Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

She must’ve lost almost twenty minutes of her time with Sebastian by now. The breeze picked up, and then, BANG! A gun went off in the field behind her. She froze, her ears ringing and her heart pounding with shock. Turning and squinting, she caught sight of Grace, who was within shouting distance. She was practicing with her revolver and target. Damn her! Chloe stomped toward her, then stopped. Wait. That was exactly what Grace wanted her to do, to waste her alone time with Sebastian arguing with her about gunshots. Chloe spun around and made a dash for the Grecian temple, where Sebastian had dozed off and Mrs. Crescent was munching contentedly on a cucumber sandwich while reading a book.

“A lady never runs, Miss Parker. How many times do I have to remind you?” Mrs. Crescent said. “Sandwich?” Fifi wagged his tail as he chomped on a miniature mince pie.

“No, thank you.” Chloe was too discombobulated to eat.

Just then, Sebastian, who was lying on the picnic blanket, propped himself up with his elbows. His jaw looked a little swol en. “Final y. You’re back. I missed you.” He stared at her without flinching.

It was as if she could dive into his eyes and float. She flashed him a smile. How was it he always knew what to say and do to make her feel like—

wel —a hundred thousand dol ars?

She wanted to tel him about the laudanum, but that would bring up the impropriety of her having been with Henry unchaperoned. Hoping he’d forget about his toothache so they could get on with this date already, she decided to just spike Sebastian’s lemonade with the stuff and be done with it. This proved easy enough to do. Sebastian had closed his eyes to sunbathe and Mrs. Crescent was deep into her book.

Chloe turned her back to the cameras. The size of the “drops” she was supposed to add to the lemonade, however, was clearly open to interpretation. She slipped two rather smal ish ones into his drink, not wanting to give him too much. Then she read a Cowper poem to him aloud, the verse punctuated by gunshots, until he finished his lemonade.

Plucking a blade of grass to use as a bookmark, she asked him, “What did you think of that poem?”

He rubbed his jaw, contemplating his response. “I must confess. I was paying more attention to you than to the poem. I couldn’t take my eyes off you, and I guess my mind started wandering.”

Chloe looked at Mrs. Crescent, who winked and stuffed a Bath bun into her mouth. Off in the distance, she saw Henry walk out of the lab, mount his horse, and gal op off toward Dartworth. A cool breeze fluttered the corners of the picnic blanket.

Chloe picked up a sketchbook and charcoal sticks. She wanted to sketch Sebastian—his tousled black hair, his dark eyes and chin with that perfect little cleft in the middle. But a lady would never be so bold. She worked on a beech tree in the distance instead.

“Mr. Wrightman,” Mrs. Crescent said as she handed Sebastian a second sketchbook. “I’d like to see you do a portrait of Miss Parker. I know one of your pastimes is sketching.”

“It would be my pleasure.” Sebastian sat up, placed the sketchbook down in his lap, took a sidelong glance at Chloe, and immediately put his hand on his jaw. “Ugh. This tooth is kil ing me.” He rubbed his jaw again. “And these cloves aren’t helping.” He tossed them over his shoulder.

Chloe hoped the laudanum would kick in soon.

Mrs. Crescent took a sandwich from the basket and looked up at the darkening sky.

BAM! BAM! Two shots in a row got Sebastian’s attention, and he put down his blank sketchbook to stand and make sure everything was al right in Graceland. And of course it was.

“I truly don’t know how you tolerate her, Miss Parker.” He sat back down. “Is she always like this?”

She smiled, because a lady would never articulate what was swirling around in her brain after a comment like that. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from saying exactly what she thought of her competitor.

He began rubbing his jaw again.

Chloe closed her sketchbook. “Mr. Wrightman, I do believe I’l go for a turn around the hil ,” she said.

“May I escort you?” He stood and straightened his cravat.

“Please do,” Chloe said. She disappeared behind a fluted column and stepped into a grassy patch that was covered with orange and red poppies.

BAM! Another gunshot rang out.

The cameraman fol owed them, but Mrs. Crescent started talking to the camera, apparently with the goal of furthering Chloe’s cause of getting Sebastian alone. The cameraman stayed with the chaperone for quite a while.

A ring-necked pheasant landed on a rock in front of them. Chloe stopped to watch it.

“What a beauty,” Sebastian said as he eyed the bird.

A wave of warmth came over her.

“I can’t wait until hunting season!” What? He pretended to hold a gun and shot at the bird.

The pheasant flew away.

“Excuse me?” Chloe’s hands shook, along with, for a moment, her resolution. She thought he was an ornithologist!