Mr. Hunt, I Presume (Playful Brides, #10.5)(5)

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 Hilltop’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.”