She found this a little abstract, and wanted to press him about it, but settled for the fact that it sounded encouraging. The cameraman, breathless, handed off the umbrel as to Henry, who popped them open while Chloe closed up her parasol. They were nineteenth-century-style umbrel as, made of silk, and soon the silk had soaked through, too. They were at the kitchen garden now, and Chloe spotted several cameras on them from various windows in Bridesbridge.
“I’m going to be in so much trouble with my chaperone.”
“No, you won’t,” Henry said as he led her down the stairs into the scul ery, just off the kitchen. “I’l make sure of that.” He opened the door for her and the scent of rosemary enveloped them. When Chloe closed up her umbrel a, the painting from Abigail and the motion from the court fel from under the crook of her arm onto the stoop, and she froze.
Cook came to the door, hands on her hips.
“Not a word, now, Cook,” Henry said as he picked up the papers and handed them to Chloe without so much as glancing at them. “I’m at your service, Miss Parker, should the need arise.”
Chloe hesitated, then blurted it out. “Henry, I need George. I need to make a phone cal . Something’s happened at home.”
“Of course. Say no more, it shal be done.”
“Thank you, Henry. Thank you.” She handed him his greatcoat and looked down at her wet walking boots. When she looked up at him, wet, dark blond strands of hair had fal en into his caramel-colored eyes. His face was angular but inviting, with an al uring smile.
“Everything wil be al right,” he said.
He had draped his greatcoat over his shoulders and his white shirt and buff-colored breeches had entirely soaked through, making her entirely too aware of his sinewy body. She did, though, remember to curtsy.
He bowed, turned, and hurried off.
When she reached the top of the stairs, she noticed that the red paint on Abigail’s painting had bled through.
To make the cal sooner, Chloe had persuaded Mrs. Crescent to accompany her in the carriage to the entrance gate, where they would meet George.
Now that the rain had stopped, Chloe stood waiting at the iron gates while Mrs. Crescent eyed her pocket watch in the carriage. The gates stood some fifteen feet high with sharp points on top, and the black bars made Chloe think of prison. Or was it a sort of gilded cage?
She paced in front of the gates, the letter from court in hand. Beyond the gates was the real world, and she could even hear the sounds of cars driving on wet paved roads.
She had thought, long and hard, about going home and dealing with this latest stunt of Winthrop’s. Was there anything she could possibly do before the hearing? That was the biggest question she had for her lawyer. Because if there were, she’d be on a plane tonight.
As the sun came out, George appeared on his ATV, and one of the crew unlocked the gates, setting her free from her thoughts.
George granted the cal , Chloe got in touch with her lawyer, and no, nothing could be done until the hearing. Her lawyer advised her to stay on in England and make the best of it. That twenty-minute conversation alone would cost her $350.
As she headed toward the carriage, her head hanging, a glint of silver in the distance caught her eye through the trees, near the hitch post. It was a silver stirrup shining in the sun.
“Miss Parker!” He tipped his hat and waved it.
Mrs. Crescent stirred in the carriage. “Go ahead, go ahead.” She waved Chloe on toward Sebastian. “Just stay in my line of sight. And we wil be making that ink today!”
Chloe turned to walk toward Sebastian, but the dogs—foxhounds—spun and barreled toward her! She froze, Sebastian whistled, and the dogs circled back toward him. He dismounted. His face had tanned in the sun, and as he walked his white horse toward her, she wanted her camera to capture the moment. The tal grasses seemed to part for him as he walked toward her in his boots, riding crop tucked under his arm. His biceps
bulged even under the riding coat. The dogs, panting and tired, lumbered behind. One of the cameramen focused on Sebastian, the other turned his camera toward Chloe.
Sebastian bowed.
Chloe curtsied. She stepped back from the whimpering hounds because she didn’t like hound dogs any more than she liked pugs.
“Don’t worry. I’ve cal ed them off.” He stood so close to her she could almost reach out and touch his designer stubble. “Henry tel s me he thinks you’ve gotten some bad news from home. Is everything quite al right? Why are you out here by the gates? Not trying to escape, I hope.”
Chloe clasped her shaky gloved hands in front of her. “No. I’m doing my best to stay!”
“Good. Good.” He sighed at the cameramen.
There wasn’t much hope for a meaningful conversation.
“The best way to guarantee your stay, Miss Parker, is to dedicate yourself to preparing for the foxhunt. It’s a chal enging task, but one I’m sure you’re equal to. Do you have a sense of adventure?”
“Adventure? I’m al about adventure!” Chloe shot a look at the dogs out of the corner of her eye.
