Mr. Hunt, I Presume (Playful Brides, #10.5)(15)

Erienne shook her head and bit her lip to hide a smile. She shouldn’t be enjoying this, but she couldn’t help herself. In her heart, she was still a girl who liked to look pretty once in a while. And the mention of diamonds made her the tiniest bit giddy.

“I have the most lovely matching silver slippers with bows on the ends to go with this,” Lucy continued.

“It’s not too much, is it?” Erienne asked in a doubtful tone.

“Not at all.” Lucy waggled her eyebrows. “You want to see the diamonds, don’t you?”

It was official. Erienne was Cinderella and Lucy was her fairy godmother. “Very well,” Erienne said, finally warming to the topic. “Show me the diamonds.”

Lucy gave a small squeal of excitement. She rang for her maid and asked the woman to gather a necklace and matching earbobs. Then she escorted Erienne over to the dressing table and forced her to sit. “I think a chignon for your hair tonight, don’t you? Elegant, but simple.” She picked up a brush, plucked the pins out of Erienne’s serviceable coiffure, and began brushing the long, blond locks.

“Oh, Lucy,” Erienne said with a laugh, closing her eyes and leaning back. “I know I’m going to regret this later, but it is fun, isn’t it?”

“One never regrets a beautification, dear. And the fun hasn’t even started yet.”

Erienne opened her eyes and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She finally allowed a large smile to spread across her face. She was thinner than she used to be. She was older than she used to be. Would Collin still find her attractive? Would she still find him attractive?

“So,” Lucy said, after the maid returned with the jewels. She held up the gorgeous necklace, and Erienne’s eyes widened in amazement. “What exactly happened between you and Collin all those years ago?”





Chapter Ten





Brighton, June 1807





Erienne tossed her schoolbooks aside and flew up the stairs to her bedchamber. She had just turned sixteen, and was bored stiff learning comportment and French when she’d much rather be outside in the fresh air, breathing in the scent of the sea, the wind whipping her hair. But today, today was a much better day than the long boring days before it, because Collin was back in town. He’d been gone to the army for nearly three years and was on leave for a fortnight. He’d written to her as he’d promised, letters that weren’t personal in nature because he knew her parents would read them.

Her parents were none too pleased with her infatuation with one of the Hunt brothers. The boys came from the family of a disgraced army officer who drank too much and treated his sons poorly, but that hadn’t stopped Erienne from falling madly in love with Collin. Of course they were only friends at first, but she couldn’t recall a time when she hadn’t admired him. Sometime around her thirteenth birthday, when Collin was sixteen, just before he’d left for the army, they’d begun a game. One of them would write something on a small slip of paper, a challenge. Whatever the words, the other must comply or forfeit.

Collin had slipped her a note when he’d seen her in church that Sunday. It contained only six words: Meet me by the sycamore tree. She hadn’t had to ask which sycamore tree. A huge one graced the area behind the church in the little grove just past the cemetery. She’d feigned the need to use the necessary and hurried outside to the tree.

It was there, as they wiped tears away from their eyes and said their goodbyes, that Erienne had lifted up on her tiptoes and whispered in Collin’s ear that she would love him forever.

Their first kiss should have been on her sixteenth birthday, but Collin was off training at the time. She’d written him in the code they’d developed. Every tenth word of their letters spelled out a sentence with their true feelings, and Collin had promised her secretly, by writing back in the same code, that he would kiss her for her sixteenth birthday present, even if belatedly.

Erienne had been working on her excuse to her mother and governess this particular morning. She’d begun bringing food and some old clothing to the poorhouse on Wednesday afternoons, after her studies ended, and she intended to do the same thing today. Only she planned to cut short her visit with Mrs. Elmsly and the other ladies at the poorhouse to meet Collin at their appointed spot.

Erienne’s middle was a mass of nerves as she brushed her hair fifty times, wrapped it into a chignon, and pinned it atop her head. She smoothed her hands down her white gown and pinched her cheeks to give them color. Then she hurried down to the kitchens to gather the basket Cook prepared each week for the poorhouse.

“Mother,” she called as she climbed the stairs to the main level of the house, “I’m off to see Mrs. Elmsly.”

A general affirmative sound came from the direction of the front salon, where her mother wrote her correspondence on Wednesday afternoons.

Erienne was out the front door and halfway down the street in minutes, a thrill of freedom coursing through her veins.

A short time later, she arrived at the poorhouse, not far from the church. She handed her basket to a grateful Mrs. Elmsly and asked how all of the children were doing, but she could barely contain her excitement, and it wasn’t long before she said, “Good day, Mrs. Elmsly. I must get back.”

She didn’t allow the woman to protest. Instead, Erienne hiked her shawl around her shoulders and hurried out the door. She made her way down the street as she always did, but when she came to the corner where the little whitewashed church sat, she went left toward the church instead of right toward her father’s house.