Definitely Not Mr. Darcy (22 page)

He paused for a moment. “Certain strands of your hair simply refuse to be pinned in, and I find that infinitely charming and entirely indicative of your character.”

Chloe didn't know how much longer she could remain silent. Her lips parted and her eyelashes fluttered.

“I also had the opportunity, since I knew your full name and the city you live in, to look you up on the Internet.”

She gulped. This was exactly the kind of cyberstalking Emma would do. So much for a slow-build Regency courtship. He had TMI while she had—nothing.

“That's the advantage of the era we live in, that with just a few clicks we can learn so much.”

That was exactly what she couldn't stand. A day after you've met someone, via Twitter or Facebook, you know what they ate for dinner last night. Where was the mystery? The romance? The
courtship
?

He paused again and stood back from the tracing, within her line of sight. He studied the shadow on the wall, not her, so her eyes were free to wander down from his broad shoulders in his tightly tailored cutaway coat, past his cravat, down the last two undone buttons on his waistcoat, to his suggestive white breeches tucked into boots with the tops folded over.

“Yes, I think I will continue past your slender neck and trace your bust, even though I am risking Mrs. Crescent's disapproval.”

Chloe did her best to breathe slowly.

“Well, as it turns out, we have much in common, Miss Parker, perhaps most markedly in our charitable ventures and choice of entertainment. Architectural preservation events, the opera, theater, gallery openings, museum galas, gourmet restaurants, I see us together, you on my arm, perhaps even as my wife, in my London town house. Or my lodgings in Bath. Or here in Derbyshire, or all of the above.”

Chloe did everything she could to keep her mouth from going ga-ga. She couldn't even imagine that kind of life.

“There.” He stood back, hands on his hips, and stared at his work. “Not as good as the original, but—”

He could be a little too charming. “Really, Mr. Wrightman!”

He took the piece of paper down, picked up the scissors, pulled a Chippendale chair up across from her, and sat down, just looking at her. “But true, all of it true.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Might I have a lock of your hair?” He held the scissors in his palm.

Was he for real?

“Go ahead,” she said.

She offered some split ends to him, and, most seductively, he smoothed her hair, and slowly snipped about two inches off.

It was amazing how intimate an act it was, especially as he had to pocket it before Mrs. Crescent came over, rubbing her belly.

“A very good likeness, Mr. Wrightman, though I do find it a bit shocking just how low you've chosen to go. I daresay this needs trimming.”

He rolled up the paper. “Not to worry, Mrs. Crescent. I shall trim it and lampblack it at home.” He bowed. “I must let you both rest for the big day tomorrow. Until then!”

Chloe curtsied, and he left.

“Did he take a lock of your hair?” Mrs. Crescent asked.

Chloe didn't think she should say yes.

“You don't need to answer, I can see in your face that he has. Very clever of him to come under the pretense of a silhouette, with shears. It's a good sign, a very good sign!”

 

 

S
unday, the day of the mock foxhunt arrived, and everyone was excited except Chloe, whose sidesaddle riding wasn't exactly show quality yet.

Instead, she focused on the footman at the stable, with his blond hair tied back in a short ponytail and his taut calves that practically popped out of his tights. He took her tiny hand in his strong, white gloved one and helped her mount the horse for the hunt. She locked her legs into the stirrups and gripped the reins. Just a week ago, the prospect of an attractive footman would've enchanted her, but now more than ever, she wanted to win the fifteen Accomplishment Points and gain some more time with Sebastian.

Afraid she hadn't practiced enough, she mounted Chestnut with a show of bravado because horses, like dogs, sensed fear, and she had to be strong. She hardly recognized her shadow, cast on the fine gravel in front of the stable. It exuded confidence, from the tip of her riding hat with a ribbon underneath to her tight jacket, long riding habit skirts and crop tucked under her arm. The sun glistened on the Kelly-green hills, the hounds barked and horses milled about in the field, and—the stable stench snapped her back to reality. Where was Sebastian?

Her hands quivered as the footman carefully strapped the sidesaddle belt across her lap. Her skirt seemed the size of a circus tent and she tucked in the heavy folds.

Grace trotted up on horseback. “Your skirt does look more unwieldy than mine,” she said.

The cameras weren't on them. “Thank you for that brilliant observation,” Chloe said.

“Perhaps the seamstress made a mistake on yours. You'd best not flash any leg while riding. That would be an infringement of the rules.”

“And flashing a breast isn't?”

“That was an accident, Miss Parker.”

“I'll say. I can only hope there won't be any accidents today.” Chestnut started sniffing Grace's horse's behind. Chloe tugged at the reins, urging him to turn, and he would obey for a minute then turn his head again to sniff.

“I've spoken to Mr. Henry Wrightman about fixing your tiara. I would delight in undertaking a little project like that with him.”

Chloe flinched. Now she was after Henry, too? “I'd prefer the jeweler it came from, Tiffany's, to do the fixing.”

Grace seemed insulted. “I had very little to do with your tiara breaking, whilst you had everything to do with all of our Accomplishment Points getting wiped out. We worked weeks to acquire those points and making ink isn't exactly my forte.”

“I'm sure it's not.”

Grace kicked her horse and it trotted off—she was an expert rider. Chloe patted her horse's neck.

The master of the hunt, a red-faced man with a brass hunting horn tucked under his arm, headed over to Chloe. He took off his top hat and bowed toward her and the cameras.

“Our hunt awaits you, Miss Parker. Need I remind you that should you choose not to ride, you must go from whence you came?”

Chloe tapped the riding crop in the palm of her hand. The image of her whipping him with the riding crop flashed through her mind. “I do thank you for that gentle reminder,” she said.

“Mr. Wrightman is quite keen on riding, and whatever woman he chooses should love to ride as well.”

“Sir, I fully intend to ride. But might I ride western style?” she asked, trying to sound as 1812-ish as possible.

“I'm afraid not. Only a lady of title may choose to ride astride.”

The footman led Chestnut toward the field where the rest of the riding party waited. The horse took steady, solid steps. Still, even this hunky footman couldn't hold a cheap tallow candle to Sebastian, who appeared on the field like the sun bursting from behind a cloud. There was something about a man on horseback—especially such a cultured, Oxford-educated man who also happened to be, well, a total hottie, as Emma would say.

She pictured herself and Sebastian in a white carriage festooned with pink peonies, pulled by white horses, riding off into the sunset together, he reciting poetry and—

Just then the hounds howled and Grace's gray horse sidestepped away from Henry's and toward Sebastian's. The tail on her horse whisked back and forth, brushing Sebastian's as if in shameless flirtation, as if even her horse were moving in on the guy.

Henry trotted over on his horse, and glad as she was to see him, he blocked her view of Sebastian.

“Will you manage, Miss Parker?” he asked.

What struck her was that he'd picked up on her fear.

“You have the gentlest horse in the stables.”

“Let's hope he's not too gentle, I'll need some speed.” She moved Chestnut backward to keep an eye on Sebastian, but Henry guided his horse closer, eclipsing Sebastian again.

“Just because he's gentle doesn't mean he's not powerful and fast,” Henry said.

Chloe raised an eyebrow. “We'll have to see, then, what he's made of.”

“I think you'll be quite pleased with his performance.” Henry smiled.

Chloe wasn't quite sure they were sparring about Chestnut anymore, but she knew Grace was monopolizing Sebastian. Gillian, Kate, and Julia waited at the starting gate, doing the smart thing and resting their horses.

Chloe brought Chestnut forward again and stopped in full view of Sebastian. She waved good-bye to the footman, who, embarrassed, nodded awkwardly. She wasn't supposed to wave to the servants, and Henry chuckled.

“Just take it easy during the hunt, Miss Parker.”

“Are you saying you don't want me to win? That ultimately you'd prefer your brother to end up with, let's say, Lady Grace, so you could spend all your holidays and birthdays with her?”

“How kind of you to think of me and my long-term happiness, Miss Parker. It's almost as if you're winning my brother over just to save me from a lifetime of misery. I'm much obliged.”

“I'm always thinking of others.”

“People who say they're always thinking of others are usually thinking of themselves.”

Chloe sighed. As if she willed Sebastian to do it, he turned his horse away from Grace's and cantered toward her, tipping his hat. She went all aflutter, and certain swaths of her skirt unfolded.

“Have fun on the trail,” she said to Henry. She brought her horse to a walk and left Henry in the dust. She patted Chestnut and gave a nod to Mrs. Crescent and Fifi under a tree on the sidelines.

“Ready for the hunt?” Chloe asked Sebastian. His designer stubble glistened in the morning sun.

He shook his head. “I'm not really a hundred percent. I've been rather out of sorts since the night of the dinner party. One of my French cooks kept the cream off the ice too long, and it went bad.”

Chloe's mouth fell open. “I was sick the night of the dinner party, too.”

“You were? I think we were the only two. I'm so sorry about that. It won't happen again.”

“It only lasted a few hours for me.” Chloe wanted to change the subject, and quick. “Perhaps you can inform me, Mr. Wrightman, what exactly it is we are hunting?”

He smiled. “It's only the smell of a fox we're after, not a real fox. The hunt master lays down the scent and trees it at the end.”

“Trees the scent?”

“The hunt master will end the scent at a certain tree and the dogs will surround it, signaling the end of the hunt.”

They trotted toward the gate, where the hunt master and the rest of the riders stood ready.

“I do so love the chase,” Sebastian said as he adjusted his cravat. “Even if it is just a mock hunt.”

“Do you prefer to chase or be chased?” Chloe asked.

“Why he prefers to be chased, of course,” Grace butted in. “Isn't that why we're all here, darling? To chase you?” Sebastian looked out past the fence, toward the field. Henry slid his horse between Julia's and Chloe's.

The hunt master raised the horn to get attention and shouted. “I might remind everyone that fifteen Accomplishment Points are at stake in this race. Lady Grace, Miss Tripp, Miss Potts, and Miss Harrington lead with twenty-five Accomplishment Points each. Miss Parker has fifteen. Now, a scented trail has been laid out—along with some false leads and dead ends. Experienced riders may take the jumps. Others are advised to take the way around. Ladies are advised to keep pace with Mr. Wrightman and me if you can. Be the first to finish the race by finding the ‘fox' and win. Everyone ready?” He brought the horn to his lips.

Chloe tightened her grip on the reins. “Let the chase begin,” she said to no one in particular.

“I believe it already has, Miss Parker,” Henry said.

“Tallyho!” shouted the hunt master. He blew the horn, the gate swung open, and the hounds came hurtling through, barking and yipping. A pounding of hooves sent a spike of determination up Chloe's back.

She gripped the reins, doing her best to stay on Sebastian's tail for what seemed like forever, until the hounds howled, the hunt master blew the horn, and the pace increased. Her riding hat flew off, and the ribbons chafed her neck, until finally she released one of her tight fists from the reins and untied the hat, letting it soar into the thicket.

Sebastian looked back at her and winked. He didn't have to ride sidesaddle, so he was able to go increasingly faster. Still, she gained on him with Chestnut. Grace's horse huffed and snorted right behind her, but Chloe knew better than to look back and lose any rhythm. The camera crew drove alongside them on ATVs.

Finally she caught up to Sebastian and leaned over, tapping him on the butt with her riding crop.

“Caught you!” she shouted.

He flashed a smile and spurred his horse to go even faster. Suddenly he turned, driving his horse off trail into the thick of the forest. Far ahead, the hunt master had stopped, his horse pointing in the direction of the yipping hounds, his hat signaling the turn.

Chloe hesitated just long enough for Grace to lunge ahead of her. Julia charged past, too. Kate and Gillian were still behind her, but Chloe realized she'd fall into second, then third, and then no place at all.

She kicked Chestnut, spurring him on, gaining on Grace, and finally passing her. But where was Sebastian? She saw his horse's backside way up ahead, and the horse seemed to be doing a jump. She couldn't do a jump, she'd have to go around, but she'd lose time. She leaned into the horse and squinted, making out a long tree trunk stretched over two stumps. Chloe's neck tightened as she bore down to steer him around it—but she had waited too long and Chestnut stumbled.