Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

real people in it. Al these people had a life. She had nothing.

Except for Abigail, who counted on her for everything. And as far as that went, she had blown it. She’d be coming home without the prize money.

What she would be coming home with, though, was a resolve to leave the past behind—al of it—even the nineteenth century, and that was worth a lot more than a hundred grand.

She darted under a covered bus stop where an old woman sat in her green trench coat with a cloth market basket ful of lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers. Lettuce! Green lettuce helped digestion. She craved lettuce. She’d trade the gown off her back for a chopped salad.

She sat on the bench next to the woman, wiped her glasses with her wet gloves, put them back on, and looked up the street, where, high atop a hil in the distance, Dartworth Hal stood. It would’ve made a great postcard. Hel , it probably was one and probably was sold in the shops along this street.

“I can’t believe—” she said out loud, like a homeless woman.

The old woman looked at her, then quickly looked at her watch.

“I threw it al away.”

The woman pushed back her plastic rain scarf. “Threw what away?” She eyed Chloe up and down; she was curious.

“Dartworth Hal . The prize money. Everything.”

The woman gave Chloe a tissue from her trench pocket, which only reminded Chloe of Henry and his handkerchiefs. Chloe wiped her dripping nose.

“Are you part of that film going on up there?”

Chloe nodded. “They wanted me to marry him. But I couldn’t. Even though it was just for TV. I couldn’t.”

The old woman had kind green eyes. “Marry who?”

“Why, Sebastian, of course. Sebastian Wrightman.”

The old woman looked confused. She stood up. “Who? Ah. Here’s my bus. But Dartworth Hal doesn’t belong to anyone named Sebastian.” The bus lumbered up. “Henry Wrightman is the master of Dartworth Hal .”

“What?” Chloe clenched her pelisse around her chest; her lips quivered.

The bus doors opened and the woman stepped up the first step in her black flats. “I would say it’s a good thing you didn’t marry that Sebastian—”

“Door’s closing!” the annoyed driver yel ed, and the doors snapped closed.

Chloe stepped out from under the Plexiglas bus stop, into the rain, to watch the woman take her seat and wave.

She col apsed back down on the bench under the covered bus stop and buried her head in her hands. Maybe that old woman didn’t know what she was talking about. Maybe she had Alzheimer’s or dementia or some sort of addled-brain disease that Chloe was convinced she would get someday, too, if she didn’t have it already. She better start doing crossword puzzles or something—and soon. Wait a minute. Crossword. Acrostic

—she opened her wedding reticule and pul ed out the wel -worn folded-up poem from Sebastian. The acrostic jumped out at her now: A s the sun shines high in the sky

L ove blooms in my heart, I cannot lie.

L et our love grow

I s what is want, I know.

S till I cannot be convinced

N ay, I need more evidence

O f your intentions, are they true?

T o convince me here is what you need to do:

A s the clock strikes two you must find

S omething in a garden where light and shadow are intertwined

I nspect the face in the garden bright

T hen follow the line of light

S traight to a house without walls

E nter the door and go where the water falls

E xtrapolate from this poem the puzzle within

M ake a note of the six-word answer, write it, and you will win

S end your missive through the secret door and the answers you seek will be in store!

The first letter of every line was to be read down, and it spel ed out ALL IS NOT AS IT SEEMS. She squeezed her eyes shut and heard something familiar in the din of gushing rain and cars. The sound of hooves clomping on the cobblestone.