Definitely Not Mr. Darcy (40 page)

She buzzed into the ballroom 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 pulled 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 all 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 ball 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 fell 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 all 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 all this to melt away. She didn't want the candles in the library to be snuffed.

Her eyes welled 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 will 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 tells me you're really 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 all.

“Oh! I'm
so
sorry.” Embarrassed, she started to sweat. She fanned herself frantically. “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 all the servants, for that matter. And I really 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 all 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 acquaintance.” 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 practically shouted. Unfortunately, though, at the very moment that she yelled, “Who are all these women?!,” the orchestra took the liberty of stopping.

All the faces in the crowd turned toward Chloe, who fumbled with her fan and unwittingly sent all kinds of mixed messages around the room, from “kiss me” to “I hate you” to “you are too willing.” She couldn't breathe.

“Play on!” Henry said from the top of the ballroom, and the orchestra started up again. And she breathed again. But she still 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 ball with a perfectly danced minuet.

Grace lived up to her name on the dance floor, and the minuet seemed to last forever.

Finally, 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 all, 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. Well, the pleasure was hers, really. On the ballroom 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 beautifully tailored that Chloe did all 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 all 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 ballroom, 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 really 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 finally broke the silence. “I want to thank you for the apology you left about our outing, but really, 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 all 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 painkiller. 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 tell me.”

She sighed. “It's complicated.” There was no winning this one. She was wrong for not telling 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 falling 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 actually putting Sebastian first and the prize money second.

Luckily, the dance was over. He bowed, and when she looked up from her curtsy, she finally 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 ballroom, 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 all over for you.” Lady Martha scolded Chloe like a child. “A girl is not allowed to be alone at a ball. 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 coolly. “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 magically 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 will return Miss Parker to you.”

“Very well.” Grace and Lady Martha curtsied again to Lady Anne and made their way back to the ballroom. 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 ballroom. “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 well 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 equally beautiful and intelligent 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 doctor, 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 “Sellenger'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 ballroom. 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 really 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.

Finally the dancers formed a circle again, and everyone's backsides swirled in front of Chloe, including that of the blue-gowned London doctor.