It's only an hour later that a servant comes to my room. And when she tells me the duke has invited me out for a horseback ride, I'm flooded with the strangest mix of emotions. I can't believe that after running off like that, he still wants to hang out.
What is going on between us? And why do I want so desperately for it to be something? I shouldn't want anything. Not with a guy like him.
I mean, yeah, I might have been wrong about the illegitimate kid and Lord Brimmon, but the dude still thinks I don't have opinions or options because I'm a girl. He thinks I have a "place, my place" and that it's behind a guy.
And worse, I keep thinking about our kiss. The part where I bash into the wall in my haste to get away is a particular highlight on the reel I keep playing over and over again in my head.
When I walk out the back of the house and he turns to look at me, it's impossible to fight the burn in my cheeks as he steps up beside me and the horse. I can't look at him. I'm so embarrassed I stare at the stirrup as if it will take all concentration to get my foot into it.
Is he going to say anything?
Is he going to apologize for just... kissing me like that? Maybe if he brings it up... Maybe if he apologizes, I can apologize too. For running off. It was so sudden all I could do was react.
But he says nothing. He just steps up beside me and gives me a boost. I'm up on the first try and feeling rather proud of myself as I situate my pretty skirts so they drape over my ankles. Until, that is, I see him swing aboard and am reminded of how graceful and easy he makes it look, even when his horse swings away from him when he's only halfway on.
We ride past the stable, and when I glance in, I see one of the stable boys showing the other how to do the robot, his arms stuck out at odd angles, his hands dangling. I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing when I see Alex's eyebrows shoot up so high they're nearly to his hairline.
It's nice seeing him caught off-guard. I like it. It makes me want to do something totally crazy, just to see his expression.
We ride around the front of the house, past the gardens and bay windows and stately front entry, and down the long drive. Two grooms trail behind us, playing chaperone, but I've gotten used to them now. It's not so bizarre. Today Alex wants to check in on some of the tenant farmers or something.
And it's going to be such a long day. I'm so screwed. I've been squelching a ridiculous crush on him for days, and I can't deny it anymore. I actually like him. What the hay? That makes no sense. How can I like him? Why do I like him?
And on top of all that, I'll eventually have to tell him the truth about who I am.
There's this dark cloud hanging over everything I do, the threat of the moment this world will be yanked from me because Alex and everyone else will realize I'm not Rebecca at all.
How can I be so afraid of that? Why are there moments I'm hoping I can stay here for a long, long time?
The advantage of riding along the road is that we can ride beside one another. As we walk down a tree-lined dirt street, I can't help but think I'd rather be here, right now, than anywhere else in the world. It's sunny but a little cooler than our last ride, so I'm not sweating like crazy. And Alex is wearing an adorable jacket with tailcoats that flutter every time the breeze catches them.
"If you loosen your reins, she won't chew quite so heavily on the bit," Alex says, once Harksbury is out of view and we're well on our way.
I look down at my mare to see her grinding her teeth against the metal bar in her mouth. I can hear it, like nails on a chalkboard, but I'm reluctant to let go of my firm grip.
"Promise she won't do anything?"
He looks solemnly at me and nods. I like that he's not laughing at me for how scared I am right now. I ease a few inches of rein out, and the teeth grinding stops. The mare stretches her head a little, but she doesn't speed up.
Whew.
I look up at Alex to see him staring at me, his lip quirked in amusement. His eyes are sparkling with the reflection of the green canopy of leaves we're walking under. The contrast to the anger I'd seen there earlier is startling. His hands rest on the glossy mane of his gelding, his hips swaying with the elongated gait of his much-taller horse. There's not a speck of dirt on his jacket or a tiny wrinkle on his starched white cravat. "Do you miss home?" Alex asks.
For a scary second, I think he knows. I think he's asking if I miss the twenty-first century and Starbucks and cars and electricity.
But then I realize even Rebecca is a visitor.
"Oh. Uh, yes." Are we on speaking terms now? Why does this all have to be so complicated and messy and... exciting?
And why is he not bringing up what happened earlier? Can't he just say something about it? There's no way I can mention it. No matter how close to the tip of my tongue it is, I can't get the words out.
"But are you enjoying Harksbury?"
What is he asking? If I enjoyed our kiss? If I regret the way I ran off? I stare at him for a long moment, straight into his eyes, even as my mare stops to nibble at some long grass and he's forced to pull up.
"Yes. I think it's going to be hard to leave."
He's still staring back at me when he nods. It's like there are so many more words passing between us than the ones we speak out loud. It makes me want to blurt out a lot of things I shouldn't.
I yank the little mare's head up and accidentally squeeze too hard with my ankles. She jumps forward and I have to grab the front of the saddle to stay on. I use my free hand to pull back, and she resumes an easy walk. Alex turns back to his horse.
"What will you do when you return home?" he asks.
"I, uh, I'm not sure. I feel a little differently, now. Than I did when I got here."
He nods as if he understands, but he can't possibly. I want to tell him about how Angela and the others ignored me before. I want to tell him about how intimidated I'd been, about how I was afraid to be myself. About how I bought these shoes but what I really wanted to buy was Angela's respect. I want to tell him that even though I know all that in some kind of objective way, I'd still feel awkward and clumsy in front of her. I'd still thrust those heels in her view and hope she noticed them. How can that be?
But he falls silent, and the words don't come. Maybe it's a good thing. Maybe he thinks I'm brave and smart, like Rebecca, and it would ruin everything if he knew how hard I tried and how I second-guessed every word that came out of my mouth. If he knew the real me, he wouldn't be interested at all.
God, what am I saying? He probably isn't interested. The kiss was probably a fluke — a heat of the moment thing. It doesn't prove he likes me.
We ride past a field of sheep, their wool shorn so they look tiny, with spindly little legs. We continue past rows of neat little crops and over a bridge and little stream that glistens with the sun. We ride over rocks worn smooth from carriage wheels. We ride for a mile in the cool shade of alder and maple trees.
Two hours later, we pause along the road, in the midst of cornfields. Alex turns his horse away from me and stares toward the crops for a long silent moment, and all I can hear is the distant sound of a cow mooing. And then he turns his horse around and heads back in the direction we came from.
"Are you supposed to... I don't know... see anyone today?"
He cocks his head to the side and smiles at me, like he knows he's been caught, but like he doesn't care. "Not entirely. There are days I simply want to ride and see the land that has been left to me. I fear I may never see it all."
"Oh."
We turn our horses and head back in the direction of Harksbury. I like the way he relaxes when we're this far away from it all. I'm starting to realize where he gets his attitude.
Why he's so uptight.
The world rests on his shoulders. But out here, it's just us. A guy and a girl. Riding horses. Hanging out.
"Thank you," he says.
Huh? "For what?"
He twists his reins around in his hands for so long I think he hasn't even heard m
e. It's the first time I've ever seen him fidget.
The only sound is the crunching of the horses' shod hooves over compact dirt and loose rocks. "For being who you are," he says. "You don't accept anything as it is. Not if you don't agree with it. You see things the way they should he and not the way they are... and it makes me want to do the same."
I just stare at him. Where's Alex and who is this guy?
"I've never met a girl who... challenges me as you do. I find I'm seeing things differently." He exhales slowly. "I should not have raised my voice to you earlier. I am sorry."
I almost choke on my own spit. First a compliment and then an apology?
And yet his apology is for yelling. Not kissing me. So what does that mean? He's not sorry he kissed me?
Something warm spreads through me and makes it impossible not to grin. Somehow, after all those confrontations, I earned his respect. By standing up for something. For someone.
"Oh. Um, thanks," I say. "Does this mean you think I might know a thing or two you don't?" I smile at him and stare straight into his eyes.
Is this flirting?
"Perhaps," he smiles hack at me, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
I wish this moment would last forever. But it can't.
He reaches down to run a hand over the glossy white coat of his horse with one of his doeskin-gloved hands.
Say it. Just tell him you like him.
He looks up at me, and I dart my eyes away and stare straight ahead.
I like you.
But I can't do it. The words are caught somewhere at the hack of my throat.
"I believe my mother would like to host a dance in Emily's honor, to celebrate the impending marriage."
"Really? That's nice of her. I know she thought Lord Denworth was better." I look back at him again. Why can't I keep my eyes off him? Why do I want to just stare at him and smile all day?
He ignores my comment and clears his throat. He looks... uncomfortable? It doesn't suit him. "I'd like you to get a gown. Not one of Emily's. Your own."
I think I stop breathing. "I'm sure Emily has something suitable—"
"Emily is to receive a new gown as well," he says quickly. "You're to see the seamstress immediately."
"Oh. Um. Okay. I mean, thank you." I cough even though I don't need to, just to give me something to do so he won't see the goofy expression on my face as I cover my mouth with my free hand.
He nods and I let the conversation fall. It's got to be one of the most awkward convos I've had since my arrival, even though we're just talking about dresses.
Alex is giving me a gift. A gown. A custom gown. When is that ever going to happen again? Totally crazy.
But why is he doing this? Is this some kind of an I like you and I'm glad we kissed gift? But he's giving Emily one too. So it probably means nothing.
By the time we arrive at Harksbury, we've been gone for what must have been five or six hours. Alex and I ride past the front of the house and meet a groom around back. Alex hands off his reins and walks to my horse, and when I realize he's going to help me down, butterflies swarm my stomach.
I unhook my leg from the lip of the saddle so I'm facing him, and then he reaches up to my hips and helps me slide to the ground.
The result is that I'm standing closer than I'd been this morning when we kissed, with my back to the horse and my hands on his, where they rest near my waist. Am I still breathing? He's so close to me, staring down at me. Will he kiss me again?
Oh God... is he going to... ?
Am I supposed to... ? Please let this be a do-over of this morning... Wait, do I really want to kiss him now? What am I thinking... ? Oh, just shut up and go with it...
I stand on my tippy-toes and edge toward him, giving into the magnetic pull I've felt since the moment I met him. Just as I'm closing my eyes, I see him step back, and then I'm leaning into dead air. He's a few feet away before I right myself.
That was so not what was supposed to happen. He's staring at me with his lips slightly parted, something vaguely resembling worry in his eyes, and I don't want to look at him long enough to figure out what it is. Is he embarrassed? Repulsed?
My face burns. I was really going to kiss him and he just. .. backed away.
"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.
Prada and Prejudice Page 14