Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

Chloe squeezed out, pul ed herself up to standing, and bolted for the door. Her hands quaked as she turned the lock. She couldn’t look back, even though Grace yel ed from behind her. “Just WHAT are YOU doing in here?!” She wouldn’t turn around.

If only she had a camera phone, she’d have proof of this, too.

Chloe opened the door, and without looking back, she spoke. “I—I was looking for something. But I caught you with your pants down—I mean your gown up.”

“How dare you hide in my room! Shut the door!”

“I would say you’re in no—position—to do anything about me being in your room.” Chloe leaped out into the hal way and clicked the door shut behind her.

Grace must’ve thrown a pil ow at the door, because something hit it and slid down to the floor.

Where was the camera crew when she needed them? She ran down the hal , down the winding staircase. If she had a cel phone, she could’ve just cal ed them.

Chloe had never run around so much in her life as she had in the past couple of weeks. As she ran down the gal ery with one hand on her bonnet, she bumped into a footman carrying a silver salver.

“Miss Parker, you had a gentleman cal er. We couldn’t find you anywhere. He waited for upward of half an hour. He left his card.” He held out the salver toward her. But she spotted a camerawoman heading into the parlor. “Wait! Cameras!”

She snapped up the card. It was Sebastian’s cal ing card, with the corner folded down. She had missed him again! If she had a cel phone this would’ve been easily rectified.

“Hurry!” Chloe ran after the camerawoman, grabbed her by the arm, and tugged her toward the stairway. “You need to film something upstairs—”

Chloe tugged her up, through the hal , and right outside Grace’s door. She ignored the woman’s efforts to try to say something.

“There’s no time to talk!”

The camerawoman turned to Chloe with an annoyed look. “My camera needs to be recharged. Portable battery’s out.”

Chloe’s dust-covered chest sank. “What?! Wel —stay here. You can be a witness.” She swung open the door with triumph—and there was Grace, sitting ful y clothed, alone, and reading on the bed. A maroon drape flapped in the open window.

The camerawoman rol ed her eyes at Chloe.

Grace closed her book. “Miss Parker, I do wish you wouldn’t barge in without knocking. It’s not polite. It’s just not done. Don’t they teach any manners in America?”

Chloe leaned her square-cut back against the doorjamb and real y looked at the cal ing card. On the back Sebastian had written, I wanted to talk with you in person. But this will have to do. My sincerest apologies for my forward behavior.

Why was he apologizing? Didn’t he realize she had drugged him? Stil , the two of them had upgraded from cal ing card to handwritten message on the cal ing card, and that was good.

“Miss Parker.” Fiona bounded up the steps. “Mrs. Crescent wants you in the rose garden immediately.”

“I’l be there in a minute.”

“She said you’d say that. She wants you ‘immediately.’”

“Is she having contractions?”

Fiona shook her head no. “But she said you’d ask that, and I’m to tel you that it is a matter of equal importance, with al due respect, miss.”

Chapter 17

I n the rose garden, the summer sun warmed the roses and perfumed the air around Chloe. This moment would’ve been bliss if her bonnet were not loaded with cigarettes, a pink MP3 player, condoms, and a vibrator.

Mrs. Crescent and Henry were discussing the upcoming birth. Henry straddled a wicker chair.

“You asked for me, Mrs. Crescent?” A bead of sweat slid down from under Chloe’s heavy bonnet, past her brown tendrils, and onto her brow, where she wiped it with her walking glove.

Mrs. Crescent scowled at Chloe. “Whatever happened to your gown this time?” She brushed something off Chloe’s capped sleeve with one hand and rubbed her bel y with the other. Fifi circled around them.

Chloe looked down at her dress, and the vibrator slid to the other side of her bonnet, throwing it off-kilter. She steadied it with her hand as she noticed that her gown was flecked with dust and cobwebs.

She slapped at her skirt, brushing off the gown with her gloves.

“Do you need—a hand?” Henry asked as he squinted at her in the sunlight, the corner of his mouth turning up.

“No! No—thank you.” Chloe said, final y settling back down on the settee with a squeak from the wicker. Her bonnet slumped to the other side, nearly fal ing off. Fifi lifted up his head.

She retied the bonnet ribbons tightly under her chin.

Mrs. Crescent col apsed in the padded chaise under a shady bower across from Chloe and Henry. “Miss Parker, I’ve told Mr. Henry Wrightman that I’d like your assistance during the birth,” she said. “Wil you agree to helping?”

Chloe gulped. She was no nurse. It would be the first home birth she’d ever witnessed. “Of course.”