Read Online Prada and Prejudice by Mandy Hubbard - Free Book Online
Authors: Mandy Hubbard
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arms freely. The guy's better than me after a two-second demo. Figures.
"Okay, then, uh, you sort of walk and you try to make everything look stiff and, uh, unnatural. Like this." I show him my best robotic walk, my arms mechanical in their movements.
The two boys and the drummer immediately copy me, and by the time they've taken four or five steps, they seriously look like robots.
In no time they're improvising, and their laughter trickles up toward the rafters of the barn.
Yeah. That's my cue to leave before inspiration strikes and I try to show them how to break-dance but only succeed in breaking my neck.
I slip out of the barn unnoticed, grinning to myself as I walk the gravel path back toward the house, my skirts brushing the dirt.
At least somewhere, I'm not Callie the Klutz. Even if it's just some smelly old barn.
There's hope for me after all.
Chapter 10
Once back in my room, I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling.
I know I should read the letters stuffed under my mattress, but I can't bring myself to dig them out.
They hit too close to home.
That poor little girl is going to grow up without her dad. At least she won't know what she's missing. Me, I had a father for twelve years. And he wasn't such a bad father, either. A little busy most of the time, but not bad.
And then, out of the blue, he left my mom. It's been the two of us ever since. I'm pretty sure she let me go on the London trip because it gave me a convenient excuse for turning down my dad and summer in the Hamptons. I don't have the opportunity to think much more on the subject before the maid comes in, the hardwood floors creaking under her steps.
"I've come te help ye change fer dinner."
I sit up and look at my clothing. It's still clean and relatively wrinkle-free, which is an accomplishment for me. I'm forever dropping food on my clothes. "I'm sure this is fine," I say.
Her mouth tightens like she's fighting a smile. "A mornin' dress is no' suitable fer a dinner party."
"A dinner party?" I don't like the sound of that.
She nods as she pulls me over to the stool near the wardrobe. "Yes. 'Er Ladyship invited our neighbors te dine te celebrate yer arrival. Ye could hardly go in such casual wear."
Casual? This is casual? Compared to her basic black dress, I'm ready for a night on the town.
She's throwing clothing in my direction and I don't know what I'm supposed to do, so I just catch it and stand there, my arms filling. And when I see the last item, I freeze, holding it between two hands and staring as if it's a typhoid-infested blanket.
In fact, it's worse. It's a corset.
She's seriously going to put me in a corset.
"I'm under strict order by the lady o' the house te make ye presentable. Ye'r a guest o' Harksbury and as such, ye must be properly attired." The maid tucks an errant strand of her dark hair behind her ear, as if she's suddenly aware of her own appearance.
I know without asking that those are not her words; I can actually hear the grouchy old lady saying them, even through the maid's thick accent.
I swallow and nod, stepping forward to accept my fate. I sure hope all those girls in historical novels are exaggerating.
I don't exactly have a high pain threshold. I cried the last time I got a filling.
As she laces the corset, and the volume of air inside my lungs depletes, I gain a new appreciation for my ancestors. This sucks. Oh sure, it's not too bad at first. But it's sort of like putting on a pair of shoes that's just a teensy bit too snug. You don't notice it too much for the first ten minutes, but then it becomes so apparent you can't ignore it. It's like a girdle and a push-up bra put together, and I think my boobs must be right under my chin, because there's no room for them in front of my ribs.
Next she pulls me to my feet and puts my arms straight up in the air, like I'm a little kid. She pulls a crimson dress over my head. It's a soft satin, with pretty little rosebuds embroidered along the short puffy
"Okay, then, uh, you sort of walk and you try to make everything look stiff and, uh, unnatural. Like this." I show him my best robotic walk, my arms mechanical in their movements.
The two boys and the drummer immediately copy me, and by the time they've taken four or five steps, they seriously look like robots.
In no time they're improvising, and their laughter trickles up toward the rafters of the barn.
Yeah. That's my cue to leave before inspiration strikes and I try to show them how to break-dance but only succeed in breaking my neck.
I slip out of the barn unnoticed, grinning to myself as I walk the gravel path back toward the house, my skirts brushing the dirt.
At least somewhere, I'm not Callie the Klutz. Even if it's just some smelly old barn.
There's hope for me after all.
Chapter 10
Once back in my room, I lie on my bed and stare at the ceiling.
I know I should read the letters stuffed under my mattress, but I can't bring myself to dig them out.
They hit too close to home.
That poor little girl is going to grow up without her dad. At least she won't know what she's missing. Me, I had a father for twelve years. And he wasn't such a bad father, either. A little busy most of the time, but not bad.
And then, out of the blue, he left my mom. It's been the two of us ever since. I'm pretty sure she let me go on the London trip because it gave me a convenient excuse for turning down my dad and summer in the Hamptons. I don't have the opportunity to think much more on the subject before the maid comes in, the hardwood floors creaking under her steps.
"I've come te help ye change fer dinner."
I sit up and look at my clothing. It's still clean and relatively wrinkle-free, which is an accomplishment for me. I'm forever dropping food on my clothes. "I'm sure this is fine," I say.
Her mouth tightens like she's fighting a smile. "A mornin' dress is no' suitable fer a dinner party."
"A dinner party?" I don't like the sound of that.
She nods as she pulls me over to the stool near the wardrobe. "Yes. 'Er Ladyship invited our neighbors te dine te celebrate yer arrival. Ye could hardly go in such casual wear."
Casual? This is casual? Compared to her basic black dress, I'm ready for a night on the town.
She's throwing clothing in my direction and I don't know what I'm supposed to do, so I just catch it and stand there, my arms filling. And when I see the last item, I freeze, holding it between two hands and staring as if it's a typhoid-infested blanket.
In fact, it's worse. It's a corset.
She's seriously going to put me in a corset.
"I'm under strict order by the lady o' the house te make ye presentable. Ye'r a guest o' Harksbury and as such, ye must be properly attired." The maid tucks an errant strand of her dark hair behind her ear, as if she's suddenly aware of her own appearance.
I know without asking that those are not her words; I can actually hear the grouchy old lady saying them, even through the maid's thick accent.
I swallow and nod, stepping forward to accept my fate. I sure hope all those girls in historical novels are exaggerating.
I don't exactly have a high pain threshold. I cried the last time I got a filling.
As she laces the corset, and the volume of air inside my lungs depletes, I gain a new appreciation for my ancestors. This sucks. Oh sure, it's not too bad at first. But it's sort of like putting on a pair of shoes that's just a teensy bit too snug. You don't notice it too much for the first ten minutes, but then it becomes so apparent you can't ignore it. It's like a girdle and a push-up bra put together, and I think my boobs must be right under my chin, because there's no room for them in front of my ribs.
Next she pulls me to my feet and puts my arms straight up in the air, like I'm a little kid. She pulls a crimson dress over my head. It's a soft satin, with pretty little rosebuds embroidered along the short puffy
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