Definitely Not Mr. Darcy Read Free

move—”
    Fiona didn’t seem fazed.
    â€œLook, I don’t fit into the modern American world, but Abigail, she has an extremely bright future ahead of her. Sometimes I feel like ‘Ma’ from Little House on the Prairie with a daughter like her who’s into all things futuristic and trendy. But I’d do anything for her. Anything.”
    â€œDoes she know you’re here just for the money?”
    â€œI’m not here just for the money!”
    â€œThen what else are you here for?”
    â€œTo ogle the young men in their buckskin breeches.” Chloe winked.
    Fiona smiled again.
    â€œI’m here for the experience, of course! Although Abigail’s under the grand delusion that I’m going to find my own Mr. So-and-So.” Chloe laughed.
    Fiona didn’t. “And what do you think?”
    The thought had crossed Chloe’s mind, but, in true Regency fashion, she had repressed the idea, even after reading a sample bio they had sent her of a cast member, a certain Mr. Wrightman, a man who seemed great—Oxford-educated, an art, architecture, and travel buff—all interesting, except for that ridiculous stage name.
    â€œYou didn’t come here to meet a man?” Fiona asked, confirming the vibe Chloe had picked up on.
    â€œI think that just because a woman travels overseas, people shouldn’t assume she’s looking for romance,” Chloe said. “I came here to dress in gowns for this documentary, to live and breathe the Regency, and use my knowledge of Jane Austen novels to win.”
    â€œOf course.” Fiona turned to lead Chloe into the room.
    Chloe had to sign all kinds of agreements and go through a battery of interviews and medical and psychological tests for this documentary and now her own maidservant was probing about a man, too? Why was everything always about men? She was perfectly happy without one.
    Chloe stumbled, but caught her fall by grabbing onto the wooden coat tree on her way through the door.
    â€œMind your step.” Fiona nodded toward the floor and took Chloe’s bags. “Many of these old doorways have wooden thresholds.”
    â€œI never was very good at thresholds—being carried over them or otherwise.”
    That made Fiona laugh, and Chloe felt like she was making progress with her melancholy maid and had successfully dodged the man question.
    She found herself in a fairy-tale cottage of a room with a canopy bed, a scroll-armed chaise lounge, and a fire dwindling in a fireplace with a wooden-beam mantel. The dressing screen with the white gown hanging from it dominated the room, and Chloe had to wonder: Could a mom like her pull off a gown like that?

Chapter 2

    O ther than your earrings, do you have any jewelry to remove?
    Any belly rings or the like?” Fiona asked as she closed the door behind Chloe.
    â€œWhat do you think?” Chloe smiled.
    â€œI would venture to say no.”
    Being a not-so-modern type, Chloe didn’t need to transform too much. She washed off all vestiges of makeup, which in her case was a bit of blush, undereye concealer, and lipstick. Fiona packed Chloe’s simple earrings, necklace, and understated watch into velvet drawstring bags. Time, surely, wouldn’t matter for a lady of leisure in 1812.
    Chloe hopped on one foot to yank off her lace-up boots until Fiona hovered, hands on her hips.
    â€œYou must get used to me doing such things for you.”
    â€œReally, it’s not a problem.” Chloe did everything for herself, and Abigail. It would take some retraining to have someone else to rely on.
    â€œIt’s a rule once we’re on set. If you’ll step behind the dressing screen, I’ll gather your chemise and stockings.”
    The room had an aroma of lavender. Behind the screen, and deep in the Derbyshire countryside, hours from London’s Heathrow, and centuries away from her real life, Chloe felt more at home than ever.
    She