Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

painted in a skyscape of white clouds, sunshine beams, and golden-haired cherubs.

“The candles melt quickly in al this heat. It takes an army of servants just to keep the place lit. Which reminds me. Mr. Smith?” He signaled a servant. “Please snuff out the candles in the library. Thank you.”

The candles that hung above her had already melted to half their height. She wasn’t ready for al this to melt away. She didn’t want the candles in the library to be snuffed.

Her eyes wel ed up with tears. At least she wasn’t wearing any mascara, but the candle-soot eyeliner might smudge. She dabbed the corners of her eyes with her glove.

Henry, of course, offered her a handkerchief. He always had a handkerchief. It was so old-fashioned.

An older woman, doused in Chanel perfume and draped in layer upon layer of silk, broke into their little threesome. “Mr. Wrightman—” She spoke to Henry, but looked down at Chloe, then deliberately turned so that her butt was in Chloe’s face.

Cook squeezed Chloe’s hand.

The woman hooked her arm in Henry’s. “I simply must introduce you to my niece who’s in from London. She’s a doctor, just like you. You wil absolutely adore her.”

Who were these people? And why were they mixing with the unwashed from the reality show?

Henry bowed. As the woman led him away, he looked back at Chloe over his shoulder. “Save two dances for me.”

“Of course.” Chloe bowed her head, and when she lifted it, Henry and his companion had already disappeared into the crowd. Poof. It felt as if someone had doused the lights. Her eyes scanned the room for him.

“So.” Cook tapped her on the knee with her fan. “Mrs. Crescent tel s me you’re real y taken with Sebastian—I mean Mr. Wrightman.”

Chloe opened her mouth to speak and looked at Cook, her familiar face, her smile as warm as plum pudding, and she realized she didn’t even know her name.

“Here you’ve cooked every meal I’ve eaten since I got here—and I don’t even know your name.”

Cook crossed her legs under her glistening gown. “It’s Lady Anne Wrightman.”

Chloe opened up her feathered fan. “Your real name.”

Cook smiled. “It’s Lady Anne. I’m Henry and Sebastian’s aunt.”

It crossed Chloe’s mind that this was a show, after al .

“Oh! I’m so sorry.” Embarrassed, she started to sweat. She fanned herself frantical y. “I just assumed you were, uh—”

“Not titled? It’s understandable. I’ve spent the past month or so in the basement kitchen.” Lady Anne laughed.

Chloe tried to reconcile this Lady Anne with the woman she knew as Cook.

“Don’t worry, you were always very kind to me—and al the servants, for that matter. And I real y put you to the test! But you’d best be careful with how you manage your fan.” She looked at Chloe’s fan. “With that kind of fluttering, you’re sending a message to al the men that you’re engaged.”

Chloe snapped up her fan and held it in her left hand, at the angle that meant “desirous of acquaintance.” Lady Anne nodded in approval.

It hit Chloe like a ton of stale Bath buns that not only was she sitting next to the aunt of the two men in her life, but that the room was swarming with beautiful women in gowns with plunging necklines, and neither Sebastian nor Henry was anywhere to be seen.

The orchestra, discreetly hidden behind topiaries and shrubbery, struck up and everyone stood.

“Lady Anne.” Chloe had to raise her voice loudly so that her companion could hear her over the music. She practical y shouted. Unfortunately, though, at the very moment that she yel ed, “Who are al these women?!,” the orchestra took the liberty of stopping.

Al the faces in the crowd turned toward Chloe, who fumbled with her fan and unwittingly sent al kinds of mixed messages around the room, from

“kiss me” to “I hate you” to “you are too wil ing.” She couldn’t breathe.

“Play on!” Henry said from the top of the bal room, and the orchestra started up again. And she breathed again. But she stil couldn’t see Henry.

The crowd circled the dance floor, and Chloe and Lady Anne nudged their way to the front, where Grace and Sebastian, as the couple of the highest status, opened the bal with a perfectly danced minuet.

Grace lived up to her name on the dance floor, and the minuet seemed to last forever.

Final y, the dance ended and Chloe craned her neck to see over and around everyone, and wished she was wearing a pair of heels instead of flats. Heels have their purpose, after al , just like so many things from the modern world that she missed. She managed to get a glimpse of the archway, but Henry wasn’t there either.

“May I have the pleasure of this dance?” Sebastian bowed as he stared into her cleavage. Wel , the pleasure was hers, real y. On the bal room floor, the women lined up on one side and the men on the other. For Chloe, one of the most elegant and joyous parts of the dance was this, the beginning, the anticipation, when the line of women faced the line of men and bowed and curtsied simultaneously.

Chloe looked forward to talking with Sebastian. Regency dancing offered a rare opportunity for a couple to speak privately.

Sebastian’s black jacket was so beautiful y tailored that Chloe did al she could do to keep herself from hanging on to his coattails. But she had to keep her hands to her sides now and during most of the dance. As with al