Prada and Prejudice

by Mandy Hubbard

  "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 — but 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 f
or 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.

  And I can't be that person anymore. Alex sees me. And I don't want to be invisible ever again.

  "Shall we get refreshments?"

  I nod to her and follow her to the array of goodies weighing down the tables. I don't even ask what any of it is; I just grab a plate and a few items and retreat. I'm used to eating mystery food now. Once I opened my eyes a bit, it turned out to be pretty good. Well, most of it anyway. Some of it's still kind of sketchy.

  I don't snack for long, though. Once Alex enters the room, I forget I'm even hungry and nearly drop my plate. A helpful servant scoops it up from my hands.

  I see him in profile, his long lean body in stark shades of black and white: knee-high socks, dark, well-fitted pants, a jacket the color of midnight, and a snowy-white cravat as pressed and starched as ever. I'd think he looked entirely too formal, except my own dress is at least as fancy. Today, it's appropriate.

  As much as it would he great to see him in a T-shirt, jeans, and hall cap, the formal attire simply suits him.

  He surveys the room as the others take notice of his presence, hut before they can bombard him, his eyes sweep across to me and then stop. His lips give way to the slightest of smiles, and then he's heading straight toward me, leaving a gaggle of disappointed faces in his wake.

  "Do I look okay?" I whisper to Emily, unable to take my eyes off of him long enough to check.

  She squeezes my hand. "You look..."

  "Stunning," Alex finishes as he arrives in front of me.

  "Your Grace," I say, for the first time, and curtsy.

  He looks amused that I've addressed him so formally. "My lady." He bows, a deeper bow than I've ever seen him do.

  I rise and look him in the eye again. "I thought you said I wasn't a lady."

  He smirks. "I thought you said you were."

  We smile at one another, and the room fades around me.

  "Save the next dance?"

  I nod.

  "Wonderful. I shall find you then."

  And then he leaves me with Emily, and I finally know what a swoon is as I grab her elbow.

  "I thought he might ravish you right here on the floor," she says with a giggle.

  "Emily!"

  "What?"

  And then I can't help it; I burst into a fit of giggles with her, until my sides ache and I can hardly breathe. A few guests stare as they pass us — I'm betting such behavior is frowned upon — but I find that I don't even care. It's been so long since I've had a friend who made me feel like I could be myself. Ironic, since I'm Rebecca here, but it's still invigorating and exhilarating, and all we're doing is standing here laughing like total lunatics. It's definitely against Victoria's Rules for Proper Young Ladies.

  But I don't care. I am me. Whether that is someone they like or someone they despise, I am who I am, and that's the truth.

  When have I ever been this sure of myself?

  "Is everything all right?" Emily stops giggling.

  "Yes. I—" I pause, taking a breath. "I'm... better than all right." I glance around at the beautiful, sparkling ballroom and then back at Emily's smiling face. "I'm perfect."

  Chapter 30

  "Denworth is coming this way," Emily says, barely a heartbeat later.

  "What? Where?"

  Emily nods at an older gentleman marching toward us, and my heart leaps into my throat. He's shorter than I'd imagined, with a thin build under his colorful red jacket. His hair is a salt-and-pepper style that somehow looks aristocratic and noble. And then I look at his face.

  Oh God, he looks...

  Perfectly happy? That can't be right.

  "What do we do?" I whisper, but it's too late for Emily to respond. He's six feet in front of us. Then three... then...

  "Miss Thornton-Hawke," he says, bowing in front of her.

  "My lord," Emily says, and curtsies. I manage to mumble the same and follow her lead. "Thank you for your attendance in support of my new engagement. I know how difficult it must be for you."

  I study his face. He is older, that's for sure. Old enough to be my dad. But he has this kind sparkle to his eye. I don't feel scared or intimidated like I thought I would be if I ran into him.

  "Yes, it was certainly not easy to let go of such a charming and beautiful young lady. Best wishes in your marriage."

  I swallow, hard.

  He's nice. As simple as that. The caricature I'd built up in my head was completely off-base. He actually wants what's best for Emily, even if he ends up getting the short end of the stick.

  Emily still deserved the choice of her husband, of course, but obviously Alex wasn't trying to force her into marrying a lecher or anything, either.

  And he probably knew that. If Denworth is a member of Alex's "polite society," Alex had probably met him. And knew he was a good guy. That explains a lot.

  "Thank you," she murmurs. "I hope your evening is an enjoyable one."

  "Likewise," he says. Then he nods toward the two of us and walks away.

  All I can do is watch him retreat. Emily wouldn't have been downright miserable with him. Would she have been in love? Unlikely. But he is not what I thought he'd be. Far from it.

  "He doesn't seem upset about the broken engagement," I finally say, after a long moment of silence.

  "No, he doesn't, does he?" She smiles, more to herself than to me. "I was surprised he would come, but then I think it was to squelch any further gossip. By giving his approval, he makes it appear as if it were mutual."

  "Oh. That makes sense."

  She nods. "And no doubt he's back in the marriage hunt."

  I smile. I hope he finds someone who will make him happy. I guess he deserves that.

  Before I can think of it any more, the song transitions, and butterflies swarm my stomach as if they're a mob of
angry bees. I haven't even begun to search for Alex before he arrives at my elbow, escorting me toward the floor. The crowd parts as we walk through. I really am Cinderella tonight, about to dance with my prince.

  We take our place in the formation, and I realize for the first time it's Victoria at the head, demonstrating a dance. She's glowing. This is her thing, this high-society hostess stuff. I've never seen her beam from ear-to-ear like this.

  Whatever floats your boat, I guess.

  Once the dance has been demonstrated, Alex bows to me and I curtsy, and it begins. We put our palms up to one another and walk in a small circle. I feel his eyes on me in an intense stare. It warms my cheeks.

  Once back to my starting place, I drop my hand and turn in the opposite direction, and the move is repeated, palm to palm. I hate that there are gloves between us. I hate that I can't just wrap my arms around his neck and dance with my cheek against his shoulder like I would in the twenty-first century. If I had the guts, that is.

  Next we move away from each other and do-si-do around another couple. I spin twice, my skirts flying out around me. Then I return to him, on my tippy-toes, then bow away from him, and then go up on my tippy-toes again.

  His eyes never leave me. He's tall enough to see over the heads of most of the other guys in the room, and as we twist and twirl and bob and bow, he never stops watching me.

  And instead of feeling gawky and clumsy, it gives me the strangest boost of confidence. I am flooded with adrenaline and energy. It runs up and down my arms and legs, and I want to grab his hand, gather my skirts in my free hand, and run away from the crowds so I can be with him. But I know it wouldn't be proper, and so we simply dance.

  With every twist and dip, my smile grows. This must have been how Emily felt at the last dance. The reason she was glowing. And yet my brain keeps battling with my emotions, willing me to tell him who I am, to unload the truth. I know the clock is ticking. I know at any moment I can have everything yanked from me — yet another way I'm like Cinderella.