Prada and Prejudice (18 page)

"I
--
" I can't even think of anything to say, so I just mumble something along the lines of
see you at dinner
and then pick up my skirts and scurry away. What a disaster. I'm such a freak! First, I run away when he tries to kiss me, and then a few hours later, I change my mind and go for it? Could I
be
anymore confused?

Chapter 28

For the next several days, the servants are lost in a flurry of activity. They're beating rugs and polishing banisters, sweeping floors and washing curtains, trimming hedges and dusting paintings. And every time I think I've seen them all, I see a few more, until I think I've seen at least sixty.

Sixty. That's ridiculous. But then, Harksbury is different from the mansions back home. There are no washing machines or hot water heaters. Someone has to do everything, even haul water upstairs for the little basin I use in the morning to wash my face.

Emily and I go together to the seamstress in town. It's the first time I've seen town since the day after I arrived, and this time I manage to enjoy the scenery and look around a little more. The shops are quaint, all in a line, with windows proudly proclaiming their wares.

A bakery, a butcher, a blacksmith, a hatmaker. Ladies stroll up and down the walkways, parasols in hand. Dust rises from the street as carriages roll by, their wheels squeaking.

Emily climbs down from the carriage with the help of the servant, already lost in daydreams over her new dress. "I do wish His Grace had given us more time. I would have liked to have gone to the linen drapers in London, for they are more likely to have the latest sketches and designs, not to mention a far more varied selection of trimmings."

I nod my head, though I have no idea what she's talking about. We cross the rutted street as she continues to chatter about clothes, and head straight to the largest shop on the corner. The door is propped open, though it's still a bit stifling inside. My eyes adjust to the darkness of the wide room and I see a light-haired woman dressed all in gray approach us and sweep into a low curtsy. "Miss Thornton-Hawke, Miss Vaughn, pleased to meet you."

Emily and I curtsy back. I've mastered it by now, crossing one leg behind the other and bobbing until my skirts mushroom out a little bit and then I stand again. It seems weird, but I'm starting to like the formality. It's a show of respect, something people don't do often anymore.

She leads us past a few young ladies quietly sewing behind cute little desks, and over to a wall of fabrics, brocades and swaths of silk and satin overflowing onto the floor and pooling into a rainbow of color. "I'm afraid the selection is a bit lacking today. I am expecting a shipment of new designs from America in four days."

My mouth goes dry. "America?"

"Yes. Baron Gaverson's shipping company has obtained some of the finest silks this side of India. Or so he has told anyone who will listen."

"Wasn't your ship one of Gaverson's?" Emily asks me.

Oh God. A ship from America. One from the same company Rebecca told Emily she was arriving on.

It's her. She's coming. In four days. The day after the ball. And that's if it arrives on its regular schedule. Who knows? It could already be here.

The ticking clock just became a time bomb.

I grip the edge of a table to steady my quaking knees. Emily hasn't noticed my shock, and yet I'm sure my face must be ash-white.

The woman gestures toward the bolts of cloth again. "So, have you two any idea what you'd like?"

"Scarlet silk," Emily says without pause. "The ball is in my honor. I should like to be eye-catching."

The woman nods, looking pleased. "And you?"

I nod in agreement, my eyes unfocused.

Four days. And then what? As long as I didn't know when she was showing up, I could ignore it. I could pretend the real Rebecca would never arrive at all.

But reality just hit. Hard. I have no plan. Everything is going to explode in four days.

"Certainly you don't intend to match," the woman says.

"What?" I look up at her. They're both staring at me.

"Emily has chosen the scarlet. Do you know what color you'd like?

"Oh. Emerald," I say, without hesitation. "This one."

I don't tell her why. I don't tell her it's the exact shade of Alex's eyes.

I don't tell her what look will be in those eyes in four days, when he finds out what a traitor I am.

Oh God, what have I been doing all this time? Why did I think it was a good idea to parade around as this other girl?

I'm such a fool. Everything is about to come crashing down. They'll probably have me arrested and thrown in jail.

My life is over.

The seamstress nods. "Step up here and I shall get your measurements."

Emily gestures for me to go first, so I step onto a small pedestal and the woman sets to work, measuring my height and hips and waist. She doesn't speak; she just lifts my arms and moves my head as if I'm a horse and not a person. I suppose that's a good thing, because if she were talking to me, I wouldn't be able to hear her over the deafening roar of my heartbeat.

As the woman measures Emily, Emily instructs her on the latest styles of the season and the exact height of the desired hemline and the precise swoop of the neckline. Even though I'm hardly listening, I realize she knows
exactly
what she wants. She's in her element right now. Even under normal circumstances, I could hardly keep up.

The seamstress leads Emily over to a bay of drawers and they start going through "the trimmings," which seem to be lace and piping and buttons. I only hear half of what they're saying.

All I can do is stare at the ground as everything twists inside me. I have four days until the end of all of this.

Four days.

Moments later, we're leaving with a promise to return in a couple days for another fitting, and I have no idea what I've ordered. I think the words
surprise me
may have crossed my lips.

"You're really into fashion, aren't you?" I ask Emily as I climb back into the open-air carriage. I have to think about something else, something to keep the panic at bay. The sun beams down on us and I rest my head back and let it bathe my face in warmth.

"Oh, yes. My father made certain I was well equipped for my first season, and I discovered a passion I'd not realized before."

"You should be a seamstress."

Emily snorts. "A woman of genteel upbringing ought not to hold a profession."

I lift my head. "That sounds like something Alex would say. Are you seriously going to be happy just being a wife and that's it?"

The resolve in her face weakens.

"Who cares if you're not
supposed
to hold a profession? Fashion is obviously a passion for you. You've been gleefully dressing me since my arrival. And maybe you won't have some shop on Main Street, but why not design your friends' gowns and such?"

Her expression changes. It's one of wild hope. Oh no, what am I doing, talking her into things again?

Just as the driver is getting ready to pull away, Emily asks him to stop. And then with a grin and without explanation, she dashes hack into the shop. I can only stare after her. Oh God, I've created a monster.

She returns moments later and hoards the carriage. "I have instructed the seamstress as to how she should construct your gown. You shall be the first to wear one of my creations."

"Oh. Uh, thanks," I say, feeling unsure.

Somehow I think this ball is going to be the most important night of my life.

Or maybe just the
last
night of my life.

Chapter 29

Despite the flurry of activity going on downstairs, my room remains silent. I spend an hour in the tub as the rose-oil scent seeps into my skin and the water turns cold. I prop my feet up on the edge, lay my head back, close my eyes, and dream that tonight will last forever.

Four weeks. I've been here four weeks.

Yesterday, back at the seamstress's, I learned that the ship from America had already been spotted from the shoreline. It's arriving right on time. Tomorrow, the real Rebecca will be here.

The lies I've heaped on Alex, Emily, and Victoria are going to come tumbling down. I don't know what to do now. Do I just hang out and wait for her to show up and reveal what a fraud I've been? Do I warn them and risk getting kicked out before I
have
to leave?

Would
they kick me out? I have no money. Nowhere to go.

And that is why tonight must last forever. So the morning won't come and I won't have to make a decision I'm not at all prepared for.

Emily wanted to get dressed together again, but I want to be alone. I'll spill it all if I have to hang out with her. I'll tell her I'm a big fat liar and her real friend is going to arrive at any moment. I'll tell her I'm not worthy of her friendship.

I haven't looked at my dress yet. It arrived in a box, now sitting on my bed.

When Eliza comes in, I reluctantly leave the now-cold water and accept the robe she hands me. I walk to the vanity and sit quietly as she yanks on my hair and rolls it
--
too tightly
--
into curlers. She powders my face but I decline any other makeup.

The corset and thin undergarments go on, and then I stand as Eliza slides my gown from the box and drapes it across her arm in a swath of sparkling emerald. My heartbeat quickens at the sight of it. This is my night. I'm going to dance with Alex. I'm going to convince him to kiss me again, and this time I'm not going to run away.

Tonight I will be Cinderella, because tomorrow I'm going to turn back into Callie and all of this will be gone. I'll be alone again, instead of eating with a duchess and flirting with a duke and breaking and rearranging engagements.

The gig'll be up.

I put my arms over my head and Eliza slips the gown on. It slides effortlessly over my hips and to the floor. I know by the look on Eliza's face that it's perfect. Her mouth forms a tiny
o
and her eyes widen. '"Tis beautiful, miss."

She goes around to the back, tightens the cords and adjusts the sleeves, and then walks to the box and pulls out two snowy-white elbow-length gloves. I slip them on, the cool silk sliding effortlessly over my skin.

I sit back down and she lets the curlers out of my hair and sets to work, gentle with the tendrils for the first time since I've been at Harksbury. It's like she knows tonight is different, like the gown showed her how important this is.

Downstairs, the buzz of the guests is building. Through the window, I hear horses being brought around to the stables. I feel so detached from everything already. I'm trying to force myself to think that tomorrow I might not be here. Not when they all know the truth. Not when Rebecca, live and in person, gets here. I know I should be thankful she hasn't arrived early or something, but all I want is for her to never show up at all.

I wonder if I even look like her. I bet if I saw her, I'd laugh that our identities were mistaken. I guess it's good that this is 1815 and photography hasn't been invented yet.

Once I'm wearing my slippers and the hum of the guests downstairs is too much to ignore, I stand. Eliza holds out a mirror, and when I see myself, I'm so stunned I freeze.

That cannot be me.

My blonde hair is a cascade of loose curls. A string of pearls weaves its way through the tendrils, like a sparkling tiara. The neckline of my gown scoops low enough to hint at the boobs I barely have, but which are currently pushed halfway to my chin and squeezed together with this corset. Humph. So maybe corsets serve a
teeny
purpose.

The long full skirts of my green dress nearly touch the floor, and the hemline is sewn with hundreds, maybe thousands, of translucent green beads. It must have taken dozens of workers to sew that many on in such a short time. The heading is mirrored along the empire waist and neckline.

Emily has done an amazing job. She really
does
have a future as a designer. It's a shame she can't be the next Donna Karan or something. But at least all of her friends, whoever they are, will be dressed in the hottest fashions.

It's sad that I can't be one of those friends. The knowledge of that tiny fact twists inside me and makes me feel hollow.

"Ye shall have te hide from Emily, else ye steal the attention."

I grin at Eliza as a shot of adrenaline courses through me. I can do this. I can stop thinking about tomorrow and just enjoy tonight.

She leaves the room, and I walk to the window and take a few deep calming breaths as I watch the grooms scurrying back and forth with guests' horses.

When I think I can handle the idea of mingling with all these strangers, I leave the sanctuary of my room and head toward the entry. The buzzing of conversations and laughter quickly escalates into a dull roar. It's a little weird, seeing so many people talking and mingling in the lobby below as servants take their jackets.

When I reach the top of the stairs, there's an odd moment when the conversations die down, and I think everyone is staring at me. No, that's me being paranoid. They're looking
-- b
ut only some of them. I smile shakily and resist the urge to smooth my skirts or check my hair, and instead let my gloved hand slide over the banister as I descend into the entry.

There seems to be a steady flow of people going in one direction, so I follow the throngs, curious as to where they're heading. And then I round a corner I've somehow never taken before and am shocked to see two of the largest doors in Harksbury propped open wide enough that I can see what's beyond them.

A ballroom. All this stinkin' time, there's been a ballroom at Harksbury. I can see, now, that it makes up one of the walls bordering the courtyard. It even has two doors. How can I not have noticed this?

The wood floors gleam underneath chandeliers filled with dancing flames. Diamonds and satin sparkle under the lights. A band fills one corner and dancers fill another. There's a table so long it stretches from one wall to another, bursting with food. Another table wraps around the corner and is filled with drinks.

Guests stream past me, and the room steadily fills.

Two women walk past, one of them bumping into me but not apologizing. They seem to be lost in conversation.

"
--
paid the man five thousand pounds so she could marry Mr. Rallsmouth, you know."

"The duke?"

"Yes. Apparently, her father had high ambitions for her. Wanted the girl to marry a peer. It took a bit of financial persuasion to change his mind."

What?
Alex paid Emily's dad off?

I won't tell you what I had to do,
he'd said.

How could I have forgotten that?

I don't know how much five thousand pounds is, but it sure sounds like a fortune.

I'm still standing in the entry, half dazed by this news, when Emily finds me. "Oh, Rebecca, you look beautiful!"

I force a smile, even though I want to burst into tears because she's called me Rebecca. We're so close now. We've been through so much. She should be calling me Callie.

I wish I could tell her, I wish I could explain, but tonight is not the time. We're celebrating. I can't ruin this night for her. But hearing her say that word is like having my lies thrown back in my face. I don't have to ask to know she's
never
lied to me. That's just not her style.

She curtsies and I take in the details of her crimson gown: scalloped hemline, cap sleeves, embroidered bust, all of it vibrant against her richly dark hair, which has been pulled up above her head with a black butterfly-shaped clip. She's a bright splash of color among the rest of the room. But the dress can hardly compete with the sparkle in her eyes; she's positively gleeful.

"Thank you," I say, and curtsy back, even though I'd rather just hug her.

"Isn't it the grandest thing you've ever seen? And all in my honor. Her Grace was quite annoyed to rush it, but we've already got our special license and wish to wed two days hence."

"You're going to he married in
two days?"

She nods. "Yes, for there is no reason to wait when we wish it so badly."

"Cool. Er, wonderful," I say.

The ballroom is filling, but I still see no sign of the one person I want to see most. The person who commands a room like no other. What is he doing? This is his house. He's got to be under this roof somewhere, so why is he not in this room?

I need to kiss him tonight. I want to. I can't keep screwing things up and then waiting for them to magically get better for me.
Rebecca
would never do that. She'd probably march right up to him and admit that she likes him. Old Callie? She'd shrink into herself and hope everyone forgot she existed at all.