Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

She looked under Grace’s palatial canopy bed. Nothing. Chloe turned to the washstand, snooping around the linens. Grace had five walnut-sized soaps on her washstand. Five! Chloe pilfered one and stuck that in her bonnet, too. In the mahogany wardrobe that happened to be three times as big as Chloe’s, she found enough gowns to make a princess swoon and it was no wonder Grace never wore the same thing twice. She closed the wardrobe door and turned the ornate bronze key in the lock.

She opened each little drawer in the hutch above the writing desk and found a pink MP3 player! She popped that into her bonnet, too, then careful y squished the bonnet on her head, tied the ribbons under her chin, and glanced in the mirror. Amazingly, it didn’t look any clunkier on her than it had before she stuffed al those things in it. She scanned the room one last time before she turned to the door to go, but she heard Grace talking in the hal way.

Her knees went weak. Damn! Where could she hide? Her eyes ricocheted from the wardrobe, to the open casement window, to the bed.

Grace’s bed was high off the ground, even though that had gone out of fashion by the Regency, but it was, in the end, her only option. Her bonnet just made it under the heavy wooden bed frame, and it was too risky to reach for Henry’s glasses, which had fal en off under the bed, near the edge of the Oriental carpet. The floor was dusty and her nose itched. She had about a foot-high field of vision from under the bed frame. Grace’s boots and riding habit train came by first, fol owed by her chaperone’s boots and riding train.

Chloe’s bodice was smushed against the wooden floor. When would she be able to get out of here? Grace’s chatelaine hit the dressing-table top with a clunk, like a key ring.

“I got a letter from my new lawyer,” Grace said to her chaperone.

“And?”

“He, too, claims the land’s been with them so long that nothing can legal y be done about it.”

Grace’s maidservant came in; Chloe saw her feet. She couldn’t hold her straining neck up any longer so she set her chin on the dirty floor to rest.

Grace walked toward the bed and her boot tips almost kicked Chloe in the nose. With a creak, Grace sat down on the bed, and the bedboard groaned above Chloe’s bonnet. The heels of Grace’s boots were practical y in Chloe’s face.

The maidservant knelt down to unlace Grace’s boots. Chloe held her breath, as if that would help. Final y, the maidservant slipped the boots off Grace’s feet, stood again, and Chloe exhaled.

Grace’s chaperone walked to the other side of the room. “Wel , then, you only have one choice, as I see it.” She always spoke as if she had an English muffin in her mouth. Stuffy.

The maidservant must’ve been helping Grace out of her riding habit. A slight ruffling noise and the skirt and train disappeared. Chloe looked away, even though she could only see up to Grace’s skinny calves. Chloe just wanted out of here.

The chaperone interrupted by clearing her throat, a not-so-subtle signal that the hired help might be listening. “We must get everyone else out of the picture. Out of your picture. No matter what it takes.”

Chloe knew what they were talking about, so she was pretty sure the maidservant knew, too. Her chin hurt, and she turned her face the other way, to keep her neck from cramping up.

The maidservant’s feet came into view. “Would you like to wear this gown, my lady?”

“No. No. The iridescent square-necked one.” Both the maidservant’s and Grace’s feet walked away. Chloe heard splashes coming from the washstand where Grace must’ve been washing her face.

Grace’s chaperone walked toward the door. “You know what needs to be done. This isn’t just a game anymore. It’s about the land. Dignity.

Rightful ownership.” The maidservant came back in and the door clicked shut.

Grace sat on the edge of her bed again— oophf—while the maidservant slid indoor shoes on her mistress’s feet. Her gown seemed gorgeous to Chloe, even if she could only see it from the calf down.

“If that’l be al , my lady . . . ?” The maidservant’s feet moved as if she was curtsying.

“That’s al .”

The door opened and shut again. Grace’s shoes nearly stepped on Henry’s glasses.

Blood rushed to Chloe’s head, causing a colossal headache. Someone tapped on the door.

“Final y!” Grace whispered. “Get in here, quick.” She closed and locked the door. Chloe’s spirits sank.

A footman’s buckle shoes and white tights came into Chloe’s line of sight. Footman? Locked door? Uh- oh.

Giggles and kisses and little moaning sounds got Chloe’s skin crawling. The footman and Grace scrambled to whip off their shoes and stockings, flinging them to the floor, and then— thud—the bed-board real y sank down on Chloe. Oh God, no. She had to get out—now! But how?

She grabbed Henry’s glasses and wriggled her way toward the edge of the bed closest to the door.