The overall impression was one of understated but undeniable luxury.
And this was just a hallway.
Emma clenched her hands more tightly together as she fought to find a source of inner confidence.
Snipes slowed and turned to gesture for Emma to enter a small sitting room.
“Wait here. Someone’ll fetch you.” Without waiting for her acknowledgment, the surly doorman turned and headed back the way they had come.
Emma looked into the room. The walls had been painted in a blue a few shades lighter than the hall. Two sofas sat facing each other, and the pale morning light flowed in through tall windows. A vase of roses softened the atmosphere with its subtle perfume.
Emma chose a seat where she had a clear view of the door with just a slight tilt of her head. The sitting room’s emptiness was disconcerting. She had expected to see other applicants. Did the fact that there was no one else there indicate the position had been filled?
Surely Snipes would have said so if that were the case.
The anxiety she had been holding at bay quivered at the edge of her composure. She could not afford to allow any room for doubt to wiggle in. She hoped her talent for calculations and her practice in countering her father’s reckless financial activities afforded her enough experience to avoid making a total fool of herself.
Fortunately, she was saved from going too far into conjecture over whether or not she had been rash in answering the advertisement. Though she had been watching the door intently, or perhaps because of it, she gave a start when a young man no older than Portia appeared. He wore the uniform of a footman, but rather than a colored livery, he was in all black with the exception of his snowy white shirt and stockings. The moment his gaze found her in the corner of the sofa, his youthful face split into a wide and winning grin.
“I was told there was an applicant for the bookkeeper’s position. Be that you, miss?” His voice was pleasant and his speech carried a subtle hint of cockney, though it was barely noticeable.
Emma stood with a nod, hoping she would not meet more of the resistance she had gotten from Snipes. “It is.”
“Right. This way then.” He gave a beckoning jerk of his head as he swung back around and headed down the hall.
Emma frowned. Despite his impeccable and elegant appearance, the young footman had a manner far too familiar for a servant. She had to take swift strides to catch up to him as he continued down the hall in a long, rolling gait. He led her past three closed rooms before coming to a stop in front of a set of open double doors suggesting a large, well-lit room beyond. As he lifted his hand to rap his knuckles on the door frame three times, he turned and tossed her a jaunty wink.
Emma blinked. Far too familiar for sure.
There was an immediate call to “enter,” and the impertinent footman made a flourishing gesture to indicate she was to go into the room.
Jittering nerves tickled her spine, but she stepped forward resolutely, determined to give an impression of confidence and competency.
A massive desk sat before a row of windows, taking up much of the room. With the light directly behind him, the man seated at the desk was cast into gentle shadow. He sat with his head bowed and his elbows resting on the desk, appearing to be quite focused on the paperwork and books spread across the surface before him.
“The applicant,” the footman announced unceremoniously as he stepped backward into the hallway, pulling the doors closed. He hadn’t even bothered to ask her name so she could be properly announced.
Emma was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room as she waited for the man at the desk to acknowledge her presence.
It took him a rather long minute to do so. Her toes started to tingle from limited circulation as she refused to relax her posture or shift her weight to become more comfortable. Finally, he straightened in his chair and slid the papers together into a neat stack before he leaned back and lifted his head.
Emma’s heart dropped to her feet. She found herself staring into eyes of the brightest, truest blue she had ever seen, surrounded by the unmistakable features of the notorious Mr. Bentley.
The intense focus of his gaze came to rest on her, causing her heart to leap back into her chest as it initiated an unruly rhythm. Only the instinct for survival kept her from dashing out of the room. How could she be so terribly unlucky?
If she had had any idea the advertisement had been placed by this man, she would have remained safely tucked in her bed that morning.
That he was the club’s owner also meant this was most likely the house of “moral corruption” Lady Winterdale had so scathingly mentioned.
With a subtle twitch of one dark eyebrow, Mr. Bentley asked, “You are here to apply for the bookkeeping position?”