Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

She wished she didn’t care about Sebastian or Henry, but it was too late for that. She moved over to her half of the bed—making room for—

someone.

T he next morning, she woke, unable to do anything except sit on the edge of her bed, even though it was Monday and there might be mail from Abigail. Fiona worked around her while a cameraman filmed. She must’ve been quite drunk to dress up like a footman and go to Dartworth! The very thought of it made her paralyzed with fear.

“This is how it should be, mum,” Fiona said as she brushed Chloe’s hair with a large, heavy, gleaming silver brush in front of the French bombe dressing table. “It’s much better when you just let me take care of everything like this. ’Tis my duty.”

Chloe wanted to be brushing Abigail’s hair, braiding it, getting her ready for the day.

Fiona twisted Chloe’s hair back so tightly that Chloe winced. But she always did a great updo, and when Chloe looked in the mirror, she had to admire the sexy way her hair spil ed out from the knot atop her head.

“James told me to bring this up to you, miss.”

It wasn’t mail, but something wrapped in a blue silk scarf that turned out to be her shoe from last night. She sighed. It was a nice gesture on Henry’s part, and as far as that went, her mission had been accomplished.

Fiona was pul ing back the draperies and sunlight was flooding into the room when suddenly Mrs. Crescent and Fifi came bounding in.

Mrs. Crescent was almost breathless. “You missed breakfast, Miss Parker. The butler announced that your outing with Mr. Wrightman has been bumped by a group competition at the hedge maze. Can you fathom why?”

“I can’t.” Chloe was shaky, and needed to eat something.

Two plump strawberries from the Dartworth hothouse waited in a mortar and pestle bowl to be crushed and made into rouge for Chloe. Red, ripe strawberries. Overcome with desire, Chloe snatched them up and ate them both at the same time. What did it matter if her cheeks had no color today? After last night, she’d surely be sent home, anyway.

Mrs. Crescent shook a finger at her. “I daresay it’s no wonder Lady Grace always looks so much more polished than you. You’ve gone and eaten your cosmetics again!”

Chapter 13

B eing a corn-fed girl from the Midwest, Chloe had seen corn mazes, but never a maze sculpted from eight-foot-tal yew trees. Ever since she arrived, she’d been enticed by the prospect of the hedge maze, and now, it seemed, was her chance to see it, although it did sting that the visit to the maze had trumped her scheduled outing with Sebastian.

The women and their chaperones were gathering around the entry to the maze while Sebastian and Henry came riding toward them on their horses.

Chloe had imagined running along the narrow, pebbled paths between the high hedges, dropping red rose petals behind her, Sebastian at her heels. They would meet in the pagoda in the center to kiss, his lips final y touching hers, her fingers final y grazing his squared-off sideburns, nothing but green al around and blue sky above—

The butler interrupted her reverie. “This morning the three of you wil be competing for fifteen Accomplishment Points. Mr. Wrightman wil be sitting in the pagoda in the middle of the maze. You wil al be sent off into the maze at the same time, and the woman to reach Mr. Wrightman first wins the points and time alone with him until the other ladies catch up.”

Chloe almost groaned out loud. This, of al the competitions so far, seemed the most demeaning. She crossed her arms and kicked the dust with her walking boots.

Just then, out of nowhere, George came zipping up in an ATV. George!? Was he here to send her packing?

Janey was sitting next to him, sipping coffee from a white cardboard cup.

Chloe had given up drinking coffee here in England. Regency coffee tasted horrid, and the weak tea proved only marginal y better.

George swung his blue-jeaned legs out of the cart and pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. A Bluetooth was stuck on his ear. Chloe couldn’t stand those things; Winthrop used to wear his al the time.

“Girls.” He made guns with his fingers and aimed at Chloe and Grace. “A word?” He whipped off his Bluetooth and raked his hair. The air around him hinted of shampoo and toothpaste. His hair must’ve been loaded with product. How else could it have smel ed of shampoo and looked so much like bed head?

“Over here.” When he grabbed them by the elbows, their parasols tipped to the sides. Regency men didn’t cal women “girls” and they didn’t yank women around by the elbows. After weeks of Sebastian’s and Henry’s gentlemanly behavior, even Grace seemed shocked at such treatment. In addition to bowing, Sebastian and Henry always stood when a lady entered the room, and a lady could get used to such things.

George led them, faster than their calfskin boots could carry them, toward the topiary arch at the entrance of the hedge maze. Overhead, clouds were rol ing in.

“No cameras,” George barked at two of the crew, and they backed off.

Moments later, Sebastian and Henry arrived and tied their horses to a tree.

Grace’s chaperone looked intent with concern and Mrs. Crescent sent Fifi on to be with Chloe.

“Listen, ladies,” George began ominously, “I can be the king of grouchy Brit reality-show judges, you know.”

Grace folded her arms just under the hem of her spencer jacket, which so nicely accentuated her boobs and tiny waist. “I don’t see what I have to do with al this.”