Prada and Prejudice

Chapter 24

My nightmare has officially commenced. I'm sitting in a high-backed dining room chair, wearing a stiff gown and a corset, and the only other person in the room is Victoria.

Based on the way she's nonchalantly slurping her soup, she has no idea what's going on with Emily.

And I have to keep it that way.

How could I have been so stupid? How could I have missed something as important as the need for parental permission?

I bet Alex went straight to that cottage. I have no idea what's going on. It makes me long for the simplicity of a telephone. At least then I could call and see what was happening!

This is pure agony, sitting here just wondering and freaking out!

Victoria asked me at the start of dinner where Emily was, and I made something up. I don't even remember what it was.

The worst dinner of my life is dragging by more slowly than the tick tock of a grandfather clock, and all I can think about is what is going on in that little cottage a few miles away. Is Alex yelling at Trent and Emily? Has Trent agreed to stick by Emily no matter what happens?

The only time I stop thinking about it is when Victoria reminds me of her ever-so-delightful presence. "Rebecca, dear, slouching is rather unbecoming," she says.

I hate myself, but I actually sit up straighter when she says that, out of pure instinct. Victoria just has that motherly vibe, like you'll immediately comply with her before you realize what you're doing. I should have slid lower in my chair, but the corset makes doing that impossible.

If I ever get the chance to travel back in time again, I'm finding the guy who invented corsets and we're going to have a serious talk.

A servant sets a big hunk of beef down in front of me. I wait and watch Victoria before picking up the same fork, holding my knife in the same hand, and cutting the meat into bite-size pieces exactly as she has done. Watching her eat is like watching a how-to video on dinner etiquette. Simon says...

Part of me feels a little sorry for her. Her whole life is all about the proper thing to do and the rules and restrictions. How much do you want to bet it's all a facade? How much do you want to bet her obsession stems from the fact that her husband had a mistress, and all she could do was put up a good front and make everyone believe everything was perfect?

No wonder pretenses are so important to her. Her husband cheated. He fathered a child with someone else. But Victoria made sure everyone would think all was perfect in the Duchess of Harkshury's life. She's flawless, can't you tell? Not a care in the world.

I guess I shouldn't have judged her so harshly.

"The roses are in full bloom. Emily and I walked around in the garden yesterday and it smells like perfume," I say, trying to be nice.

Victoria chews on a piece of meat and stares me down. "Yes. The gardens are always beautiful this time of year. The late duke had them designed to ensure that the scent would be a constant companion to those who walk the paths."

Her late husband. She's acknowledged him. The words have fallen like cannonballs, heavy and overwhelming. I'm not sure what to say, so I just stuff another bite in my mouth and hope the moment passes.

How many courses could there be tonight? I hope only three. I simply can't handle sitting here for another four or five or six courses. All this stilted conversation is too much, and given my rep, I'll blurt out something about Emily to fill the gaps.

Victoria grips her fork so hard her knuckles turn white, as if she's realized the mistake of mentioning Alex's dad. Then she sets the fork down and wriggles her fingers. Next she sets her knife down, too, and massages her hand and wrist. Her face flashes for a moment with pain, and then she's back to picking up her fork and knife as if she hopes I didn't notice.

"Something wrong?" I ask.

"All the embroidery over the years seems to have finally gotten to me," she says. I'm kind of surprised she admitted that at all. She's Victoria the fearless. Victoria the faultless.

"What does it feel like?" I ask.

"My hand tingles at times."

"It's probably carpal tunnel."

She just stares.

I shrug. "It's a pinched nerve. Do your best to keep it straight at night. If you can get some kind of brace, it will help. After a few weeks, it should feel a bit better."

Why am I doing this? I'd prefer if her whole hand fell off.

"Thank you," she says in a soft voice. But then a second later she seems to remember we're sworn enemies. "You've an elbow on the table."

"Oh." I lean back again and set my hands in my lap.

"Why do you believe Emily should not marry Denworth?" Victoria asks. She's studying her fork in such a way that I think she might be talking to it and not me.

"Excuse me?" She doesn't know, does she? Oh God, Alex is going to be so ticked off if she found out and gets wound up about it. Here I thought she'd somehow missed all the gossip. She seems to be hanging out in bed a lot, like she's not feeling well. But if the servants came to her, or if they were in the hall and were talking too loudly...

"I overheard you and Emily. You believe she and Denworth don't belong together. Why, pray tell, is that?"

Oh. So she's still in the dark.

Victoria only glances upward for a moment, as if she's hoping I won't realize it's her asking the questions. Not like there's anyone else in the room. Is it really that hard for her to be nice to me?

Now I'm the one studying my fork. Do I make up some fabulous reason, some compelling argument that Victoria would understand, or do I just tell her the truth? A woman like her doesn't believe in love. How could she? She was totally into the idea of Emily marrying Denworth. Said it was her duty and left it at that.

"She deserves better."

Victoria studies me for a moment. Her face is turned upward so she has to look down her nose at me.

"Better than a baron? She had as much a chance at love with Lord Denworth as she does with any one else. Perhaps more."

What's weird is I think she believes that. She states it so simply, as if it's fact. "How can that be true? Denworth is so old."

She sets the fork down beside her plate and stares straight at me. For once in her life, her eyes aren't piercing and scary. They've softened a bit around the edges. I get a glimpse of what Victoria may have looked like twenty years ago. And I think she must have been beautiful. "The duke was nearly five and fifty when we married. I was but twenty."

"And did you love him?"

The silence in the room tells me what I need to know. Obviously not. So why is she trying to convince me otherwise? I pick at a piece of fat on the roast and wait to see if she'll admit it.

"Not at first. Not until the last three or four years."

I look up at her, surprised. Three or four years? That means...

That's why the old duke was hoping the baby would go away. He was reconciling with Victoria. He was probably on thin ice and hoping she'd never find out about the kid.

But why couldn't he have helped her financially? They needed that.

Victoria's hands are still and she's staring back at me. Is she actually chewing on the edge of her bottom lip? Surely she's not. Victoria is poised and perfect at all times. "I did love him. But I tried not to. For years, I tried not to. And now I think of those wasted years and I wish I could have them back."

All I can do is stare. I'd been so sure she was grumpy for no reason at all. That she just thought she was better than everyone else. But in reality she's lived the most twisted and tragic love story I've ever heard. Way worse than Shakespeare.

So she's hiding behind all her perfect etiquette and all her rules.

"There are few who fall in love, Rebecca. Even fewer who stay in love. Emily has no better idea what she wants than I did. She will marry Lord Denworth, just as I married the duke. It is to be expected."

Oh, but it's not. She has no idea what is going on just a few miles away. No idea at all. She got lucky with the old duke. She fell for him. But I refuse to believe that some fifty-one-year-old guy has as much in common with Emily as someone her own age. Someone who might already be in love with her.

"Don't you think it's Emily's choice to make?"

Victoria's voice softens a little. "It will never be her choice." And for approximately one second as she looks at me, I think Victoria is trying to tell me that she agrees. That it should be Emily's choice, even if it isn't.

But then she ruins it. "Your elbow is on the table again." I roll my eyes but I pull my elbow off the table and sit back in my chair. I guess some things never change.