Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

by Karen Doornebos

  “I can handle this. Go ahead or you’l lose! You want that money, don’t you? Or Sebastian? Or both?”

  It al seemed so crass, the way he put it. He whipped off his riding jacket, tossed it aside, pul ed off his white muslin shirt, and ripped it into strips.

  Chloe tried to avoid gaping at his abs, which also happened to be—ripped. She felt woozy, from the blood dripping down the horse’s leg to his hoof, then curdling on the dirt, no doubt.

  Chloe snapped to. She did her best to push up her tight sleeves. “You can’t get rid of me that easily. Tel me what I can do.”

  Henry gave her The Look. As in The Look Mr. Darcy gave Elizabeth Bennet in virtual y any film adaptation of Pride and Prejudice when he realized that he loved her. It was that Look along with the dive in the lake that typecast Colin Firth as romantic leading man for fifteen years, much to his chagrin. Chloe would know it anywhere, and it happened very quickly, but it was The Look.

  She skipped a breath. Her riding jacket felt too tight and she stepped back.

  “Here,” Henry said. “You hold the bit and steady him while I wrap him up.”

  Henry expertly wrapped the strips of shirt like a bandage around the horse’s leg, the horse whinnying and stamping as he tied it off. Blood saturated the shirt and it turned blood brown. He coiled the strips, but the blood soaked through everything.

  Henry worked so quickly, so confidently, it impressed Chloe unlike anything she had seen before. He was a man who took action and took care of things, and people, and animals.

  What was she thinking?! Her instinct had been to stop and help Henry, but had she made the right choice? She’d just sacrificed Sebastian, not to mention the Accomplishment Points. She thought about Abigail, the business, and her head began to spin. If she’d eaten that cow’s tongue on toast for breakfast, she might have more strength—

  “Miss Parker? Miss Parker?!” Henry was tapping water on her face with his hands, looking down on her from above, his face lit with a shaft of light coming through the canopy of trees. Her head was in his lap as he knelt on one knee. She heard the water lapping in the ravine. The bun of her hair rubbed right against his manhood, as they would say in the nineteenth century. Or was that just in romance novels? In a stupor, she turned toward his bare chest. His flesh felt warm against her cold, wet cheek. His pecs were impeccable. He had a pine scent about him. Or was that just the forest floor?

  “Henry.”

  He leaned into her, she lifted her head toward him, and he kissed her with a hunger and a force that both surprised and excited her.

  Just as suddenly he stopped, slowly releasing her bottom lip, and smiled. “Now you’re going to tel me you didn’t faint.”

  “I never faint.”

  “Clearly.” He moved in for another kiss, and that was when Chloe noticed a cameraman sidestepping down the ravine toward them.

  With Henry’s help, she staggered to a standing position and turned to face the camera. Blood was rushing to her head. The cameraman hadn’t got her head lol ing in Henry’s lap, had he? Henry, shirtless. Her, without her chaperone. Them kissing! What had possessed her? She broke into a shiver and her teeth began to chatter uncontrol ably. This was not how she wanted it to end, not at al .

  Chapter 10

  W elcome, ladies, to the second-to-last Invitation Ceremony,” the butler said, rubbing his hands together like a seasoned gambler.

  The cameras panned from him to the five women in gowns perched in front of the pianoforte in the drawing room at Bridesbridge Place. Their chaperones sat near the game table, fidgeting. Mrs. Crescent lowered her head to look at her locket portrait of Wil iam while Fifi twisted and turned at her feet, unable to settle down.

  Even though Chloe had changed into a jonquil gown and put an ostrich feather in her hair, she stil smel ed of horse and muck, and she couldn’t shake the thought of Henry kissing her. Okay, she was attracted to him for some reason, but what a mistake! She didn’t think the cameraman had captured the kiss, or she would’ve heard about it. For four years she didn’t have a man in her life at al and now she had two? That was one man too many. Kissing Henry? It never should’ve happened and she swore to herself that it never would again. Thankful y, she wouldn’t have to see him tonight, because of the Invitation Ceremony. It would only be Sebastian. Sebastian . . . she smiled.

  But it was Henry who set her, despite his hurt leg, back on her horse, and led both horses back to Bridesbridge, with a camera in tow. He got her back in time to change, wash up, and even attend to the last-minute details of the hunt tea she was hosting. If only it had been Sebastian.

  Here she was dwel ing on the men, and not the money!

  She fingered the reticule she had sewn and trimmed herself during her sewing lessons, made of vintage maroon silk, embroidered with golden horses. It was barely big enough to hold a girl’s cal ing cards—but able to carry a simple wish. A wish to stay.

  “We have five ladies,” the butler said. “And three invitations.”

  A footman promenaded into the room and set a silver tray on the marble table in front of the fire. Three crisp invitations lay fanned out on the tray, each sealed with a red wax W.

  “Two of you wil be sent home immediately.” The butler looked Chloe smack in the eye.

  Chloe looked down at her reticule. It was over. Tonight she’d be on her way back home, and the best she could hope for from this ordeal would be some PR for her business.

  “Might I remind you,” said the butler, “that Lady Grace won the foxhunt, Miss Tripp placed second, and Miss Harrington third.”

  Chloe sucked on her lower lip, which didn’t matter because she had no lipstick on.

  “The fifteen Accomplishment Points for winning the foxhunt wil be awarded to . . .” He paused for dramatic effect.

  Grace stood on her toes, ready to leap forward and accept her award.

  “. . . Miss Parker.”

  Chloe looked up.

  “Miss Parker?” Grace whined.

  The butler nodded.

  Al heads, with feathers and headdresses, turned toward her.

  “Miss Parker wins the Accomplishment Points for making the most ladylike choice of al the contestants by stopping to help a wounded horse and Mr. Henry Wrightman, who had been thrown. Only one other lady considered helping, and that was Miss Tripp, who wil be awarded five points for her considerateness. Congratulations, ladies.”

  Chloe smiled, Mrs. Crescent and Julia’s chaperone clapped, and Chloe thought for a moment that there might be a glimmer of class in this circus of a reality show after al . She credited Sebastian, who had to be behind this turn of fate. He was a true gentleman.

  “I wanted to stop, but—” Gil ian started to say.

  Grace gave Chloe an icy stare and whispered, “It’s obvious that you care for Henry. Perhaps more than just as a potential brother-in-law?”

  Chloe could feel her pinned-up hair practical y standing on end. “I care for a lot of people,” she replied. “But I’m here for Sebastian. I’ve put everything on the line for him.”

  The butler cleared his throat and looked into the cameras. “Before Mr. Wrightman presents these invitations, Miss Parker has arranged a posthunt tea in the back drawing room. This wil al ow al of you ladies to make any last impressions before he announces his decision. Best of luck.”

  The footmen opened the doors to the hal . Sebastian stepped in, radiating heat, and Chloe could feel herself gravitate toward him. His crisp white shirt and cravat enhanced the effect of his sun-kissed skin. He offered each of 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 and put a tea together Miss Parker? You are too good.” Her gaze shifted to Chloe’s reticule. “What other tricks do you have up you
r sleeve—or should I say in your bag? Do tel .”

  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.

  So much for my being in control here, Chloe thought. “What is he talking about?” she asked Julia.

  “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.

  “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. “Nothing. And I prefer to keep it that way, thank you very much.” She ripped herself away from him, and practical y fel into the hands of Mrs. Crescent and Fiona, who did their best to make her presentable again.

  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.