Her first coherent thought was to thank God that the camerawoman who was following Henry and her had had to sneak off to go to the bathroom. The rest of the camera crew was off filming Julia and Grace horseback riding.
Mrs. Crescent and Henry gawked at the fleshy-looking object in the grass.
As Chloe watched a blue butterfly float by, and noticed how lovely the green-and-white striped canopy looked in the clover patch, she thought how perfect the moment would have been if not for that monster vibrator lying in the grass. She wanted to run, but everything, the canopy, the sundial, the secret door, the unsolved riddle, started spinning around, and she grabbed onto the butterfly net for support.
Fifi trotted over to the vibrator and sniffed it. Then he picked it up like a bone, carried it to Mrs. Crescent, and dropped it at her swollen ankles. Mrs. Crescent, with a hand on her belly, looked at Chloe.
Chloe clung to the butterfly net and swallowed. “It’s not mine.”
Mrs. Crescent’s eyebrows furrowed.
“It’s Lady Grace’s.”
“Of course it is,” Henry said, unhooking his arm from Mrs. Crescent’s. He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, bent over, and wrapped up the vibrator. He seemed to be stifling a laugh.
“I’m all for practicality, but it’s hardly historically appropriate.” Mrs. Crescent turned to Henry. “It—it’s a—”
“A neck massager.” Henry stood up with the wrapped vibrator in his hands.
“It is?” Mrs. Crescent turned her head to look at Henry, but because of her chaperone’s poke bonnet, Chloe couldn’t see her face.
“Absolutely.”
“Well, you’re the doctor. The neck massager should be confiscated.”
Chloe’s gloved arm swung out, knocking over the butterfly net. “No!”
Henry, who was cracking up now, turned his head away and pretended to cough. The white roses behind him swayed in the wind like little white surrender flags. Maybe she should’ve told them about the stash from Grace’s room. They were on her side, weren’t they? Chloe opened her mouth, ready to confess all.
Henry interrupted. “Here, Miss Parker. Take it.” He held the sheathed vibrator out toward her.
The stretch of grass between them seemed to go on forever. Her cheeks flushed with heat.
“Take it back—to Lady Grace, of course.” Henry smiled.
“See the mantua-maker immediately after that,” Mrs. Crescent said.
“You have to believe me.” Chloe studied his eyes. “It really is Grace’s.” She took the thing in one hand, still unsure how to hold it. She swung her bonnet up off the grass by the organza ribbons and plopped the swaddled vibrator in it, holding her chin high and her back straight, as if she had a book on her head, and sauntered toward the parterre.
Henry followed her. “I daresay, Miss Parker, it certainly doesn’t surprise me that you have more than a bee in your bonnet.”
Could he see the cigarettes and the MP3 player? Chloe eyed the bonnet swinging at her side. No. She whipped her head back at him and narrowed her eyes. Her hair spilled down around her sweaty neck and forehead. “Better to have a bee in my bonnet than nothing at all—like some of the ladies around here.”
“Touché.” Henry laughed, and Chloe cracked a smile, even as she looked straight ahead at the mantua-maker waiting near the partarre.
Chloe spun toward the kitchen door, where, on a wooden table outside, the scullery maid gutted fish. The fish skins shone in the sun and the stench almost made Chloe lose it.
“Not the servant door, Miss Parker—” Mrs. Crescent said in an annoyed-as-ever voice. “Take her through the main doors.”
She had to walk past Henry, who politely bowed as she escorted the dressmaker to the main doors. As soon as the footmen closed the doors behind them, Chloe excused herself for a moment, and before the exasperated woman could protest, Chloe was up in her chamber. She stashed the vibrator, the MP3 player, the whitening strips, the condoms, and the cigarettes under the rags in the basket next to her chamber pot. Only the poor chambermaid touched that. She rang for a footman to bring her tiara to Henry.
In the parlor, as Chloe stood on a cushioned stool, the dressmaker pinned her dress for final alterations. The satin drapes had been drawn, and Chloe could see clear through to the parterre, where five boys spilled through the wrought-iron gate in the east garden wall. Each one of them wore knickers and a vest and looked straight out of a costume drama. Mrs. Crescent must be pleased at the historical accuracy.
“Turn, please,” the mantua-maker mumbled with a mouthful of pins.
Chloe turned, and saw Henry playing with one of Mrs. Crescent’s older boys. Which one was William? Mrs. Crescent hugged two of her littler ones, and they patted her pregnant belly. Henry gathered the boys around him and showed them the jar with the butterfly in it. They all looked, even the oldest one, wide-eyed, with tiny hands on the jar. Chloe thought only of Abigail. She would’ve enjoyed all this.
Henry held up the jar, pulled off the cheesecloth, and the butterfly flew up and around the boys, who clapped and jumped up and down.
The boys hung on to Henry, laughing and smiling, and Chloe got butterflies in her stomach. He was so good with kids. And, she couldn’t help but think, he would be good with Abigail, too.
The dressmaker tugged on Chloe’s gown to get her attention. “Would you like a Greek-key trim or tattered lace?” Chloe tried to focus on the two snippets of trim the seamstress handed her. “Oh. Um. Greek key.”
“Turn, please.”
Chloe turned again and this time she saw herself in the full-length gilded mirror. The peach-colored silk gown glimmered in the summer sun that streamed through the windows. Was it just the light or did she lose about ten pounds? For the first time ever, she wanted to hop on a scale. Even with the glasses, she looked—like a lady.
Henry had a toddler in his lap and he was reading aloud from one of the children’s books. A wave of warmth washed over her.
“You have lost inches since I was here last, Miss Parker.”
Chloe heard the dressmaker, but she sounded far away, as if she were in another room.
Grace, in her low-cut white gown, sauntered over behind Henry and put her arm around his chair as he continued to read. She seemed to be reading it aloud with him to the boys. Henry looked up at Grace and smiled as they mouthed the words together.
Chloe’s fingers clenched like claws. Et tu, Henry? Wait a nineteenth-century minute. She was getting jealous over—Henry.
Then Julia romped onto the parterre and set up the ring toss for the boys, and the boys left Henry and Grace alone with the book.
“Miss Parker?” A gorgeous footman, maybe even Grace’s most recent conquest, held out a silver salver with a handmade envelope on it addressed to her. Chloe picked up the thick note and the footman bowed and left. It was sealed with a red wax W.
“Now for your pelisse, Miss Parker.” The dressmaker held out the thin, floor-length tailored jacket for alterations. Chloe broke the seal and opened the note.
Dear Miss Parker,
I am hoping to see you at the upcoming ball. If you come to the ball, I would like to meet you at the ice house just past the stables after the last dance. I have something to ask you, so please arrive alone. Hoping you do not disappoint.
Yours,
Mr. Wrightman
Even with the tight-sleeved pelisse covering her arms, she got goose bumps. Of course, meeting Sebastian at the ice house alone would be against the rules, but it sounded like he was going to propose. He had something to ask her!