“Mr. Wrightman,” Grace said to Henry. She left Sebastian to take Henry by the arm. “I’ve been meaning to remind you about a little silversmithing project I have for us to work on together. You’re so good with your hands, I thought of your talents right away. Might I have a word with you in private?”
She stole Henry away from Chloe while Gil ian slid in next to Sebastian. Chloe stood alone with an empty punch cup in her hand. She didn’t like Grace slithering away with Henry like that, but she set her sights on Sebastian.
Suddenly something brushed against her leg. Next thing she knew, something warm and furry was pushing against her calf. It startled her, and her punch cup slipped out of her gloved hands and crashed on the floor. It was Fifi—humping Chloe’s stockinged leg with wild abandon. Chloe lifted her gown, trying to shake the dog off. The quartet stopped playing, but Fifi kept going. First the condom, now the dog? This was not the way her elegant tea party was supposed to go.
“Fifi,” Mrs. Crescent yel ed. “Come back here to Mother.” She waddled over to her dog.
Fifi kept humping away with unusual tenacity even as Mrs. Crescent detached him from Chloe’s leg. Chloe felt her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment and she swooped down to pick up the shards of glass.
Grace chimed in from across the room: “It seems everyone and his dog is attracted to Miss Parker.”
“Poor Fifi.” Mrs. Crescent held the quivering dog. “It’s always the same this time of year for him.”
A maid plucked the glass shards from Chloe’s open hand and cleaned up the remaining slivers from the floor. Chloe could feel Sebastian staring at her while Henry looked politely away, and into the fire. She stepped backward. Somehow her gloved hand landed in the bowl of clotted cream on the tea table behind her.
Grace, moving closer for a better look, laughed. “Is this a typical American tea party?” she asked. “How provincial.”
Chloe boiled over like a forgotten teapot. She imagined smearing the clotted cream al over Grace’s face. Nothing would’ve made her happier.
She edged closer to her rival.
“Miss Parker. Please, dear, protocol.” Mrs. Crescent wedged herself between the women, but her bel y ended up bumping Chloe’s arm and the clotted cream smudged Grace’s arm.
“I do apologize,” Chloe said. “That was an accident.”
Another cameraman rushed in from the hal and suddenly they were surrounded by three cameras. Grace lunged toward the table, reached for a miniature mince pie, and dropped it onto Chloe’s shoe.
“Oh. I’m sorry. Real y. That was an accident, too.”
“Oh, dear Lord, another pair of shoes ruined,” Mrs. Crescent groaned as Fifi, in an unexptected show of loyalty, growled at Grace.
Without even looking down, Chloe plated a slice of strawberry tart. “I see the mince pie does not appeal to you. Perhaps a tart would be more apropos?” She handed the plate to Grace, who did not take it. Eventual y Julia took it and promptly ate it up.
Grace picked up a goblet of apricot ice. “Here’s something even an ice queen like you might enjoy, Miss Parker.”
Chloe plucked two gold-dusted confections from the sweets plate and set them on a smal dish. “Perhaps the lady would like these? She seems to enjoy digging for gold.”
Mrs. Crescent breathed heavily and began fanning herself furiously. “Miss Gately, the good Miss Gately would never, never behave like this,” was al she could manage to expostulate.
Henry took a sip of his punch. “I daresay this is the most amusing tea party I’ve ever attended,” he observed.
Sebastian turned to look at Julia.
Chloe smiled to herself. It was a smackdown, nineteenth-century style.
Kate sneezed three times. “Were there strawberries in those rout cakes?” she asked. “I must stay away from strawberries.”
“There aren’t any strawberries in the rout cakes! The strawberries are in the strawberry tart!” Chloe rubbed her forehead and signaled to the quartet to start playing.
Amid the cacophony of the musicians tuning up their instruments, Henry approached Chloe. “Are you al right?” he said with obvious concern.
“I sure didn’t see that coming.” Chloe glared at Grace.
“None of us did,” Henry said. Under his breath he added, “But you have to realize we’ve al been here awhile, and some of us are on edge. They miss home. Family. Friends.”
And Chloe didn’t miss anyone? How could he say something like that? She thought about smearing his face with clotted cream. Getting him away from her would solve a myriad of her problems. He kept usurping time she should be spending with Sebastian, and with an Invitation Ceremony just minutes away, he was putting her position in jeopardy. She had to make it clear to everyone that she had no romantic inclinations toward Henry, and maybe she had to do it for herself more than for anyone else.
In a very calm, but firm and rather loud tone, she said to him, “You don’t know anything about me, Mr. Henry Wrightman.” Even as she spoke, the memory of his lips upon hers rose up in her mind. “
Sebastian, meanwhile, was leaning against the fireplace mantel, watching Grace’s chaperone and maid rush to her aid. Fifi was wagging his tail while Julia looked out the window. But Grace wasn’t finished with Chloe yet.
“Tel Mr. Wrightman what happened in the forest this morning with Henry, Miss Parker!” she said.
