Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

Regency England, waiting for men to determine your destiny.

Sebastian smiled. “Miss Parker, wil you accept this invitation?”

The red wax seal looked like candy.

“Yes, I wil .” She hardly knew where the words came from. Glad to be asked, but mortified to accept, she curtsied, and on her way back, she noticed Imogene wipe a tear from her cheek. She, Olive, and Becky didn’t have an invitation. Chloe’s three favorites.

“Ladies,” said George. “Mr. Wrightman has made his decision. You may say your good-byes.”

Grace held her arms out to Imogene, who instead threw herself at Chloe. Abigail had cried like this when she final y understood that Winthrop wouldn’t be living with them anymore. Chloe wrapped her arms around Imogene and realized that even Imogene could use a shower.

“I can’t believe he chose Grace over me,” Imogene whimpered into Chloe’s neck. “I actual y have feelings for him and . . . and I don’t want to go.”

“I know. I’m going to miss you.”

Imogene was the closest thing to a friend Chloe had here, and Sebastian ripped her away. Who else would Chloe talk to? Paint with? Imogene stepped back and squeezed Chloe’s arms. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Good luck.”

“That’s quite enough now.” George linked his arm in Imogene’s, avoiding eye contact with Chloe. “Your carriage is waiting.”

Chloe hugged Becky and Olive. They wished her wel , even though, Olive said, Chloe seemed a mismatch for Sebastian. The audacity! Imogene threw Grace an air kiss. Sebastian said good-bye and thank you to the women. As Imogene walked out the double mahogany doors, her blue satin bow on the back of her gown drooped like a frown.

Sad as Chloe was to see her go, and embarrassed as she was to have participated in the ceremony, she thril ed at the thought of staying on, for the money and the man, and this mix of emotion made her uncomfortable. A torrent of lust and a wave of hope for love overcame her. Her mouth quivered into a smile as Mrs. Crescent congratulated her.

Sebastian turned and smiled at Chloe, but protocol dictated that he escort Grace. He took her arm and they both turned their backs on her. The other women and their chaperones fol owed suit, leaving Chloe in the back of the promenade alone.

George seemed to have vaporized and Henry appeared just as quickly and bowed to Chloe. He held out his arm and offered to escort her. “I’m sorry that Miss Wel s was asked to leave. I know you’l miss her.”

Henry was not only observant, but thoughtful. “Thank you, Mr. Wrightman. I will miss her.”

“Someday, when we have a chance,” he said, “I’d like to show you the library. I think you’d quite like it.”

Chapter 8

F rom Chloe’s vantage point in the back of the promenade, Sebastian looked hot and bulging in his “inexpressibles.” His tight cream-colored breeches were revealed every time his coattails wafted open. With this potent cocktail of sexiness and intel igence that she had only ever seen on screen, she forgot everything else.

She felt compel ed to reconnect with him as she had this morning, or next time around he could kick her off the show with his gold-buckled shoe.

But she was at the end, the very end, of the line of guests walking through the mahogany-paneled hal toward the dining room at Dartworth. It made her jealous that he led the procession, arm in arm with Grace, and then it made her mad that she felt jealous. She was just getting to know him! Why was she crushing on him already? The rest of the party fol owed in order of rank with Chloe, the token poor girl (and come on, she had always thought of herself as decidedly upper middle class despite her current strife) bringing up the end.

Holding her chin high and her spine straight, she walked through the doors with Henry, the cameras al over her. Once she lowered her chin, she found herself standing in front of a long table bedecked in a white tablecloth, and she felt wistful now, on top of everything, because it was Wednesday night, her pizza-and- movie night with Abigail. The grand dining table in front of her stood resplendent with five-pronged candelabra and beeswax candles, silver-rimmed china bowls, and crystal wine goblets at each place setting. Pineapples and shiny red apple pyramids punctuated each end of the table. Fruit! She hadn’t eaten fruit in days, as it was considered bad for a lady’s complexion. Dainty desserts stood on silver epergnes, and five footmen in blue coats and gold waistcoats, al equal y young and handsome, and al of uniform height, stood behind the Chippendale chairs, waiting to serve. And then she remembered pizza gave her heartburn and Abigail was probably having fun with her grandparents or, God forbid, her dad and stepmom-to-be.

“You were perhaps expecting a larger dining room?” Henry asked.

Chloe must’ve been frowning at the thought of Marcia Smith.

Henry smiled. “I do hope you find Dartworth Hal to your liking. You don’t think it too ostentatious?”

“Ostentatious? No. No, not at al .” She tried to remember the last time a man spoke to her using polysyl abic words like ostentatious. “I find it elegant.”

“Al ow me to escort you to your chair,” he said.

Nobody had ever said that to her before. She took his arm. “Thank you.” He was so nice she actual y felt guilty for thinking maybe getting in good with Henry would help her score points with Sebastian.

Henry pul ed out her chair and pushed her in next to him. Sebastian sat on the other end of the table, at the head, with Julia on his left and Grace on his right. He caught Chloe’s attention and then rol ed his eyes when Grace wasn’t looking. Chloe shrugged. Next to Grace and Julia were Gil ian and Kate, then Chloe and Henry, and al the chaperones.