Definitely Not Mr. Darcy

by Karen Doornebos

“I’m feeling much better now,” he said as he lifted her chin with his hand to kiss her.

  It suddenly occurred to the lady that drugging her suitor might not have been a good idea.

  BAM! What sounded like another gunshot echoed through the grotto, but this time it was accompanied by a flash, and both Chloe and Sebastian startled, looking toward the opening of the grotto. Rain was gushing down.

  “We’ve got to go—” Chloe stepped toward the entrance, but Sebastian grabbed her by the waist and smiled, pressing her against the mossy wal . Lightning flashed again. Wel , she’d gotten herself into this rabbit hole. Now how the hel was she going to get out of it?

  The prospect of being in the grotto had been so intriguing to her—the rocky wal s covered in moss, a table and two chairs chiseled into the rock.

  Now it seemed nothing more to her than a dank cave, where, even if she screamed her loudest, nobody would hear her.

  Meanwhile, Sebastian was nibbling on her neck and pressing himself against her.

  Much as she wanted him, and wanted to give in to her increasing desire for his increasing hardness, she knew that Mrs. Crescent would not approve.

  “I thought you had a toothache!” She tried to pass the situation off as a joke, to push him away, but he just reined her in closer.

  “I have to get back to Mrs. Crescent!” Her necklace chose that moment to stage its fal into her bosom and Sebastian promptly fished it out, letting his fingers delve into her cleavage. Then he flung it toward the grotto opening. The rain pummeled down sideways.

  This was al her fault, the drug was too much for him. “Sebastian! Let’s go!” She raised her voice, but he locked her against the wal of the grotto with his arms and stifled her with a kiss, which, under normal circumstances, might have been exciting. But by nineteenth-century standards, such behavior was beyond shocking. So she did what any lady would do in her situation: she hiked up her gown, raised up her knee with superhuman force, and decked him. But good.

  “Owww!” He doubled over in pain.

  Chloe dashed toward the grotto opening—looking back at him—and wham—she col ided right into Henry, who happened to be barreling through the entrance at that very moment. This time she was thril ed to see him.

  “Excuse me, Miss Parker,” a soaked Henry said as he bent down to pick up her necklace and hold it up, the emerald dangling.

  She reached out for it. “Thank you. I’m so glad to see you. I’m afraid I may have overmedicated your brother. He’s breaking al the rules!”

  Henry shot a glance at Sebastian, then glared at her. “How much did you give him?”

  “Two drops—that was it, Henry.”

  Henry’s brows furrowed. “I never should’ve given you that laudanum. Come on, Sebastian. Get into the carriage. It’s pouring.”

  Henry held his greatcoat over Chloe as she stepped into the rain and into gooey mud.

  Drenched, she bent to step into the carriage, where Mrs. Crescent was already sitting, and slapping her closed fan in the palm of her hand like she was holding a constable’s nightstick. Sebastian lumbered in and promptly fel asleep. A raindrop slid down his nose and hung, poised on the tip of it.

  Wel , it was sure to be a date he’d never forget. Or had he already forgotten? Why did she give him that laudanum? It was a drug, after al . She had brought out his dark side, and now what? She couldn’t deal? Considering the fact that she managed to drug, and then deck, the bachelor heir, she’d surely be on the next plane out of here.

  These questions taunted her that night as she thrashed around in her bed. Her flimsy mattress made crunching noises every time she moved.

  Instead of getting her beauty rest, she was agonizing over what to do next, until final y she determined to solve that damn riddle of a poem and search Grace’s room for items that she’d smuggled in. She needed proof if she was going to outwit Grace and win the money. Or was it to win over Sebastian? And maybe Henry’s good opinion?

  The money. The man. The men! Would she consider stealing something from someone else’s room for money alone? She real y didn’t want to fal for Sebastian or Henry, or worst of al , for both of them. That would complicate everything, her entire win-the-money-and-run plan.

  Her last lingering thought before she fel asleep was to remember to have her chambermaid add more straw to the mattress. It felt like she was sleeping on a board, which, essential y, was exactly what she was doing.

  T he next morning, after Chloe once again inquired about any letters, hoping for news from Abigail, and after al the women had won five Accomplishment Points for painting a footstool, Grace was out horseback riding with Julia. So after taking her usual romp around the grounds trying to solve the impossible riddle Sebastian had given her, Chloe snuck into Grace’s very red, walnut-paneled, and humongous room, and rifled through the table in her dressing room. She wanted to find condoms and nail Grace with the evidence.

  The room, with its wooden-beam ceiling and lead-paned casement windows, seemed more Gothic than Regency in style. A smal fire glowed in the fireplace, and even though it was the beginning of July, the room was cold. But she had to find proof of Grace’s cheating, because this morning, as she put extra butter on her rol , the butler announced that there would be an Invitation Ceremony that very night at Dartworth after the women displayed their musical talents.

  Her hands shook as she rummaged through Grace’s drawers, because she never did this kind of thing. Real y.

  When she used the bathroom in other people’s houses, she never even peeked in their medicine cabinets. She would feel guilty just opening the sink cabinet to look for toilet paper if it ran out.

  She tugged at the lion’s-head pul to open the top drawer and it made a scraping noise. Her heart throbbed and she checked the door—stil closed. Grace’s dressing table, capped in Italian marble and nearly twice the size of Chloe’s, had not only a bottle of rose water on it, but lavender water and orange water, too, plus a vase of fresh cabbage roses.

  As her hands felt their way around in the drawer, she found al the expected things: hair ribbons, hair combs, and a—curling iron? She pul ed it out. It wasn’t a curling iron. She pressed the “on” button. It started vibrating. It was a vibrator!

  “Yuck!” She dropped it to the ground. It fel with a loud clunk, but kept vibrating right near the dressing-table leg carved into the shape of a lion’s paw. Chloe froze. Only her eyes jumped to the beaded silver doorknob. Nothing—yet.

  Looking down at the flesh-colored plastic thing pulsing on the hardwood floor, she got the wil ies. How gross to know that she had turned on Grace’s vibrator!

  Thank God she had her walking gloves on. She swooped down to pick the thing up and shut it off. How did Grace smuggle that in here? Chloe didn’t want to know.

  With her gloved hand gripped around the vibrator, she looked in the ornate gilded mirror, about the size of a plasma TV, tilted on top of Grace’s dressing table. Henry’s spectacles, which she wore now whenever Sebastian wasn’t around, made her look like a spinster on steroids. And maybe she was. She didn’t own a vibrator. She didn’t even know how to hold it, exactly. It looked total y out of place in her hands—period clothing or not.

  Her hazel eyes looked browner than ever, and under the thick glass of Henry’s spectacles, they appeared wider apart. Somehow, in the mirror in her room, as smal and oval as her face, the glasses seemed okay. The poke bonnet with a straw crown and ruffled white trim completed the old-maid look. She frowned. Grace had already gotten a good laugh out of the glasses, and now Chloe could see why. She pul ed the bonnet from her head, held it upside down, peeled back the ruffled cotton liner, and tucked the vibrator in. The poke bonnet had an extended crown, almost like a stovepipe, and quite a bit could fit into it. She opened the other two side drawers and found half a pack of cigarettes, teeth-whitening strips . . .

  eureka! The condoms! She tossed it al into the bonnet and eyed the doorknob.

  Of course, the dressing table was way too obvio
us. Was there more? She peeked behind the tilted mirror, and something silver caught her eye.

  Reaching behind the mirror with her arm, she pul ed out a foil packet of pil s. Xanax? Weren’t those antianxiety pil s? What could a beautiful, titled lady possibly have had anxiety attacks about? Please. She put them back, not wanting to see Grace off her meds. Sheesh!

  She looked under Grace’s palatial canopy bed. Nothing. Chloe turned to the washstand, snooping around the linens. Grace had five walnut-sized soaps on her washstand. Five! Chloe pilfered one and stuck that in her bonnet, too. In the mahogany wardrobe that happened to be three times as big as Chloe’s, she found enough gowns to make a princess swoon and it was no wonder Grace never wore the same thing twice. She closed the wardrobe door and turned the ornate bronze key in the lock.

  She opened each little drawer in the hutch above the writing desk and found a pink MP3 player! She popped that into her bonnet, too, then careful y squished the bonnet on her head, tied the ribbons under her chin, and glanced in the mirror. Amazingly, it didn’t look any clunkier on her than it had before she stuffed al those things in it. She scanned the room one last time before she turned to the door to go, but she heard Grace talking in the hal way.

  Her knees went weak. Damn! Where could she hide? Her eyes ricocheted from the wardrobe, to the open casement window, to the bed.

  Grace’s bed was high off the ground, even though that had gone out of fashion by the Regency, but it was, in the end, her only option. Her bonnet just made it under the heavy wooden bed frame, and it was too risky to reach for Henry’s glasses, which had fal en off under the bed, near the edge of the Oriental carpet. The floor was dusty and her nose itched. She had about a foot-high field of vision from under the bed frame. Grace’s boots and riding habit train came by first, fol owed by her chaperone’s boots and riding train.

  Chloe’s bodice was smushed against the wooden floor. When would she be able to get out of here? Grace’s chatelaine hit the dressing-table top with a clunk, like a key ring.

  “I got a letter from my new lawyer,” Grace said to her chaperone.

  “And?”

  “He, too, claims the land’s been with them so long that nothing can legal y be done about it.”

  Grace’s maidservant came in; Chloe saw her feet. She couldn’t hold her straining neck up any longer so she set her chin on the dirty floor to rest.

  Grace walked toward the bed and her boot tips almost kicked Chloe in the nose. With a creak, Grace sat down on the bed, and the bedboard groaned above Chloe’s bonnet. The heels of Grace’s boots were practical y in Chloe’s face.

  The maidservant knelt down to unlace Grace’s boots. Chloe held her breath, as if that would help. Final y, the maidservant slipped the boots off Grace’s feet, stood again, and Chloe exhaled.

  Grace’s chaperone walked to the other side of the room. “Wel , then, you only have one choice, as I see it.” She always spoke as if she had an English muffin in her mouth. Stuffy.

  The maidservant must’ve been helping Grace out of her riding habit. A slight ruffling noise and the skirt and train disappeared. Chloe looked away, even though she could only see up to Grace’s skinny calves. Chloe just wanted out of here.

  The chaperone interrupted by clearing her throat, a not-so-subtle signal that the hired help might be listening. “We must get everyone else out of the picture. Out of your picture. No matter what it takes.”

  Chloe knew what they were talking about, so she was pretty sure the maidservant knew, too. Her chin hurt, and she turned her face the other way, to keep her neck from cramping up.

  The maidservant’s feet came into view. “Would you like to wear this gown, my lady?”

  “No. No. The iridescent square-necked one.” Both the maidservant’s and Grace’s feet walked away. Chloe heard splashes coming from the washstand where Grace must’ve been washing her face.

  Grace’s chaperone walked toward the door. “You know what needs to be done. This isn’t just a game anymore. It’s about the land. Dignity.

  Rightful ownership.” The maidservant came back in and the door clicked shut.

  Grace sat on the edge of her bed again— oophf—while the maidservant slid indoor shoes on her mistress’s feet. Her gown seemed gorgeous to Chloe, even if she could only see it from the calf down.

  “If that’l be al , my lady . . . ?” The maidservant’s feet moved as if she was curtsying.

  “That’s al .”

  The door opened and shut again. Grace’s shoes nearly stepped on Henry’s glasses.

  Blood rushed to Chloe’s head, causing a colossal headache. Someone tapped on the door.

  “Final y!” Grace whispered. “Get in here, quick.” She closed and locked the door. Chloe’s spirits sank.

  A footman’s buckle shoes and white tights came into Chloe’s line of sight. Footman? Locked door? Uh- oh.

  Giggles and kisses and little moaning sounds got Chloe’s skin crawling. The footman and Grace scrambled to whip off their shoes and stockings, flinging them to the floor, and then— thud—the bed-board real y sank down on Chloe. Oh God, no. She had to get out—now! But how?

  She grabbed Henry’s glasses and wriggled her way toward the edge of the bed closest to the door.

  Chloe squeezed out, pul ed herself up to standing, and bolted for the door. Her hands quaked as she turned the lock. She couldn’t look back, even though Grace yel ed from behind her. “Just WHAT are YOU doing in here?!” She wouldn’t turn around.

  If only she had a camera phone, she’d have proof of this, too.

  Chloe opened the door, and without looking back, she spoke. “I—I was looking for something. But I caught you with your pants down—I mean your gown up.”

  “How dare you hide in my room! Shut the door!”

  “I would say you’re in no—position—to do anything about me being in your room.” Chloe leaped out into the hal way and clicked the door shut behind her.

  Grace must’ve thrown a pil ow at the door, because something hit it and slid down to the floor.

  Where was the camera crew when she needed them? She ran down the hal , down the winding staircase. If she had a cel phone, she could’ve just cal ed them.

  Chloe had never run around so much in her life as she had in the past couple of weeks. As she ran down the gal ery with one hand on her bonnet, she bumped into a footman carrying a silver salver.

  “Miss Parker, you had a gentleman cal er. We couldn’t find you anywhere. He waited for upward of half an hour. He left his card.” He held out the salver toward her. But she spotted a camerawoman heading into the parlor. “Wait! Cameras!”

  She snapped up the card. It was Sebastian’s cal ing card, with the corner folded down. She had missed him again! If she had a cel phone this would’ve been easily rectified.

  “Hurry!” Chloe ran after the camerawoman, grabbed her by the arm, and tugged her toward the stairway. “You need to film something upstairs—”

  Chloe tugged her up, through the hal , and right outside Grace’s door. She ignored the woman’s efforts to try to say something.

  “There’s no time to talk!”

  The camerawoman turned to Chloe with an annoyed look. “My camera needs to be recharged. Portable battery’s out.”

  Chloe’s dust-covered chest sank. “What?! Wel —stay here. You can be a witness.” She swung open the door with triumph—and there was Grace, sitting ful y clothed, alone, and reading on the bed. A maroon drape flapped in the open window.

  The camerawoman rol ed her eyes at Chloe.

  Grace closed her book. “Miss Parker, I do wish you wouldn’t barge in without knocking. It’s not polite. It’s just not done. Don’t they teach any manners in America?”

  Chloe leaned her square-cut back against the doorjamb and real y looked at the cal ing card. On the back Sebastian had written, I wanted to talk with you in person. But this will have to do. My sincerest apologies for my forward behavior.

  Why was he apologizing? Didn’t he
realize she had drugged him? Stil , the two of them had upgraded from cal ing card to handwritten message on the cal ing card, and that was good.

  “Miss Parker.” Fiona bounded up the steps. “Mrs. Crescent wants you in the rose garden immediately.”

  “I’l be there in a minute.”

  “She said you’d say that. She wants you ‘immediately.’”

  “Is she having contractions?”

  Fiona shook her head no. “But she said you’d ask that, and I’m to tel you that it is a matter of equal importance, with al due respect, miss.”

  Chapter 17

  I n the rose garden, the summer sun warmed the roses and perfumed the air around Chloe. This moment would’ve been bliss if her bonnet were not loaded with cigarettes, a pink MP3 player, condoms, and a vibrator.

  Mrs. Crescent and Henry were discussing the upcoming birth. Henry straddled a wicker chair.

  “You asked for me, Mrs. Crescent?” A bead of sweat slid down from under Chloe’s heavy bonnet, past her brown tendrils, and onto her brow, where she wiped it with her walking glove.

  Mrs. Crescent scowled at Chloe. “Whatever happened to your gown this time?” She brushed something off Chloe’s capped sleeve with one hand and rubbed her bel y with the other. Fifi circled around them.

  Chloe looked down at her dress, and the vibrator slid to the other side of her bonnet, throwing it off-kilter. She steadied it with her hand as she noticed that her gown was flecked with dust and cobwebs.

  She slapped at her skirt, brushing off the gown with her gloves.

  “Do you need—a hand?” Henry asked as he squinted at her in the sunlight, the corner of his mouth turning up.

  “No! No—thank you.” Chloe said, final y settling back down on the settee with a squeak from the wicker. Her bonnet slumped to the other side, nearly fal ing off. Fifi lifted up his head.

  She retied the bonnet ribbons tightly under her chin.

  Mrs. Crescent col apsed in the padded chaise under a shady bower across from Chloe and Henry. “Miss Parker, I’ve told Mr. Henry Wrightman that I’d like your assistance during the birth,” she said. “Wil you agree to helping?”