Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

A cameraman cut from Lady Martha to Chloe as she watched Sebastian and Henry bow to Grace.

Grace’s chaperone looked over her capped-sleeve shoulder at Chloe. “That would mean you come in behind us.” She glanced at Chloe’s slippers. “Go to the cloakroom and have a maid repair your lace. You cannot enter the bal room looking like that.”

A group of people dressed in bal room attire sauntered past Chloe. One of the pink ribbons strapped around her ankle had broken. She looked up and saw Sebastian leading Grace and her chaperone into the glowing bal room. Henry greeted the crowd with a smile and a handshake.

If she went back to the cloakroom now, she’d miss the opening minuet, and that was probably exactly what Grace and her chaperone had planned, even though Chloe, as she knew ful wel , had to sit out the first dance in punishment for her mishap at the archery competition. She ducked into an alcove, knelt down to fix the lace, and the camera was on it. Or was the camera on her cleavage? There. She’d fixed it. She stood up and flashed a fake smile at the camera. But she couldn’t enter the bal room without a chaperone—she knew that.

The footmen stood like soldiers guarding the archway. The cameraman filmed her biting her lower lip. Another crowd of bal goers passed by.

Who were these people? Townfolk? Actors?

She stood awkwardly and pretended to check for something in her reticule when a whiff of garlic hit her. It was Cook dressed in a high-cut green silk gown and white gloves, her silvery hair held in place by a peacock-feathered hair band. Her blue eyes twinkled. “What’s the bel e of the bal doing out here?” She held out her arm.

Chloe took it in her own. “You don’t want to know. I’m so happy to see you here. You look—gorgeous.”

“Might I be your chaperone for the evening?”

Chloe beamed. Together they headed toward the anteroom.

“Tonight, at least for a little while, I’m a card-carrying member of the wel -to-do Ton. You know. Society with a capital S.”

“I know what the term Ton means,” Chloe said. “And you more than qualify, as far as I’m concerned.”

Cook patted Chloe’s hand with her fan and lowered her voice to a whisper. “George had everyone at Bridesbridge dress as society for the bal .

It’s fabulous, but sad, in a way, too. The show’s almost over.”

“The show?” Chloe was always surprised when Cook stepped out of her Regency character. She wasn’t at al like Mrs. Crescent in that regard.

Then again, this could be another test.

“The reality show. The little charade.”

Chloe just smiled.

Henry and Sebastian both turned toward them. Henry flicked the hair out of his eye and Sebastian adjusted his cravat.

Both men smiled at her. It had started out as a show. A way to score some money. But what was it now? Chloe’s heart was on the line and it felt as fragile as a Regency-era Wedgwood teacup. First Henry bowed, then Sebastian. Sebastian escorted Cook into the anteroom, and seemed to slight Chloe. But why? Had her eye lingered too long on Henry when he bowed?

“So glad you could join us, Miss Parker.” Henry offered his arm. “Before I escort you to the bal , would you like to see the library here at Dartworth

—just for a minute? It’s right over there. You don’t need a chaperone with al these people mil ing about.”

Chloe hesitated. “I don’t want to miss the minuet, even though I have to sit it out.”

“You won’t. I promise.”

As excited as she was about the bal , this might be her last chance to see the Dartworth library. She stopped. “This isn’t code for showing me your etchings, is it?”

“Maybe.”

“Is this some kind of test? Because I won’t do anything to put my relationship with your brother in jeopardy. You must know, Mr. Wrightman, where my affections lie.”

“I do.”

Once Chloe walked into the library, she had to catch her breath. Hundreds and hundreds of candles had been lit and careful y placed around the room. The leather-bound books with gold- and silver-embossed titles on the bindings glistened in the candlelight. And, in tiny vases everywhere, were flowers from the heirloom cutting garden at Dartworth. Larkspur, snapdragons, bachelor’s buttons, lilies, and foxgloves perfumed the air and seemed to sprinkle their colors against the dark wood paneling.

“It’s—it’s amazing. Did Sebastian do this?”

“I did.”

“You did?”

Henry nodded. “I did it for you. And this is for you, too. I’l have a footman run them over tomorrow.”

He placed three leather-bound books in her hands. Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility in three volumes.

She ran her gloved fingers along the letterpressed title.

“Someday our kids wil laugh about these things cal ed ‘books.’”

Chloe got stuck on his saying “our kids.”

“Good thing we’re both wearing gloves. It’s a first edition,” he said.

Chloe handed the books back to him. “I can’t accept them. They’re worth a fortune. I can’t accept any of this.”