Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

Grace nodded with enthusiasm, her feather nodding with her.

Chloe watched Sebastian, who now seemed so animated, making hand gestures as he talked; he even smiled. The footman offered Chloe a platter of boiled potatoes and carrots, and with a pair of silver tongs, she plucked them from the platter, transferring them careful y to her plate.

Sebastian laughed. “I must’ve bagged fourteen grouse! Looking forward to the season. Grouse hunting in August. Partridges in September.

Pheasants in October—”

Chloe turned her head to look at him and the potato she was lifting with the tongs broke and fel into her lap. “Oh—”

Henry offered his napkin to her. But before anybody noticed Chloe’s faux pas, Grace squeaked like a mouse, and spouted a very deliberate “Oh, dear!” Al heads and cameras turned to Grace as she squirmed, then shot up out of her chair.

One of her breasts had popped out of her low-cut gown!

At first, a wave of shock rol ed through Chloe, and she would’ve stood up to help, but for the broken potato on her lap.

Grace paused for a moment, her hand over her pursed lips, looking down at her breast while the cameras jockeyed around her. Sebastian’s eyes bugged out. He dropped his spoon. Henry sighed and looked away. Kate scratched at her arm furiously. Julia folded her arms.

And that’s when it final y hit Chloe that Grace had orchestrated this stunt. Chloe kept reminding herself that a lady could never appear too angry, especial y in public, but her hands shook and she wanted to tel Grace off. How dare she ruin Chloe’s debut dinner at Dartworth!

“Oh my!” Grace squealed. As if in slo-mo, her gotta-be-a-fake boob stood there, erect, en plein air, until Sebastian burst out of his chair, ripped off his coat, and slid it over Grace’s shoulders, careful y covering said breast.

Fish think, but not fast enough, Chloe thought. She plucked the broken potato from her lap. She whispered to Henry, “What do you think that reveals about her character?”

Henry didn’t reply, but instead signaled one of the footmen over to help her clean up the potato. It was as if Grace didn’t exist.

Grace hugged Sebastian’s coat around her. She hurried behind a painted screen in a far corner of the room, and her chaperone joined her.

Leave it to Grace to stage a strategic wardrobe malfunction that wouldn’t soon be forgotten. Al the women had, for days now, joked about their bodices slipping down, but it never did happen. Chloe shook her head. Grace had to have cut her corset to pul this one off. Everything put away now, Sebastian seated Grace at the table again.

Both Sebastian and Henry looked flushed and they talked about the wine from nearly opposite ends of the long table.

Gil ian narrowed her eyes at Grace.

Grace held her wineglass up to the candlelight. “It has great body, don’t you agree?”

Chloe raised her glass. “But a rather empty finish if you ask me.”

Gil ian smiled.

If only she could get that image of Grace’s breast out of her head—and out of Sebastian’s.

A footman brandished a platter with a pheasant, purple plumage stil attached, encircled with roasted rabbits, their furry heads reattached.

“Any hope of what we in America cal ‘salad’?” Chloe whispered to Henry.

“You know ful wel that greenery is bad for your digestion, and tomatoes are poisonous.”

Chloe didn’t have a barb to fling back at him. She was surprised and impressed by his knowledge of Regency England. But maybe instead of picking up Regency trivia from Henry, she could glean information about Sebastian. “You’re absolutely right about the salad. What was I thinking?

Perhaps you can enlighten me on another subject: your brother. Does he really like to hunt?”

Henry set down his knife. “Most country gentlemen do hunt and fish, Miss Parker, for sport as wel as for food. But my brother’s bark is bigger than his bite.”

“Bon appetit,” Grace announced. She helped herself to a slice of rabbit.

“Are you saying it has something to do with machismo? Is your brother overly concerned with his image?” Chloe asked.

“I didn’t realize American heiresses were familiar with Spanish words like machismo, nor that they were trained in the wiles of journalism.”

Chloe squirmed in her chair. Tapping Henry for information wouldn’t be easy, but it was worth the effort. And it was fun to spar with him. Stil , she felt comforted by the fact that Sebastian must’ve been overstating his hunting prowess to impress the women. He did have the reputation of a Regency squire to live up to, after al .

Sebastian stood, and al eyes moved toward him. “Yes, bon appetit, and, I’d like to invite al the ladies, and Henry, too, of course, to join me in a mock foxhunt on Sunday, nine in the morning. Ladies, we won’t be pursuing a real fox, so not to worry.”

Chloe looked toward the windows. Forget the fox. This meant she’d have to ride a horse sidesaddle. And, no doubt, this was another reality-show task with Accomplishment Points attached and nonparticipants asked to leave.