A Lasting Impression

and indicated for Claire to precede her.
    The instant Claire saw Mrs. Adelicia Acklen—seated on a curved settee in the center of the room—she knew that the artist who had painted the portrait of Belmont’s mistress in the entrance hall had not exaggerated his subject in the least. Mrs. Acklen was stunning.
    Though some years older than the woman depicted in the portrait in the entrance hall, she still embraced the qualities of a rare dark-haired beauty. Her complexion was flawless with a hint of summer rose in her cheeks, and she possessed an old soul’s gaze that an artist’s brush begged to immortalize.
    Even seated, Adelicia Acklen had a commanding presence. Unmistakably feminine yet undeniably formidable. And every one of Claire’s doubts dug in their talons and drew fresh blood.
    With a sweeping wave of her arm, Mrs. Routh inclined her head. “May I present Mrs. Adelicia Acklen. Mrs. Acklen, this is Miss Claire Laurent, here for her interview.”
    Claire curtsied, feeling like a pauper in the presence of royalty. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. Acklen.” She lifted her gaze. “ And to be in your home.”
    Mrs. Acklen gave a measured nod worthy of a queen. “My appreciation, Miss Laurent.” Her gaze shifted. “Mrs. Routh, would you see that dinner is served promptly at six o’clock, please? And that the children are present. It seems I’ll be venturing out later this evening, after all.”
    “Yes, ma’am. Dinner at six. I’ll tell the children.”
    “And ask Eva to ready my ivory lace dress, Mrs. Routh. The one with beaded pearls. I desire to dress before dinner.”
    “As you wish, ma’am.”
    Ask Eva to ready her dress . . . Was the young girl Mrs. Acklen’s personal maid, perhaps? Claire heard the latch of the door click into place behind her and noticed a second door, also closed, off to her left. She looked back at Mrs. Acklen, wishing she knew more about proper etiquette in such situations. Especially with someone of such vast wealth.
    But common sense alone told her to wait for Mrs. Acklen’s invitation before drawing closer.
    With the slightest movement of her hand, Mrs. Acklen gestured her forward, then glanced at the companion settee directly opposite her own. Claire swiftly took a seat where indicated and smoothed her skirt—or Mrs. Bunting’s skirt—all while attempting to emulate Mrs. Acklen’s impossibly perfect posture.
    A whiff of cinnamon and cloves wafted toward her, so homey and comforting a scent for such grandiose surroundings. Claire was tempted to take inventory of the room—the furnishings, the statue she could see from the corner of her eye even now, as well as the paintings adorning every wall—but she didn’t dare. Not with Mrs. Acklen staring so intently.
    Mrs. Acklen gestured toward a silver service on a side table. “Would you care for a cup of tea? It’s a special blend that Cordina, Belmont’s head cook, makes for us every fall.” A knowing smile hinted at indulgence. “I requested it early this year. I don’t know what she puts in it, but it’s delicious.”
    Claire opened her mouth to accept when three jarring images flashed through her mind—of breaking the delicate china of her possible future employer, of spilling spiced tea all over Mrs. Bunting’s best ensemble, and of not getting the job. Her mouth went dry at the thought of declining, but she shook her head. “No thank you, ma’am. But thank you for your generosity.”
    Inclining her head, Mrs. Acklen sipped from her china cup. “Reverend Bunting obviously thinks most highly of you, Miss Laurent. And since I think most highly of Reverend Bunting . . .” She smiled, her gaze observant. “That is why you now find yourself seated in my sitting room this late-afternoon hour on the final day of interviewing for the position of my personal liaison. ”
    Appreciating Mrs. Acklen’s French pronunciation of the word, Claire quickly gathered from whom Mrs. Routh had honed her penchant for being so direct. She also wondered whether the mistress of Belmont might not have an affection for all things French.
    If so, that could work to her advantage.
    Already, her back was beginning to hurt from sitting so erect, so she squared her shoulders and tried to appear at ease, and as if the future direction of her life didn’t hinge on the outcome of these next few moments. “I’m grateful for the opportunity to interview with you, Mrs. Acklen. Reverend Bunting and his wife have been most