Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

“Uh—yes.” She curtsied. It was the tal , dark, and handsome rich English gentleman who had the power to change her destiny. The one she insulted at the pond. But they couldn’t acknowledge each other until they had been properly introduced.

Chloe stood on her toes, just for a minute, to look for George. Only a single cameraman stood on the portico filming; the ATV was gone. She turned her attention back to Sebastian, who stared deeply into her eyes. His pupils seemed to grow bigger.

“You seem—different from the others,” he said under his breath.

Good different or bad different? Chloe wondered. Stil , he had noticed she stood apart from the other girls, and he was right.

“I’m afraid we have not been formal y introduced, yet, sir,” she said. Mrs. Crescent would have her head if she knew they were talking.

“I wil have to secure that introduction, and fast.” Sebastian lowered his voice. “Perhaps you’re more—intel igent than the rest? More multifaceted? Independent? With a sense of humor? Entertaining to talk to?”

Chloe was smitten, but her ink-stained hands were tied.

Fifi growled at Sebastian’s greyhounds. They didn’t even look at Fifi.

“Fifi. Stop.” Chloe petted the dog. Sebastian bowed.

Chloe felt herself—swoon. Fifi flailed in her arms, Chloe had to catch him from jumping out, and she and Sebastian butted heads.

“Ow,” Sebastian said, rubbing the cleft in his chin.

“So sorry,” Chloe said, and curtsied. “I don’t mean to keep—bumping into you like this.”

He laughed and stepped closer. “I quite like a girl who can make me laugh.”

She whispered, “I’m sorry about what I said at the pond, too. Real y.”

“Oh, that? My apologies as wel , for invading your—privacy.” He bent forward just enough for her to appreciate his smile.

“Why, Mr. Wrightman,” Grace said from the landing on the staircase behind them. In her slate riding dress with half boots and a so-very-tight cropped riding jacket, she stopped for a moment, smiling, and stared down on Chloe. Grace looked quite the seductress in her black riding hat, a scaled-down version of a man’s hat with a sheer black ribbon tied in a knot under her chin, and a riding crop tucked conspicuously under her arm. “I didn’t know you had been introduced to our latest arrival from the Colonies.”

Chloe turned toward Grace. “They’re not colonies anymore. It must be some time since you’ve read the newspaper. Like maybe thirty-six years?”

It had been thirty-six years since the American Revolution, and Grace knew it.

Sebastian covered his mouth as he laughed.

Grace fluttered her eyelashes. “I daresay I’m not even thirty-six years old.”

“Real y? You seem so—mature.”

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Pleasure to see you as always, Lady Grace.” He bowed in her direction. “I haven’t yet had the pleasure of formal y meeting our newest guest.”

“Pity,” Grace said as she descended the stairs with her maidservant carrying the train behind her riding dress. She brushed past Chloe in a waft of lavender water.

Sebastian took Grace’s arm and led her to her horse, but he did look back at Chloe and gave her a meaningful, lingering stare.

Grace nudged him. “Are you quite ready for our ride?”

“Quite.” He bowed to Chloe.

Chloe curtsied, her mouth dry. Sebastian set a mounting block next to Grace’s horse and handed her up into the sidesaddle. Lady Martha nudged past Chloe and the stable boy helped her into the saddle of her horse. Fifi had settled down and was now licking Chloe’s arm.

Chloe didn’t see George anywhere. A bee buzzed through the front doors and into the foyer.

“Excuse me, miss,” one of the footmen asked. “Wil you be going out?”

She wanted nothing more than to either continue watching Sebastian or run out and ask George if he’d heard anything from anyone back home.

“Out? Oh. No, thank you.”

When the footmen shut the doors, she set Fifi down and he scampered back to the drawing room. Chloe got a glimpse of herself in the silver-leaf entry-hal mirror. She looked, in a word, disheveled. Grace, in her riding habit, was so put together.

Stil , Sebastian had spoken with her, and made her feel so good about herself.

She fel into a reverie, of Sebastian kissing her, of his hands tracing her curves, of him crushing up against her.

Someone tapped her on the shoulder and she gasped.

It was Mrs. Scott, her blue eyes beaming. “Shal we dance?”

T hree hours later, Mrs. Crescent was sparkling with hope. “Thank goodness you won your Accomplishment Points for the day. We’re up to fifteen now. You’re almost as accomplished a dancer as Miss Gately, that wonderful charge of mine, was. A shame that she had to leave. But you have her level of talent,