She ran her gloved fingers along the letterpressed title.
“Someday our kids will laugh about these things called ‘books.’”
Chloe got stuck on his saying “our kids.”
“Good thing we’re both wearing gloves. It’s a first edition,” he said.
Chloe handed the books back to him. “I can’t accept them. They’re worth a fortune. I can’t accept any of this.”
“The books may be worth a fortune, but I never planned on selling them. I don’t think you will either.”
He looked at her with so much passion in his eyes that she—she swooned—and had to lean against the writing desk. “Henry. You have to stop.”
“I must warn you that this goes against all the rules, but some things are better expressed without words.” He gently but firmly nudged her against the bookshelves, the section labeled FANTASY, and he trapped her there with his arms. Their bodies crushed together as he kissed her deftly and deliciously. He stopped for a moment, and desire ricocheted through her.
“You really are quite accomplished, Miss Parker,” he said. “Very talented.”
He rendered her speechless. He cupped her cheek in his hand. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know how ardently I admire you.”
The room spun a little around her, but the light-headedness could’ve been due to a lack of oxygen. She hadn’t been kissed like that in a long time. Why was he doing this to her? Was this another test?
He checked his watch fob, which happened to be dangerously near his bulging breeches. “The minuet will be starting soon.”
Chloe’s mouth dropped open a little. He didn’t want anything more than a kiss? Surely she did. But “Miss Parker” did not. Miss Parker had already gone too far.
“Perhaps, sometime, when there isn’t a grand ball going on, you would like to accompany me back to the library?”
Chloe looked around at the candles, the flowers, the books, drinking it all in. All of it was slipping away already, like a good dream you only remember pieces of when you wake.
“You don’t have to answer. I’ve read it all on your face.”
She buzzed into the ballroom on Henry’s arm. She felt as if she’d drunk a couple of glasses of wine. People approached Henry with smiles and swarmed around him. The height of the room, the gilded ceiling, the candlelight, orchestra, and gowns intoxicated Chloe even more than she already was. Cook made her way toward them.
Henry pulled out chairs for the two women. He motioned a flourish with his hand for them to sit. “Ladies, if you please?”
“I’m much obliged. Thank you, sir.” Chloe sat, her vision of the evening torn asunder. She was bedazzled and bewildered all at once.
Henry said something about supper at midnight, lemonade, tea, coffee, and even wine, which, God knows she would’ve given her last soap ball for a glass of. She half expected to see Colin Firth or Hugh Grant mingling in the crowd. Chloe caught a sudden whiff of beeswax and a drop of something from above fell into the crook of her arm just above her glove. It hardened into a warm white circle. She rubbed it off with her gloved finger.
Henry pointed to the ceiling. “Wax from the candles.”
She squinted up at a gold chandelier hanging high above her like an oversized halo. The ceiling itself was painted in a skyscape of white clouds, sunshine beams, and golden-haired cherubs.
“The candles melt quickly in all this heat. It takes an army of servants just to keep the place lit. Which reminds me. Mr. Smith?” He signaled a servant. “Please snuff out the candles in the library. Thank you.”
The candles that hung above her had already melted to half their height. She wasn’t ready for all this to melt away. She didn’t want the candles in the library to be snuffed.
Her eyes welled up with tears. At least she wasn’t wearing any mascara, but the candle-soot eyeliner might smudge. She dabbed the corners of her eyes with her glove.
Henry, of course, offered her a handkerchief. He always had a handkerchief. It was so old-fashioned.
An older woman, doused in Chanel perfume and draped in layer upon layer of silk, broke into their little threesome. “Mr. Wrightman—” She spoke to Henry, but looked down at Chloe, then deliberately turned so that her butt was in Chloe’s face.
Cook squeezed Chloe’s hand.
The woman hooked her arm in Henry’s. “I simply must introduce you to my niece who’s in from London. She’s a doctor, just like you. You will absolutely adore her.”
Who were these people? And why were they mixing with the unwashed from the reality show?
Henry bowed. As the woman led him away, he looked back at Chloe over his shoulder. “Save two dances for me.”
“Of course.” Chloe bowed her head, and when she lifted it, Henry and his companion had already disappeared into the crowd. Poof. It felt as if someone had doused the lights. Her eyes scanned the room for him.
“So.” Cook tapped her on the knee with her fan. “Mrs. Crescent tells me you’re really taken with Sebastian—I mean Mr. Wrightman.”
Chloe opened her mouth to speak and looked at Cook, her familiar face, her smile as warm as plum pudding, and she realized she didn’t even know her name.
“Here you’ve cooked every meal I’ve eaten since I got here—and I don’t even know your name.”
Cook crossed her legs under her glistening gown. “It’s Lady Anne Wrightman.”
Chloe opened up her feathered fan. “Your real name.”
Cook smiled. “It’s Lady Anne. I’m Henry and Sebastian’s aunt.”
It crossed Chloe’s mind that this was a show, after all.
“Oh! I’m so sorry.” Embarrassed, she started to sweat. She fanned herself frantically. “I just assumed you were, uh—”
“Not titled? It’s understandable. I’ve spent the past month or so in the basement kitchen.” Lady Anne laughed.
Chloe tried to reconcile this Lady Anne with the woman she knew as Cook.
“Don’t worry, you were always very kind to me—and all the servants, for that matter. And I really put you to the test! But you’d best be careful with how you manage your fan.” She looked at Chloe’s fan. “With that kind of fluttering, you’re sending a message to all the men that you’re engaged.”
Chloe snapped up her fan and held it in her left hand, at the angle that meant “desirous of acquaintance.” Lady Anne nodded in approval.
It hit Chloe like a ton of stale Bath buns that not only was she sitting next to the aunt of the two men in her life, but that the room was swarming with beautiful women in gowns with plunging necklines, and neither Sebastian nor Henry was anywhere to be seen.
The orchestra, discreetly hidden behind topiaries and shrubbery, struck up and everyone stood.
“Lady Anne.” Chloe had to raise her voice loudly so that her companion could hear her over the music. She practically shouted. Unfortunately, though, at the very moment that she yelled, “Who are all these women?!,” the orchestra took the liberty of stopping.
All the faces in the crowd turned toward Chloe, who fumbled with her fan and unwittingly sent all kinds of mixed messages around the room, from “kiss me” to “I hate you” to “you are too willing.” She couldn’t breathe.
“Play on!” Henry said from the top of the ballroom, and the orchestra started up again. And she breathed again. But she still couldn’t see Henry.
The crowd circled the dance floor, and Chloe and Lady Anne nudged their way to the front, where Grace and Sebastian, as the couple of the highest status, opened the ball with a perfectly danced minuet.
Grace lived up to her name on the dance floor, and the minuet seemed to last forever.
Finally, the dance ended and Chloe craned her neck to see over and around everyone, and wished she was wearing a pair of heels instead of flats. Heels have their purpose, after all, just like so many things from the modern world that she missed. She managed to get a glimpse of the archway, but Henry wasn’t there either.