Maybe today she could get with the program, the one with Mr. Sebastian Wrightman as the star. She and al the women sat at the table in the robin’s-egg-blue breakfast room dressed in their morning gowns. Chloe looked around and determined that she was the oldest, the Anne El iot of the crowd.
“Ladies . . .” The butler discreetly interrupted the chatter.
The women had been talking about “Mr. Wrightman,” Sebastian, of course. Nobody spoke of Henry. Each girl had some glowing thing or another to say about Sebastian, and they al tried to read between the lines of his actions and discern his feelings for them. From what Chloe had gathered since her arrival, and coupled with the bio she had read back in Chicago, she began to piece together his character.
She knew the type. He was upper-crust, intel igent, and reserved. Proper, but probably a softy underneath, and perhaps in need of a bit of reform, like Mr. Darcy himself. Clearly, he hadn’t met the right woman yet, and he might be a tough one to crack, but a fun, smart American woman like herself was up to the task. She couldn’t wait to meet him official y and figure him out for herself.
“We have an exciting day lined up for you at Bridesbridge Place,” the butler continued. One camera focused on him while another filmed the women.
Chloe had to smirk at the staginess of this butler-as-host thing. She pushed her cold beef and dry toast around on her plate. The women had been quick and used up what little butter there was while she was stil getting her food at the sideboard. Butter proved scarce, as the kitchen maids had to milk the cows and churn it by hand, and Chloe felt for them and al of the staff. But, just like Fiona, most of the staff went home at night. They were, for the most part, Mrs. Crescent told Chloe, aspiring actors, and they couldn’t compete for Mr. Wrightman or the prize money, but they got to sleep in their own comfortable beds at night, enjoy the pleasures of plumbing, and eat a decent breakfast.
Chloe made a mental note to come down earlier in the mornings and score some butter. Writing those letters to Abigail and the woman she now knew was Sebastian’s and Henry’s mother with quil had taken longer than she anticipated and the ink stained her fingers. Of course, she’d left her soap behind at the pond, and she only had room-temperature water to wash with.
Julia, who sat next to her at the table, was bouncing her knee up and down. She seemed an unlikely girl to dress in a gown, though the cap sleeves did show off her biceps. Even her hol ow cheeks had muscles that were visible when she chewed.
Grace yawned. “I certainly hope we won’t be painting another landscape—outside, of al places.”
Chloe held back a laugh.
The butler cleared his throat. “In preparation for the upcoming archery tournament and the bal , you wil be split into two groups to facilitate rotation between the dance mistress and the archery range. One group wil consist of three women, and the other group wil have four. Your chaperones wil join you. But, to graduate from one activity to the next, you must meet certain prerequisites. If you start with archery, you must shoot three bul ’s-eyes in a row to progress to dancing. If you start with dancing, you must successful y complete a dance selected by our dance mistress.”
Chloe thril ed at the thought of archery and Regency dancing al in one day, for so many reasons, including getting to wear two other gowns in addition to the day dress she had on. Maybe at some point during al this, she’d get to official y meet Sebastian. She didn’t even care to drink any more watery tea she was so anxious.
“You’l love them both,” Julia said to her.
“Love both of what?” Chloe asked.
Grace dropped her knife on her plate with a din.
“Dancing and archery. They’re both real y great exercise.”
The butler smiled for the cameras. “And—I have a letter from Mr. Wrightman.” He paused so the cameras could pan the table for the women’s reactions. Chloe might not have had butter for her bread, but the drama was spread on pretty thick, that was for sure.
The butler lifted a creamy envelope from a silver salver and broke the red wax seal with a dramatic flourish. Chloe was, however, suitably impressed with the envelope and picked it up to examine it after he set it on the table. It too had been sealed with a red wax
Fingering the seal, she wondered who might be behind details like this.
Inside her writing desk she had discovered historical y correct drawing paper, charcoal, and paints. Did George think of it? Someone on the production crew? Set design? She found the attention to such details enchanting and figured it would have to be a woman or a gay guy. Unless Sebastian himself was responsible. After al , he made the effort to work out as if he were living in the nineteenth century.
“Most likely the invitation wil be for you,” Julia said to Chloe. “You’re the newest girl, and he probably wants to get to know you.”
Chloe raised her eyebrows . . . and her hopes.
The butler unfolded the letter. “Dear—Lady Grace.” He stopped for a moment while the tableful of women did their Regency best not to react too emotional y one way or the other, but a general sigh was audible. Chloe hadn’t prepared herself for the sting of rejection, but then again, Sebastian hadn’t even real y met her yet.
“Oh,” Julia said.
Kate sneezed.
Grace dabbed the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin, drawing attention to her Botoxy smile. Grace, though very attractive, was definitely not twenty-one. Stil , she didn’t look like she was facing the big four-O yet either.
The butler continued. “‘Would you, Lady Grace, be inclined to accompany me on a horseback outing this afternoon? Please leave word with my footman. I wil be at Bridesbridge at three o’clock to col ect you if you are so kind as to accept. Sincerely, Mr. Wrightman.’”
When it was put that way, so eloquently, on paper, Chloe felt a twinge of—jealousy. And not just because of the prize money.
