Definitely Not Mr. Darcy (16 page)

Sebastian handed Chloe out of the carriage. “Not to worry,” he said.

It wasn't as if they would be alone, what with the two cameramen on them.

Chloe had never seen anything like the castle ruin before, but Sebastian had grown up with it, and might've even played here as a boy. Chloe drank it in. Here was ground more ancient than Bridesbridge, and the crumbled walls looked more than five feet thick.

“Amazing,” Chloe gushed.

Sebastian looked smug. “Why, thank you.”

“I'm referring to the castle, Mr. Wrightman. I've only just met you! When was it built?”

“The earliest pieces of it date from about the year 1130, I think, but it was added onto sometime in the thirteenth century, and then again later.”

As they passed under the remains of the archway in the gate-house, Chloe could imagine the noble families that must've passed through this spot all those centuries ago, with their flowing robes, thick gold jewelry, and royal headdresses.

But Sebastian was asking her a question. “How are you getting along with the rest of the women at Bridesbridge?”

Chloe had to stop and think of something, anything, witty or even interesting to say. It was hard to conjure anything amid such enchanting surroundings.

“I'm getting along with them,” she said. “But not all of them are getting along with me.” She stepped away from the cameraman, and stepped up onto what must've been an old wall partition. Could this have been the great hall? Grass grew in what would've been the stone floor.

“It must be difficult,” Sebastian said. He walked the perimeter of a crumbled wall until it ascended and he stood in one of the Gothic window openings. Chloe would not soon forget the image of him with his black coattails against the blue sky as he took off his hat to wave it toward Mrs. Crescent. He looked like he was born to wear breeches and boots. He smiled down at Chloe, who steadied herself near a freestanding fireplace with a partial chimney.

He stepped down from the window and leaned against the chimney. “Is there anyone in particular causing you trouble? Do tell.”

“Lady Grace,” Chloe said. She smiled at the cameras. “Seems rather preoccupied with making me miserable.”

Sebastian laughed. “Does she, now?” Under his breath, he added, “I do find her rather tedious myself.”

That was to his credit. She had to wonder, then, why he didn't send her home.

As if he read her mind, he leaned into her as he whispered. “I'm supposed to humor her because of this land issue. Very touchy, that.”

Chloe was shocked that he knew about the land thing, and even more shocked that he confided in her about it with the cameras rolling. “You know about the land?”

“Know about it? Well, her family's been trying to claim a portion of our land as theirs for almost two hundred years.”

“It must get a little—old.”

Sebastian laughed. “Now,
that
was good.” He looked into her eyes, and she felt him taking her in. First her eyes, then her face, her breasts, her legs. He pressed against her arm and his breath warmed her cheek. “I need to spend more time with you. You're just the tonic I need.”

Her breathing became heavier and her body ached to get closer.

One of the cameramen angled in, as if to capture her agony.

“You know where to find me,” Chloe said. “I'd be much obliged to you to take me away from my needlework and bonnet trimming.”

Sebastian clasped his hands behind his back. “Now then. I have a little task for you. See if you can find the castle keep. I've hidden something there for you.” He folded his arms, leaned against the chimney, and watched her intently, as if he wanted nothing more than to be here, with her, watching her.

“A scavenger hunt? What fun!” Chloe spun around. She was enthralled. He had thought of a gift. He had taken the time to hide it here, in this enchanting spot.

“You have to hurry. Of course, the benefit for me is that I get to watch you run.”

“Ladies aren't supposed to run.”

“Really?” He pulled out his watch fob. “You have exactly two minutes to find it and bring it back here. Ready? Go!”

She lifted her gown, and with the cameras behind her, she ran on the soft grass toward the keep, a crumbled tower in the far northeast corner of the property. The keep had a small entry, like a cave, and it was very dark, but just inside, atop a stone ledge, was something wrapped in a gold cloth, and she grabbed it, lifted her gown, and ran back, laughing.

“Just in time.” Sebastian wasn't even looking at his watch. His eyes were on her. He walked toward her and they met in the middle of the green, surrounded by the jagged fortress wall, where they were drenched in sunlight. “Go ahead. Open it.”

Her fingers fumbled in the excitement. It was a packet of painting paper, period-correct oil paints, brushes, and a freshly picked pink cabbage rose. Chloe heard herself say, “How lovely of you. Thank you!” as if she really were English.

For a moment she felt transported to another place and time and she breathed in the perfume of the rose. How thoughtful of him. But she couldn't kiss or hug him, so instead, she looked at him as if she had just finished kissing him.

He raised his hands as if to take her in his arms, but let them fall and cleared his throat. “Unfortunately, we really must get back, or Mrs. Crescent will give me a chiding.”

“You're right.” Chloe pressed her paper and paints to her chest.

Sebastian beamed. “I'm glad you like the gift. But, listen. Feel free to come to me, to talk to me if Lady Grace ever crosses the line with you. I'm not sure how much longer I can tolerate her.” He guided them toward the carriage. “I so look forward to seeing you again tonight. It's refreshing to have someone with intelligence and wit to talk to. And you will get a laugh when you see who I have to sit next to all night. If only I could sit next to you!”

And with that, they were at the carriage, where Mrs. Crescent checked the time on her chatelaine. Chloe looked back at the ruins, wondering what had just happened. She hadn't learned a thing about the castle, but she did learn something about Sebastian. He was thoughtful, playful, sexy, attracted to her, and, most importantly, he saw right through Grace. He wasn't swayed by her good looks, and that pointed to his intelligence. It gave them common ground to be in cahoots against her, too. Sebastian didn't seem as reserved around Chloe as he did with the others; she had gotten him to loosen his starched cravat, and that was exactly what she had intended to do. He had given her a meaningful gift, yes, but in just a short window of time he had given her something more, much more, and that was the hope that she could desire, and perhaps even love, once again.

 

 

F
iona washed Chloe's hair in a washbowl with a sticky mix of rum, eggs, and rose water. Chloe cringed every time her maid poured a pitcher of cold water over her head to rinse her hair. To help get through the ordeal, she thought of Kate, who had accidentally eaten a nut in one of the luncheon dishes, broken out in hives, and had to spend the day with her face covered in a paste of melted lard and crushed brimstone that Henry had whipped up. Brimstone, as in sulfur.

Fiona set out a paper-thin chemise and new stays for Chloe. The stays seemed more like lingerie and Chloe's breasts showed through the sheer fabric. Mrs. Crescent burst in with Fifi. She set down a fresh washbowl, plunged her hands in, and proceeded to press her hands against Chloe's thinly covered boobs.

“Aggggh!” The camerawoman had filmed Chloe's chest and she tumbled back into her dressing table, spilling the mashed strawberries meant to be her blush. “What
are
you doing?!”

“What every other right-minded chaperone does to attract the men to her charge. I'm dampening your stays. Now hold still.”

Chloe shuddered. It was the nineteenth-century equivalent of a wet T-shirt contest.

Fiona pushed the mashed strawberries back into the china bowl.

Mrs. Crescent shook her wet hands at Chloe, sprinkling lavender water on her corset. “When a lady has such assets as yours, Miss Parker, she must take advantage. Many a Regency girl does this.”

“What about the impeccable Miss Gately? Did she dampen her stays?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Crescent said.

“Well, a lot of good it did her.”

“She wasn't asked to leave. There was a family emergency. Surely I told you that?”

She had. Lightning struck outside and rain pummeled against the single-pane windows and Fiona lit the candles. She had laced Chloe's hair with a string of beads, stained Chloe's cheeks with strawberries, and used candle soot as eyeliner to fabulous effect.

Mrs. Crescent clasped her hands. “Mr. Wrightman couldn't take his eyes off you this morning, and I intend full well to keep it that way. I've never seen him so animated. And he's never given any of the other girls a gift.”

Chloe's creamy silk, and now slightly wet, gown clung to her breasts as she descended the staircase. Grace, who sat in the foyer on a cushioned bench as if it were her throne, glared at her, a result of her dampened stays, no doubt.

Fiona guided her to a bench next to Imogene. “With the rain, miss, we'll need to strap on your pattens.” She strapped what looked like roller skates without wheels to Chloe's evening slippers.

Imogene explained. “We wouldn't want to get our slippers caked in mud.” She clunked around on the black and white hall tiles, lifting her powder-blue gown to her ankles.

The pattens took Chloe some getting used to as they elevated her four inches off the ground.

Even Grace the fashionista couldn't pull these things off. She frowned at them under her gold lamé gown as her maidservant draped her shoulders in a fur capelet.

“I quite like your headdress,” Mrs. Crescent said to Grace. “You look very exotic.”

Grace toyed with her gold-and-pearl necklace. “Why, thank you.”

“Your pelisse,” Fiona said to Chloe. Chloe slid her arms into an ankle-length slate-colored satin coat, tight fitting on the top.

The great doors opened and a footman stepped in, rain dripping from his trifold hat. “Carriage is here for the first group.”

Becky, Gillian, Olive, Julia, and Kate descended the stairway to get fitted with their pattens. Becky, billed as an heiress from Africa, looked radiant in a white silk gown and white headdress. Her dark complexion didn't need any makeup, and out of all the women, she looked the best.

“You all look gorgeous,” Chloe said. “Especially you, Miss Harrington. All the hives are gone.”

Kate smiled. “I know. It was worth breathing in the smell of rotten eggs all day. I wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for Mr. Henry Wrightman.”

Chloe tried to arrange it so that she didn't sit near Grace in the chaise-and-four, but with the rain pelting down and the teetering on her pattens, when all was settled, Grace sat right next to her and Mrs. Crescent across from her. Imogene sat at the far end of the carriage next to Mrs. Hatterbee.

The women's wet gowns and stockings stuck to the leather seats and the windows of the carriage steamed up.

“I'm sure we all have dampened stays now,” Chloe whispered to Mrs. Crescent, who motioned her to be quiet. She pointed to a mike hooked up inside of the carriage.

The rain cascaded on the roof of the carriage, lightning flashed, a rumble of thunder jolted Chloe, and for a moment she missed her car. At least when you were in a car, with the rubber tires, lightning wouldn't strike you. She felt for the poor driver and footman outside, getting soaked through.

After the carriage got stuck in the muddied road and the footman managed to get the wheels moving again, Mrs. Crescent wiped the condensation off the window with her glove. “Can you see it, in all this rain, Miss Parker? From the vantage point of this hill, Dartworth Hall is quite remarkable.”

Chloe looked out the window, squinting, and she couldn't take her eyes off it. Even in the rain and lightning, the edifice, of Anglo-Italianate design, two-story windows, and a massive neoclassical triangular pediment atop three-storey ionic columns shone. It wasn't ornate, but classic and strong. It had to be at least two or three city blocks end to end. A lake curved along the west end of it, and if it were sunny, the estate would be reflected in the water. She could almost hear the French horns resounding in her head. Like some sort of drug, or at least the feeling of euphoria she got while watching the 1995 BBC version of
Pride and Prejudice
for the umpteenth time, the vision of Dartworth in the distance washed over her, putting a new gloss on everything.

“It's Pemberley,” Chloe mumbled.

Grace laughed and the spell almost broke. “It's as big as Pemberley—I should say as grand as Chatsworth or Lyme Park. Better yet, a real, live man owns it.”

The man that could choose from any one of eight beautiful, and a few intelligent, young women.

Just as quickly as the vision of Dartworth appeared, it disappeared in the condensation that soon re-formed over the window as the carriage descended into the valley.

Grace crossed her legs, one of her pattens knocking against Chloe. “I'm curious, Miss Parker. Do you fancy Mr. Wrightman any better now that you've seen his vast estate? Or did you like him before you knew how much he was worth?”

Chloe took some satisfaction in noticing that Grace's elderberry eyebrow makeup had smeared. “I liked him from the moment I knew he enjoys architecture, bird-watching, and reading. How he's looking for true love. I just didn't realize—”

“You didn't realize just how much you fancied him until now.”