A Lasting Impression

Claire an appraising look—“then perhaps we should reconsider the judiciousness of her appointment altogether.”
    Claire stared between them, waiting. Mrs. Bunting did the same.
    Finally the reverend laughed softly, seeming unbothered. “Of course, Mrs. Routh. You’re right. Miss Laurent is most capable of conducting herself with every manner of grace and decorum.”
    “Very well, then.” Mrs. Routh gestured to her right. “Would you and your wife care to reside in the tête-à-tête room until Miss Laurent completes her interview? We’d be pleased to serve you croissants and café au lait while you wait. Mrs. Acklen brought the recipes back with her from the family’s recent grand tour of Europe. The refreshments have swiftly become favorites of the Acklens, as I’m sure they will the city of Nashville once Mrs. Acklen introduces them at her next ball.”
    “How generous of you, Mrs. Routh.” Reverend Bunting’s patient expression never wavered. “Yes, we’d be pleased to accept your invitation. And the refreshments sound delightful.” Thanking Mrs. Routh again, he indicated for his wife to precede him into the tête-à-tête room, which Mrs. Bunting did, after smuggling Claire a last fleeting glance that said “good luck.”
    And that’s when Claire saw the statue on a pedestal before the fireplace. She hadn’t noticed it before because the Buntings had been blocking her view. Her eyes watered with emotion as all else around her faded.
    She was in the same room with a Randolph Rogers masterpiece. And not only a masterpiece, but his tour de force.
    She had seen this sculpture in print form before but never dreamed she would ever see it in person. She stepped closer. The smooth lines of the woman’s perfectly sculpted marble face, her expression poignant, so full of adoration and love. And the way Rogers had carved the woman kneeling, looking upward, her gaze beseeching, oblivious to her robe having slipped from her slender shoulder to reveal a rather shapely right breast.
    Which—enamored though Claire was with the statue and its sculptor—made her question the statue’s placement in the middle of the front entrance hall. Quite bold a choice of venue. But question of placement aside, Ruth Gleaning was Randolph Rogers’s first work and, in a widely held view, his greatest. She instinctively reached out to touch Ruth ’s delicately extended right hand.
    “Miss Laurent!”
    Flinching, Claire jerked her hand back, feeling oddly off balance. And completely out of line.
    Judging by the level-eyed stare Mrs. Routh aimed in her direction, Claire guessed the head housekeeper agreed. She also had a feeling the woman had asked her a question. One she hadn’t heard. “Yes, ma’am?” She curtsied again, in apology, then read further disapproval in Mrs. Routh’s eyes and wished she could take the curtsy back. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I—”
    “My name is Mrs. Routh, in the event you’ve already forgotten, Miss Laurent.”
    “No, ma’am, I . . .” Claire shook her head. “No, Mrs. Routh, I haven’t forgotten. I was simply taken aback by this sculpture. It’s so beautiful, and I’ve long admired—”
    “Belmont is an exquisite estate, Miss Laurent.” The woman’s left eyebrow arched in a way that looked painful. “And Mrs. Adelicia Acklen is a highly cultured woman of great wealth who possesses an unsurpassed eye for only the finest of art. You will do well to remember that.”
    Claire opened her mouth to respond.
    “ And to appreciate the art in this home for whatever length of time you are privileged to be in it.” Mrs. Routh’s gaze swept her up and down. “Which, if my guess proves correct, will likely be most brief.”
    Claire wanted so badly to say something in her own defense but knew it would only drive the wedge further between her and this woman. So she kept her mouth shut and her features schooled as best she could. Yet she couldn’t help envying the woman’s ability to speak her mind so thoroughly, without a hint of hesitation. How many times had she wanted to do that with her father? But never had . . .
    Mrs. Routh took a step closer. “Have I made myself perfectly clear, Miss Laurent?”
    Resisting the urge to blink, Claire met her gaze straight on. “Quite, Mrs. Routh. You express yourself with great clarity and directness.”
    “Acquired traits that would serve you well, Miss Laurent.”
    Claire might have taken offense at the counsel—had it not been