Mandy Hubbard: Prada and Prejudice

My face burns. I was really going to kiss him and he just. .. backed away.

"I—" I can't even think of anything to say, so I just mumble something along the lines of see you at dinner and then pick up my skirts and scurry away. What a disaster. I'm such a freak! First, I run away when he tries to kiss me, and then a few hours later, I change my mind and go for it? Could I be anymore confused?

For the next several days, the servants are lost in a flurry of activity. They're beating rugs and polishing banisters, sweeping floors and washing curtains, trimming hedges and dusting paintings. And every time I think I've seen them all, I see a few more, until I think I've seen at least sixty.

Sixty. That's ridiculous. But then, Harksbury is different from the mansions back home. There are no washing machines or hot water heaters. Someone has to do everything, even haul water upstairs for the little basin I use in the morning to wash my face.

Emily and I go together to the seamstress in town. It's the first time I've seen town since the day after I arrived, and this time I manage to enjoy the scenery and look around a little more. The shops are quaint, all in a line, with windows proudly proclaiming their wares.

A bakery, a butcher, a blacksmith, a hatmaker. Ladies stroll up and down the walkways, parasols in hand. Dust rises from the street as carriages roll by, their wheels squeaking.

Emily climbs down from the carriage with the help of the servant, already lost in daydreams over her new dress. "I do wish His Grace had given us more time. I would have liked to have gone to the linen drapers in London, for they are more likely to have the latest sketches and designs, not to mention a far more varied selection of trimmings."

I nod my head, though I have no idea what she's talking about. We cross the rutted street as she continues to chatter about clothes, and head straight to the largest shop on the corner. The door is propped open, though it's still a bit stifling inside. My eyes adjust to the darkness of the wide room and I see a light-haired woman dressed all in gray approach us and sweep into a low curtsy. "Miss Thornton-Hawke, Miss Vaughn, pleased to meet you."

Emily and I curtsy back. I've mastered it by now, crossing one leg behind the other and bobbing until my skirts mushroom out a little bit and then I stand again. It seems weird, but I'm starting to like the formality. It's a show of respect, something people don't do often anymore.

She leads us past a few young ladies quietly sewing behind cute little desks, and over to a wall of fabrics, brocades and swaths of silk and satin overflowing onto the floor and pooling into a rainbow of color. "I'm afraid the selection is a bit lacking today. I am expecting a shipment of new designs from America in four days."

My mouth goes dry. "America?"

"Yes. Baron Gaverson's shipping company has obtained some of the finest silks this side of India. Or so he has told anyone who will listen."

"Wasn't your ship one of Gaverson's?" Emily asks me.

Oh God. A ship from America. One from the same company Rebecca told Emily she was arriving on.

It's her. She's coming. In four days. The day after the ball. And that's if it arrives on its regular schedule. Who knows? It could already be here.

The ticking clock just became a time bomb.

I grip the edge of a table to steady my quaking knees. Emily hasn't noticed my shock, and yet I'm sure my face must be ash-white.

The woman gestures toward the bolts of cloth again. "So, have you two any idea what you'd like?"

"Scarlet silk," Emily says without pause. "The ball is in my honor. I should like to be eye-catching."

The woman nods, looking pleased. "And you?"

I nod in agreement, my eyes unfocused.

Four days. And then what? As long as I didn't know when she was showing up, I could ignore it. I could pretend the real Rebecca would never arrive at all.

But reality just hit. Hard. I have no plan. Everything is going to explode in four days.

"Certainly you don't intend to match," the woman says.

"What?" I look up at her. They're both staring at me.

"Emily has chosen the scarlet. Do you know what color you'd like?

"Oh. Emerald," I say, without hesitation. "This one."

I don't tell her why. I don't tell her it's the exact shade of Alex's eyes.

I don't tell her what look will be in those eyes in four days, when he finds out what a traitor I am.

Oh God, what have I been doing all this time? Why did I think it was a good idea to parade around as this other girl?

I'm such a fool. Everything is about to come crashing down. They'll probably have me arrested and thrown in jail.

My life is over.

The seamstress nods. "Step up here and I shall get your measurements."

Emily gestures for me to go first, so I step onto a small pedestal and the woman sets to work, measuring my height and hips and waist. She doesn't speak; she just lifts my arms and moves my head as if I'm a horse and not a person. I suppose that's a good thing, because if she were talking to me, I wouldn't be able to hear her over the deafening roar of my heartbeat.

As the woman measures Emily, Emily instructs her on the latest styles of the season and the exact height of the desired hemline and the precise swoop of the neckline. Even though I'm hardly listening, I realize she knows exactly what she wants. She's in her element right now. Even under normal circumstances, I could hardly keep up.

The seamstress leads Emily over to a bay of drawers and they start going through "the trimmings," which seem to be lace and piping and buttons. I only hear half of what they're saying.

All I can do is stare at the ground as everything twists inside me. I have four days until the end of all of this.

Four days.

Moments later, we're leaving with a promise to return in a couple days for another fitting, and I have no idea what I've ordered. I think the words surprise me may have crossed my lips.

"You're really into fashion, aren't you?" I ask Emily as I climb back into the open-air carriage. I have to think about something else, something to keep the panic at bay. The sun beams down on us and I rest my head back and let it bathe my face in warmth.

"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.

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.