the stairs as the boys have done?”
    Claire glanced at William to see whether the boy had figured out what she was doing. His sullen expression said he hadn’t, but she knew it wouldn’t take long. “To your left are special tables with fresh pastries and punch set up for you young men and women. As you’re enjoying your refreshments, I ask that each young lady seek out the young man who has her corresponding number. For instance, Miss Sally Forthright, captain of the girls’ team is number one. Likewise, Mr. William Acklen”—Claire smiled as a light crept back into William’s eyes—“is number one on the boys’ team. So, Sally and William”—Sally and William sneaked bashful looks at each other—“after you’ve finished your pastries and punch, your next task will be to assemble Sally’s kite and then take it for its first flight. Weather cooperating, of course.”
    She would’ve sworn the boys’ chests puffed out a good three inches and that the girls’ smiles widened the same. The slight bobbing of their heads told her both the boys and the girls were mentally counting down the lines, figuring out who their partner would be.
    “Quite the improviser,” Sutton whispered behind her.
    She reached back and tried to swat him, and missed. But she heard him laugh.
    The remainder of the afternoon’s events progressed even better than she’d imagined, and as the last carriage pulled away from Belmont at nearly six o’clock, Claire found herself utterly exhausted, and pleased beyond expectation.
    Claire chose to forego dinner and lay down for a nap instead. Still wearing her dress, she barely remembered her head touching the pillow. When she awakened some time later, her bedroom was awash in the glow of twilight.
    A coolness layered the air.
    She felt a hunger pang and squinted to see the clock on the mantel. Half past eight. Not as late as it felt. But as Sutton had said, it was getting dark earlier. She climbed from the bed, hoping Cordina’s stash of day-old bread would yield a roll or two left from dinner. That would be enough to last her until breakfast.
    The grand salon was quiet. A single lamp illuminated the room, its light swiftly surrendering to the shadows crowding the corners. Where was everyone? Voices drifted toward her, coming from the tête-à-tête room.
    At first she thought it was Sutton and Mrs. Acklen, but as she picked her way into the dark entrance hall, she realized the man’s voice wasn’t Sutton’s.
    “Lucius . . .” Mrs. Acklen’s lilting laughter carried through the closed door. “I don’t know where you get your stories.”
    “They’re not stories, Adelicia. They’re just my life.”
    More soft laughter. “I guess it’s the way you describe things that makes them so comical.”
    Claire smiled at the exchange, but . . . who was Lucius ?
    Not wishing to eavesdrop, she quickly turned to go when a darkened silhouette stepped from the shadows. She nearly jumped out of her skin. “Mrs. Routh!” Hand over her heart, Claire took several breaths. “You scared me to death, ma’am. What are you doing out here?”
    “I was in the study making certain the windows were latched, Miss Laurent. What are you doing out here?”
    “I just awakened from a nap. I was on my way to the kitchen when I heard voices, and—” Even without seeing the housekeeper’s face, Claire could feel Mrs. Routh’s disapproval. Would she never win this woman’s favor? “I came in here to see if Sut—” She caught herself. “To see if Mr. Monroe was here. But he’s not. And since I didn’t wish to eavesdrop, I was leaving to—”
    The door to the tête-à-tête room opened, and light poured into the entrance