Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

Henry shaded his eyes from the sun with his hand. “Ah. Here comes Mr. Tanner, the footman, one of Bridesbridge’s most loyal employees. Let’s hope he made good on my special request.”

Mr. Tanner had worked up a sweat in the heat. He set a large wooden crate at Henry’s riding boots.

“Toys,” Henry said with a smile as he looked at Chloe.

“Toys?” Mrs. Crescent sat up and stared at the crate.

Henry lifted the lid off the crate. “I have arranged a surprise for you, Mrs. Crescent.” He looked up at her with a smile and brushed the hair out of his eye.

Mrs. Crescent fanned herself. “If it is a toy, I am not amused.”

Henry stood up and put the crate on the wicker table in the center of the parterre. “I’ve arranged for your boys to visit at three o’clock and—”

“My boys! Oh, Mr. Wrightman!” She dropped her fan, and he picked it up for her. “Al of them?” She put her gloved hand on her heart. Fifi wagged his tail and jumped up and down.

“The entire brood.”

Chloe’s eyes wel ed with tears. “I’m so happy for you, Mrs. Crescent. To see your boys after al this time!”

Mrs. Crescent flapped her fan as if it were a wing and Fifi ran up and down the length of the parterre.

“Hence—the toys. But Miss Parker and I must test the toys first, of course.” He pul ed a wooden sword from the box and tossed it to Chloe, who caught it.

It had been weeks since she’d held one of Abigail’s toys. A wave of sadness came over her.

Henry brandished a toy sword at her. “En garde!”

Chloe, with a hand on her bonnet, jumped up and pretended to duel with him. Their swords clashed and they both col apsed in the settee laughing.

Mrs. Crescent lowered her eyes at Chloe. “A lady would never—”

“Ah. But a lady would catch butterflies.” Henry pul ed two butterfly nets out of the crate and handed one to Chloe.

Chloe smiled. She looked at Mrs. Crescent.

Mrs. Crescent continued fanning herself and Fifi. “How can I refuse? My children are coming! I miss them so much—”

She did? Except for little Wil iam, Mrs. Crescent didn’t talk about her children much, but then again, Chloe didn’t talk about Abigail at al .

“I know you’ve missed them.” Henry surveyed the lawn. “Mr. Tanner. Please have the canopy set up on the clover patch. I’m sure the boys wil want to play ring toss and lawn bowl.”

The footman dashed off as Henry unpacked the crate, stacked with historical reproductions of children’s books, a flower press, sketchbooks and charcoal. He pul ed out a pair of binoculars and set them on the wicker table.

“Do you have any bird-watchers in the family, Mrs. Crescent?” He winked at her.

Mrs. Crescent shook her head. “No. No bird-watchers. Too many other gizmos at our house, if you catch my drift.”

Henry laughed, closed up the crate, and took one of the butterfly nets from Chloe. “I’m afraid bird-watching is terribly out of fashion—almost as démodé as catching butterflies.” He picked up a huge jar and a piece of cheesecloth from the crate and headed out to the lawn with the net propped on his shoulder like a fishing pole. He stopped and turned, scanning Chloe from bonnet to boots. “Come on, Miss Parker. Let’s see what you can catch.” He headed for the hol yhocks.

Chloe looked at Mrs. Crescent, who turned her chaise to face the lawn. “Just remember.” She pointed a finger at Chloe and lowered her voice.

“The one thing you’re supposed to catch—is Sebastian.”

Chloe watched Henry as he set the jar down under the sundial. “I’m beginning to think they’re both quite a catch. That was so thoughtful of Henry to invite your children.”

Mrs. Crescent picked up Fifi. “Think again. You’re here to win, and so am I. Do you want to be seen on the tel y al across America as a failure?

As the poor sap who fel for the penniless younger brother and lost out on a hundred thousand dol ars?” She petted Fifi and looked out toward the side gate where the children would come spil ing through. “We need to finalize the details of your gown for the bal before my baby comes, which could be anytime now. I’l give you a few minutes. No more.”

Normal y, Chloe would’ve been al over picking the trim for her bal gown and choosing just the right shoes. Instead, she scampered under the pink rose arbor with the butterfly net, hurrying toward the sundial. The only thing dragging her down was her bonnet.

Henry had already caught a butterfly, and after setting the jar on the stone ledge of the sundial, he slipped in a few hol yhocks for it to feed on.

The shadow on the green sundial showed that it was almost two-thirty. Wait a minute. Sundial! Chloe propped her net against the sundial and dug into her reticule for the poem. She turned her back on Henry and read the pertinent lines again: As the clock strikes two you must find

Something in a garden where light and shadow are intertwined