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.”

Chapter 17

In 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.

“Toys?” Mrs. Crescent sat up and stared at the crate.

Henry lifted the lid off the crate. “I have arranged a surprise for you, Mrs. Crescent.” He looked up at her with a smile and brushed the hair out of his eye.

Mrs. Crescent fanned herself. “If it is a toy, I am not amused.”

Henry stood up and put the crate on the wicker table in the center of the parterre. “I’ve arranged for your boys to visit at three o’clock and—”

“My boys! Oh, Mr. Wrightman!” She dropped her fan, and he picked it up for her. “All of them?” She put her gloved hand on her heart. Fifi wagged his tail and jumped up and down.

“The entire brood.”

Chloe’s eyes welled with tears. “I’m so happy for you, Mrs. Crescent. To see your boys after all this time!”

Mrs. Crescent flapped her fan as if it were a wing and Fifi ran up and down the length of the parterre.

“Hence—the toys. But Miss Parker and I must test the toys first, of course.” He pulled a wooden sword from the box and tossed it to Chloe, who caught it.

It had been weeks since she’d held one of Abigail’s toys. A wave of sadness came over her.

Henry brandished a toy sword at her. “En garde!”

Chloe, with a hand on her bonnet, jumped up and pretended to duel with him. Their swords clashed and they both collapsed in the settee laughing.

Mrs. Crescent lowered her eyes at Chloe. “A lady would never—”

“Ah. But a lady would catch butterflies.” Henry pulled two butterfly nets out of the crate and handed one to Chloe.

Chloe smiled. She looked at Mrs. Crescent.

Mrs. Crescent continued fanning herself and Fifi. “How can I refuse? My children are coming! I miss them so much—”

She did? Except for little William, Mrs. Crescent didn’t talk about her children much, but then again, Chloe didn’t talk about Abigail at all.

“I know you’ve missed them.” Henry surveyed the lawn. “Mr. Tanner. Please have the canopy set up on the clover patch. I’m sure the boys will want to play ring toss and lawn bowl.”

The footman dashed off as Henry unpacked the crate, stacked with historical reproductions of children’s books, a flower press, sketchbooks and charcoal. He pulled out a pair of binoculars and set them on the wicker table.

“Do you have any bird-watchers in the family, Mrs. Crescent?” He winked at her.

Mrs. Crescent shook her head. “No. No bird-watchers. Too many other gizmos at our house, if you catch my drift.”

Henry laughed, closed up the crate, and took one of the butterfly nets from Chloe. “I’m afraid bird-watching is terribly out of fashion—almost as démodé as catching butterflies.” He picked up a huge jar and a piece of cheesecloth from the crate and headed out to the lawn with the net propped on his shoulder like a fishing pole. He stopped and turned, scanning Chloe from bonnet to boots. “Come on, Miss Parker. Let’s see what you can catch.” He headed for the hollyhocks.

Chloe looked at Mrs. Crescent, who turned her chaise to face the lawn. “Just remember.” She pointed a finger at Chloe and lowered her voice. “The one thing you’re supposed to catch—is Sebastian.”

Chloe watched Henry as he set the jar down under the sundial. “I’m beginning to think they’re both quite a catch. That was so thoughtful of Henry to invite your children.”

Mrs. Crescent picked up Fifi. “Think again. You’re here to win, and so am I. Do you want to be seen on the telly all across America as a failure? As the poor sap who fell for the penniless younger brother and lost out on a hundred thousand dollars?” She petted Fifi and looked out toward the side gate where the children would come spilling through. “We need to finalize the details of your gown for the ball before my baby comes, which could be anytime now. I’ll give you a few minutes. No more.”

Normally, Chloe would’ve been all over picking the trim for her ball gown and choosing just the right shoes. Instead, she scampered under the pink rose arbor with the butterfly net, hurrying toward the sundial. The only thing dragging her down was her bonnet.

Henry had already caught a butterfly, and after setting the jar on the stone ledge of the sundial, he slipped in a few hollyhocks for it to feed on.

The shadow on the green sundial showed that it was almost two-thirty. Wait a minute. Sundial! Chloe propped her net against the sundial and dug into her reticule for the poem. She turned her back on Henry and read the pertinent lines again:


As the clock strikes two you must find