Mr. Hunt, I Presume (Playful Brides, #10.5)(3)

Collin scrubbed a palm against the back of his neck and kicked at a stone in the dusty roadway. A fortnight without working? Was that possible? Who was he without his work? More importantly, what in the bloody hell was he supposed to do? He could go to Brighton and visit his mother. She would like that.

But Brighton brought back memories he didn’t relish, and he could only be in his mother’s company for so long. She tended to talk incessantly and ask him repeatedly when he meant to settle down and produce grandchildren. It didn’t matter that his brother Derek already had two children, Mary and Ralph, while Adam had two sons, Frederick and Allan. Mothers had a habit of wanting grandchildren from all of their offspring.

Collin was already in a foul mood. Visiting Mother and being nagged wouldn’t help his disposition. No, he had to find something else to do. A holiday, Treadway had said. What, take the waters in Bath? Collin would be bored stiff. Travel to Dover and take a packet to Calais? He’d seen plenty of France during the wars, thank you very much.

There was only one thing he could think to do. Only one thing that wouldn’t drive him completely mad. His brother Derek, the duke, usually retired to his country estate this time of year. The house was large and comfortable. Collin adored his niece and nephew, and was quite fond of his sprightly sister-in-law, Lucy. He appreciated his older brother’s company and wise counsel. Besides, Derek was always up for talking about politics. At least Collin would be able to enjoy that, even if he couldn’t do actual work.

Turning onto St. James Street, he made his way to the building that led up to his second-floor apartments, opened the door, and jogged up the stairs. He pulled his key from his inside coat pocket and blew out a deep breath. Fine. He had little choice. He would take a bloody holiday, at Derek’s country house.





Chapter Three





Erienne Stone smoothed a hand over her middle, took a deep breath, and lifted her other gloved fist to employ the brass knocker that rested on the front door of The Duke of Claringdon’s town house.

She hadn’t expected to be chosen for an interview for this particular position, and now that she was here, staring at the black-lacquered entrance of the imposing town house, her insides were a mass of nerves. She briefly considered turning and hurrying all the way back to Mrs. Griggs’s offices.

Mrs. Griggs was a nice, efficient woman, and she’d promised Erienne she would help her find suitable work as a governess, but Erienne had no clue the lady would submit her credentials to the illustrious Duke of Claringdon’s household.

Erienne’s last place of employment had been in Shropsbury, taking care of two darling children for Baron Hilltop, a friend of her father’s. It had been a lovely time, the last fourteen years, but the children had grown up, as children tend to do. Lady Hilltop had tried to assist Erienne in finding a new position, but there hadn’t been anyone in the area in need of a governess.

Finally, Lady Hilltop had helped Erienne pack her small trunk for London and had given her an excellent reference to present to Mrs. Griggs. Mrs. Griggs owned an employment office in town, and Lady Hilltop’s friends had recommended the woman’s services. Erienne had taken off in a midday mail coach to London. That had been barely a sennight ago, and now here she was, going for her first interview at the town house of none other than the renowned Duke of Claringdon.

She might not have been so nervous if she didn’t know the Duke of Claringdon. Or, more correctly, had known him in her youth. But she doubted very much if Mrs. Griggs would believe her if she’d said to the lady, “I cannot possibly interview with the Duke of Claringdon because I was once madly in love with his brother.” It sounded insane even to her own ears, and she knew it was true. Besides, even if Mrs. Griggs did believe her, the woman might just question Erienne’s sanity for allowing a duke’s brother to slip through her fingers.

At any rate, that had all been an age ago, and Erienne needed work. She wasn’t about to mark herself as particular and troublesome by refusing her first interview. Besides, she highly doubted the illustrious Duke of Claringdon, the war-hero duke, the Duke of Decisive, as he’d come to be called, would even remember a young lady from Brighton who’d been in the company of his brother Collin a time or two. It was presumptuous of Erienne to think the duke would remember her name or her face, especially if she arrived on his doorstep in an attempt to gain employment from him. Besides, the lady of the house, the duchess, would most likely be the one interviewing a governess for her children. Erienne had little to worry about.

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.”