Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

She’d just gotten dressed. Fifi wagged his tail at her.

Chloe sidestepped away from the pugly thing, setting her halved tiara on the game table next to the queen of hearts. “Excuse me, Mrs. Crescent.

My diamond tiara broke in the carriage ‘accident,’ and oh, by the way, why didn’t you tel me that Henry’s the wrong Mr. Wrightman? That Sebastian’s the right Mr. Wrightman?” Fifi rubbed up against her leg and she gently pushed him away with her foot.

Mrs. Crescent stood to tuck the dangling ribbon into Chloe’s hair. “My dear, I thought you knew Henry was the younger brother.”

It turned out that Mrs. Crescent was very forgetful. She thought she’d told Chloe there were two Wrightman brothers while she was giving her the tour of Bridesbridge.

W inthrop would forget to tel her things, too, after Abigail was born. He’d forget to tel her little things like “I’m working late tonight” and big things like

“I canceled our vacation because something came up at work.” After that big argument, he suggested she check her e-mail more than once a week and he began sending her e-mails about the big, the little, and everything in between. Chloe agreed. She didn’t realize that he’d never cal her from work anymore, he’d just e-mail. Or CC or forward her own e-mails. Which would’ve been fine during work hours, but since he was a workaholic, she’d get an eight o’clock e-mail instead of an eight o’clock phone cal . When he was on the road and Abigail was older, he would send Abby e-mails, too. He was in Hong Kong on business for a week and that was when Chloe forgot. She forgot what his voice sounded like.

O f course Henry’s not the Mr. Wrightman. You’re not ready to meet him yet,” Mrs. Crescent said to Chloe.

If she only knew.

“You need to be groomed to meet a man of his caliber.” She stood back and eyed Chloe from head to toe. “We’l need to smooth off the rough edges.”

Chloe folded her arms and smirked. She was so thril ed that Sebastian was the real Mr. Wrightman, not even that remark could bring her down.

“Stil , Fifi and I are so glad to see you so passionate about Mr. Sebastian Wrightman. That means you’l want to win!”

“Oh, I want to win, al right.”

“Wonderful! We’l start by learning how to mend a pen for five Accomplishment Points.”

“But Mr. Darcy prefers to mend his own pen.”

“Mr. Wrightman, however, may not. One must be prepared.”

Chapter 6

A fter the pen-mending lesson that involved a goose quil , a penknife, and considerable patience, Chloe, from sheer exhaustion, had conked out, missed dinner, and slept right through to the next morning. Stil , she earned the five Accomplishment Points for the task. When she woke, she found Henry’s handkerchief crumpled under the quilt next to her, and she chucked it into the drawer of her washstand.

Maybe today she could get with the program, the one with Mr. Sebastian Wrightman as the star. She and al the women sat at the table in the robin’s-egg-blue breakfast room dressed in their morning gowns. Chloe looked around and determined that she was the oldest, the Anne El iot of the crowd.

“Ladies . . .” The butler discreetly interrupted the chatter.

The women had been talking about “Mr. Wrightman,” Sebastian, of course. Nobody spoke of Henry. Each girl had some glowing thing or another to say about Sebastian, and they al tried to read between the lines of his actions and discern his feelings for them. From what Chloe had gathered since her arrival, and coupled with the bio she had read back in Chicago, she began to piece together his character.

She knew the type. He was upper-crust, intel igent, and reserved. Proper, but probably a softy underneath, and perhaps in need of a bit of reform, like Mr. Darcy himself. Clearly, he hadn’t met the right woman yet, and he might be a tough one to crack, but a fun, smart American woman like herself was up to the task. She couldn’t wait to meet him official y and figure him out for herself.

“We have an exciting day lined up for you at Bridesbridge Place,” the butler continued. One camera focused on him while another filmed the women.

Chloe had to smirk at the staginess of this butler-as-host thing. She pushed her cold beef and dry toast around on her plate. The women had been quick and used up what little butter there was while she was stil getting her food at the sideboard. Butter proved scarce, as the kitchen maids had to milk the cows and churn it by hand, and Chloe felt for them and al of the staff. But, just like Fiona, most of the staff went home at night. They were, for the most part, Mrs. Crescent told Chloe, aspiring actors, and they couldn’t compete for Mr. Wrightman or the prize money, but they got to sleep in their own comfortable beds at night, enjoy the pleasures of plumbing, and eat a decent breakfast.