So why was her stomach tied in knots as she waited for the front door to open?
When it did, a distinguished-looking butler stood there, staring down his nose at her. Baron Hilltop’s home had been small and far less imposing. The servants had all been friendly and relaxed compared to what she’d heard about the servants in the houses of the upper crust in London. Why, precisely, had she thought it was a good idea to come to London again?
“Yes?” the butler intoned, staring at her as if she were a chimney sweep with a sooty nose.
“I …” She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried again. “I’m here to see the Duch…ess of Claringdon, her grace. I have an appointment,” she hastened to add.
“Your name?”
Drat. Of course she should have given her name first. She has was a complete ninny. “Miss Er…Erienne Stone.”
The butler blinked at her slowly, his face registering neither recognition of the name nor the intention to send her packing. Servants at the finest households were apparently trained to show no emotion whatsoever. She’d do well to remember that for her next interview, because she had no intention of actually securing this particular position. Even if she were offered it, she’d be a fool to take it. She’d come here to please Mrs. Griggs, to gain some practice in the art of the interview, and because the sum of money Mrs. Griggs mentioned as the pay for being the governess in the house of a duke and a duchess was an amount that would more than pay for Peter’s surgery.
And very well … If she was being completely honest, she’d also come to see if there was any possibility whatsoever of learning the slightest piece of news about … Collin.
The thought had stolen the breath from her lungs, but she couldn’t help herself. She simply couldn’t. It was wrong and it was madness, but she hadn’t been able to keep herself from coming here today. The papers often held news about the duke and his dashing wife, but she’d found little about Collin over the years. She couldn’t help her curiosity. Not because she still cared for him. Never that. Their involvement with each other had been a lifetime ago. But merely because she … wondered about him from time to time. Was he happy? Was he married? Did he have a son with his own dark hair and green eyes?
The butler stood to the side and opened the door wider, scattering Erienne’s thoughts. “Come in. Her grace is expecting you, Miss Stone.”
Erienne nearly doubled over with relief. She stepped inside the grand marble-lined foyer and tried not to gawk at the exquisite room. A double staircase made entirely of marble and sleek, polished wood snaked its way up on either side of the cavernous space. White, shining marble floors spread in front of her as far as the eye could see. Highly polished wood tables sat on either side of the room with elaborate golden candelabras gracing the centers of both. The place smelled like lemon and costly wax, and a huge crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling between the two sides of the staircase.
The interior was sparse, but gorgeous and tasteful, a far cry from the tiny cottage at the end of the lane where Derek Hunt and his two brothers had grown up in Brighton. She’d always known the Hunt brothers were special, but Derek’s success made tears sting her eyes. She quickly blinked them away.
Aware of her gawking, Erienne snapped her mouth shut. She wasn’t certain she was dressed well enough to enter this house, let alone apply for employment within its magnificent walls. She was certain the butler’s livery cost more than the entire fourteen years of pay she’d received while working for the Hilltop family. She clutched at her simple white cotton reticule and glanced down at her serviceable white cotton gown and light green woolen pelisse. Her kid slippers were also white and also serviceable, but just last week she’d added small satin ribbons to the tops to make them more stylish. Now she’d never been more relieved that she’d taken the time to do something so frivolous.
“May I take your coat and gloves?” Not meeting her gaze, the butler held out one stiff arm for the articles.
Erienne hurriedly removed both items and handed them to the man, who set them neatly aside before saying, “This way.” He walked like a statue come to life toward two large wooden doors attached to the foyer.
Erienne scrambled behind him to keep up with his long strides, gulping and hoping he hadn’t heard the unattractive noise. No doubt servants in so fine a house didn’t do such vulgar things as gulp. There had been little to gulp about at the Hilltops’ house.
The butler knocked once before pushing open the doors and stepping inside. Erienne followed him and tried not to stare at the gorgeous lady perched on the settee in the center of the room. The woman had curly, black hair that was pinned atop her head. She wore a lovely emerald green gown and a smile brightened her pretty features.
“Your grace,” the butler intoned. “May I present Miss Stone?”
To Erienne’s amazement, the lady stood, hurried over to her, and grasped her hands as if they were reuniting friends. “Miss Stone, I’ve been expecting you. Please, come and sit with me.”
Erienne had no choice but to follow the woman back toward the settee.
“Please do bring tea, Hughes,” the duchess said.
The butler nodded, bowed, and took his leave.
The duchess resumed her seat and patted the space next to her to indicate that Erienne should sit there. Erienne lowered herself as gracefully as possible to the settee and blinked at the duchess. Did great ladies stand and greet potential governesses in such a friendly fashion?
Apparently this one did, but it was entirely unexpected. And to have tea ordered as if they were friends sitting down to gossip? Quite unexpected indeed. Erienne had heard the Duchess of Claringdon was beautiful and lively, but she hadn’t quite expected…this. The lady was beautiful, however. That much was true. Even more so up close. She had two different-colored eyes, one hazel, one blue, and her smile was both friendly and mischievous.
Erienne folded her sweating hands in her lap and watched the pretty duchess carefully.
The grand lady’s next words surprised her. “How old are you, Miss Stone?”
“Pardon?” Surely she’d heard the woman incorrectly.
“I do hope you don’t think I’m being rude,” the duchess continued, “but I wondered if you were near my husband’s age.”
Apprehension skittered along Erienne’s spine. “I turned two and thirty this year, your grace.”
The duchess tapped a manicured finger against her cheek and narrowed her eyes as if deep in thought. “And you come from Brighton, correct? That’s what your letter of recommendation said.”
“Most recently, I came from Shropsbury,” Erienne replied. Brighton? Had Mrs. Griggs mentioned Brighton?
The duchess frowned. “Have you ever been married?”
Erienne furrowed her brow. These weren’t precisely the questions she’d expected when she’d accepted this interview. What did her birthplace or potential marital status have to do with being a governess? “I’m highly qualified, your grace. I spent the last fourteen years with Baron and Lady Hilltop. They wrote me a lovely letter of recommendation. Would you care to see it?”
“Yes. Of course I believe you’re highly qualified as a governess, Miss Stone. It’s just that…”
The butler interrupted the duchess when he stepped into the room with the tea tray. While he went about setting it on the little table and arranging everything just so, Erienne shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Oddly, the duchess never once took her unusual gaze from Erienne’s face, as though the woman found her like some kind of compelling puzzle to be turned this way and that.
“Tea?” the duchess finally asked Erienne, mercifully turning her attention to the tray.
Erienne had never been served tea by a duchess before, but she felt it might be rude to refuse it after the woman had gone to the trouble of having it delivered. “Yes, please?” It emerged as more of a question than a request.
Perhaps fine London households did this sort of thing. Erienne’s friend Rebecca, who worked as Lady Hi
lltop’s personal maid, had worked in London previously. But Rebecca hadn’t mentioned any of these things. Now that Erienne considered it, however, Rebecca had worked for a viscountess. Perhaps a duchess did things like serve tea to servants. It all seemed quite odd and uncomfortable, however.
The duchess poured Erienne a cup of tea. “Sugar?” she asked.
“Yes, please, one lump.”
“Only one?” The other woman’s eyes widened. She dropped the requested lump into the cup and handed it to Erienne before pouring her own cup and proceeding to drop an inordinate amount of sugar lumps into it. “I adore sugar in my tea,” she explained with a laugh.
“I see that,” Erienne replied, raising her brows. Drat. She could kick herself for such an uninteresting reply.
“Now what was I saying?” The duchess lifted her teacup to her lips and took a sip. “Oh, yes, I asked if you’d ever been married. Have you?”
Erienne took a deep breath. Clearly the woman was interested in her past. Very well. Perhaps it stood to reason. Someone as grand as the duchess wouldn’t want to find out later that the governess she’d employed to raise her children had some sort of sordid history.
“I have not,” she replied quietly. I came close once. And I desperately wanted to. She shook her head. Where had those thoughts come from? She hadn’t entertained them in years. Being around someone who no doubt knew Collin had possibly served to dredge up bad memories.
Suddenly, a wild impulse to bolt for the door seized her. She glanced in its direction and forced herself to swallow another sip from her cup. She shouldn’t have come here. She needed to get this over with as quickly as possible, thank the duchess for her valuable time, and leave. There had to be a more suitable, less imposing position with a nice viscount or someone else available. She would ask Mrs. Griggs to send her on a more reasonable interview next time.
“Hmm. But you are from Brighton originally, are you not?” the duchess continued.
This was excruciating. “I was born there. Yes.” Erienne concentrated on taking tiny, ladylike sips of tea, one after the other.
The duchess narrowed her eyes on Erienne. “Do you know my husband? He was merely Derek Hunt when he lived in Brighton, of course.”
Erienne’s teacup instantly commenced a noisy rattle in its saucer, and she quickly set it on the little table and folded her trembling hands in her lap. How should she reply? Was it a coincidence that the duchess was asking whether she’d known Derek in Brighton? Derek couldn’t possibly have seen her name and remembered her, could he? Blast Mrs. Griggs for even mentioning her relationship to Brighton. Regardless, Erienne had no intention of lying to the pretty duchess. What would be the point?
“I do remember Derek Hunt.” She glanced away, out the window. “And his brothers.” She swallowed hard. That admission had been more difficult than she’d expected.
“Collin?” the duchess added, her voice almost breathless. “You remember Collin, don’t you?” When Erienne looked at her again, the woman’s eyes searched Erienne’s face intently, with what she could only describe as … hope?
This was worse than excruciating. It was torturous. Erienne took a deep breath and pressed a hand against her middle, which was lurching in consternation. Hopefully she could make it to the street corner before casting up her accounts. It had been a hideous idea to come here.
“Your grace, I’m not entirely certain I would be the best person for this position.” She tried to stand, but the duchess reached out, placed a hand on Erienne’s arm, and softly squeezed. “No, please stay. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Miss Stone.”
Her heart thumping in her chest, Erienne forced herself to sit again. She bit the inside of her cheek and prayed for the dignity to remain calm. How had the Duchess of Claringdon heard of her? How had the grand lady learned of her past with Collin? None of it made any sense. Surely she was in a dream and would wake any moment, back at her small bedchamber at Baron Hilltop’s estate, the birds chirping in the tree outside her window.
The duchess set her teacup aside and pulled a sheet of vellum from the table in front of her. She eyed it up and down and then turned back to Erienne. “You come highly recommended. According to Mrs. Griggs, your previous employment was with a boy and a girl in Shropsbury.”
Erienne expelled a sigh of relief. She could breathe again now that the interview was more customary. “Yes, Timothy and Evelyn. They were lovely children. I adored them.”
“I have a boy and a girl myself,” the duchess said. “Mary can be a handful at times. But I daresay even at barely two years old, Ralph is nearly as charming as his father.”
Erienne smiled at that. “Mary and Ralph. Those are lovely names.”
A smile lit the duchess’s unusually colored eyes. “Yes, we named them after my beloved aunt, and my brother who died in childhood.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Erienne replied, glancing down at her slippers. She knew what it was like to grieve for a sibling. Peter might still be alive, but his injuries had taken his speech and movement.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters, Miss Stone?”
Erienne lifted her head again to meet the duchess’s watchful gaze. “I have one brother. He was gravely injured in the war.”
“Oh no. I’m quite sorry,” the duchess replied, her voice softening. “So many fine men were hurt or killed in the wars. Derek knew so many of them.”
Erienne nodded solemnly. She picked up her teacup again and dared to take a sip. She should keep the conversation on topic. The duchess didn’t want to hear about Peter’s war injuries. “I’ve never worked in so fine a household as this, your grace. I’m not entirely certain I’d be qualified to—”
“That doesn’t matter to me in the least,” the duchess replied. “I quite liked what you said in your letter about being kind but also strict. Mary needs that.”
Erienne nodded. “Yes, well, I’m certain you’ve received many, many letters from far more qualified ladies than me.”
“The stack of letters was nearly a foot high,” the duchess admitted with a half-smile.
The teacup nearly toppled out of Erienne’s hand. “Are you quite serious?”
“Entirely.” The duchess sighed. “I still haven’t gone through all of them.”
Erienne settled her shoulders. “I hope this doesn’t seem ill-mannered of me, your grace, but why in heaven’s name did you pick me to interview if you have that many applicants for the position?”
The duchess pushed a dark curl behind one ear and took another sip of her heavily sugared tea, failing utterly to hide her sly smile behind the dainty cup. “Because you, Miss Stone, were the only applicant who my brother-in-law apparently used to be in love with.”
Chapter Four
The traveling chaise had barely left Collin near the front steps of Huntingdon, his brother’s country estate, when two footmen rushed out to gather his trunk. Derek came striding out of the house behind them. He stopped next to Collin and clapped him on the back. “I thought you wouldn’t be here until tomorrow, Coll.”
“Yes, my apologies for the early arrival. I’d intended to spend one more day in London, finishing some paperwork, but Treadway found me in my office and took the bloody paperwork away. I had to sneak around like a bloody spy.”
Derek threw back his head and laughed. “You are a spy, and apparently not a very good one any longer if you couldn’t elude Treadway.”
“I’d no idea he would hunt me down like a criminal,” Collin grumbled.
Derek laughed again. “That sounds like Treadway. Not to worry about coming early, though. We’ve only just arrived this morning ourselves. Come into the study and have a drink.”
The footmen scurried off with Collin’s trunk, and Derek led the way into the house. They walked through the fine foyer and down a marble corridor to the dark wooden doors of the study. The grand house smelled of lemon and turpentine. Obviously the servants had been hard at work preparing it for their master’s arrival
.
As soon as they entered the study, Derek immediately went to the sideboard and poured two glasses of brandy. He handed one to Collin before he took a seat behind the large mahogany desk that graced the center of the room. Collin accepted the glass and wandered to the window. He braced a shoulder against the wall, crossed his booted feet at the ankles, and stared off across the meadow toward the lake at the back of the property. God, it felt good to be in the country. Some of his resentment toward Treadway eased a little, try as Collin might to cling to it.
“Come for some relaxation, did you?” Derek asked, settling back into his large, leather chair.
Collin sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. “I had no choice.” He took a sip of brandy.
“What precisely did Treadway say to you?”
A grim smile played across Collin’s face as he glanced at his brother. “He told me I could do anything I wanted for the next fortnight, as long as it’s not work.”
“Then he caught you working?” Derek asked with a grin.
Collin lowered his brows. “It’s bloody ridiculous to force someone to take a holiday.”
Derek tilted his head to the side and regarded his brother. “It might do you some good, you know.”
Collin rolled his eyes. “Don’t you start, too.”
Derek contemplated the brown liquid in his glass. “I’m merely saying relaxation isn’t terrible.”
“It’s also not what it’s cracked up to be.” Collin took another drink, and this time it burned down his throat and settled hotly in his gut.
“I’m pleased you decided to pay us a visit at least. We’ll enjoy ourselves. Go shooting, riding, have a few dinners with the local gentry. Drink.” Derek lifted his glass with a smile.
Collin leaned his head against the window frame and sighed. “Yes, well, I decided if I must spend time away from work, I might as well pay my niece and nephew a visit.” He glanced toward the door. “Where’s Lucy, by the by?”
“Seeing to the children,” Derek replied. “She just hired a new governess, and she’s been busy showing the woman how she likes the nursery to be managed.”
Mr. Hunt, I Presume: A Playful Brides Story Page 2
