A Lasting Impression

and kept glancing out every so often. For the past few days, Mrs. Acklen had been intent on making certain everything was in order for the LeVerts’ visit—and for the dinner party being held in their honor tonight. The entire Belmont household was atwitter with anticipation.
    “I met with Cordina earlier this morning, Mrs. Acklen. We’re having all of Madame LeVert’s favorites, as you requested. Fresh coconut cake, warm pear and apple compote, Cordina’s pork loin with rosemary and thyme . . .” Claire rattled off the menu by heart.
    “And what of the guest list? No one has sent any last-minute regrets? Or acceptances?”
    “No, ma’am. The guest list remains unchanged.” Without being asked, Claire had made place cards for everyone who would be seated in the formal dining room—Mrs. Acklen, the LeVerts, Sutton, and Mrs. Hayes, Adelicia’s mother. Along with Mrs. Acklen’s brothers and sisters and their spouses. It would be a full table, and she was honored that Mrs. Acklen had stipulated she should sit in there too, instead of with Miss Cenas and the children in the family dining room.
    “ Hmmm . . . ” Mrs. Acklen said nothing for a moment. “So . . . Mr. Polk wasn’t able to alter his previous engagement?”
    “I guess not, ma’am. He hasn’t advised otherwise, so I’m assuming he won’t be in attendance this evening.”
    Nodding, Mrs. Acklen turned back toward the window.
    Though Claire would never have actually inquired about such a thing, she wondered what kind of relationship Mrs. Acklen and Lucius Polk shared. They’d seemed friendly with one another on the night of William’s party, and Mr. Polk had been to dinner at Belmont twice since. But Mrs. Acklen was a very wealthy, attractive widow, and that combination was bound to attract a good amount of male interest.
    Mrs. Acklen pressed closer to the window, and Claire leaned forward in her chair, sneaking a look out herself, eager for the LeVerts’ arrival too. Though for far different reasons.
    Following Mrs. Acklen’s comment a few weeks back about Sutton and Cara Netta sharing onion soup in Paris, she hadn’t heard Cara Netta’s name mentioned again until this week. And never in the same sentence with Sutton’s. So whatever relationship the young woman and Sutton shared—or had shared—apparently wasn’t of a serious nature. He would have mentioned something to her by now if that were the case. Especially in light of what happened between them the evening following her accident.
    Not that anything had really happened. Not outwardly, anyway. A warmth rose to her face. But the way he’d stared at her . . . She recognized that look.
    She’d received it on occasion from men whose attention she didn’t welcome. Sutton, however, was in a category all his own, and to think that he looked at her in that light seemed like too much to hope for. She appreciated how he’d sat with her that first evening, keeping her awake. Since then, he’d been working longer hours in town, leaving before breakfast and returning after dinner. Working on a lawsuit, he’d said. One that would keep him busy for several months. She was glad when she’d learned that. She’d begun to think that maybe he was trying to avoid her.
    “ Be careful who you love . . . ”
    The memory of her mother’s words rose like a warning inside her, and her thoughts turned to her father. Had her mother’s advice been more of a warning? Considering the kind of man Papa had been, Claire couldn’t discount that. In the same breath, if Sutton did feel something more than friendship toward her—and she thought he did—she knew her mother’s warning wasn’t needed. Because Sutton was nothing like Papa.
    Sutton was kind and honest and good, and he would never lie. And would certainly never try to coerce her to do something she didn’t want to do. Much less, do something that was wrong.
    His comment about not doing anything that broke the law had caught her off guard. She’d quickly realized he wasn’t serious, but the casual remark had reminded her again of the barrier her past was between them. While he might find her attractive—which was a nice enough thought on its own—she knew better than to put more weight on that discovery than it could bear. Someone of Sutton’s social status and upbringing would never seriously consider her, not if he really knew her.
    Still, the way he’d acted tempted her to hope . . .
    “You’re looking in full health these