Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

Much as the hothouse sounded—hot—she knew better. “I can’t risk it and I don’t have the time.”

“How much time do you have?”

The woodpecker started laughing again.

“Considering I’m not of high enough rank to carry a chatelaine, I never know what time it is. But I only have until twelve-thirty.”

Henry checked his watch fob, and Chloe checked her thoughts of the two of them in a “hothouse.”

Even though she’d kil for a strawberry, it had to be nearly twelve-thirty and she had to hurry back, so she curtsied. “Good day, Mr. Wrightman.”

With that, she left him, and didn’t look back.

O nly when she got back to the scul ery door did she realize she’d forgotten to look for clues to the riddle—that was what she’d gone out to do! Cook scanned Chloe from head to toe and yanked her inside. She shut and locked the door behind her. “You’re late.” A butcher knife flashed in her hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Were you with Mr. Wrightman?” Cook sneered.

Chloe swal owed. She never lied to Cook. “No—no. I just ran into Henry.”

“Taking a fancy to the penniless one? Tossing your fortune to the wind?” Cook chopped a carrot.

“It’s not just about the money!” Chloe blurted out.

Cook raised an eyebrow. “Humph. What about Mrs. Crescent’s little Wil iam?”

“You know about him?”

“Of course.” A cauldron on the range bubbled over and dripped into the fire with a sizzle. Cook swung the pot hook out and let the cauldron hang, cooling.

Four dead, skinned rabbits lay on the table. “He doesn’t have a hope without that prize money.” Cook raised her knife, chopped the heads off each rabbit, then stood the heads up on a platter in a neat row.

Chloe looked at the decapitated bunnies and tried not to gag at the sight of their bloodied blue neck bones. “I want to help him. I have someone the money can help, too.”

“You need to be pursuing Sebastian.” Cook put her finger to her lips. “Shh. Someone’s coming.” She pushed Chloe toward the dead-bunny table and stuck the butcher knife in her hand. She flung two decapitated, plucked chickens on the table. At least they looked like chickens. “If it’s a cameraman, you’re going to chop the feet off. Right? That’s the plan. Just fol ow my lead.”

It was a camerawoman. Chloe touched a rubbery yel ow foot. She much preferred to see poultry and meat wrapped in cel ophane on Styrofoam trays, another perk of modern living. One of her silk stockings fel to her ankle. Why couldn’t it have been a potato or an onion? Why was Cook helping her, anyway? And why did the room keep spinning?

Wham! Chloe brought down the butcher knife on the chicken’s feet, but she missed and chopped part of the legs off, too. Blood spattered onto her gown. The camerawoman got it al on film.

“Miss Parker!” Cook yel ed from the other end of the kitchen, near the second stone fireplace. She ran past the camera and pul ed the knife from Chloe’s sweaty hand. “You’re doing it al wrong. Now you’ve gone and chopped the legs!” Her blue eyes rol ed from the camera lens to Chloe. “And spoiled your gown. How many times do I have to tel you to get out of my kitchen? I have maids for this work.” She waved the butcher knife around like a flyswatter. “Run along now. You belong upstairs!” She shooed Chloe away, but Chloe could barely walk for thinking that she just chopped the feet off a—bird.

Stil , Cook’s plan worked, and the camerawoman fol owed her up the kitchen steps to the breakfast room, where the maids were stacking the sideboard with sandwiches and cakes.

Julia sat at the table, tipping her chair back on two legs. Her chaperone tapped her shoulder to quit. “Miss Parker, where have you been? I was hoping we could go for a walk.”

Mrs. Crescent clasped her hands together when she saw Chloe. “I had the servants looking al over for you. You had a cal er.” She handed Chloe a creamy cal ing card with the upper-right corner folded down. Mr. Sebastian Wrightman was letterpressed into the card in a distinctive, but not overly ornamental font. The folded corner indicated that he had come in person, and the fact that he came “cal ing” at al pointed to a new level of intimacy in their relationship. Chloe held her palm against the wal . To think she had missed Sebastian al because of Henry!

Mrs. Crescent stood back to inspect Chloe’s gown. “My, you look a fright.”

Grace waltzed in, making even a check print look sexy with its scoop neck and her bare arms. She gave Chloe a sidelong glance. “You realize you look like an absolute serial kil er. Honestly.” She turned her blond sausage-curled head to the sideboard.

And, just as a joke for the camera, Chloe pretended she had a knife in her hands, Norman Bates style, and she acted as if she were stabbing Grace repeatedly in the back. The camerawoman did her best not to laugh.

Grace stood at the sideboard, hands on her hips. “Ah. Cold mutton and cow’s tongue. My favorites.”

Chloe remembered Sebastian’s cal ing card fluttering to the floorboards, but she didn’t remember fainting. Real y.

Chapter 15