A Lasting Impression

and tugging nervously at her dress. “Yes, Mr. Monroe, you may. But please don’t allow your conversation with me to make you late for your opera.”
    Telling by the faint flicker in her expression, Sutton gathered she’d tried to keep the hurt from her voice, but a thread of it had needled its way through, and he felt its prick. “There’s time yet before we need to leave, ma’am. And, I promise, I’ll be brief.” He smiled in the hope of setting her more at ease, but the tiny lines at the corners of her eyes only knit tighter. “Allow me to extend my formal welcome to Belmont, Miss Laurent, as well as my congratulations to you on being chosen for the position. If I can be of assistance to you, I hope you’ll consider me at your service.”
    “That’s very kind of you, Mr. Monroe. And your offer is most generous.”
    Sutton studied her, wondering if she was aware of how truly poor a liar she was. Not that she was lying, per se , but she definitely wasn’t speaking her mind. Adelicia was right. That apparently took some coaxing.
    With silent deliberation, he checked his pocket watch. If the two of them were going to work together—which Adelicia had made clear they were, at least for the time being—they needed to get some things straight. But the grand salon wasn’t an appropriate setting.
    He glanced to where Mrs. Acklen was bidding her children good-night, then back to Miss Laurent. “The gardens are especially lovely this time of evening, Miss Laurent. Would you care to view them with me?”
    “That’s most kind of you, Mr. Monroe. But I have no intention of making you late for your plans. And I still need to be shown to my—”
    “Miss Laurent . . .” Apparently, he needed to take the more direct approach. “I’m requesting an opportunity to speak with you privately. I’d prefer to do that now, if you are agreeable. Or we can meet following breakfast in the morning.”
    Emotions flitted across her pretty face—fear, dread, and finally, begrudging acceptance. With a frown, she nodded, her auburn curls bouncing. He gestured for her to precede him, smiling at her back.
    Adelicia caught his attention and gave the faintest nod. He returned it. She hadn’t specifically requested that he have a conversation with Miss Laurent. It was simply understood that he would. Adelicia would view it as his responsibility to keep an eye on the young woman.
    The air outside was cooler, and he welcomed the breeze. The rainfall had ceased, leaving behind a world of deeper green and a veil of moisture that clung to every surface. He breathed in and caught the scent of Adelicia’s innumerable roses and was grateful the heavy days of summer were behind them.
    He offered Miss Laurent his arm as they descended the steps. She slipped her hand through, then promptly removed it the second her little boot touched level ground, which only renewed his smile. The poor liar, who had trouble speaking her mind, possessed an independent streak. Interesting combination.
    They strolled toward the main fountain and as far as the first tiered garden before he broke the silence. “I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me, Miss Laurent. And I’m wondering . . .” He peered over at her. “Would you like to go first, or shall I?”
    Her steps slowed. “What do you mean?”
    “I mean that we both have things we want to say to each other. I’ll go first, if you’d like. Or you may.”
    She came to a stop. “I’m afraid you’ve misread me, Mr. Monroe. I . . . don’t have anything pressing that I want to say to you.”
    “Are you certain?”
    She blinked as though checking her own thoughts. “Quite.”
    “Very well, then.” He motioned toward a gazebo, thinking she might like to sit, but she shook her head. So they continued their stroll. “First, may I say, ma’am, that I believe you handled the situation in the dining room with grace and decorum.”
    She peered up at him. “Yes, you may, Mr. Monroe. And I thank you. But . . . I doubt that’s what you brought me out here to tell me.”
    He let his smile show, appreciating her candor. It was a step. “You’re right. It’s not. The main thing I want to say to you, Miss Laurent”—he prayed he would speak with a fraction of the genteel honesty he’d always admired in his father—“is that, while I was not in favor of Mrs. Acklen hiring you for this position, I do respect her choice. And I was most sincere earlier when I offered to assist you in