“So glad you could join us, Miss Parker.” Henry offered his arm. “Before I escort you to the bal , would you like to see the library here at Dartworth
—just for a minute? It’s right over there. You don’t need a chaperone with al these people mil ing about.”
Chloe hesitated. “I don’t want to miss the minuet, even though I have to sit it out.”
“You won’t. I promise.”
As excited as she was about the bal , this might be her last chance to see the Dartworth library. She stopped. “This isn’t code for showing me your etchings, is it?”
“Maybe.”
“Is this some kind of test? Because I won’t do anything to put my relationship with your brother in jeopardy. You must know, Mr. Wrightman, where my affections lie.”
“I do.”
Once Chloe walked into the library, she had to catch her breath. Hundreds and hundreds of candles had been lit and careful y placed around the room. The leather-bound books with gold- and silver-embossed titles on the bindings glistened in the candlelight. And, in tiny vases everywhere, were flowers from the heirloom cutting garden at Dartworth. Larkspur, snapdragons, bachelor’s buttons, lilies, and foxgloves perfumed the air and seemed to sprinkle their colors against the dark wood paneling.
“It’s—it’s amazing. Did Sebastian do this?”
“I did.”
“You did?”
Henry nodded. “I did it for you. And this is for you, too. I’l have a footman run them over tomorrow.”
He placed three leather-bound books in her hands. Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility in three volumes.
She ran her gloved fingers along the letterpressed title.
“Someday our kids wil laugh about these things cal ed ‘books.’”
Chloe got stuck on his saying “our kids.”
“Good thing we’re both wearing gloves. It’s a first edition,” he said.
Chloe handed the books back to him. “I can’t accept them. They’re worth a fortune. I can’t accept any of this.”
“The books may be worth a fortune, but I never planned on sel ing them. I don’t think you wil either.”
He looked at her with so much passion in his eyes that she—she swooned—and had to lean against the writing desk. “Henry. You have to stop.”
“I must warn you that this goes against al the rules, but some things are better expressed without words.” He gently but firmly nudged her against the bookshelves, the section labeled FANTASY, and he trapped her there with his arms. Their bodies crushed together as he kissed her deftly and deliciously. He stopped for a moment, and desire ricocheted through her.
“You real y are quite accomplished, Miss Parker,” he said. “Very talented.”
He rendered her speechless. He cupped her cheek in his hand. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know how ardently I admire you.”
The room spun a little around her, but the light-headedness could’ve been due to a lack of oxygen. She hadn’t been kissed like that in a long time.
Why was he doing this to her? Was this another test?
He checked his watch fob, which happened to be dangerously near his bulging breeches. “The minuet wil be starting soon.”
Chloe’s mouth dropped open a little. He didn’t want anything more than a kiss? Surely she did. But “Miss Parker” did not. Miss Parker had already gone too far.
“Perhaps, sometime, when there isn’t a grand bal going on, you would like to accompany me back to the library?”
Chloe looked around at the candles, the flowers, the books, drinking it al in. Al of it was slipping away already, like a good dream you only remember pieces of when you wake.
“You don’t have to answer. I’ve read it al on your face.”
She buzzed into the bal room on Henry’s arm. She felt as if she’d drunk a couple of glasses of wine. People approached Henry with smiles and swarmed around him. The height of the room, the gilded ceiling, the candlelight, orchestra, and gowns intoxicated Chloe even more than she already was. Cook made her way toward them.
Henry pul ed out chairs for the two women. He motioned a flourish with his hand for them to sit. “Ladies, if you please?”
“I’m much obliged. Thank you, sir.” Chloe sat, her vision of the evening torn asunder. She was bedazzled and bewildered al at once.
Henry said something about supper at midnight, lemonade, tea, coffee, and even wine, which, God knows she would’ve given her last soap bal for a glass of. She half expected to see Colin Firth or Hugh Grant mingling in the crowd. Chloe caught a sudden whiff of beeswax and a drop of something from above fel into the crook of her arm just above her glove. It hardened into a warm white circle. She rubbed it off with her gloved finger.
Henry pointed to the ceiling. “Wax from the candles.”
She squinted up at a gold chandelier hanging high above her like an oversized halo. The ceiling itself was 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 acquai
ntance.” 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 Regency dancing, touching was minimal.
The orchestra struck up the first chords of “Mr. Beveridge’s Maggot,” the very song that Mr. Darcy and Miss Elizabeth Bennet danced to in the 1995 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. They turned by right hands, touching for the second time, their hands low, each of their eyes locked into the other’s. They turned by left hands and she felt the heat surge between them, but then again it was a summer night, there was no air-conditioning, and there had to be sixty some dancers on the floor. Despite the heat, it was a fantasy of hers come to life. She was dancing to “Mr. Beveridge’s Maggot” in a gown, in a bal room, in England, with the most attractive, most mysterious, and richest man in the room! She talked about the dance, but he didn’t reply. She wondered if he was in one of his brooding moods, which she found both sexy and exasperating.
She smirked. “It is your turn to say something now, Mr. Wrightman. I talked about the dance, and you ought to make some kind of remark on the size of the room, or the number of couples.”
He smiled. They came together and they parted, and doubt crackled through her. She almost forgot to cross and cast down the line. Had he real y caught the Austen reference she’d just made? She wasn’t sure.
When they met again, she watched him as if he were a science experiment about to bubble over. He seemed to be concentrating on the figures, counting his steps. He looked so preoccupied that Chloe began to doubt that he’d even heard her Austen reference.
Toward the end of the dance, at the point where they faced, met, and led up, Chloe final y broke the silence. “I want to thank you for the apology you left about our outing, but real y, I’m the one that should apologize.”
He looked straight at her, and not at his feet, with his intense black eyes. “I’m so glad you brought that up. I can only say I wasn’t myself—”
“Because of laudanum I put into your lemonade,” she blurted. “It was al my fault!”
He looked incredulous. “You put what into my lemonade?”
“Laudanum. I gave it to you for your toothache.”
Now he looked confused.
“It’s some sort of a painkil er. I didn’t give you much, but it was enough to push you over the edge, I guess.”
“I don’t understand why you didn’t just tel me.”
She sighed. “It’s complicated.” There was no winning this one. She was wrong for not tel ing him and wrong for being alone with Henry to get the medicine in the first place. He looked deep into her eyes, and she felt herself fal ing down that rabbit hole again.
She didn’t want to disappoint him—but she needed to win the money. For some reason, though, she kept forgetting about the money. No doubt about it, her priorities had changed. She was actual y putting Sebastian first and the prize money second.
Luckily, the dance was over. He bowed, and when she looked up from her curtsy, she final y saw Henry. He was pacing in front of a floor-to-ceiling window like a caged tiger. The rush of air behind him blew out candles as he walked and an annoyed-looking servant had to relight them in his wake.
“Can I interest you in some negus, Miss Parker?” Sebastian asked. He slid his arm in hers and guided her away from Henry, toward the top of the bal room, where the orchestra sat behind the topiaries. The lively English reel they were currently playing grew louder as they approached, and they couldn’t hear each other talk, so there was no point in saying anything. Chloe linked her arm in his as they headed toward the refreshment tables in the conservatory, where a crush of people gathered under palm trees in huge ceramic pots.
Just as they were about to cross into the room, where the wine that Chloe was craving awaited them, Grace and her chaperone suddenly appeared, barricading the entry.
“I’ve been looking al over for you.” Lady Martha scolded Chloe like a child. “A girl is not al owed to be alone at a bal . This could be reason enough to have you sent back home.” She put an indignant hand on her hip.
“I’m not alone,” Chloe answered her cool y. “I’m with Lady Anne Wrightman.”
Grace and Lady Martha looked at each other. Lady Martha looked back at Chloe. “Lady Anne would not associate with the likes of—”
“Miss Parker is with me.” Lady Anne—aka “Cook”—appeared as if magical y conjured, and linked her arm in Chloe’s.
Clearly suppressing their frustration, Grace and her chaperone curtsied.
Sebastian took Lady Anne’s hand, and he kissed it. “How nice to see you again.”
Lady Anne smiled at him, but turned to Grace’s chaperone. “I need to go back to Bridesbridge soon, and at that time I wil return Miss Parker to you.”
“Very wel .” Grace and Lady Martha curtsied again to Lady Anne and made their way back to the bal room. Chloe had to laugh at the sight of their fawning behavior toward someone whom, when she was merely known as “Cook,” they wouldn’t have deigned to look at.
Sebastian brought Chloe and her companion a goblet of negus.
Just as Chloe raised the goblet to her lips, Lady Anne turned toward the bal room. “I need to sit down. Let’s go.” She took Chloe by the arm and Chloe, who didn’t even get to taste her drink, handed it to Sebastian, who downed her glass as wel as his own.
When Lady Anne found a seat, Chloe found that Sebastian had disappeared, and as she smoothed the bottom of her gown to sit, she saw both Sebastian and Henry on the dance floor. Sebastian was dancing “Upon a Summer’s Day” with Grace and Henry was paired with someone equal y beautiful and intel igent looking, probably the doctor from London he’d been fixed up with.
Chloe tapped her fan in the palm of her gloved hand. She watched the red-haired London docto
r, who had no doubt showered, brushed her teeth, and put on real makeup today. But more than her looks, Chloe watched the way she and Henry talked and nodded and laughed through the dance.
Sebastian and Grace just stared at each other.
Chloe stood, sat again, and smiled a zigzag smile at Lady Anne, who patted Chloe on the knee.
The dancers formed a circle for “Sel enger’s Round.” They circled to the left, then to the right. Sebastian and Henry and their respective partners, like distant planets, traveled in an orbit far, far removed from Chloe’s universe.
She didn’t even belong as a guest in this bal room. How could she have dreamed of being the mistress of an estate like this? She didn’t know how to care for two-hundred-year-old painted ceilings or gold chandeliers that hung fifty feet off the ground. How did you clean two-story floor-to-ceiling silk draperies anyway?
She felt herself shudder and tried to watch Sebastian, but her eyes kept gravitating toward Henry.
“Henry real y knows these dances,” said Lady Anne.
Chloe agreed. He moved through the dances with such ease. His doctor friend kept screwing up, but somehow he corrected her and made it look like she knew what she was doing. Fascinating as it was to watch just how he did this, Chloe just couldn’t watch him arm in arm with another woman. She had to turn away.
Final y the dancers formed a circle again, and everyone’s backsides swirled in front of Chloe, including that of the blue-gowned London doctor.
Lady Anne pressed her hand on Chloe’s knee just as the music grew louder. “You haven’t taken your eyes off Henry the entire time we’ve sat here, do you know that?”
“I haven’t? I keep looking at Henry?” Chloe forced a smile. “Wel , I can hardly see a thing. I don’t have any glasses on. And neither do you, I might add!”
Lady Anne laughed.
The dance ended and Sebastian asked Chloe to dance once again. She accepted. He seemed to want to be with her.
Definitely Not Mr. Darcy Page 29