Prada and Prejudice

Chapter 11

The room is spinning but Alex's eyes aren't moving; they're locked on mine. He's probably sending me mental signals to behave like a good little society girl.

The moment is broken when Emily tugs on my elbow. "Oh, Rebecca, my gown looks beautiful on you! Much prettier than on myself. You shall keep it," she says.

"Oh, no, I couldn't—" I start, but she waves me away.

"You must."

"Oh," I say.

"Look, Victoria wants us," she says. I cringe when I realize Victoria is the grouchy old lady. Oh, joy.

I follow Emily over to where Victoria is standing. Emily bobs into a curtsy and I awkwardly follow, and then trip on the skirt and have to grab the elbow of a random guy to stop myself from falling.

Victoria stifles a laugh and I want to punch her for it, but the guy distracts me. "You must be Rebecca," he says, in a voice that sounds sweet and intelligent, if a voice can be intelligent.

"Yes, please, uh, excuse me for my clumsiness."

Poor Rebecca. I'm going to single-handedly ruin her reputation before she even gets to England.

He grins widely and his entire face melts into this pleasant look that makes me feel better, like he's not judging me. "Your American accent is charming," he says. I would guess he's close to forty, with gray hair around his temples, and the rest chestnut brown.

"Thank you," I say. And then I curtsy again for some reason, which is absurd and totally unnecessary.

"It's been some time since I've heard tales from America. Dinner should be most intriguing."

Oh, crap. Why didn't I think of this? People will want to know all about America. But the 1815 version of it. Stupid history — why didn't I pay more attention? I'm not even sure how many states existed in 1815.

"Yes, I'd love to... regale you with some tales."

I sound ridiculous. I can't tell if I'm talking like they think I should or if I'm talking like I think I should, which probably isn't the same thing.

"Was the Atlantic crossing a difficult one?"

I shrug. "No, it was quite smooth really."

Emily chimes in. "We hadn't expected her for nearly four weeks yet. She certainly made good time."

Nearly four weeks? That means less than four. I'll have to remember that. I can't be here when the real Rebecca shows up. That would be a disaster.

"Perhaps you could play a song on the pianoforte? I'm sure our guests would enjoy it," Victoria says.

Great. If the pianoforte is the same thing as the piano, I'm screwed. My mom had wanted me to play but gave up when I was twelve because the only thing I could play was "Chopsticks."

"Oh, I'd so love to hear the number you told me about," Emily says.

To my horror she's looking right at me.

"What?" I say. "I'm not certain I recall what I'd written you about."

"You said it was a beautiful melody and a full ten minutes long. You said it was complicated but pleasing to the ear." She's looking at me with such wide, innocent eyes that I don't know what to say without feeling like a jerk.

"Oh, right." I swallow. Why couldn't Rebecca have been a no-talent hack like me? She's probably perfect at everything. I'm doomed. "I'm sure I exaggerated a bit. I'm sure it would not be of interest to anyone."

Oh God, everyone is staring at me. There must be twenty-eight eyeballs on me right now. This ridiculously large room with all of its oversized furniture feels like an elevator as the walls close in.

"There's no need to be modest, dear," Victoria says. She's pushing me toward the corner of the room. Why hadn't I noticed the piano? Danger! Danger!

"No, really, I can't," I say, trying to push back.

"Do not disappoint our guests, Rebecca."

There's a note of anger in Victoria's voice, and it makes me stop cold in my tracks and realize what I'm doing: embarrassing her. In front of her guests. I bet that doesn't fall under Things a Well-Bred Girl Would Do. I take a deep breath and just nod at her, racking my brains for some clever way to turn this around, but nothing is coming.

I guess I did snap at her this morning, and now she's throwing this party because of my arrival. This is the least I can do, right? I walk slowly to the piano like I'm walking the plank. This is not going to be good. People are going to go insane if I have to play for a full ten minutes.

Okay then. Piano it is. I hope they like "Chopsticks."

I move to sit at the piano, wishing it was Emily playing instead of me. Or even her sitting beside me and carrying me through this torture.

Wait! That's it!

"Emily? Perhaps the guests would enjoy a duet. I've a simple one I can teach you."

Her eyes widen as she tucks one of her curls behind an ear and looks around, like she can't believe her luck. How cute.

"Really. Come sit. If the guests would enjoy a single player, their enjoyment shall be double with both of us." I'm talking like them now, right? Right?

She nods and practically bounces over to the piano. The girl is like a puppy dog.

We each pull off our gloves and set them on top of the piano. I show her a repetitive set of notes, the lower part of "Heart and Soul," the only other piece I'm good at. If Tom Hanks can pull it off on a giant piano in Big, I'm sure Emily can master it.

Once Emily gets a good rhythm going, I pick up the melody on the higher part of the piano. It spans maybe a dozen keys, and I can get away with using a couple fingers for the entire rendition. Exactly the kind of song I can hack. The keys are cool on my skin as I complete the first round, the song filling the room as the crowd falls silent.

The group in the room gathers and watches us, edging closer, and I feel Alex's eyes burning into me. I want to look up at him, but I know I'll foul up on the piano so I don't. I can tell Emily is enjoying herself because she sort of rocks back and forth as she moves up and down the keys, and her smile is so big I can feel it.

I nudge Emily into stopping and then trail off with a few keys.

When we finish, I look up and everyone claps. Even Victoria looks pleased. I guess "Heart and Soul" isn't known by everyone over six years old in this era. For one tiny moment, I feel like having everyone stare at me is a good thing, like they like me.

And then I stand and try to scoot the bench back, but Emily is still sitting on it. It's amidst a standing ovation that I fall over backward and crash to the floor.

"Oh, I, uh, oh." In a split second I'm on my feet, waving away the gentleman who has rushed forward to assist me. Wow. My skin must be crimson by this point. I brush any errant dust off my skirts. "Emily? Why don't you play the next one," I say, hoping to divert all the eyes.

She just beams and turns back to the piano. Thank God.

I find a chair nearby and make a hasty retreat. My face cools as I watch Emily, still smiling from ear-to-ear. Her hazel eyes sparkle as her brown curls bounce with enthusiasm.

There's some part of her that looks more thirteen than eighteen. A naive, hopeful streak.

I'm such a schmuck for pretending to be Rebecca. For pretending to be Emily's friend. Because truthfully, I want to be her friend. But without the layers of lies between us.

They're like a rubber band, pulling and stretching. And it can't last forever. It'll break.

She's going to know. Whether it's because I disappear and end up back in the twenty-first century, or because my lies are uncovered, she's going to know.

And it might make me a coward, but I hope I'm not here to see it.

Emily finishes a lively tune, and the guests clap again.

"You'll make Denworth a fine wife!" one of them says, and I almost choke on my own spit.

Wife?

Emily's smile turns stiff, and the light leaves her eyes.

Now she looks eighteen.

"Thank you," she says.

I grind my teeth together. What's going on here?

"Not yet," Emily says.

Just as Victoria opens her mouth to speak again, Emily picks up another tune, up-tempo and loud, and it drowns out whatever Victoria had meant to say.

It's clear Emily doesn't want to speak of the Denworth situation with Victoria.

But I have to know what's going on — something's not adding up. Emily should be happy about an engagement, if that's what's happening.

Tomorrow, I'll get to the bottom of this.