the women a red rosebud posy wrapped tightly with pink ribbon.
A certain hunger came over Chloe. In her best imitation English accent she asked, “Shal we go to tea?”
Grace locked her eyes on Sebastian, then took his arm and spoke over her shoulder to Chloe. “How did you ever manage to find the time to save the wounded
Whatever did she mean by that? Even Sebastian looked confused.
Grace led Sebastian toward the hal , Kate and Gil ian fol owing in her wake. Julia took Chloe’s arm and the chaperones and Fifi fol owed them into the back drawing room.
Hosting the tea was her way of taking control and flaunting her knowledge of Regency mores, and as far as she was concerned, a nineteenth-century aristocrat couldn’t have pul ed it off any better. A quartet of musicians in the corner played Mozart, the punch sparkled in a crystal bowl, and candles flickered around the silver epergnes stacked with slices of strawberry tart, rout cakes, sandwiches, a trifle, the gold-dusted confections, clotted cream, and apricot ice. Wedgwood china dishes crowned the table, a teapot warmed on the grate, and a whist table stood set and ready.
Sebastian looked impressed, or at the very least, hungry.
“I want to host a tea. Why haven’t I hosted a tea?” Gil ian asked her chaperone.
“You didn’t think of it, dear,” was the chaperone’s reply.
Julia took a turn about the room with Kate.
Before anyone so much as touched a teacup, the butler suddenly announced a random reticule inspection.
“This happened a couple weeks ago before an Invitation Ceremony,” Julia whispered. “It’s like a pop quiz. They want to make sure you’ve remembered to bring everything a lady might need at such an event.”
Julia, Grace, and Kate al passed muster. They each had an array of the necessities: fan, smel ing salts or vinaigrette, cal ing-card case. The butler opened Chloe’s reticule last. He named each item as he pul ed it out. “Vinaigrette. Cal ing-card case. Fan.” Then he fel silent as he pul ed something else from her bag, even though Chloe hadn’t put anything else in there. It was a smal , square black packet with serrated edges. At the sight of the glistening wrapper, horror flashed through Chloe. It was a condom! What was it doing in there? She had left the condoms in her valise back at the inn!
Grace gasped. “Oh my.” She fanned herself.
The butler held the little packet up high so everyone could see it. It took a while for the crowd to make out what it was, then the room went abuzz.
Chloe squinted. It wasn’t one of the strawberry-margarita-flavored condoms Emma had given her. This one had a black wrapper. She looked at Grace, who smiled. In an instant, she knew that Grace had planted it on her, and that was it. The end of ladylike behavior toward Grace.
“That’s not mine,” Chloe said to the butler. “Someone must’ve planted it on me. I’d never smuggle something like that in here, and even if I did, would I bring it to the tea party I myself am hosting? It doesn’t make any sense.”
The butler nodded in agreement. “Stil , you have no proof that anyone ‘planted’ this on you, as you claim, Miss Parker. If you had proof, that would be a different story.”
“Likewise there isn’t any proof that it is mine,” Chloe said.
“It was in your reticule,” Grace pointed out.
Mrs. Crescent spoke. “I can attest to the fact that my charge did not smuggle any such thing in here. She has been set up. I stake my reputation on it.” Fifi barked in agreement.
The butler looked stymied. “This item wil be confiscated and we wil determine how to proceed. For now, let the tea party resume.”
Chloe frowned. She vowed to get proof—whatever that might be. Talk about awkward. Wel , she’d wanted to make an impression on Sebastian, and she sure had.
Grace fanned her way to a settee, patted a cushion next to her, and urged Sebastian to sit. “I’ve never been to an American tea before, have you, Mr. Wrightman?”
Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but appeared to have second thoughts on the subject and remained silent.
Grace had pushed Chloe too far. Chloe held up a punch glass. “Lady Grace, would you like a punch?” she asked ingenuously.
“How amusing. I prefer tea, thank you.”
Chloe reached for the teapot on the grate, but the butler beat her to it. “Al ow me,” he said.
“If this is an American tea party, then I find it quite charming.” It was Henry, interjecting from behind the fireplace screen. He rose out of a high-backed chair and bowed to the women and the chaperones.
“I—I didn’t expect you to be here,” Chloe said.
“Indeed you did not,” he replied. “I had to ask the servants to bring an extra tea setting.”
She couldn’t look him in the eye, even as he came closer.
“Stil , you seem to have thought of every other detail. Like you said, you didn’t know I’d be here.” Under his breath he said, “Did you think I’d miss your hostessing debut?”
Chloe cooled her sweaty palms on her punch glass.
