Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

She had to admit to herself that some time-management software might’ve come in handy for such ongoing projects as the piano practicing, the needlework, and remembering to shake her vial of ink three times a day.

Chloe stood between Grace and Julia, who tapped her toe on the Aubusson carpet. Grace feigned a yawn. Chloe felt flushed and fanned herself.

Mrs. Crescent, who lounged in a green tufted Grecian couch, looked down at Fifi and petted him.

The butler looked straight into the cameras. “Before we proceed, I would like to remind Mr. Wrightman that Miss Tripp has ninety Accomplishment Points, Lady Grace seventy, and Miss Parker forty-five. Mr. Wrightman has to take into account that Miss Parker failed to finish her needlework task even after a request to extend the deadline was granted.”

Chloe felt the sting of that failure and she real y cringed to know that the public announcement of it was being filmed. She didn’t want Abigail to see it, for one thing.

“Al three of you have gowns for the bal already made and fitted,” said the butler. He rose up on his toes in his gold-buckled shoes. “But, only two of you wil be invited to attend. If you are not chosen, you must immediately pack your trunks and you wil be sent home tonight. The two that remain wil be attending the bal tomorrow.”

More than ever, Chloe wanted to stay. Surely, Sebastian wouldn’t have sent her that note if he didn’t want her to stay.

“Mr. Wrightman, if you please.”

The butler stood aside, and Sebastian came forward. He looked elegant in his dark coat and breeches and a white cravat that showed off his tanned face.

Sebastian lifted an envelope from the salver. “Lady Grace.”

It was like a guil otine slicing down. Chloe’s chances were suddenly cut in half. It was going to be Julia or her. Even though the note he’d given her had raised her hopes, this had al occurred before her pathetic pianoforte performance, and anything could happen now. Fear of being sent home ripped through her. She realized the worst had happened: she was fal ing for Sebastian!

Grace curtsied as Sebastian bowed, and the ostrich feather in her turban brushed up against him. Why her?! Chloe fumed internal y.

Sebastian gazed at Chloe and Julia, as if even at that moment, he hadn’t yet decided which one of them he would choose. Chloe imagined having to go home to Abigail. Abigail would be thril ed to see her, but also crushed to know that her mother had been sent home. She’d be even more crestfal en to know that her whole life would have to change. They’d have to downsize, move out of the city, and Winthrop, being in a better financial situation, might even be granted the holiday and summer custody he wanted.

“Miss—” Sebastian paused for the cameras. He glanced at the envelope with the red wax W and then at the two women. “Miss Parker.”

She could almost hear the French horns blaring triumph in her head. She felt tantalizingly close to victory, despite her pianoforte fiasco, because she was to meet Sebastian at the ice house. She said her good-byes to Julia, incredulous that Sebastian would let her go and Grace stay.

“Ladies . . .” The butler looked at Chloe and Grace. “Mr. Wrightman wil see you at the bal tomorrow night.”

Sebastian bowed, Chloe and Grace curtsied, and Chloe watched Julia as she didn’t bounce, but shuffled into the foyer on Sebastian’s arm.

“Good riddance to her,” Grace said, and brushed her hands off as if she’d just gotten rid of an annoying fly.

T he final task was the bal , and Saturday morning, Chloe put herself in the capable hands of Mrs. Crescent, Fiona, and even her chambermaid and a few random servants to help dress her, arrange her hair, fasten her jewelry, and make her up for the evening. She was as diligent as a bride dressing for her wedding, and it took a vil age.

Mrs. Crescent, alas, would not be going to the bal . She had to stay at Bridesbridge for fear of slipping in the mud and a superstition that a ful moon might induce labor. Chloe would be under the dark wing of Grace’s chaperone for the night, but even this didn’t daunt her. Final y, the anticipated moment arrived.

Lit by the moon, the remaining ladies of Bridesbridge Place, Chloe, Grace, and Grace’s chaperone, stepped out of their carriage in front of Dartworth Hal . Dressed in their silk gowns, ostrich feathers, and elbow-length white gloves, they stepped into mud thick as chocolate frosting from the day’s rain.

The rain and mud, combined with the lack of Julia’s sporting presence, not to mention Mrs. Crescent’s, conspired to dampen Chloe’s spirits, but she smiled in anticipation of her first bal in England, surrounded by English people with their English accents. And she quickened at the prospect of dancing with Sebastian even as she wondered at what to expect at the ice house.