higher than a lady.â
Grace rattled her chatelaine. âWe might practice archery together. You neednât be titled for that.â
Mrs. Crescent curtsied and it took Chloe a while, but she did bow her head. Nevertheless, as Grace turned to walk down the hallway and the cameraman followed, she pretended to shoot her in the back with a bow and arrow.
âMight I have a word?â Mrs. Crescent brought a handkerchief to her sweaty brow. She whispered, âIâm glad to see youâre a fighter. Iâve never seen anyone handle her quite like that. We have a chance at winning, you know. A big chance!â
âWhat do you mean âweâ have a chance at winning?â Fifi nuzzled his head under Chloeâs arm and Chloe edged away.
âWeâre in this together! Of course you know your father hired me to find a suitable match, and if we get Mr. Wrightman to propose to you, I get five hundred pounds.â
Chloeâs real father didnât have an English pound to spare, so this mustâve been part of the script. It rang true, because Chloe knew chaperones were often hired by eager fathers during the Regency, and the chaperone would be paid a predetermined amount when she married off her young charge.
This gave Mrs. Crescent a real stake in Chloeâs winning.
Mrs. Crescent whispered, âI get five hundred pounds from your father and ten thousand from the show itself if we win, and I really need to win. Thatâs all Iâll say about the game for now.â She looked crushed. âYou wouldnât know how it is when youâre a motherâyou donât have children.â
Chloe looked down at her ballet-flat shoes. Abigail used to take ballet, before she switched to hip-hop.
Another camera came in; this time it was a camerawoman.
Mrs. Crescent changed her tone and spoke up. âSo, I have four children, and another on the way.â She patted her pregnant belly. âOur five-year-old son needs surgery, the physician said.â
Fifi licked Chloeâs arm and Chloe rubbed it off. âFor what?â
âTo remove a lump in his neck. Heâs always been sick and we have no more means to pay. The local physician has a long wait list, and we want to get it done as soon as possible, which means we have to go into town, which is going to cost us.â
Did Mrs. Crescentâs son have a medical issue in real life? Or was this just part of the chaperoneâs character sketch? Chloe knew that socialized medicine meant often getting wait-listed for a procedure and thought maybe the Crescents wanted to hurry everything up and pay for it to be done in a private clinic. She tried to catch Mrs. Crescentâs eye, but the worried mother looked away wistfully, toward the window.
âIâm counting on that money.â Mrs. Crescent put her hand on Chloeâs knee. She looked Chloe in the eye. âMy whole familyâs counting on it.â
Her story had to contain some element of truth. âWhatâs your sonâs name?â
âWilliam,â Mrs. Crescent said, without hesitation. She opened a locket hanging around her neck and pointed to a miniature portrait of a boy with blond hair and curls.
âHe looks like a little Cupid.â
Mrs. Crescent closed the locket, rubbing it with her fingers. âHe is a love. Itâs hard to be away from him for weeks on end. You canât imagine.â
Sweat dribbled down Chloeâs back. âIt must be hard.â
Mrs. Crescent stood and waddled toward the door. âHaving children changes your priorities forever. Right. Tonight youâll meet the rest of the women, but for now, Fifi and I can show you Bridesbridge Place.â
Chloe wanted to know more about little William, but she soon got swept up in the tour of Bridesbridge. She gushed over everything, from the drawing room and its pianoforte to the kitchen garden thick with dill, lavender, and basil.
âMight you