Prada and Prejudice (16 page)

When I look up again, I'm alone.

Alex is gone.

In a daze, I walk into the hallway and find my way to the foyer, where the butler is standing. "Was the letter to Lord Denworth delivered this morning?"

Please say no. Please say no.

The man nods at me. "Yes. Hours ago."

"Okay," I say, barely seeing the ground in front of me.

Even if I wanted to undo things now
...
it's too late. We sent a letter to Denworth telling him what Emily was doing. Telling him she wouldn't marry him and she was giving herself to Mr. Rallsmouth. It was our failsafe, in case the servant's gossip didn't reach him.

According to Emily, the
perception
of being ruined is all it takes. Just some rumors. It won't matter if we tell him it was staged.

Denworth probably read the letter. That, coupled with the way the servants spread gossip
...
It's done. Emily is ruined.

I turn and head up the stairs toward my room, gripping the banister so I won't trip. I can barely see the steps, I'm so dizzy.

I wonder what Denworth thought when he read that letter.

I wonder what Alex is doing right now.

I wonder if this is all going to end in disaster.

Chapter 24

My nightmare has officially commenced. I'm sitting in a high-backed dining room chair, wearing a stiff gown and a corset, and the only other person in the room is Victoria.

Based on the way she's nonchalantly slurping her soup, she has no idea what's going on with Emily.

And I have to keep it that way.

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have missed something as important as the need for parental permission?

I bet Alex went straight to that cottage. I have no idea what's going on. It makes me long for the simplicity of a telephone. At least then I could call and see what was happening!

This is pure agony, sitting here just wondering and freaking out!

Victoria asked me at the start of dinner where Emily was, and I made something up. I don't even remember what it was.

The worst dinner of my life is dragging by more slowly than the tick tock of a grandfather clock, and all I can think about is what is going on in that little cottage a few miles away. Is Alex yelling at Trent and Emily? Has Trent agreed to stick by Emily no matter what happens?

The only time I stop thinking about it is when Victoria reminds me of her ever-so-delightful presence. "Rebecca, dear, slouching is rather unbecoming," she says.

I hate myself, but I actually sit up straighter when she says that, out of pure instinct.
Victoria just has that motherly vibe, like you'll immediately comply with her before you realize what you're doing. I should have slid lower in my chair, but the corset makes doing that impossible.

If I ever get the chance to travel back in time again, I'm finding the guy who invented corsets and we're going to have a serious talk.

A servant sets a big hunk of beef down in front of me. I wait and watch Victoria before picking up the same fork, holding my knife in the same hand, and cutting the meat into bite-size pieces exactly as she has done. Watching her eat is like watching a how-to video on dinner etiquette.
Simon says...

Part of me feels a
little
sorry for her. Her whole life is all about the proper thing to do and the rules and restrictions. How much do you want to bet it's all a facade? How much do you want to bet her obsession stems from the fact that her husband had a mistress, and all she could do was put up a good front and make everyone believe everything was perfect?

No wonder pretenses are so important to her. Her husband cheated. He fathered a child with someone else. But Victoria made sure everyone would think all was perfect in the Duchess of Harkshury's life. She's flawless, can't you tell? Not a care in the world.

I guess I shouldn't have judged her so harshly.

"The roses are in full bloom. Emily and I walked around in the garden yesterday and it smells like perfume," I say, trying to be nice.

Victoria chews on a piece of meat and stares me down. "Yes. The gardens are always beautiful this time of year. The late duke had them designed to ensure that the scent would be a constant companion to those who walk the paths."

Her late husband. She's acknowledged him. The words have fallen like cannonballs, heavy and overwhelming. I'm not sure what to say, so I just stuff another bite in my mouth and hope the moment passes.

How many courses could there be tonight? I hope only three. I simply can't handle sitting here for another four or five or six courses. All this stilted conversation is too much, and given my rep, I'll blurt out something about Emily to fill the gaps.

Victoria grips her fork so hard her knuckles turn white, as if she's realized the mistake of mentioning Alex's dad. Then she sets the fork down and wriggles her fingers. Next she sets her knife down, too, and massages her hand and wrist. Her face flashes for a moment with pain, and then she's back to picking up her fork and knife as if she hopes I didn't notice.

"Something wrong?" I ask.

"All the embroidery over the years seems to have finally gotten to me," she says. I'm kind of surprised she admitted that at all. She's Victoria the fearless. Victoria the faultless.

"What does it feel like?" I ask.

"My hand tingles at times."

"It's probably carpal tunnel."

She just stares.

I shrug. "It's a pinched nerve. Do your best to keep it straight at night. If you can get some kind of brace, it will help. After a few weeks, it should feel a bit better."

Why am I doing this? I'd prefer if her whole hand fell off.

"Thank you," she says in a soft voice. But then a second later she seems to remember we're sworn enemies. "You've an elbow on the table."

"Oh." I lean back again and set my hands in my lap.

"Why do you believe Emily should not marry Denworth?" Victoria asks. She's studying her fork in such a way that I think she might be talking to it and not me.

"Excuse me?" She doesn't know, does she? Oh God, Alex is going to be so ticked off if she found out and gets wound up about it. Here I thought she'd somehow missed all the gossip. She seems to be hanging out in bed a lot, like she's not feeling well. But if the servants came to her, or if they were in the hall and were talking too loudly
...

"I overheard you and Emily. You believe she and Denworth don't belong together.
Why, pray tell, is that?"

Oh. So she's still in the dark.

Victoria only glances upward for a moment, as if she's hoping I won't realize it's her asking the questions. Not like there's anyone else in the room. Is it really that hard for her to be nice to me?

Now I'm the one studying my fork. Do I make up some fabulous reason, some compelling argument that Victoria would understand, or do I just tell her the truth? A woman like her doesn't believe in love. How could she? She was totally into the idea of Emily marrying Denworth. Said it was her duty and left it at that.

"She deserves better."

Victoria studies me for a moment. Her face is turned upward so she has to look down her nose at me.

"Better than a baron? She had as much a chance at love with Lord Denworth as she does with any one else. Perhaps more."

What's weird is I think she believes that. She states it so simply, as if it's fact. "How can that be true? Denworth is so old."

She sets the fork down beside her plate and stares straight at me. For once in her life, her eyes aren't piercing and scary. They've softened a bit around the edges. I get a glimpse of what Victoria may have looked like twenty years ago. And I think she must have been beautiful. "The duke was nearly five and fifty when we married. I was but twenty."

"And did you love him?"

The silence in the room tells me what I need to know. Obviously not. So why is she trying to convince me otherwise? I pick at a piece of fat on the roast and wait to see if she'll admit it.

"Not at first. Not until the last three or four years."

I look up at her, surprised. Three or four years? That means
...

That's why the old duke was hoping the baby would go away. He was reconciling with Victoria. He was probably on thin ice and hoping she'd never find out about the kid.

But why couldn't he have helped her financially? They needed that.

Victoria's hands are still and she's staring back at me. Is she actually chewing on the edge of her bottom lip? Surely she's not. Victoria is poised and perfect at all times. "I did love him. But I tried not to. For years, I tried not to. And now I think of those wasted years and I wish I could have them back."

All I can do is stare. I'd been so sure she was grumpy for no reason at all. That she just thought she was better than everyone else. But in reality she's lived the most twisted and tragic love story I've ever heard. Way worse than Shakespeare.

So she's hiding behind all her perfect etiquette and all her rules.

"There are few who fall in love, Rebecca. Even fewer who stay in love. Emily has no better idea what she wants than I did. She will marry Lord Denworth, just as I married the duke. It is to be expected."

Oh, but it's not. She has no idea what is going on just a few miles away. No idea at all.
She got lucky with the old duke. She fell for him. But I refuse to believe that some fifty-one-year-old guy has as much in common with Emily as someone her own age. Someone who might already be in love with her.

"Don't you think it's Emily's choice to make?"

Victoria's voice softens a little. "It will never be her choice." And for approximately one second as she looks at me, I think Victoria is trying to tell me that she agrees. That it
should
be

Emily's choice, even if it isn't.

But then she ruins it. "Your elbow is on the table again." I roll my eyes but I pull my elbow off the table and sit back in my chair. I guess some things never change.

Chapter 25

Long after dinner is over, Alex and Emily have still not returned. He left this morning to get her. What could they possibly he doing? Emily was only supposed to be gone one night... and we're creeping ever closer to two.

I prowl the halls of Harkshury like a caged animal. I see the library and the study and the guest chambers and the court. I stumble into the kitchens and then three more dining halls.

I don't know what they're doing, what's taking so long, what's going on. What if something crazy has happened? What if they're like, arrested, or dead, or robbed or something? This is 1815. All sorts of crazy things could be happening.

I wonder if they went straight to her father. All three of them. God, what if he's insanely mad and wants revenge for her escapades? Alex seemed to think she was pretty much screwed.

What if I ruined her life?

What are they doing? I can't take another night of tossing and turning. I want all this to be over. I want to be home. In the twenty-first century, where stuff like this doesn't happen.

The twenty-first century. I can't believe I haven't been thinking about it more. Those first couple days, I was consumed by it. But lately I've been so busy with Emily's engagement and Alex's insults and Victoria's dinner etiquette
...
I guess I've been kind of swept up in all of it.

I have to figure out what I'm going to do. I can't just live here like it's my real life. Rebecca will be arriving in just a couple weeks.

And when she arrives, my cover will be blown and everyone will know I'm a fraud. So I have to come up with some kind of backup plan or strategy or something. But how am I really supposed to find my way back?

Maybe that makes no sense, but really, do I have any other options? If I can just focus my energies on something positive, maybe the rest will resolve itself.

For now, I'm still stuck.

At the moment, I'm somewhere in the east wing, strolling along and looking at all the paintings, a candle in one hand as the rest of the house darkens. It's mostly sceneries and landscapes hanging in this hall. Pretty rolling hills, big grassy meadows, majestic hilltops. It's not really enough to distract me, but it's interesting nonetheless.

I'm staring at a stormy sea raging against some rocky cliffs when I hear her voice.

E
mily. She's back.

I pick up my skirts and run down the long hall, my slippers echoing loudly on the hardwood floors.

I skid around a corner just in time to see her take the first step up toward her room.

She hears me and when she turns, her eyes light up. I let out a big sigh of relief. There aren't tears streaming down her face or anything. That has to be good, right?

"Where's Alex?"

"He has gone to speak with my father." Emily purses her lips, and worry creases her brow.

I stop a few feet short, suddenly feeling like a wall has gone up between us. "Did you forget he had to give you permission? I had no idea. It doesn't work that way
...
in America."

She takes in a slow, calming breath. "I suppose in the excitement, I seem to have forgotten."

"Oh." I shrug because I can't think of anything else to do. "Did he say when he would be back?"

She nods. "In two days. It is a full day's ride to my father's estate. He will have to stop at an inn for the evening."

Wow. He's riding a full day each direction and staying at a hotel because of my interference. He cannot be happy.

"Well... how'd the, um, evening go? Did you enjoy yourself, at least?"

"Yes. We had a lovely meal by candlelight. He brought us a delightful picnic for dinner."

"Oh, great!" I say, with false enthusiasm.

For the first time, the conversation feels forced and uncomfortable, like we're two strangers. Emily's never looked this worried before. There's tension in her shoulders and face, and she's not bubbling over with excitement about spending an evening with Trent.

God, I really screwed this up. If Alex doesn't succeed
...

Eventually, Emily is going to find out she trusted a complete stranger with her life.
And I betrayed her.

I hate this.

"Okay, well, um, I'm going to go to bed. I suppose we'll learn more tomorrow," I say, filled with the desire to get out of her presence before I spill everything.

She nods and heads up the stairs. I follow her. We split up at the landing, each of us climbing the steps to our own wing.

I know one thing: I am getting no sleep tonight.

The next two days crawl slowly by. All I do is think of everything that could be going wrong, everything that could be going right, and everything in between.

And in between all that, I think of
my
life.

What if I'm actually missing in the twenty-first century? What if there are entire search parties, and my mom is a total basket case, and everyone thinks I got kidnapped? It was so hard to talk her into the class trip. She'll think it's her fault.

God, she would probably have to call and talk to my dad, too. And she hates doing that.

And if I pop back up and I've been missing for a month, what am I supposed to tell them?
Oh, sorry, I took a vacation in1815. I got a little sidetracked with this whole arranged
marriage problem. You know how that works. And I went to a few balls, and I wore corsets and
stuff. Actually, the whole thing was sort of fun. So don't you worry about me! Really!

Eliza comes into my room when I'm already at the stool brushing my hair. It's got to be the first time I've beaten her to the task of waking me up and gotten out of bed on my own. I think she enjoys that part of her day the most, the way she rips off the blankets and throws open the drapes.

'"Is Grace's asked fer ye."

I freeze, the brush midstroke. "What?"

'"E wishes te see ye," she says, peeling my hand from the brush and resuming the untangling of my hair.

"He's back?"

She nods.

"Oh." I swallow. So now it's the moment of truth. Did he convince her father to consent, or is Emily's life officially ruined? Is he going to tell me that I screwed everything up and he was right?

I'm getting used to the whole process of dressing and I'm done too quickly for my liking. My walk to Alex's study is like the green mile. I wonder what he's going to say. This isn't going to be fun.

I step inside his study, but no one announces me, and he doesn't notice. So I just stare.

He's writing something. With a quill and ink. The well is sitting next to his right hand. He's so intent on whatever he's writing he keeps at it for thirty seconds before he sees me.

Long enough for me to see the way he narrows his eyes when he's concentrating and the way he purses his lips.

Long enough for me to wonder what it would he like to kiss him.

Oh God, where did that come from? I hate him. Hate him. There's no way I could possibly want to kiss him.

He looks up at that instant, and I do my best to just smile right at him and not give away my thoughts.

"Please sit," he says, rising. I nod and sit down in the same fancy chair as before. The door stays open.

I sit as erect as possible, my hands in my lap, my ankles crossed beneath me. Victoria must be rubbing off on me.

Alex comes around to the front of his desk and rests on it, crossing one ankle over the other as he leans back.

"What you did was overstepping your bounds."

I clench my teeth, hard, to stop from snapping back. I have to see where he's going with this before I get angry.

"You went behind my back and orchestrated one of the most ill-planned, riskiest schemes I've ever seen. I am shocked."

"But
--
"

He puts his hand up to silence me. "I won't tell you what I had to do to convince her father to consent to the new arrangement. You are lucky Mr. Rallsmouth will have the means necessary to support Miss Emily, as she will not be receiving a thing from her father from here on out."

All I hear is
convince her father.
"So it worked?" A grin spreads across my features and I jump to my feet. "She's going to marry Mr. Rallsmouth?"

Alex pushes off the desk behind him and stands in front of me. "Have you not heard a word I said? You made grievous errors of judgment. You
--
"

"But I was right! And thanks to me, she's going to marry the love of her life!"

He's standing right in front of me, inches away.
"You were not right! You interfered
and it was not your place!"

I clench my fists as my anger flares to match his. "You think
nothing
is my place because I'm some lowly, untitled girl! But someone had to do it, and you didn't care to!"

"You should not have gotten involved!" he growls.

"You should not have forced me to!" I say, jabbing my finger into his chest. "You should have been there for her when she needed you!"

In an instant, he closes the gap between us. His lips hit mine so fast I can't even close my eyes. His hands find a place on either side of my face and pull me close, and for two-point-five seconds, I'm lost somewhere between closing my eyes and standing there, frozen.

Somehow the eyes win out and I shut them, and my knees start to buckle as I press my lips into to his. I stop breathing and grip his sleeves with both hands to keep from falling straight over. His lips are warm and soft and
...

And then I realize what's going on.
Who
I'm kissing.
You're not a lady,
he'd said.

It stings as much now as it did the moment he said it. He thinks I'm unworthy.

What am I doing? I reel back and knock into the wall with a loud crash that makes him jerk his eyes open.