Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

Chloe’s shoulders slumped with relief. He got it, she realized. He got her. Maybe he even believed her story about the condom, and about her lack of feelings for Henry. She stumbled, but didn’t fal on the edge of the carpet. Behind her, as she padded toward Sebastian, she could hear Kate blowing her nose.

Sebastian looked down on her with a half smile. “Miss Parker, wil you accept this invitation to stay on?”

“I do.” Chloe took the envelope. The heft of the handmade paper in her hand felt good and right. “I—I mean I wil !” She laughed. He crinkled his nose, and remembering both her bad breath and nineteenth-century protocol, she fumbled a curtsy as she breathed out of her nose. He bowed. As much as she wanted to talk to Sebastian, to stay with him, she forced herself to turn and walk back to her spot. It was enough to know that he trusted her. Now that the trust was there, they could build on it—spires into the sky.

“Ladies,” said the butler. “Mr. Wrightman has made his decision. You may say your good-byes.”

This time, the good-byes were not as difficult for Chloe. Imogene had been her closest friend here, and she was gone. Gil ian and Kate, by comparison, were easy to let go.

“Miss Potts, Miss Harrington, your carriage is waiting,” said the butler.

Sebastian turned to Chloe, Grace, and Julia. “Good night, ladies. I look forward to our next encounter.” With that, he escorted Gil ian and Kate out the door.

Outside the sash windows, the afternoon sun was fading fast and maids began to scurry around inside to light the candles while footmen lit the torches outside. Grace sat down at the pianoforte and pounded out an English reel. A maid set a candelabrum on the piano and lit it.

Mrs. Crescent waddled over to Chloe, fanning herself from face to pregnant bel y. The white ruffles of her cap wagged right along with Fifi’s tail. “I don’t know how you managed it.” She squeezed Chloe’s hand.

She’d managed it by sacrificing Henry, and already she began concocting ways to rectify that situation. He, and his good opinion of her, meant more to her than she had thought, and it made the victory bittersweet.

The carriage pul ed away from the house, lumbering toward the road.

“Whatever could be wrong?” Mrs. Crescent asked.

“I’m missing—a friend,” Chloe said.

“Miss Wel s? She was never your friend,” Mrs. Crescent whispered.

That wasn’t who she’d been thinking of. Wait a minute. “She wasn’t?”

Mrs. Crescent shook her head. “We’re not here to make friends. Nobody’s here to make friends. Nobody here is your friend! It’s not about friendship; we’re here to win. And we’re on our way. Wel done! Let’s go. We have needlework to do.” She nodded toward the hal .

“But it’s Sunday—bath day, right? I’ve been looking forward to a bath!”

Mrs. Crescent shook her head. “No, dear, due to the foxhunt, bath day has been postponed.”

“Postponed? Until when?! How much longer can a girl wait?” Chloe was beside herself.

“Waiting, dear,” Mrs. Crescent declared, “is the name of the game.”

Chapter 11

C hloe took a candelabrum into the dark hal , stopping by a painting of roses to wait for Mrs. Crescent and Fifi. The candlelight seemed to il uminate the thorns in the painting more than it did the roses, and Chloe felt a chil come over her.

The cameras weren’t fol owing them, so as soon as Mrs. Crescent and Fifi caught up to her, Chloe spoke quickly. “I was terribly rude and unladylike to Henry. I need to set things straight.” She blew out a candle with her breath. A wisp of smoke curled between them.

“My dear Miss Parker, you won this round. Lord knows how, but you won it. With the new Accomplishment Points you’ve gained, you’ve earned another outing with Mr. Wrightman. You’re leading the way with forty points. There’s no need to talk to Henry.”

“But Henry’s an important al y. He could influence Sebastian against me. It’s a delicate situation.”

A footman sped by while she was speaking, his livery coat askew, cravat untied. He yanked on his drawer strings with one hand, sported a candlestick in the other, and then dropped his cravat in a wicker laundry basket at the top of the servant stairs.

Mrs. Crescent cleared her throat. “You must wait, like a lady, for Sebastian to make the next move. And forget about Henry. Put the notion of visiting out of your head, or you’l get us both booted out of here.”

Candle wax dripped onto Chloe’s thumb. “Ow!”

The footman returned to plunk his hat into the basket.

“That’s it!” Chloe snapped her fingers. “What about—having a footman deliver a message?”

Mrs. Crescent stooped over to pick up Fifi and sighed on her way up the stairs. The candle flames in the candelabrum bent with her exhale and almost went out. “You know you can’t write a letter to a man unless you’re engaged.”