Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

C hloe was hoping that the top half of Grace’s boobs would get good and sunburned, because of course, sunblock didn’t exist in 1812.

Her bonnet trimmed and five Accomplishment Points garnered, Chloe pretended to do her embroidery as she spied on Sebastian and Grace through the casement window in the drawing room at Bridesbridge Place. The couple bobbed up and down in the rowboat on the reflecting pond.

Since Chloe had been MIA while out bird-watching with Henry, and Grace had finished embroidering her fireplace screen and had more than enough points for another outing, she was granted the time with Sebastian. Julia, too, had finished her screen and was slated for an outing with him before the archery competition that afternoon.

Julia had fifty Accomplishment Points, but Grace and Chloe only had forty.

“Lady Grace isn’t using her parasol,” Chloe reported to Mrs. Crescent. “And where’s her chaperone, anyway?” She pricked her index finger with the needle. “Ouch!” A drop of blood bubbled up. She flung the needlework to the table and sucked on her fingertip.

Mrs. Crescent was lounging on the settee with Fifi at her side and a leather-bound book in her hands. “You have less than two days to finish that fireplace screen.” She closed the book. “You won’t get any Accomplishment Points for it and you’l get another, worse task, like mending stockings and stays.”

Chloe stomped over to the pianoforte, where she banged out a few notes. Then she trudged over to the globe, lifted it from its wooden stand, and turned it. She found England, traced the outline of the tiny country with her pricked finger, and set the globe back in the stand.

Mrs. Crescent rubbed her bel y. “What you need is to win the archery competition this afternoon. Then we’l al be on our way.”

“Oh, I’l win al right. I have to!” She needed more time alone with Sebastian.

“That’s the spirit. Now finish up the screen.”

Chloe pressed her nose against the window. “They’re supposed to be bird-watching. Why aren’t they bird-watching?” She picked up her needlework. She set it back down.

Mrs. Crescent stood and rubbed the smal of her back. “Lady Grace has no interest in birds. You know that as wel as I do.”

Chloe cut a deck of historical y accurate oversized cards at the game table, which was draped in a maroon silk tablecloth.

Mrs. Crescent picked up Fifi. “I’m just glad to see you’re back ful force. We need to stay focused.”

The cards fel from her hands in a spray on the floor.

Fiona knocked. “Delivery for Miss Parker.”

It looked like some sort of a picnic basket. Fiona set the basket down on the game table and gave Chloe a note, sealed with a blue wax W.

“Thank you,” Chloe said, holding the note in her hand as if it were a winning lottery ticket.

As Fiona curtsied and left, Fifi leaped out of Mrs. Crescent’s arms, jumped up on a chair at the gaming table, and began sniffing the basket. Mrs.

Crescent leaned toward the letter.

Chloe broke the seal and read aloud:

“Dear Miss Parker,

Please accept this mousetrap with my regards. I do hope it will catch the mouse in your bedchamber. Looking forward to timetogether again soon.

Yours,

Mr. Wrightman”

“Mousetrap?” Mrs. Crescent looked sideways at the basket. Fifi started growling.

Chloe thought she saw the basket move, but then again, it could’ve just been her excitement.

“Henry must’ve told him about the mouse.” Chloe held the note up to her nose and breathed in. She showed it to Mrs. Crescent. “Look. He signed it ‘yours.’” She hugged the note close for a moment. No mere e-mail could ever surpass a handwritten note.

Mrs. Crescent rubbed her bel y and swal owed. “He quite fancies you, doesn’t he.”

Chloe unhooked the basket lid and a young tabby cat peeked out.

“Oh!” Chloe held her arms out to the cat, but Fifi barked and the cat sprang to the writing desk, almost knocking over an ink jar. Fifi hurled himself at the desk in a barking frenzy. The cat arched his back and hissed at Fifi, who snarled and scratched at the desk leg.

Mrs. Crescent scooped up her dog. “Shush, Fifi!”

Chloe whisked the ink jars from the writing desk, but the cat snapped the quil pen in his mouth and held it there like a rose between his teeth.

Chloe had to think of Abigail, who loved cats, but never had one as a pet. Chloe missed Abigail so much she had to steady herself against the desk for a moment.

Fifi growled from Mrs. Crescent’s arms as she waddled to the door. “I’m going to rest before the archery meet this afternoon. Now, I suggest you take your mousetrap to your bedchamber, inform Fiona of the new arrival so that she can provide food and a litter box, and use this time to complete your needlework. Enough dawdling!”

Chloe rol ed her eyes. “I’m no good at needlework.”