Prada and Prejudice

Chapter 23

The next morning, Eliza scurries into the room, and one look at her face tells me what I should have already known: I'm so busted.

"His Grace's requestin' yer presence."

Even though I know I should rush out, I just groan and throw the blankets over my head. No doubt he's already put two and two together given my weird antics yesterday and Emily's sudden disappearance. He'll know I was covering for her.

"Up with ye," Eliza says, ripping the blankets off the bed. Seriously. Did she have to do that?

I cross the cold wood floors and plunk down on the stool as she pulls a dress from the armoire. It's stuffed full now. Emily has been giving me gown after gown, claiming she doesn't like the color or the piping or the hemline. Girl knows a lot about dresses — I'll say that much.

"Did you have a good day off yesterday?" I ask as she pulls on my hair.

"Yes, miss. Thank you."

"No problem. I can't believe he never gives you full days off. That's totally unacceptable, isn't it?"

"'Tis twice as many afte'noons as most otha employers. 'E's quite fair."

Wait, what? Two half days a week is good here?

Humph. Figures. I'm batting zero at this point. I should really stop assuming things.

Gah. Whatever. Even if I was wrong about that, too, Alex is still arrogant and sexist. There's no way I'm wrong about that.

Right. So, uh, back to the plan. "So, um, did you hear Emily ran away with Trent Rallsmouth yesterday?" I say casually.

In order for this plan to work, everyone needs to know about Emily's getaway. And according to Emily, the best way to do that is to let the servants spread the rumors. Eliza stops brushing my hair, her hand frozen midstroke. I wish there was a mirror in front of us.

I'd love to see her expression. "They ran away together. She doesn't want to marry her betrothed."

It takes another few seconds before Eliza resumes her brushing. "Oh? Is he the gentleman who arrived last night?"

I have to bite my lip to stop the grin from crossing my face. It seems the servants really do gossip. I bet that's how Alex knows already. He didn't notice Emily was gone — he heard about it. Perfect.

"Yes. That was him."

"'Tis . .. quite interestin.'"

"Mhmm..."

She grabs a sky-blue dress with white piping along the cuffs and hemline, and I put up with her usual tugging and pulling and hair-ripping routine. I haven't thought of exactly what I'm going to say to Alex yet. I thought I'd at least have the morning to come up with a speech of sorts.

Minutes later I'm descending the stairs following Eliza, my heart hammering in my chest so hard I think it's trying to break free. I can't see him. I don't have anything rehearsed. Maybe if I'd thought ahead, maybe if I'd...

"Miss Rebecca Vaughn," Eliza says, as if to formally present me to Alex. I walk into some kind of parlor, trying to hold my head up high and act as if I'm not at all nervous. I halfheartedly hope Eliza will stay inside the room but she doesn't; she steps aside and lets me enter.

I walk to a high-backed brocade chair with gilded arms and legs across from the big sofa Alex is occupying and sit down. I cross my ankles and carefully spread out my skirts as if it's the most important thing in the world and requires every ounce of concentration.

Victoria would be proud.

"Where is she?" His voice comes out firm, demanding.

Wow. So much for stalling. I bite my lip. "Who?"

"Do not play games," he says.

I study my hands as they wring in my lap. I can play dumb, I can postpone this, or I can just tell him. Like ripping off a Band-Aid.

"With Trent Rallsmouth," I say, peeking up at him from underneath my lashes.

His eyes fly open and he sits up straighter.

"The boy from the dance? Where?"

Oh God. He does not look happy. "The gardener's cottage on the eastern edge of Harksbury."

Alex stands like he's the incredible hulk — so quickly I'm surprised the whole sofa doesn't fly back and crash into the wall.

Oh God, this was so stupid; he's going to kill me.

Or throw me in that dungeon I'm still convinced he has...

"Please tell me they have a proper chaperone," he says.

I purse my lips and shake my head.

He sighs, a great drag of irritation, and crosses his arms at his chest. It makes his chest bulge with muscle, and I try to focus on the fact that he seems like he could wring my neck and not on the way he looks today.

Which, seriously, is pretty hot. His face is flushed in anger, which brings out his dark eyes...

Focus.

"And I suppose you encouraged this tryst?"

I stand because I can't take the way he's towering over me. "Yes," I say, once we're more level. "She can't marry Denworth. She'll be miserable. So she's run away with Trent instead. I don't care what you say; it was the right thing to do."

He takes a few slow, deep breaths and then turns away from me. I can't see his face. Which is worse, because what in God's name is he thinking right now?

"You fool," he says. It's so quiet I'm not sure I've heard him correctly.

"What?"

"You fool," he says, louder this time. There's no mistaking it. "It doesn't matter what he wants, or even what she wants. Her father has to consent!"

I stop breathing. "What?"

"She is three years from being twenty-one! Her father must sign papers consenting to the marriage!"

A sick feeling grows in the pit of my stomach and then spreads, until I start feeling shaky all over. I keep my hands at my sides and ball them into fists, so Alex can't see the way they tremble.

Why didn't Emily tell me this? How could she not know that her father has to sign something for her to be able to marry Trent?

I shake my head vigorously. "He'll agree to it. Denworth won't want her now. Not after she's been compromised. He'll break it off. And her father will have no choice." My voice comes out more desperate than I'd meant it to.

He whirls around so quickly I stumble backward on my skirts and he has to grab my arm to keep me from falling over. "You don't understand, Rebecca. "

Something about the way he says my name makes me want to shrink away.

"Her father is a spiteful man. He has refused to see me since my father died because he would have become the next Duke of Harskbury if it were not for my existence. Do you think a man like that answers to reason? And now she has blatantly gone against him. He'd sooner force Emily into life as a spinster than consent to the marriage."

His words ring in my ears, over and over, but I can't move or even acknowledge them.

A fatal flaw. That's what this is. A monumental, huge flaw in the plan.

I screwed up. I messed up the plan.

Not just the plan. Emily's life. How could I have done this to her?

But there's no going back. Only forward. This has to work. It just has to. There's got to be a way to salvage it. "But she doesn't need that when she's twenty-one? Can't they just... date until then?"

He shakes his head and snarls in disgust. "He is her guardian. She is legally bound to honor his wishes. If he chooses to lock her in her chambers until her twenty-first birthday, he may do so."

I think I am going to vomit.

Are Alex's lips still moving? Is he still talking?

What have I done?

Emily is the type to seek love. To crave it.

A life without it...

I barely make it to the chair before my legs buckle.

Alex groans and runs a hand through his unruly dark hair. "I have to fix what you've done. You'd better pray I'm able."

He strides to the door and then stops. "You'd best hope my mother doesn't hear of this until it's resolved. She has a fragile constitution. I won't have you risking her health."

I nod but I'm not sure I even heard what he said.

This is a disaster. I should have tried some other way, some way that didn't involve duping Alex and sneaking around and...

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.