A Lasting Impression

to add improper to her already somewhat tarnished first impression. It wouldn’t speak highly of her character, and she wanted the Buntings to think well of her. They’d been so generous. . . .
    Which only increased her guilt at not having been totally truthful with them about her circumstances. But how could she just come right out and tell them and still expect their help? She couldn’t. And she needed this opportunity. She needed this job! A way to provide for herself.
    She wondered whether her father’s death had changed Antoine DePaul’s decision about coming to Nashville. She could only hope that it had, and that she wouldn’t have to face him again.
    The buggy dipped, and Claire gripped the edge of her seat. “Thank you again, Reverend and Mrs. Bunting. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me.”
    “It’s our pleasure, dear.” Mrs. Bunting squeezed her hand.
    “My wife’s right. We’re happy to do it, Miss Laurent. But we’re only giving you the proverbial foot in the door. The rest is up to you. In the note I sent to Mrs. Acklen earlier, I relayed no specifics about you or your experience. I only gave your name and requested that, upon my recommendation, she grant you an interview this afternoon.”
    Which Mrs. Acklen had done without delay, Claire noticed. Which spoke most highly of the woman’s regard for the reverend. Mrs. Acklen had also responded with extreme brevity. The missive, written on fine linen stationery and in flawless handwriting, simply stated, “Dear Reverend Bunting, Request granted. I’ll expect you at half past four. Warmest regards, Mrs. Adelicia Franklin Acklen.”
    Adelicia Franklin Acklen. A very distinguished-sounding name.
    Mrs. Acklen was a widow—a very wealthy widow, the Buntings had told her—and had four children ranging in age from six to sixteen. After breakfast, Mrs. Bunting had shown her the previous day’s newspaper that contained the advertisement for the position.
    Claire pulled the clipping from her skirt pocket and perused the qualifications again, speculating on what questions might be asked during the interview and rehearsing what she would say.
    The advertisement hadn’t been listed with the other requests for assistants, clerks, and secretaries, but occupied a section all its own. Neither was its description abbreviated, as were the others. Apparently, Mrs. Adelicia Franklin Acklen wasn’t concerned with paying by the word.
    The title of the position made Claire smile. The list of qualifications did not.
LIAISON TO MRS. ADELICIA FRANKLIN ACKLEN

Desired: Young woman of impeccable character and pleasant disposition who possesses exemplary skills in letter writing, bookkeeping, and coordinating social events. Must be meticulous and thorough in nature, possessing initiative and maturity. Fluency in both English and French required. Résumé and recommendations to be reviewed prior to interview being extended at Belmont.
    “I know what you must be thinking,” Mrs. Bunting whispered, eyeing the newspaper clipping. “Does such a woman exist who can meet such expectations?”
    Claire folded the paper and slipped it back into her pocket, her confidence waning. “Yes, ma’am. That’s precisely what I was thinking.” What on earth was she doing trying to interview for such a position? She was detail-oriented and fluent in French, of course. That wasn’t the problem. It was the exacting tone of the advertisement that worried her. Such high expectations written between each line.
    She fingered the lace-bordered sleeve of her borrowed jacket, wishing she knew more about this Mrs. Acklen before the interview. But before she could articulate the thought into a question, Reverend Bunting slowed the horses and turned onto a side road, guiding the buggy through massive columns of chiseled limestone.
    Claire leaned forward, her focus inexplicably drawn, lured by the wealth of land and richness of beauty sprawling before them.
    Immersed in every imaginable shade of earthy green and sun-drenched yellow, the vista looked like something that belonged more on a canvas than it did in reality. Yet it was the mansion in the distance, rising in a flourish of mauve splendor atop the hill, that captivated her most.
    Reverend Bunting chuckled softly beside her, as did his wife. “Welcome to Belmont, Miss Laurent. The home of Mrs. Adelicia Acklen.”

9

    L ovely didn’t begin to describe the resplendence of the Belmont estate. Breathtaking came closer but