A Lasting Impression

“No, ma’am, they haven’t. But I’ll be sure to stop by the train station when I’m in town and check again.”
    “Yes, please do that. And tell the steward to have them sent here. No need to continue making needless trips into town when there’s so much to be done. In fact, I have several contacts in New Orleans. We could wire them and ask them to check on your belongings and—”
    “No, ma’am,” Claire said quickly, panic clawing its way up inside her. The last thing she needed was for an acquaintance of Mrs. Acklen’s to visit the gallery where they had lived. “What I mean is . . . that won’t be necessary. I’m sure the trunks will arrive soon enough.”
    Mrs. Acklen looked pointedly at her. “If your trunks don’t arrive today . . . then other arrangements will need to be made.”
    “Other arrangements, ma’am?”
    “Yes, Miss Laurent.” Mrs. Acklen smoothed the front of her own immaculately pressed pastel dress. “We’re having dinner guests tomorrow night, and you need a suitable ensemble for that occasion. As well as an appropriate mourning dress.”
    Claire tightened her grip on the doorknob, summoning her nerve. “I understand what you’re saying, but I’m rather short of funds right now, and buying even one dress—”
    “Oh yes, I remember you saying as much. Not to worry, I’ll deduct the dresses from your wages.” With a fountain pen, Mrs. Acklen wrote something on a piece of stationery and held it out. “Visit this shop and ask for Mrs. Perry. She’ll assist you.”
    Claire took the fine linen paper and stared at the name of the shop, then the address, wondering why the street sounded so familiar. Her grip tightened on the page as realization dawned.
    “Do you have a question about what I’ve written, Miss Laurent?”
    Claire looked up. “No, ma’am. There’s no question. Thank you.” She opened the door to leave, existing solely for the moment she could close it behind her.
    “Miss Laurent?”
    Masking her dread, Claire looked back. “Yes, ma’am?”
    “One does not say they’re sorry when they have committed no wrong. While you were mistaken in thinking that your ideas for the party were worthy of serious consideration, you committed no wrong . Offering an apology for an offense and admitting you were mistaken on a subject are two quite different responses to two quite different circumstances.”
    Claire stared, waiting, wondering if Mrs. Acklen was finished. “Yes, ma’am. I understand. I’m sor—” She caught herself. “I’m so very grateful that you pointed that out to me. Thank you.” Sweat beading beneath her chemise, Claire thought she caught the flicker of a smile in Mrs. Acklen’s eyes. As she pulled the door closed, she looked again to be sure, and knew she must have imagined it.
    The latch clicked into place behind her, and Claire leaned against the doorjamb in the entrance hall and sighed.
    “That bad, was it?”
    She quickly straightened. Mr. Monroe— Sutton —was standing in the hallway leading to the grand salon.
    Gathering her wits, she shook her head. “No, everything’s fine.” She recalled his admission last night, and while having suspected his opinion of her, hearing him say he didn’t consider her qualified for the position stung.
    Determined to appear more confident, she pasted on a smile. “I’m simply weary from a late night. And I have a busy day ahead. So if you’ll excuse me . . .” She headed toward her room, not really knowing why. Only that she wanted to appear confident and as if she knew what she were doing.
    He fell into step beside her. “And what does that busy day entail . . . Claire?”
    “It entails going into town . . . Sutton.”
    “Have you requested a carriage?”
    She stopped midstride. “I was going to do that right now.”
    “Well done, then.”
    Aware of his deepening amusement, she took a step and glanced about, wondering where to go and whom to ask about a conveyance. Mrs. Routh had given her a brief tour of the main floor of the mansion last evening, but the head housekeeper had left the rest of the mansion to her imagination, stating rather coolly that “the family’s private quarters are upstairs.” Which Claire had taken to mean she wasn’t supposed to go up there.
    Sutton cleared his throat. “Eli would be happy to send for a carriage.” He motioned. “He’s out front.”
    Claire nodded. “Of course.” She should have known that. She headed toward the entrance