The evening breeze carried the scent of expensive perfume and fading champagne as the Sterling family's party wound down. I stood beside Arthur, watching guests trickle out through the grand entrance.
"Mrs. Dubois?" A gentle voice called from behind.
I turned to find Clara Beaumont smiling warmly at me, her husband Robert at her side. Unlike most of the other guests, their faces held no judgment, no calculating assessment of my worth.
"We wanted to thank you again for your kindness to our daughter," Clara said. "And to extend an invitation. Would you and your husband join us for dinner tomorrow evening?"
Arthur squeezed my hand reassuringly. "That sounds lovely," I replied, genuinely pleased. "What's the occasion?"
Robert's eyes twinkled. "We've had that photograph repaired—the one I mentioned earlier. It's quite remarkable what they could do with it."
"A photograph?" I asked.
