Prada and Prejudice (13 page)

"And exactly how does that prove
your
skill? All you do is ride around at breakneck speed to keep up with the dogs. You don't actually hunt the fox using your own skill
--
it's the dogs'. Why not just race around on your horse instead of killing some poor animal?"

"Women never understand the appeal of the hunt."

I snort. "There you go again, acting like we're a lesser species."

"It is men who have conquered this world," he states matter-of-factly.

"You're hopeless," I say, more disgusted than ever.

We ride into the woods, and the shade feels much cooler. I hope it keeps my face from flushing. I'm sweating underneath all these layers. We follow a wide path winding between dozens of oak trees, their limbs twisting toward the sky.

"The air always seems fresher in the woods," he says in an obvious attempt to avoid arguing.

"It is. Fresher, I mean. Plants breathe in carbon dioxide and release oxygen."

Alex twists around to stare straight at me. "You're simply full of scientific knowledge, aren't you?"

And he says it in the most annoying, condescending manner. I want to strangle him.

"God, you really hate that I know things you don't."

He scowls and turns forward again. "Of course not."

"Whatever. You're not used to being one-upped by a girl. Admit it."

"I'll do no such thing."

"Okay then, how about we talk science? Bet you didn't know that you blink more than four million times per year."

His expression remains unchanged, though I'm almost positive he's trying not to blink.

"And did you know it takes fourteen inches of snow to equal one inch of rain?"

His eyes are narrowed, but he hasn't spoken yet.

"Or how about that you lose most of your body heat through your head?"

"You've proven your point," he says.

"And yet I bet you haven't changed your mind about me," I say. "You're far too stubborn for that."

The conversation dies away when he moves in front of me on the trail, and we continue our ride in silence. I have a good view of him from here, and I can watch him without him knowing. And I like the way he looks relaxed. He's more at ease on a thousand-pound horse than at the dinner table. Oh sure, his shoulders are still squared, and his back is still straight, but he's sort of swaying with the horse's bouncy peppy gait, his hands giving and taking on the reins like they're rubber bands.

"Easy, Ghost," Alex says as we descend a small hill toward a creek. I can see his horse is nervous because its hindquarters swing sideways until the horse is actually walking that way, crossing its legs over one another as Alex pushes it toward the shallow water. "Give me a bit of room, in case Ghost gets any ideas."

I nod and pull lightly on the reins, trying not to overdo it like when I'd gotten on. The little mare eases to a stop and I try to relax my grip. I take the opportunity to rearrange the skirts of my gown, trying to get them to cover my feet.

Ghost is dancing around in the mud now, not wanting anything to do with the creek in front of us. His hooves are picking up, two at a time, making funny sucking noises in the slop. Alex is leaning the slightest bit forward, his hands resting on the horse's neck, like he's not at all worried about hanging on if the horse takes off. How can he look so comfortable?

The thing looks like it's ready to bolt.

The horse takes a couple funny bouncy steps and then lifts both front hooves and takes a flying leap over the water. Alex never leaves the saddle. He never looks fazed.

In fact, when he lands on the other side, he laughs
--
a real, no-mistaking-it laugh
--
and the sound is music to my ears. I wish he'd do it a thousand more times. Until this moment, I thought he didn't even
have
a real laugh.

Oh God, I should not be charmed by a simple laugh.

Jerk. Jerk. Jerk. I can't forget that.

He pats the horse's neck. "That's not quite what I had in mind." And then he turns around and tries again. The horse jumps again and ends up splashing in the creek. Alex is beaming. He turns around and crosses three more times, and by the end, the horse is plodding through like he's been doing it all day.

"We can go now."

I don't release the reins. "This horse isn't going to do that, is she?"

He shakes his head, and then he smiles at me. Directly at me. All the dislike I'd felt melts away in an instant, and I want to stand here all day in the glow of his smile. His lips are curled, and his eyes are sparkling in a way I couldn't have imagined. And I suddenly want to be close to him. Really, really close to him.

You are not a lady.
I remember his words and bite back the urge to smile.
Is it so easy
to forget your whispered promises?

There are so many reasons I should stay far, far away from him. There's no way I'm going to forget about all that just because he smiles at me. Even if it is a totally devastating smile.

"No. Molly is an old hack of mine. She has been everywhere. She will cross without even looking at the water first."

I nod and click my tongue, too afraid to actually nudge the horse's sides in case she gets any funny ideas. But true to Alex's word, the horse plods down the bank, crosses the creek with a few splashy steps, and then I'm next to Alex again.

"Thank you for your patience," he says. "Ghost is still quite green. Though I am certain you noticed."

I just nod because I can't figure out why he's acting so happy. So nice. So
...
not like him. Ten minutes ago he was acting like there was no way I was smarter than him. How can he be
this
Alex and the other one too?

I try to make small talk. "So, what does it mean to be a duke, really?"

He straightens even more in his saddle, proving his shoulders apparently
can
go further back. All I have to do is mention the fact that he's a duke, and suddenly he's a peacock again. "The Dukedom of Harksbury was created by the king in return for years of service and loyalty from my great-great-great-grandfather. As the firstborn son, I inherited the title, the land, and the wealth. Each year I will serve our great country in the House of Lords, helping to create new laws. And then in the summer I return to Harksbury and see to the household matters. It is my duty to see that all here prosper."

All
here
prosper? What about all
there?
As in far, far away, with a baby? How can he act like he's this great, magnanimous guy and ignore those letters?

One thing at a time. I need to bring up Emily's engagement somehow. There's got to be a good opening if I keep him talking.

"So
...
all these other lords. Are you guys all equal or is there some kind of ranking system?" I hope this is all normal stuff to ask. Even though they don't have peers in America, someone in 1815 would probably still know what they were. But he doesn't know that, right?

"A duke is the highest member of the peerage. Under the royal family, of course. The older the title, the more prestigious. Under a duke is a marquess, followed by earl, viscount, and baron."

Okay, I have to stop stalling. I have to talk to him about Emily and Trent. "So, you have a lot of power then, right?"

That's it. I'll stroke his gigantic ego first and then segue into a plea for help.

He nods. "Yes, power comes with being a member of the peerage."

"Don't you ever want to use that power to help people?"

"Certainly."

Here goes nothing.

"The thing is, I met this guy named Trent Rallsmouth last night. He and Emily
...
like each other. A lot. And she says he's wealthy."

"And?"

"And so I think they should get married instead of her and Lord Denworth."

"I thought we'd agreed you would stop this and mind your place."

"I'll stop when Emily gets to marry the guy she wants to marry."

"Emily will marry Denworth because that is what she was told to do. She can not choose otherwise because of a passing fancy for another man."

"But
--
"

"No."

Okay,
I can forget about Alex helping us. Conversation over.

I can't believe I thought he'd help. At all. He definitely does not care about Emily, or anyone else for that matter.

He cares about himself. And that's it.

But I'm not giving up. I promised Emily. There has to be something I can do. I'm from the twenty-first century. Land of equal opportunity and all that crap. I know things these people don't even know to dream of. I have to come up with something.

But what can I do? All I know is Emily's the only reason I'm not starving to death somewhere in the woods. If she hadn't been at the door that day, I would have been turned away.

And now, thanks to my lies, she believes I'm going to help her. If I want to channel my inner-Rebecca, if I want to be confident and casual and popular, I have to live up to her expectations. I have to fix this. Besides, if it's truly why I ended up here, then helping Emily
must
lead me to the way home.

If Alex won't help me, I'll figure it out myself.

I have to. If I don't, I might be stuck here.

Forever.

Chapter 20

The next morning, I'm sitting in the sunny little breakfast room, willing Victoria to stop shoveling eggs in her mouth so I can talk to Emily.

Emily and I need to come up with a plan as soon as possible. I have no idea when her wedding is
...
but didn't they love shotgun weddings or something back in the day?

Plus, the real Rebecca's arrival is creeping closer. Less than three weeks, now. Every day gets me closer to discovery.

Heck, what if the real Rebecca arrives early? She could randomly show up
today
for all I know. What if I'm sitting with them all over some random meal and Rebecca strolls in?

What do they do to people who scam their way into the household? I definitely don't want to find out. Alex doesn't strike me as the forgiving type.

"Did the two of you enjoy the dance at the Pommeroy estate?"

Great. So Victoria is done eating but she's not leaving.

Instead she's sitting up in her chair with posture fit for a queen, staring at the two of us like bugs under a microscope. I'm not sure what it is about her that bothers me so much.
She's more intimidating than Angela and Trisha Marks combined.

"Yes, quite," Emily says.

"Lady Tonoway tells me you danced with His Grace," she says. She's staring straight at me with those piercing green eyes, like laser beams that will cut me to ribbons if I answer the wrong way.

I can't seem to ignore the sinking feeling low in my stomach. This can't be good. Not with a glare like that.

"Yes," I say, after a moment's hesitation.

"That was
...
polite
of him."

Polite of him. Like he'd done it out of duty. Which, honestly, he said as much himself. I clench my jaw, hard.

I know he did it out of duty, since I'm his guest. But she doesn't know that
--
she doesn't know what he said before we danced. She's just trying to be condescending.

And as much as I hate it, I know what she's saying is true. Alex hates me as much as I hate him, so it makes sense. He was doing his gentlemanly duty.

But it still makes me want to snap at her.

I will not blurt out something stupid.

"Yes. He's quite
...
polite,
isn't he? He must be, since he doesn't like dancing. I was the only girl he danced with." I smile right at her, stick a piece of meat in my mouth, and chew it with gusto.

Emily's fork stops moving, she looks up at me, and I see her swallow slowly. She wills me with her eyes to stop talking. "Shall we go for a turn about the garden, Rebecca?"

There it is again. Rebecca. I try to smile at her, but my lips barely move.

Emily and I are away from the table so quickly I'm not sure Victoria has even thought of a reply to my statement, and I enjoy the lost look on her face as we dash out of the room.

"I should think Victoria will be stewing over this for hours." Emily doesn't sound angry or even surprised, but rather amused. There's a devilish smirk I hardly recognize playing at the edges of her lips. "You shall have to teach me how to do that."

"Do what?"

We're out the door now and into the sun, and she links her arm with mine. Our skirts brush now and then as we walk along a cobbled path. "Send her off-kilter when she's trying so hard to have the upper hand."

"It's not so much a talent as an impulse. I'm afraid I have no restraint. You, on the other hand, manage to take things in stride and be graceful about it."

Emily smiles. "Perhaps if I knew how to speak as directly as you do, I could convince my father to break my engagement to a man I have no interest in knowing."

I have to fight the urge to laugh. In real life I'm the last person to stick up for myself
--
or for anyone else. I'm tongue-tied and shy. And yet... I feel a little empowered by the fact that Emily thinks of me differently. Like I can prove her right and prove everyone else wrong.

I stop next to a rosebush and, as they say,
smell the roses.
I linger over a small yellow bud. It buys me time to think of what to say next. "Do you think he would listen? Perhaps I can speak with him. Make him understand."

If she thinks that might work, the solution is simple.

Plan A: Talk to Emily's father.

She sighs and fiddles with the folds of her skirt. "Not at all. What my father wants, my father gets. There's no hope of swaying him."

I sigh and turn back toward her. Darn. So much for Plan A. She plops down on a stone bench and buries her face in her hands.

I can't let her give up that easily. There's got to be a way out of an arranged marriage.

It probably happens all the time, right?

"What about if we find some really great girl who
wants
to marry Denworth? Like maybe he's got a thing for blondes or redheads or really tall girls. We can do some legwork and find out what kind of girl he's into. If we find someone perfect, he'll forget all about you."

Plan B: Bait and Switch.

She shakes her head. "No, that would never do. Denworth's word is good. He'll never break it."

Hm. Nix Plan B.

"Oh." I twist the little yellow bud in my hand until it snaps off and I'm left with it in my palm, my thumb smoothing over the petals. "Well, there have to be
some
broken engagements in the history of this country, right?"

Emily nods but I still can't see her face. I hope she's not crying. I don't want to make her think it's
more
hopeless.

"What kinds of things do people do to initiate that?" I peel the petals off the bud one at a time and let them flutter to the ground. I hope she doesn't remind me that I told her I had tons of ideas.

She looks up, and I'm relieved to see that her eyes aren't shiny. She taps her chin and screws her mouth to the side, deep in thought. "Most often out of mutual agreement, though that would never happen with Denworth. Sometimes after scandals are uncovered, like a bankruptcy, or if someone was discovered to be illegitimate."

I cringe, the word
illegitimate
bringing up images of that letter to Alex.

She sighs. "Other times
...
Well, if the woman were discovered to be
...
" Emily looks around and then speaks in a low, hushed tone,
"ruined,
that would certainly be cause for a broken engagement. Why, Lord Forsythe broke an engagement to the daughter of the Earl of Bowmont just last season. It was quite the scandal."

I perk up. "What do you mean, ruined?"

From the way Emily swallows slowly, you'd think we were talking about smoking crack. I think I've scandalized her
already.
"Compromised. By
...
by another man."

"Oh!" I say, too loudly. "You mean, if the girl's not a virgin, the guy won't marry her?"

She nods, her eyes wide, as if being a non-virgin is akin to being an ax-murderer.

"Well, let's do that!"

Emily looks so shocked I think I could nudge her shoulder and she'd fall right over and into the rose bushes.

"I don't mean,
actually
do it... But can't we fake it?"

She's a little pale as she shakes her head, and it makes me laugh.

"I think you're misinterpreting me. What I mean is
...
can't we just make it
look
like you're, uh, compromised? You don't actually have to do anything. But if we can get people to believe it, maybe spread some rumors, Denworth will drop you like a hot potato. Problem solved."

Emily is shaking her head like I'm crazy. "You mean to stage a ruination?"

I bite back a laugh because the way she's saying it makes it seem wild and crazy and yet somehow like it's a formal process. "It could work, right? I mean, if your rep is tarnished, Denworth wouldn't want to marry you?"

She nods. "But everyone would believe I was immoral!"

"Immoral? Really?" I pause. I can see Emily isn't going to go along with this very easily. "But it could work. And in a year or two, no one would remember the scandal at all, and you'd live happily ever after with Trent."

"I can't possibly."

"You'd rather marry Denworth?"

My question hangs in the air as Emily plays with the folds of her skirt, staring down at the sheer fabric as if it's a Magic 8 Ball.

"How would it work?"

"We would come up with a plan for people to think you'd been alone with Trent.
That's against the rules, right? You guys are supposed to have chaperones if you're together?" I snap another rosebud off the nearest bush, full of nervous energy. This could work, if she'll agree to it. I could fix the engagement and get her together with Trent.

She nods.

"So we'd tell everyone you spent the night alone with him. That would be enough.
But if everyone thinks you're ruined, that's got to mean that everyone, not just Denworth, would stay away from you, right? If you're not good enough for Denworth, that would be the general consensus of society."

Emily furrows her brow and nods, looking like she's going to pitch her breakfast at any moment. Her gorgeous pale skin has gone ash-white.

"But if we could get Mr. Rallsmouth to agree in advance, make sure he wants to marry you even with the ruined reputation, it could work."

She nods again, slowly, like she doesn't want to follow my line of reasoning.

"It's our only choice. We have to do it. Let's talk to him and put the plan in motion.

Let's get you engaged to Mr. Rallsmouth."