Definitely Not Mr. Darcy (33 page)

Someone knocked on her door. She snatched her chocolate-colored archery gown from the bed and held it up against herself as if she were sizing it up.

It was Fiona, and Chloe breathed a sigh of relief.

“Time to dress for the archery competition,” her maid said, then gasped at the sight of Chloe's hair. “Why did you take your hair down, Miss Parker? You know full well it will be half an hour to pin it up again.”

 

 

F
iona pinned up Chloe's hair so quickly and so badly that, right in the middle of the archery competition, when Chloe was already down several points and trying to focus on the red bull's-eye in the middle of the target, she felt the updo going down.

She kept dwelling on the pole dance. A section of hair fell on the nape of her neck. It startled her into releasing the bowstring sooner than she wanted, and just like that, another arrow bounced off the outer edge of the target and fell to the grass. No doubt the fifteen Accomplishment Points would be going to Grace or Julia at this rate.

“Concentrate!” Mrs. Crescent mouthed to her from a wooden chair on the grassy sideline. And then she mouthed something else, but Chloe never could read lips. Sebastian, Henry, and the chaperones sat under the shade of an old beech tree, watching Grace, Julia, and Chloe face off. Fifi and two greyhounds were asleep under the wooden table where Fiona and some of the other servants were pouring lemonade and stacking Bath buns.

Chloe propped up her lancewood bow, almost as tall as she was, next to her, while she avoided eye contact with Sebastian. She tightened the laces on her brown suede archery gloves. A servant gathered up her misfired arrows and handed them to her like so many broken dreams.

Grace readied her bow.

“Ladies . . .” The butler stepped in front of the camera. “May I interrupt for a moment?”

Grace sighed, relaxed her stance, and scratched her collarbone.

Sunburn, Chloe thought. Soon it would be peeling!

“I'd like to remind you,” he said, looking first at Chloe, then at Grace. “This is the final round of our archery competition today—”

A mosquito buzzed around Chloe's eyes. She snapped her eyelids closed for a minute, brushed it away, and when she opened them again, she accidentally looked straight at Sebastian, who winked and smiled. At least, it looked like he winked. Anyway, he was smiling—at her. He had this way, even with the gorgeous Grace and alluring Julia around, of making her feel as if she were the one. The only one. She swung her lancewood bow at her side.

“Ahem . . .” The butler cleared his throat. “The winner of today's competition will not only earn fifteen Accomplishment Points, but will also win an exclusive outing with Mr. Wrightman. Let the games begin.” He raised his arm for the competition to continue.

Chloe's hands shook.

Grace flashed her white teeth in a fake smile, and Chloe noticed that her teeth somehow seemed whiter than they'd been yesterday. “Another excursion with Mr. Wrightman? I'll shoot for that.” Grace pulled her bowstring back, and with a snap she nailed it, another bull's-eye.

Chloe's hands began to sweat in her suede gloves.

“Miss Parker, may I ask you a question?” Henry bowed in her direction. Mrs. Crescent was standing right by his side.

Chloe didn't want to get sidetracked by Henry. Not now. “We can talk after the meet, I'm sure, Mr. Wrightman.” She curtsied to soften the blow of her refusal.

“This might help you, Miss Parker. Come over here with us,” Henry said. He guided her toward the lemonade table and handed her a glassful. Her hands shook and when she took a sip, the glass clinked against her teeth. Henry politely ignored this blooper, but the camera got it. She took a big gulp, thinking that what she really needed at the moment was a vodka lemonade.

Henry looked her straight in the eye, as if she had a speck of dirt or something in it. “Miss Parker, do you wear glasses back home?”

She almost sprayed her lemonade all over him. “What?!” She wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin from the table. “Um, I mean, excuse me. Pray tell, what kind of question is that?”

Henry took off his glasses and looked into her eyes while Mrs. Crescent and even Fifi seemed to stare at her. “Have you had your eyesight tested recently?”

Chloe laughed. “Are you saying I'm blind, Mr. Wrightman?”

“It's your shot, Miss Parker,” Grace called as she slipped her arrows into her tin quiver with a loud
ker-plunk
.

Chloe put her hands on her hips. “I can see perfectly, thank you very much.” She could see that Sebastian was standing in the background, his arms folded and his brow furrowed as he watched her once again engaged in conversation with Henry.

Mrs. Crescent tapped Chloe's cap-sleeved shoulder. “Henry has observed, dear—you squint every time you shoot.”

She narrowed her eyes at Henry. What was he trying to do? Break her concentration?

Her thought was interrupted by the butler, who stepped in front of the camera again. “Miss Parker, you must take your turn now. Or do you forfeit?”

The nerve! A lady would never articulate what Chloe was thinking, so she spun away from the lemonade table, plucked a wooden arrow from her tin quiver, grabbed the green velvet grip, raised her bow arm, and kept it locked. Slowly, she drew the twisted linen string back until her thumb hit her jawbone and her index finger almost touched the corner of her pursed lips and—she squinted. There. Now she saw the center circle clearly. She aimed, held her breath, and thought all those archery lessons at summer camp all those years ago had to pay off. She released the arrow but kept her shooting position until she heard the arrow hit the target.
Wham!
The arrow bounced off the edge of the target and to the grass. She wanted to throw her bow to the ground, but instead she leaned on it and frowned.

Grace mouthed something to Sebastian from across the field. Sebastian mouthed something back, but Chloe had trouble seeing his lips from a distance. Was Henry right? She needed glasses? Was this an approaching-forty thing that had crept up on her so gradually she hardly noticed? She had five arrows left in her quiver. She turned to Henry, who was sitting on the edge of his chair.

“Mr. Wrightman—Henry?” was all she said, and he came right over.

He didn't say a word. He took off his very clunky nineteenth-century spectacles, with lenses almost as thick as quizzing glasses. A chunk of his hair fell into his light brown eye and he swished it away. He wiped the lenses clean with his cravat and slid the glasses onto her nose as if he were sliding an engagement ring onto her finger. At first she saw nothing but a blur, and she raised her hand to take them off, but then, suddenly, she saw it clearly: the red circle in the middle, the outer rings . . . Wait—now she was seeing the individual leaves on the trees instead of green clumps. She saw peonies in the gardens rather than a blur of pink. Even from this distance, she saw Sebastian's watch fob dangling from his pants!

She took her stance, held her breath, and shot. Bull's-eye! She breathed in.

“You'll need five more of those,” Grace mumbled, leaning nonchalantly on her bow as if it were a streetlamp.

Four bull's-eyes later, Sebastian, Henry, and Mrs. Crescent clapped and stood. Grace slung her arrow case over her shoulder and folded her arms. Julia folded her arms, too, and drummed her fingers on her taut biceps.

Chloe held the last wooden arrow in her gloved hand. She visualized herself as Cupid, with curly hair and wings as she nocked the arrow in the center of her bowstring and readied herself to take aim, but Grace chose that moment to step none too gently on Chloe's foot, and Chloe's fingers released, even though she hadn't even raised her bow arm. The arrow spun from her bow, as if in slo-mo, and spiraled toward Henry.

Chloe squeezed her eyes shut for a second. Cupid fantasies or not, she certainly hadn't wanted to shoot an arrow at Henry.

Grace did her best to appear to swoon. “Oh my.” She fell to the grass. “I can't stand the sight of blood,” she cried, then pretended to faint.

“Blood?!” Chloe ran to Henry's side. He was already opening up his jacket, looking for the wound.

Chloe's heart pounded.

“It didn't hit me,” he said.

Chloe sighed. “Thank God,” she breathed.

Henry looked at her for a moment, then turned away and scrambled to get up. “I think it just hit my watch fob and bounced off.”

Chloe saw that with the fainting, Grace had conveniently managed to land in Sebastian's arms. He tried to revive her, as if she needed reviving, with her vinaigrette and her fan, and the sight of her in his arms sent chills up Chloe's corseted spine.

Chloe found the arrow and picked it up, examining the tip. “No blood on the arrow either.”

“It really didn't hit me,” Henry said, buttoning his coat.

At that moment Grace seemed to miraculously awaken from her fainting spell. “Of course it hit you,” she said from the crook in Sebastian's arm. “I saw it hit you. You went down because it hit you.”

The butler glared at Chloe.

Out of nowhere, George zoomed in on his ATV in his sunglasses and blue jeans. “Stop the cameras.”

Chloe was taken aback. She'd forgotten that men in the real world didn't bow when they saw a woman.

George slid his sunglasses down the bridge of his nose and stared at Chloe. “You got lucky,” he said sharply.

Chloe looked down at the arrow in her hand. She did get lucky. If it hadn't bounced off Henry, she'd be bounced out of here.

“I'm going to be watching this time. Because I don't want any messing around. Lady Grace, I want you far away from any archers. Take your final shot, Miss Parker,” George said as he moved to the side. “And, Henry, I'd advise you to stop putting yourself in Miss Parker's path. She tends to attract trouble.”

“Thanks, George,” Chloe muttered. “Don't forget I happen to be armed at the moment.”

“Take your shot, Miss Parker. Cameras—roll it.”

Sebastian escorted Grace to a wooden chair on the side and then headed back toward the lemonade table.

Henry's spectacles slid down Chloe's nose and she pushed them up with her suede gloved finger. She took her stance, drew the string back, and visualized the money, Sebastian in her arms, everything. She raised her bow arm, kept it locked, and drew back the string until her thumb touched her jawbone and her index finger reached the corner of her mouth. She took aim at the red center of the buckskin target, took a breath, held it, breathed out, and released the arrow.
Thunk!

“It's a bull's-eye!” Mrs. Crescent shouted. Fifi, who'd been fast asleep in her arms, woke up and began to wag his tail.

A servant plucked the arrows from the center of the target and carried them over to Chloe as if they were a bouquet of long-stemmed roses. Triumphantly, she slid them back into her tin quiver, while on the sidelines, Grace's fan dropped with a faint
thud
into her lap.

Chloe slid the glasses down the bridge of her nose, and the target blurred again. The leaves and the flowers became fuzzy clumps. Yes, she needed glasses all right. She hurried over to Henry, wanting nothing so much as to throw her arms around him. But instead, she said coolly, “Thank you, Mr. Wrightman, for your observations and for the loan of your gl—er, spectacles.”

He bowed, and as she took in his minty scent, she saw Fiona smile as she poured Sebastian's lemonade. He smiled back, stirred his lemonade with his finger, and leaned over to whisper to her. Fiona whispered back.

George slipped in between Chloe and Henry. “Miss Parker, I'm sorry to say that you lost the competition by a single arrow.” He signaled the camera crew and hopped in his ATV.

Chloe clicked her heel-less walking boots together. “Thank you again, Henry. I did much better because of your—foresight.”

Henry smiled and flicked the hair out of his eye. “You flatter me. Anyone with any medical experience could have guessed the problem. Eyesight can change rapidly when one approaches—”

“A certain age?” Chloe interrupted.

Henry nodded.

Grace popped out of her chair so fast she knocked it over. “Such an unladylike display of affection,” she announced. “Running over to Mr. Henry Wrightman and thanking him so fervently!”

A blush washed over Chloe's face. Henry's glasses slid down her nose. She took them off and folded them up.

“Ladies, gather round,” the butler announced as he stepped in front of the cameras. He opened his notebook.

Julia, Grace, and Chloe encircled him, and their chaperones stepped forward.

“Third-place winner is . . . Lady Grace.”

Grace put her hands on her hips.

“First runner-up . . . Miss Chloe Parker, who forfeits the first dance at the ball due to an arrow gone awry. And, finally, Miss Tripp wins the archery competition, bringing her total to sixty-five Accomplishment Points. Lady Grace and Miss Parker stand tied at forty points. Both Miss Parker and Miss Tripp, however, are due an outing with Mr. Wrightman.”

Chloe handed Henry his spectacles.

“Keep them,” Henry said, and gave them back to her. “Until we get a ladies' pair made for you.”

“Thank you.” She tucked the glasses into her reticule. “But will you be able to manage without them?”

He nodded.

She curtsied. Mrs. Crescent patted her on the arm, and together they turned toward Bridesbridge Place.

“Did you happen to notice,” Mrs. Crescent said, “just how sunburned Lady Grace's bosom was?”

True, Grace had been burned, but that didn't change the fact that Chloe was going to have to sit out the first dance at the ball. And was Fiona flirting with Sebastian? Beads of sweat trailed down her back. It was too hot for this heavy archery gown. For once, she was happy to change for dinner.