Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

Fiona examined the tiara. “I’m so sorry, miss. You’l need a good silversmith to fix it. Mr. Henry Wrightman does a right good job of fixing things.”

Chloe tried to piece it together, to see if anything was missing. In eight years it would be Abigail’s. “I can’t have someone around here fix it.” She put it down gently on the vanity. It looked like a broken heart.

“Suit yourself. But if you change your mind, miss, I can have it sent to Mr. Henry Wrightman. He’s quite talented in that way.”

“Henry. Is he the one who—who almost bled me with leeches?”

Fiona nodded her head yes. “Yes, but—”

“If he’s one of the brothers, then who’s the other one?”

Fiona continued to braid the ribbon through Chloe’s hair. “Sebastian, but you haven’t met him yet, miss. He’s dark-haired, and rides a white horse. He stands to inherit the estate, as the eldest of the two. Mr. Henry Wrightman, the blond, with glasses? He must marry money, as he’s the younger brother and wil inherit very little.”

Chloe shot up, half the ribbon dangling down her back, and snatched both halves of the tiara in hand. Fabulous. Not only had her crown broken, but she switched up the brothers and total y insulted Sebastian, the man whom she needed to propose to her in less than three weeks. Worse, she couldn’t e-mail or cal him to apologize and she couldn’t write him a letter either, because a couple had to be engaged to do that.

She stomped toward the drawing room and a footman opened the double doors for her. For a moment she lost some of her huff. She wasn’t used to footmen opening doors for her.

And the drawing room, with its two-story ceiling, scrol ed-arm Grecian couches, and window treatments more elaborate than the train of a wedding dress, helped her remember her heiressness, as did the cameraman behind the pianoforte.

Mrs. Crescent, who was playing whist with another woman in a white cap at the game table near the fireplace, homed right in on Chloe’s dangling ribbon and broken tiara. “Where have you been, dear? You cannot go ambling about outdoors without my consent.”

Just as Chloe gathered the composure to speak without yel ing, a bel rang. Mrs. Crescent and her cardplaying companion stood and hurried toward the double doors. Everybody knew what it meant except her.

“That’s the dressing bel ,” Mrs. Crescent said. “Time to get dressed for the evening.”

She’d just gotten dressed. Fifi wagged his tail at her.

Chloe sidestepped away from the pugly thing, setting her halved tiara on the game table next to the queen of hearts. “Excuse me, Mrs. Crescent.

My diamond tiara broke in the carriage ‘accident,’ and oh, by the way, why didn’t you tel me that Henry’s the wrong Mr. Wrightman? That Sebastian’s the right Mr. Wrightman?” Fifi rubbed up against her leg and she gently pushed him away with her foot.

Mrs. Crescent stood to tuck the dangling ribbon into Chloe’s hair. “My dear, I thought you knew Henry was the younger brother.”

It turned out that Mrs. Crescent was very forgetful. She thought she’d told Chloe there were two Wrightman brothers while she was giving her the tour of Bridesbridge.

W inthrop would forget to tel her things, too, after Abigail was born. He’d forget to tel her little things like “I’m working late tonight” and big things like

“I canceled our vacation because something came up at work.” After that big argument, he suggested she check her e-mail more than once a week and he began sending her e-mails about the big, the little, and everything in between. Chloe agreed. She didn’t realize that he’d never cal her from work anymore, he’d just e-mail. Or CC or forward her own e-mails. Which would’ve been fine during work hours, but since he was a workaholic, she’d get an eight o’clock e-mail instead of an eight o’clock phone cal . When he was on the road and Abigail was older, he would send Abby e-mails, too. He was in Hong Kong on business for a week and that was when Chloe forgot. She forgot what his voice sounded like.

O f course Henry’s not the Mr. Wrightman. You’re not ready to meet him yet,” Mrs. Crescent said to Chloe.

If she only knew.

“You need to be groomed to meet a man of his caliber.” She stood back and eyed Chloe from head to toe. “We’l need to smooth off the rough edges.”

Chloe folded her arms and smirked. She was so thril ed that Sebastian was the real Mr. Wrightman, not even that remark could bring her down.

“Stil , Fifi and I are so glad to see you so passionate about Mr. Sebastian Wrightman. That means you’l want to win!”

“Oh, I want to win, al right.”

“Wonderful! We’l start by learning how to mend a pen for five Accomplishment Points.”

“But Mr. Darcy prefers to mend his own pen.”

“Mr. Wrightman, however, may not. One must be prepared.”

Chapter 6

A fter the pen-mending lesson that involved a goose quil , a penknife, and considerable patience, Chloe, from sheer exhaustion, had conked out, missed dinner, and slept right through to the next morning. Stil , she earned the five Accomplishment Points for the task. When she woke, she found Henry’s handkerchief crumpled under the quilt next to her, and she chucked it into the drawer of her washstand.