Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

nearly.”

“Wel , that is a compliment,” Chloe said, col apsing onto a settee. She craved a bottle of ice-cold water. When was the last time she craved water? The dancing made her thirsty, dizzy, and sweaty. Mrs. Crescent rang for tea.

Chloe whispered, “Tel me more about Wil iam. The lump is benign, right?”

Mrs. Crescent rubbed her pregnant bel y. She eyed the camera and dropped her newspaper. The headline read THREE HANG ON THE

GALLOWS AT NEWGATE. When she bent over to pick the paper up, she whispered back, “That is our hope, but it won’t be properly biopsied until it’s removed. Now. Not a word more of it.”

Fiona came in, spotted the newspaper headline, and just as quickly looked away. “Ladies, a messenger has arrived from Dartworth Hal and your presence is requested in the parlor, if you please.”

This would’ve al been very exciting were it not for thoughts of Wil iam losing his curly hair and Abigail with a new stepmom, not to mention the haunting image of three people hanging from the gal ows.

In the parlor, a minty-green room with chairs and tables that dotted a heavily carved marble fireplace, Grace, back from her excursion, was looking out the window through a bronze telescope. Her chaperone darned stockings at the table. And, in a chair by the fire, a young redheaded woman, younger than Grace but older than the rest of the women, sat reading a book of poems. She looked up from her book with big green eyes and stood, smiling at Chloe.

Mrs. Crescent made the introduction. “Miss Parker, I’d like you to meet Miss Imogene Wel s and her chaperone, Mrs. Hatterbee. Mrs. Hatterbee just returned from London.”

Imogene offered her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Parker.”

Chloe shook, but her hand went limp. Was this woman the latest recruit? And London? What was up with that?

“Surely I told you about Miss Wel s.” Mrs. Crescent lowered herself into a neoclassical chair.

“No doubt you did.” Chloe leaned against the chair opposite. She was trying to be as nice as possible about this because Mrs. Crescent’s son was sick.

“Miss Wel s took to her room these past few days. Indisposed.”

Chloe’s brows furrowed. “But I opened al the doors—”

“My door was locked,” Miss Wel s said.

Chloe could see that Imogene was using one of Sebastian’s cal ing cards as a bookmark. A corner of the card was folded down, and that meant he’d come cal ing for her in person, instead of sending a messenger.

“During that time of month, a woman must be confined to her room. There is no other way to manage.”

Chloe tried to do the math. When was she supposed to get her period?! Not anytime soon, she figured. Imogene brought the count up to eight women duking it out for Sebastian. Chloe put her hands on her hips. “Mrs. Crescent, are there any more beautiful single women locked up in this house—perhaps in the attic?”

Fifi, by some gymnastic feat, managed to jump into what was left of Mrs. Crescent’s pregnant lap. “You two ladies have common ground,” said Mrs. Crescent. “You both like to paint.”

“I’m so glad to be back,” Imogene said. “My time here at Bridesbridge means so very much to me.”

At that moment the rest of the women and their chaperones spil ed into the parlor, chatting and laughing. Chloe looked Mrs. Crescent in the eye, careful to couch this properly for the cameras. “It seems most unfair—eight unattached ladies and only one eligible gentleman.”

Mrs. Crescent patted Fifi. “You may not be aware, Miss Parker, that here in England, and London in particular, many women find themselves without homes, without husbands, and very poor. We’re experiencing a great shortage of men at the moment. Some of our men are away in the West Indies seeking their fortunes. Others are at war on the Continent, or in America, many of them getting kil ed in combat, it’s most unfortunate.”

Chloe’d never given much thought to this dark side of the glittering Regency.

Fiona, who had been arranging lemonade and buns on the sideboard, dropped a plate on the floorboards and it shattered. The hum of women chatting stopped, and everyone turned to Fiona, who looked ready to cry.

Chloe popped up to help, but Mrs. Crescent grabbed her by the elbow. In no time several servants appeared to sweep up the china shards, but Fiona had disappeared.

Mrs. Crescent shot Chloe a look, but Chloe went after Fiona just the same, and a camerawoman fol owed her. Chloe found Fiona in the hal , leaning up against the floral wal paper.

“Fiona, what is it? You can tel me. You know a secret about me. Whatever your problem is, maybe I can help you. Are they working you too hard?

Are you getting enough to eat?”

“It’s not that. You can’t help.” Fiona hid her hands in her apron.

Chloe leaned forward and gave her a hug. Fiona sobbed on her shoulder like Abigail would after a bad day at school.

“It’s my fiance. He’s stationed in the Middle East.”

Chloe hugged Fiona tighter and rubbed her back. Now she understood why Fiona got so emotional anytime the Napoleonic Wars were mentioned.

“I thought this would be a distraction for me until he’s back.” Her whole body shook with crying.

“When does he come home?” Chloe asked.