Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

tucked her knees to her chest. She could no longer deny it. There was a mouse in her room!

T here is a mouse in my room,” Chloe said to Fiona the next morning. She had been here a week and a day, and hadn’t had a serious issue with the accommodations until now.

While Mrs. Crescent and Fifi looked on, Fiona laced Chloe’s stays and pul ed at the laces as if they were reins.

“Mice are al over the house. The kitchen’s got black flies and a hornets’ nest hangs outside the drawing room. Haven’t you noticed?”

She hadn’t. Rose-colored glasses again. “I hate mice. I need to get rid of them.”

“Does this mean you’re staying after al , miss?” Fiona tied off the stays and pul ed the most amazing pomona- green gown over Chloe’s head.

She slid an almost translucent sleeveless dress over the gown. Chloe looked down at her knees where the dress floated and fluttered.

“What do you cal this—this confection?” she asked, turning to admire it in the mirror. It was the first morning she had woken and not immediately hoped for a letter from Abigail.

Fiona tied the dress in the back, cinching it just under her boobs. “It’s an organza overdress.”

“Mmm,” Chloe mused while she sat down at the vanity for Fiona to do her hair. Fiona fastened an amethyst necklace around her neck.

“Can’t imagine leaving al this, can you?” Fiona asked. “And you have a chance at another five Accomplishment Points with the bonnet-trimming session today.”

A footman arrived at the door with a knock and silver tray. “Miss Parker?” He bowed down to Chloe and held the tray in front of her. “Letter for you.”

At last! Chloe hoped it was from Abigail. Or Emma. Or her lawyer—or al three.

“A letter! How exciting!” Mrs. Crescent was instantly at the heels of the footman. “Who from?” she asked as she wiped Fifi’s drool off her arm.

“Don’t get too excited. It’s postmarked Chicago.”

“Oh.” Disappointed, Mrs. Crescent waddled out of the room.

There were several pages of computer-generated art from Abigail wrapped around a letter.

Chloe sank down onto her bed, and made a resounding crunch. “What did the chambermaid stuff my mattress with this time?!”

“I think it’s cornhusks, Miss,” Fiona said. “And sawdust. Seems we’re fresh out of hay.”

Chloe sighed. Grace, due to her higher rank, had a feather mattress.

The letter was from Emma and she read it while Fiona brushed her hair.

Dear Chloe,

We’re all so jealous. Are you having fun in your ball gowns swooning over that young Colin Firth look-alike or what? Nothing but same-old same-old this side of the pond. (Yawn.)

You’ll be happy to know we did get an order for some poetry chapbooks.

On the bright side, we’ve been following Twitter, Facebook, and the blog for the show, and your Mr. Wrightman has great things to say about you—but I’m sure you already know that! Have you tagged and bagged him yet? From the online video, it looks like his brother is a hottie, too—more my type than yours, though. Save him for me?! Everyone’s e-mailing and Facebooking about you. Even Winthrop came by the shop asking about you. Someone wrote up an article in Chicago magazine and you’re all over the alumni website. Lots of buzz. I’m taking the opportunity to do some viral marketing for Parker Press based on all this publicity you’re getting. Thought I’d strike now rather than wait till you get back.

Hope you’re doing us all proud.

I call Abigail almost every day, just like you wanted. She loves getting your daily letters. She’s been painting something on the computer for you every day. I included some of them here. She’s so proud of you. You’re providing her with such a great role model—a woman who follows her dreams! Come back with the money, honey!

Miss you,

Emma

Chloe slumped down in her bed. She knew she couldn’t quit. Aside from al the buzz, and Abigail’s good opinion of her, she was too invested, at this point, to leave Sebastian in favor of a warm shower. If she did, it would leave her with a big “what if?” that she’d never be able to get past.

Besides, Abigail sounded fine. But why was Winthrop asking about her? As for the rest of the letter, it was al the things she didn’t want to hear, and very little about what she did: the business.

After Fiona curtsied and left, Chloe tucked the letter into the secret drawer in her writing desk, where she found the poem from Sebastian. She reread the poem, tucked it into her reticule, and grabbed her bonnet, parasol, and walking gloves. At long last she had the time, and the determination, to work on solving this riddle.

The lady needed a good run anyway—or at least a walk. Ladies were not supposed to exercise. Who knew Chloe would miss working out, of al things? The cameras weren’t on her, so she leaped at her chance. Quietly, quickly, she sneaked down to the kitchen door, where the stench of roasting mutton hit her hard. Regency life was turning her into a vegetarian. She’d never be able to eat the picturesque English sheep that grazed in the hil s just