Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

“I would never damage anything on the grounds!” Chloe swore off sewing-cabinet vodka right then and there.

“You must have the common decency not to destroy our English heritage, Miss Parker,” Grace said. When she tossed her head a few of her blond sausage curls fel out of her turban. “You of al people should be concerned for the grounds, what with your last name.”

Chloe put her hand on her hip. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’l tel you what it means,” Grace returned. “The surname ‘Parker’ originates in the Old French, meaning ‘keeper of the park.’ Your ancestors, Miss Parker, were groundskeepers and gamekeepers. It’s a most dreadful y common last name.”

Fifi nuzzled under Chloe’s arm. “And your last name means ‘money’ in French, perhaps because your ancestors, not unlike yourself, I might add, were overly preoccupied with it.”

George took his sunglasses off. “Ladies. I blame you both. Equal y. For everything.”

Grace pouted. For some reason, her lips seemed plumper than they had been yesterday.

George’s phone rang again. He smiled and talked as if nothing were the matter. He was the British version of Winthrop. She wondered if he, too, would make the crucial mistake of e-mailing his wife “Happy 35th Birthday” from across the country, without sending flowers, a present, or even bothering to cal .

George wrapped up his conversation and set his sunglasses atop his head as the sky began to darken. “You’ve both been duly warned.”

Fifi growled and Chloe forced herself to pet him, just to calm him down.

George raked his hair. “God knows nothing can happen in a sil y hedge maze, but we have an archery competition slated for tomorrow if the weather holds. Aim for the targets. If so much as an apple gets hit by a stray arrow, the game’s over and you’l be replaced with two beautiful, smart, and eager prospects.”

“You wouldn’t!” Grace practical y popped out of her spencer. “After al the time I’ve invested in this? Leaving al my clients high and dry? Real y!

When you know very wel that al this is Miss Parker—Chloe’s doing!”

Fifi quivered in Chloe’s arms, and at first Chloe thought it was from the rain, the first drops of which had started coming down, but then he snarled at something that looked like a weasel. It was burrowing under the hedge. Al of a sudden Fifi lunged from Chloe’s grip, flinging his hot little body into the gargantuan maze with his leash trailing behind him.

Chloe held out her arms, as if she somehow expected him to come bounding back. “Fifi!” she cried, clapping as the dog squeezed under the hedge. “Come back here!”

“Fifi! My Fifi!” yel ed Mrs. Crescent, cradling her bel y and waddling over. “He’l get hopelessly lost in there!”

Chloe tossed aside her parasol, hiked up her gown, and sprang into the maze.

“Cameras! Get on this!” George whistled with his fingers, and the cameras rol ed behind her. “That girl’s golden,” she heard him say. “Wherever she goes, drama fol ows.”

Grace laughed and George’s ATV spun off.

Fifi growled somewhere within the maze, but Chloe couldn’t see him. She ran toward the spot from where the growling seemed to be coming.

Her walking boots were so thin she could feel the gravel under the soles of her feet.

“Fifi! Fifi! Come here!” Her bonnet fel to her shoulders. Her white shawl snagged on a yew branch.

“Miss Parker! Miss Parker!” Mrs. Crescent cal ed from outside the hedge maze. “Save my baby Fifi! Hurry! Before he gets hurt! Oh, Mr.

Wrightman—thank goodness you’re here!”

Sebastian? Great. He was supposed to be chasing her through the maze, and here she was chasing a droopy-eyed pug. She heard more growling and shuffling.

“Fifi! Fifi!” Chloe found herself bumping into dead end after dead end as larger and larger raindrops began to fal faster and faster.

“Yip! Yip!” Fifi yelped, and Chloe spun, sprinted, took a sharp turn in the hedge, and barreled right into—Mr. Wrightman—the younger, the penniless.

“I’ve been meaning to run into you,” he quipped, offering her a hand to steady her. “But not quite like this.”

That sounded like something she would say, or did say, to Sebastian.

The rain was fal ing even harder now.

“Listen, I’l get the dog. You head back,” Henry said.

“Yip! Yip!” Fifi yelped again, and Henry marched off.

But Chloe couldn’t leave Fifi. She clambered behind with a broken shoelace and her flimsy boots soaked through. Deep into the maze, she final y caught up to Henry and watched him throw his jacket on a tangle of pug and weasel and somehow magical y extract the dog from the pile. He tucked Fifi under his arm like a footbal while ribbons of blood and mud trickled down the dog’s back. Fifi was yipping and crying.

Chloe felt as if the seams of her corset were showing through her white dress. Her gown clung to her legs, revealing her garters at midthigh.