Definitely Not Mr. Darcy (36 page)

As her hands felt their way around in the drawer, she found all the expected things: hair ribbons, hair combs, and a—curling iron? She pulled 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 fell 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 willies. 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 totally 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 small 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 pulled 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 all into the bonnet and eyed the doorknob.

Of course, the dressing table was way too obvious. Was there more? She peeked behind the tilted mirror, and something silver caught her eye. Reaching behind the mirror with her arm, she pulled out a foil packet of pills. Xanax? Weren't those antianxiety pills? 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 carefully 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 all 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 hallway.

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 fallen 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, followed 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 legally 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 practically in Chloe's face.

The maidservant knelt down to unlace Grace's boots. Chloe held her breath, as if that would help. Finally, 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. “Well, 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'll be all, my lady . . . ?” The maidservant's feet moved as if she was curtsying.

“That's all.”

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.

“Finally!” 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 really 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, pulled 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 yelled 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 hallway and clicked the door shut behind her.

Grace must've thrown a pillow 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 hall, down the winding staircase. If she had a cell phone, she could've just called 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 gallery with one hand on her bonnet, she bumped into a footman carrying a silver salver.

“Miss Parker, you had a gentleman caller. 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 calling card, with the corner folded down. She had missed him again! If she had a cell 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 hall, 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?! Well—stay here. You can be a witness.” She swung open the door with triumph—and there was Grace, sitting fully clothed, alone, and reading on the bed. A maroon drape flapped in the open window.

The camerawoman rolled 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 really looked at the calling 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? Still, the two of them had upgraded from calling card to handwritten message on the calling card, and that was good.

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

“I'll 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 tell you that it is a matter of equal importance, with all due respect, miss.”

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 belly 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, finally settling back down on the settee with a squeak from the wicker. Her bonnet slumped to the other side, nearly falling off. Fifi lifted up his head.

She retied the bonnet ribbons tightly under her chin.

Mrs. Crescent collapsed 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. “Will you agree to helping?”

Chloe gulped. She was no nurse. It would be the first home birth she'd ever witnessed. “Of course.”

Henry shaded his eyes from the sun with his hand. “Ah. Here comes Mr. Tanner, the footman, one of Bridesbridge's most loyal employees. Let's hope he made good on my special request.”

Mr. Tanner had worked up a sweat in the heat. He set a large wooden crate at Henry's riding boots.

“Toys,” Henry said with a smile as he looked at Chloe.