Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

Henry spoke from behind her. “One of those values being—honesty? Another being—loyalty to her friends?”

Chloe again pushed Cook’s glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Yes and yes. She seems very honest and good to everyone around her.”

“Of course, dear Charles,” Henry said, “you’ve only just arrived at Bridesbridge. What would you know?”

Chloe sucked in her cheeks.

Sebastian held his empty wineglass out to the footman, who fil ed it, and almost as quickly, Sebastian drank it.

Chloe put her hand to her heart.

“Sebastian, no more wine for you,” Henry said. He slid the glass out of Sebastian’s hand. “Wil that be al , Charles?”

Did Chloe just hear a shuffle in the hal ? She’d better be quick. Sebastian was tipsy, and now was her chance, so she leaned in toward Henry and whispered, “Miss Parker wants to apologize to you for her harsh words during the tea party,” she blurted out. “She values your friendship very much and sincerely regrets what she said.”

Sebastian slumped into a chair.

Henry gave his brother a sidelong glance. “Sebastian’s had a rough day,” he observed.

Chloe spoke faster. “May I tel Miss Parker that you accept her apology?”

Henry was silent.

“Consider the pressure she’s been under. She’s quite a nice person and deserves a second chance.”

Henry cracked a smile. “Coming from you, Charles, that’s a very objective endorsement, and one to be taken quite seriously.”

Chloe unlocked her knees and couldn’t help but laugh.

Sebastian sank deeper in his chair, barely awake.

Henry stepped right up to Chloe and leaned on his pool cue.

Chloe wanted this kind of attention from Sebastian, not from him.

Henry smirked. “Pray tel Miss Parker I wil consider her apology. I appreciate the trouble she has gone to in order to express her sentiments. She put herself quite at risk by sending you here, Charles.”

Chloe realized she’d just prioritized Henry over the money, and it shocked her almost as much as it apparently shocked him.

Henry eyed her up and down. “I have to say, though, Charles, you are the most adroit little footman I’ve ever seen. I’l inquire if we can hire you here at Dartworth. It just so happens that I need a new valet. Would you be interested in the position?” He almost brushed his hand against her cheek.

A valet dressed—and undressed—his master. Chloe stopped herself from mental y undressing Henry right then and there.

“I’m quite happy at Bridesbridge at the moment,” she replied modestly.

“I understand. Just let me know if you change your mind,” Henry said.

As he was speaking, the doors behind him opened and a videocam crew came filing in. Henry guided Chloe toward the door. “Now, Charles, you had best get back to Bridesbridge.” He spoke so quickly, she hardly understood him. “It’s getting late. Did you ride here on horseback at this hour?”

“No, sir.” Chloe pul ed on her coattails. “I walked.”

A look of astonishment and what could only be termed affection flitted across Henry’s face. “Charles. I insist you take a gig. It’s too late to walk. I’l ring to have one readied for you.”

Chloe took a shal ow bow.

“Now—run along, Charles!” Henry planted the candelabrum in her hand, propel ed her into the hal way, and made a point of blocking the cameras from filming her.

Another video cam popped out from round the corner just as she broke into a jog, doing her best to keep the candelabrum alight. With the cameraman hot on her coattails, and Henry behind him, she hurried through the labyrinth of dark hal s as if she were being chased through a museum at night. Before she shut the great doors behind her, she passed off the candelabrum with only one candle alight to the night watchman, who told her a gig was waiting for her out front.

Once outside, she stopped only for a moment at the top of the wide, palatial stone staircase glimmering in the moonlight. Just the other night a footman had handed her out of a chaise-and-four and she’d waltzed up these stairs in her gown, gloves, and dancing slippers. Down she went now, taking three steps at a time. One of her calfskin shoes fel off, but she didn’t stop. Stockinged foot and al , she hopped into the gig and looked around for the driver.

She could almost hear the proverbial crickets.

The stable boy handed her the reins, because there wasn’t a driver.

“Damn! Of course there’s no driver! I’m a footman! I’m the driver!” Chloe whispered to herself.

The stable boy cocked his head at her, like a dog who knew he was being spoken to but was unable to understand the words. He hung two glowing oil lanterns on the front of the gig. “Just have it sent back in the morning,” he told her.