Prada and Prejudice Page 11

  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."

  Plan C: Ruin Emily.

  Chapter 21

  Only two hours pass before I start wondering if putting all our eggs in one basket is such a hot idea. What if we get it all set up and then Trent backs out? Then everyone will think she's not a virgin, and no one will marry her.

  There are some serious flaws in this plan. But I'm afraid to bring them up, because Emily is just barely going along with it. I think she might have a heart attack or spontaneously combust at any moment.

  God, this is stupid. There has to be a plan that's less risky than this one.

  I sent Trent a note about an hour ago, explaining the whole thing. If he agrees, he'll arrive tonight and sweep Emily away for an evening. I can't back out now, no matter how panicked I feel.

  It will work. What could possibly go wrong? If Trent agrees, he's going to marry her. Problem solved.

  Alex must be dealing with some of his dukely duties or something, because he's gone for the day. It's perfect, though, because Emily and I need a day to talk and scheme and not worry about him figuring out what we're plotting.

  We're really going to try to do this. I'm both thrilled and terrified because I want it to work so badly. If it doesn't... What then? I'll have gotten her hopes up for nothing. And probably made things worse. And I can't take the idea of disappointing her.

  I hope I've thought of everything.

  I help Emily pack a trunk's worth of clothes while we wait for a response from Trent.

  We're trying to keep as many people in the dark about this as possible, which means no more servants than necessary. "Below stairs," as it really is called, is a rumor mill. Worse than high school. Not that I blame them. It's sort of like the way the majority of the high school talks about the A-list.

  Of course, when it's time, the servants will become part of our plan. They'll play their role: push the rumor that Emily is ruined. But if they know too early, they'll tip off Victoria or Alex, who will stop us before we start.

  "This is so very thrilling!" Emily says, stuffing another gown into the trunk. "Everyone will be so shocked when they discover I'm gone." She's buzzing with energy; she can hardly sit still. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are sparkling as she dances around the room and picks out more gowns. />
  "I'll cover for you until we're ready for Phase 2," I say, even though I don't have a clue how I'm going to do it. "They won't even know you're gone until I'm ready for them to know."

  Why do I keep telling her this stuff? I have no idea how to cover for her. Normally, I could just tell everyone she's not feeling well... But wouldn't a servant wait on her? They're going to think it's weird if I offer to bring her food.

  Oh, well. I'm sure something brilliant will come to me.

  There's a knock on the door and both of us stare at each other, wide-eyed as we flip the trunk shut and find seats, trying to act as if we're up to nothing at all. It couldn't be more obvious if we whistled nonchalantly.

  "You may enter," Emily calls out in a voice much calmer than I feel.

  A servant walks in and hands her a note before curtsying and leaving.

  Emily holds it in one shaky hand and stares at the scrawled name on the outside.

  "Open it!"

  She just keeps staring.

  "Oh fine, let me open it!"

  She holds the note out to me. I snatch it from her hand and then slide a thumb under the edge to pop open the wax seal. My eyes scan over the first few words before a grin spreads across my features. "He's in! He's agreed to run away with you!"

  Emily jumps up and nearly knocks me over with a hug. Her laughter tickles my ear, and before I know it we both fall over and end up rolling on the floor, laughing and squealing. The plan is falling into place. Just like I thought it would.

  "I cannot believe he agreed! Oh, he has made me the happiest girl in all of England!"

  I nod. I should feel relieved, but I just feel nervous. This has to work. It has to. It's my ticket home. I'm sure of it. What other way could there be?

  Emily and I dust off our dresses and resume packing, shoving a few more items into the already-overflowing trunk. I'm not sure why she's packing so much when she only needs to be gone for a night, but it seems to be keeping her nerves at ease, so I don't stop her.

  She pauses, her hand gripping a yellow slipper, and grins. "I knew you would help me. When I realized you'd arrived so early, I thought you were a gift from God. And now it seems I was right." She grins again as she resumes her packing, and I smile weakly at her. What if this falls apart? She's already writing her Academy Award thank you speech and nothing's fixed yet. If she knew my track record for screwing everything up...

  I take a deep breath and grab the next pile of clothes. I have to stop thinking of it like that.

  I've thought of everything. What could possibly go wrong?

  After dinner, I wait on the cold front stoop for what seems like hours, watching the sky darken.

  What if he doesn't come? What if his note was a lie and he doesn't show up? Maybe he chickened out. Maybe he realized this whole plan is totally nuts and he bailed on us. There are a thousand reasons he could back out.

  I pace up and down between the big columns so many times I must be wearing a groove in the stone. There's a drizzle coming down. I'm dry, thanks to the overhang, but I keep watching and praying it doesn't turn into a full-blown storm and ruin everything. The sky darkens and the sun sets, and still he has not arrived.

  Finally, just when I'm about to have a heart attack, I see a glow in the distance, bobbing along. It's getting brighter, and then a carriage emerges from the night shadows, a dark horse pulling it quietly along. When I see Trent atop the bench, cloaked in a dark jacket, sitting just under the canopy, I grin like a fool. It's a small carriage, built only for two: Trent and Emily. He pulls to a stop in front of the steps and starts to climb down.

  "Wait here!" I say, in a shouted whisper. He can't be seen by anyone if Emily is to make a clean getaway. Trent just nods and sits back down. He doesn't even give me a weird look, which I have to give him credit for. Plan C: Phase 1 is complete. Time for Phase 2: Send Emily Away.

  I turn and push the door open, and nearly run smack into the butler.

  Oh, crud. I forgot about him. I shove the door closed before he can see Trent or his carriage, my heart hammering against my rib cage. What am I supposed to do now? He might alert Victoria or say something to Trent... Emily has to get away unnoticed.

  "Grommley," Emily calls from the foot of the stairs. "Will you see to it that Mrs. West prepares the four guest chambers at the end of the east wing? I may be expecting visitors."

  Genius. Pure genius.

  Grommley — the butler — bows and leaves the door, and I manage to breathe again.

  "Thank you," I say.

  "Yes. Now let me fetch my things."

  I nod and watch her climb back up the stairs and disappear. I'm still standing there, alone, when I see him.

  Alex. He's walking down the east wing, a floor below Emily. Cripes, she's probably directly above him, grabbing her things. Does everyone have to appear at exactly this moment? Can I catch a break please?

  His strides are so long he's going to be in front of me, and in the middle of the foyer, in three seconds. He's supposed to be asleep! I haven't seen him in hours... What is he doing? He's about to ruin it all!

  Chapter 22

  A quick glance upward and I see Emily emerge from her quarters, two servants behind her to carry the trunk. She waves and opens her mouth to speak, but I do first.

  "Alex," I say, more loudly than necessary. "Uh, good evening," I add with a clumsy curtsy. He nods his head back at me and bows. When his head is down, I look up to see Emily snap her mouth shut and stop so quickly the servants almost bump into her. I go tense and wait for Alex to hear the commotion behind him and up one floor, but he doesn't. He's looking at me. So I force my eyes away from her. It's not too late. I can divert him somehow.

  Uh, right. How, exactly?

  I try to stare right at him as I see, from the corner of my eye, Emily back up and motion to the others. They retreat into a nearby room, the door clicking shut behind them.

  The sound echoes into the foyer, much louder than I'd expected.

  Alex steps forward and looks up when he hears the noise.

  "Um, so, what's going on?" I say.

  Turn around, I think. Look at me.

  For a long second, his eyes remain on the door. What room is that? Are they not supposed to be in there or something? Did he see Emily up there? Does he know something's going on? He takes a step toward the stairs. What is he doing?

  "Your letters," I blurt out.

  God, why did I do that? It was the only thing I could think of. But I didn't want him to know that I knew about the kid. I wanted to read more of the letters and develop a plan.

  I just hadn't done it yet. I got distracted by a dance and Emily's engagement. But now I have to give them back in order to help Emily get away.

  "Pardon?" He turns to look at me again. Does he always have to look so hot? Those tall shiny boots, the stiff green jacket, the starched white necktie... I force my eyes shut and shake my head. I've been here too long if I think he looks that good.

  "I, um, found some of your letters. In the library."

  He tips his head a little and gives me a look I can't decipher.

  My heart pounds harder. Please don't ask me what's going on. Please don't catch on. I step forward and smile. "If you'll come with me, I'll give them to you."

  My room is in the hall opposite to where Emily is. If he follows me over there, Emily will be able to get away.

  He purses his lips for a long moment, as I stare at him and try to figure out what's going on in his head, but then he just nods and I breathe a deep sigh of relief. "Very well," he says.

  I gesture for him to follow me and we walk up the stairs, turning away from Emily in the east wing when we hit the landing, and heading toward the western one and my room.

  We head down the hall. It seems to stretch forever. I think I hear Emily's door click open again but I cough to cover it, and Alex just gives me another odd look.

  Whew. That was close.

  Is he allowed to come into my room? I'm guessing not. God
, I hope Emily is quiet. He can't see her from in front of my bedroom door, but he could definitely hear her if she created a ruckus.

  "Hold on and I'll go get them, okay? Don't move a muscle," I say. Could I be more obvious? I'm really bad at this secret-agent stuff. It'll take at least a few more minutes for Emily to get her things loaded.

  I dash into my room and head straight to the bed. The letters are jammed under the mattress. Bundle in hand, I head back to the open door. Alex is standing in the hallway, back several yards, as if just coming within arm's length of my room is a breach of etiquette. It almost makes me laugh. In fact, if it weren't for the bundle of letters practically burning a hole in my hand, I would.

  I step back into the hall and am relieved when I hear only silence. I wonder if Emily is gone yet.

  I grip the papers in my hands, not willing to let them go when they could be full of secrets. If only I had taken the time to read them...

  He steps forward to take them, but I can only grip them tighter in my hands. The thought of handing them over makes anger bubble up inside me.

  If I succeed with Emily and she marries Trent, then I may end up back home.

  And this little girl is going to be left behind, all alone. He's going to ignore her forever.

  I know it.

  Jerk.

  "How could you do that to her?" I ask.

  "Excuse me? To whom?"

  I snort and my lip curls up in disgust. The bubbling anger explodes. "Your daughter, you idiot! How could you just leave them like that? Do you even know if they're okay?"

  He looks so shocked he physically recoils and steps back a few feet. "My daughter? I have no daughter, and it would do you well not to spread such vicious rumors."

  I shake my head. "That's what you're afraid of, huh? You don't want people to know so you're ignoring her, hoping she goes away. But she won't. And I may have only read one of these letters, but I can tell how much it is hurting her that you're doing this."

  The shock ebbs from his face and transforms into a look of dawning realization.

  And then he laughs. It starts as a short burst and then rumbles into a full belly-shaking laugh. He puts a hand against a wall to support himself and holds one arm against his stomach. His huge figure curls over as he succumbs to the apparent hilarity he finds in the situation.