Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

She spoke as quickly as she could. “And I apologize for my bad reaction to the leeches. I just don’t appreciate being put under the microscope.

But . . . I have to hurry back. I didn’t want to break any rules, I just needed to wash up.”

“I understand. It’s better that you go back alone, and to get on Bridesbridge property sooner, you should go that way.” He pointed to the north side of the property. “Watch out for the ha-ha. Do you see it?”

“The what?”

She knew quite a bit about the Regency, but this was a new one, and she always loved to learn something new, although now might not be the time.

“It’s a four-foot drop in the land to keep the sheep and cows from grazing in the gardens. It’s reinforced by a stone wal and a low fence that you can hardly see. I’l tel you al about it when we have more time. You don’t want to run and fal into the ditch. See it now?”

She said yes even though she couldn’t see it. What she could see was that Mr. Wrightman was a knowledgeable and thoughtful man, and his little lecture had piqued more than her interest. She liked the way strands of his hair fel into his eye, and she almost reached out to brush them away for him.

“Once you hit the ha-ha, you’re on Bridesbridge property, and safe.” He bowed. “Hurry.”

She curtsied, hiked up her gown, ran across the field, and stopped dead in her tracks when she hit the edge of the moatlike ha-ha. A cow looked up at her from across the ditch and mooed. She made a running jump and crossed it. Mr. Wrightman had saved her.

Winthrop, too, had saved her al those years ago. That was how they met. She’d fal en into the water during a party on a Lake Michigan dock and he dove in, rescuing her. She waited months to tel him she ranked second on her high school swim team.

She brushed past the kitchen garden at Bridesbridge and the scent of dil permeated the air. The sound of women laughing and talking was coming from just around the water pump, and she stopped, not wanting them to see she had been out on her own. But a feathered shuttlecock flew over the shrubbery and a young woman in a pastel-yel ow gown and bonnet came pouncing after it with what looked like a primitive badminton racket. The shuttlecock landed almost at Chloe’s feet. Swooping down to pick it up, she handed it to the woman, who seemed to be at least ten years younger than her.

“Here. Toss it to me!” the woman said, readying her racket. At that moment a camerawoman emerged from the shrubbery.

Chloe tossed the shuttlecock and the woman hit it underhand over the shrub, and more laughter ensued.

“You must be the heiress from America.” She didn’t wait for a reply. “I’m Miss Julia Tripp.” She gave a quick and jaunty curtsy.

Chloe curtsied back.

“Come and meet everyone.”

Everyone?

Julia spun the racquet in her hand and led Chloe around the shrubbery, where four women sat under their parasols on a picnic blanket eating miniature sandwiches. Clearly, she’d missed lunch—or “luncheon,” she should say. Another cameraman stood off to the side and filmed.

“Ladies, this is Miss—”

“Chloe Parker. Pleased to meet you.” Chloe opened her parasol.

Julia retrieved the shuttlecock and began hitting it straight up into the air over and over while the women stared at Chloe. The only sound was the swoosh of the racket and the poing of the shuttlecock on the racquet’s strings.

Then Chloe remembered to curtsy and the women introduced themselves. They chattered in their various English accents and they al seemed so poised and lively. Most of al , though, they struck Chloe as young and carefree. Here for the sheer fun of it. There was Miss Kate Harrington, who had a very red nose and puffy eyes and sneezed a lot. No doubt the poor woman suffered from a cold or al ergies and couldn’t take her meds here.

Miss Becky Carver, the only African-English girl in the group, proudly announced she’d just celebrated her twenty-first birthday at Bridesbridge yesterday. Miss Gil ian Potts bemoaned the fact that Miss Parker had an amethyst necklace and she had just a silver cross. And why didn’t her parasol have fringe like Miss Parker’s and Lady Grace’s? But it was Miss Olive Silverton who noticed Chloe’s soaked hemline. “Miss Parker, whatever happened to your gown?”

Julia stil batted the shuttle around.

“Oh. That. Was an accident. If you wil excuse me, I have a letter to attend to. Pleasure meeting everyone.” She curtsied and turned toward Bridesbridge.

“A letter?” Chloe heard Gil ian say. “She just got here. I haven’t received a letter in weeks!”