A Lasting Impression

candidates didn’t look at you in judgment, Mrs. Acklen. Granted, some were overeager to impress you and had their priorities misplaced, but I didn’t sense any disdain toward you.”
    “Nor would I expect you to.” She glanced back. “You’re a man, after all.” She returned her gaze to the gardens in bloom. “But it was there. I felt it. With everyone . . . except her.”
    Sutton rubbed the back of his neck again, wishing he were astride Truxton right now, flying across the open fields. He would never understand women. Especially this one.
    Adelicia faced him. “Anyone else in my position would have done what I did. You said the same yourself.”
    “And I still hold to that, ma’am. You made the right choice in going to Louisiana. It was a difficult decision and one that’s had its consequences. But—”
    “Consequences I underestimated.”
    “But they’re temporary, ma’am. Give it time. You’ve only recently returned from your trip abroad. This prevailing attitude will pass. You’ll see.”
    He could tell she was tired by the slight droop of her shoulders.
    At her core, Adelicia was a very private person, and the interviews had taxed her. As had the past two years. The clink and rattle of dishes from the family dining room announced the dinner hour, and his thoughts returned to the reason for their conversation.
    “One last question, ma’am. . . . Why, if Miss Laurent knew she had the job, did she look so ill at ease when she left?”
    Adelicia pursed her lips and looked off to one side, and he recognized the reaction. Something was afoot.
    She absently touched the pin on the bodice of her dress. “She was thrilled when I told her she would be my personal liaison. But our interview ended on somewhat of a . . . more somber note.”
    “Somber, ma’am?”
    “My agreement with Miss Laurent is on a trial basis.” Her chin took a slightly upward tilt. “I told her that if she fails at the task I give her, I will terminate her employment immediately and see to it that she’s never hired in Nashville or Tennessee again.”
    Sutton exhaled in disbelief. “You should try being more direct next time, ma’am. Put the fear of God into her.”
    Adelicia waved his comment away. “She already has a healthy respect for the Almighty, Mr. Monroe. It’s belief in herself that she lacks. She needs someone to nurture that quality. To push her, if necessary.”
    “And how do you know that?”
    “Because when I look at her”—she hesitated, a fleeting glimpse of vulnerability shadowing her ever-present confidence—“I see myself . . . another lifetime ago.”
    Sutton was so taken aback by her honesty, he could say nothing.
    She averted her gaze, and her attention moved to the statue delivered the previous evening. She stared at it, her expression growing reflective. After a moment, she cleared her throat. “Have you any idea when the next statue will arrive?”
    Hearing a definitive end to their discussion, Sutton knew better than to push. And frankly, he was ready to take his leave. He’d already excused himself from dinner with the family, eager for time away from everything and everyone. But the statue she inquired about—the last she’d purchased in Rome—held special meaning to her.
    “No, ma’am, I don’t. But it should be arriving soon. I’ll check again with the shipping company.”
    “Very good, Mr. Monroe. Thank you.”
    He sensed a truce in her smile, and returned it.
    She started toward the grand salon, then paused. “One last thing, Mr. Monroe. Watch Miss Laurent closely. I don’t know what it is, but she’s hiding something. Or from something. . . . I can feel it.”
    He nodded, neither surprised at her observation or her request. He sensed the same thing. “Yes, ma’am, I’ll do that. I’ll conduct the usual formalities that we do with everyone who’s hired here.”
    “Very good. But I’d like to go one step further with Miss Laurent. She said she’s from New Orleans. I want you to contact a colleague in that area to verify that what she told me in her interview is true. You were standing outside the door listening . . . were you not?”
    He gave a not-so-sheepish smile. “Yes, ma’am, I was. I’ll mail the query this week.”
    As Sutton made his way across the estate grounds to the stables, and as he saddled Truxton and urged the stallion into a canter toward the lower fields, he thought again of Mrs. Acklen’s request. She wanted him to observe Miss Laurent,