Chloe smiled, Mrs. Crescent and Julia’s chaperone clapped, and Chloe thought for a moment that there might be a glimmer of class in this circus of a reality show after all. She credited Sebastian, who had to be behind this turn of fate. He was a true gentleman.
“I wanted to stop, but—” Gillian started to say.
Grace gave Chloe an icy stare and whispered, “It’s obvious that you care for Henry. Perhaps more than just as a potential brother-in-law?”
Chloe could feel her pinned-up hair practically standing on end. “I care for a lot of people,” she replied. “But I’m here for Sebastian. I’ve put everything on the line for him.”
The butler cleared his throat and looked into the cameras. “Before Mr. Wrightman presents these invitations, Miss Parker has arranged a posthunt tea in the back drawing room. This will allow all of you ladies to make any last impressions before he announces his decision. Best of luck.”
The footmen opened the doors to the hall. Sebastian stepped in, radiating heat, and Chloe could feel herself gravitate toward him. His crisp white shirt and cravat enhanced the effect of his sun-kissed skin. He offered each of the women a red rosebud posy wrapped tightly with pink ribbon.
A certain hunger came over Chloe. In her best imitation English accent she asked, “Shall we go to tea?”
Grace locked her eyes on Sebastian, then took his arm and spoke over her shoulder to Chloe. “How did you ever manage to find the time to save the wounded and put a tea together Miss Parker? You are too good.” Her gaze shifted to Chloe’s reticule. “What other tricks do you have up your sleeve—or should I say in your bag? Do tell.”
Whatever did she mean by that? Even Sebastian looked confused.
Grace led Sebastian toward the hall, Kate and Gillian following in her wake. Julia took Chloe’s arm and the chaperones and Fifi followed them into the back drawing room.
Hosting the tea was her way of taking control and flaunting her knowledge of Regency mores, and as far as she was concerned, a nineteenth-century aristocrat couldn’t have pulled it off any better. A quartet of musicians in the corner played Mozart, the punch sparkled in a crystal bowl, and candles flickered around the silver epergnes stacked with slices of strawberry tart, rout cakes, sandwiches, a trifle, the gold-dusted confections, clotted cream, and apricot ice. Wedgwood china dishes crowned the table, a teapot warmed on the grate, and a whist table stood set and ready.
Sebastian looked impressed, or at the very least, hungry.
“I want to host a tea. Why haven’t I hosted a tea?” Gillian asked her chaperone.
“You didn’t think of it, dear,” was the chaperone’s reply.
Julia took a turn about the room with Kate.
Before anyone so much as touched a teacup, the butler suddenly announced a random reticule inspection.
So much for my being in control here, Chloe thought. “What is he talking about?” she asked Julia.
“This happened a couple weeks ago before an Invitation Ceremony,” Julia whispered. “It’s like a pop quiz. They want to make sure you’ve remembered to bring everything a lady might need at such an event.”
Julia, Grace, and Kate all passed muster. They each had an array of the necessities: fan, smelling salts or vinaigrette, calling-card case. The butler opened Chloe’s reticule last. He named each item as he pulled it out. “Vinaigrette. Calling-card case. Fan.” Then he fell silent as he pulled something else from her bag, even though Chloe hadn’t put anything else in there. It was a small, square black packet with serrated edges. At the sight of the glistening wrapper, horror flashed through Chloe. It was a condom! What was it doing in there? She had left the condoms in her valise back at the inn!
Grace gasped. “Oh my.” She fanned herself.
The butler held the little packet up high so everyone could see it. It took a while for the crowd to make out what it was, then the room went abuzz.
Chloe squinted. It wasn’t one of the strawberry-margarita-flavored condoms Emma had given her. This one had a black wrapper. She looked at Grace, who smiled. In an instant, she knew that Grace had planted it on her, and that was it. The end of ladylike behavior toward Grace.
“That’s not mine,” Chloe said to the butler. “Someone must’ve planted it on me. I’d never smuggle something like that in here, and even if I did, would I bring it to the tea party I myself am hosting? It doesn’t make any sense.”
The butler nodded in agreement. “Still, you have no proof that anyone ‘planted’ this on you, as you claim, Miss Parker. If you had proof, that would be a different story.”
“Likewise there isn’t any proof that it is mine,” Chloe said.
“It was in your reticule,” Grace pointed out.
Mrs. Crescent spoke. “I can attest to the fact that my charge did not smuggle any such thing in here. She has been set up. I stake my reputation on it.” Fifi barked in agreement.
The butler looked stymied. “This item will be confiscated and we will determine how to proceed. For now, let the tea party resume.”
Chloe frowned. She vowed to get proof—whatever that might be. Talk about awkward. Well, she’d wanted to make an impression on Sebastian, and she sure had.
Grace fanned her way to a settee, patted a cushion next to her, and urged Sebastian to sit. “I’ve never been to an American tea before, have you, Mr. Wrightman?”
Sebastian opened his mouth to speak, but appeared to have second thoughts on the subject and remained silent.
Grace had pushed Chloe too far. Chloe held up a punch glass. “Lady Grace, would you like a punch?” she asked ingenuously.
“How amusing. I prefer tea, thank you.”
Chloe reached for the teapot on the grate, but the butler beat her to it. “Allow me,” he said.
“If this is an American tea party, then I find it quite charming.” It was Henry, interjecting from behind the fireplace screen. He rose out of a high-backed chair and bowed to the women and the chaperones.
“I—I didn’t expect you to be here,” Chloe said.
“Indeed you did not,” he replied. “I had to ask the servants to bring an extra tea setting.”
She couldn’t look him in the eye, even as he came closer.
“Still, you seem to have thought of every other detail. Like you said, you didn’t know I’d be here.” Under his breath he said, “Did you think I’d miss your hostessing debut?”
Chloe cooled her sweaty palms on her punch glass.
“Mr. Wrightman,” Grace said to Henry. She left Sebastian to take Henry by the arm. “I’ve been meaning to remind you about a little silversmithing project I have for us to work on together. You’re so good with your hands, I thought of your talents right away. Might I have a word with you in private?”
She stole Henry away from Chloe while Gillian slid in next to Sebastian. Chloe stood alone with an empty punch cup in her hand. She didn’t like Grace slithering away with Henry like that, but she set her sights on Sebastian.
Suddenly something brushed against her leg. Next thing she knew, something warm and furry was pushing against her calf. It startled her, and her punch cup slipped out of her gloved hands and crashed on the floor. It was Fifi—humping Chloe’s stockinged leg with wild abandon. Chloe lifted her gown, trying to shake the dog off. The quartet stopped playing, but Fifi kept going. First the condom, now the dog? This was not the way her elegant tea party was supposed to go.
“Fifi,” Mrs. Crescent yelled. “Come back here to Mother.” She waddled over to her dog.
Fifi kept humping away with unusual tenacity even as Mrs. Crescent detached him from Chloe’s leg. Chloe felt her cheeks flushing red with embarrassment and she swooped down to pick up the shards of glass.
Grace chimed in from across the room: “It seems everyone and his dog is attracted to Miss Parker.”