Alice and Gabby's Excellent Adventure

By Maya Rodale

When you switch bodies and centuries and then become besties...

When I was you…
Popular girl Gabrielle Fox only looks like she has it all together. But secretly she's freaking out about failing her classes, failing to graduate and hiding her crush on the nerdy boy next door. When lightning strikes and she wakes up in another body, in another world (England, 1819, to be precise) she definitely does not have her sh*t together and she has a lot to figure out—fast—if she wants to get back to her real life. Of course she wants to get back, right?

…And you were me
Lady Alice Fellows is an oh-so-proper young lady about to accept the perfect marriage proposal...or is she? She may be tempted by the bad boy of the neighborhood—and not the boring lord about to propose—but this wallflower would never, ever do anything to cause a scandal. But when lightning strikes and she wakes up in the body of a popular high school girl two hundred years later, she has no idea what the rules are anymore. In fact, she might finally be free to do whatever she wants.

And that time we changed our destinies...
Alice and Gabrielle couldn't be more different, but they might be just exactly what they need—if they can stop causing trouble for each other and start living their best lives.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Maya Rodale
• Release date: Mar 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9780990635642

Maya Rodale

Maya Rodale began reading romance novels in college at her mother's insistence. She is now the bestselling and award-winning author of smart and sassy romances. She lives in New York City with her darling dog and a rogue of her own.

Book preview

1

GABBY

Lockhart Academy

Connecticut, Present Day

I thought it was just another night. It was not just another night.

Stan’s parents were out of town, so the place was mobbed with students dancing too loud, thumping music, lounging on the furniture, hanging out in the kitchen or playing a big game of beer pong in the back yard. Everyone had come out to celebrate Lockhart Academy’s hockey team winning their first game of the season—everyone. Even the nobodies, nerds and geeks were there, along with the jocks, the pretty girls and everybody in between.

I knew this night was one of those special nights. I was wrong about why.

I pushed my way through the crowd, looking for Stan—my boyfriend and captain of the Lockhart hockey team. He was a day student, while I boarded. In the living room, I warned a drunk girl away from a dumb jock, Joe, picked up a chair that’d fallen over, and then I ran into my bestie, Becks, in the kitchen. She was easy to spot in a crowd because she always wore pink.

We’d been best friends ever since we were assigned to be roommates freshman year. We’d hit it off right away, bonding over a love of Instagram and reality TV shows. She was, more often than not, my better judgment.

For example:

Gabby, remember your poetry midterm tomorrow, Becks reminded me as I reached for another beer out of the fridge stocked with as many racks of Natty Lite that could fit between Stan’s mom’s diet shakes. I thought Natty Lite was pretty gross, but I drank it anyway. Guys were always impressed by it.

I know, I know.

Ugh, that poetry midterm. Ugh, that poetry class. Professor Swinton was totally out to get me. I was only taking it because I needed an English Lit requirement to graduate and I figured the reading wouldn’t be that demanding. As far as I was concerned, I was going to be a fashion designer, and the only thing I needed to read was the latest issue of Vogue.

Did you even study? Becks asked, folding her arms over her chest and giving me a look. Honestly, I didn’t know why she bothered to ask. We lived together, so she saw I didn’t study. And she knew me.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ned the Nerd—I’d been calling him that since freshman year, when I’d stumbled on his robotics team meet-up in the dorm common room. Tonight, he was leaning against the kitchen counter, all long and lanky and nerdy with his thick black-framed glasses and plaid shirt, sipping a beer. I caught him wincing after each sip, like he hadn’t acquired the taste yet. These days, he was the guy who lived in the dorm room across the hall from ours, and we only interacted when I couldn’t figure out how to program the DVR or when my laptop froze.

Well, except for that one time…

I got embarrassed every time I thought about that night.

Our eyes met. He was checking me out. Guys often did, but for some unfathomable reason it made me feel weird when Ned did it. Maybe because he tried so hard to disguise it, like he didn’t want me or anyone to know he thought I was hot. Whatever. What did I care if some nerd wasn’t into me?

The thing was, I hung out with the jocks and pretty people, and he was a nerd, and never the two shall meet. Or something. We operated in different worlds and had nothing in common.

Besides, I was sure he thought I was too dumb for him, just because I was tall, blonde, and had thousands of followers on Instagram and never studied for poetry midterms, because it didn’t matter when the professor had already decided I was just a ditzy girl and graded me accordingly. Some of us didn’t want to sit around inside playing video games or coding or whatever it is that nerds did.

Besides, I had a boyfriend. Stan Weller was a total hunk who had thousands of Instagram followers, thanks to his regularly posted shirtless selfies.

Becks was still frowning at me. She had her arms folded across her chest. Gabby…you can’t fail poetry!

I read the poems. I cracked open my beer and took a defiant sip.

That’s something, Becks replied sarcastically.

It’ll have to be enough. Besides, Professor Swinton is totally out to get me, so it doesn’t even matter. I’m going to fail it.

But Gabby, what about FIT?

I doubt they’ll care about my grade in Romantic poetry, honestly. But I said this uneasily. It was my dream to go to college at FIT—the Fashion Institute of Technology in New York City, where I’d study clothing design and live the fabulous life in the fashion capital of the world. My application was ready; I just had to rock the interview and maintain a certain GPA. Which meant I needed to pass this stupid midterm and poetry class.

But this was what extra credit was for!

Becks just sighed. And I was kind of annoyed she was bringing this up now, at a party, when I wanted to have fun and not think about the midterm I was about to fail and, like, whatever consequences it might have for the rest of my life.

Hey babe, Stan said, sliding his arm around my waist and kissing me on the lips. A welcome distraction. I hoped people were watching. I knew we looked really good together.

Hey! I couldn’t find you earlier. I playfully swatted his arm. I flipped my blond hair—natural highlights, btw—and smiled at my super-hot boyfriend. We weren’t the type to have long, soulful chats on the phone, but we definitely had fun hanging out with each other.

I was getting into trouble, he said with a grin.  We’re up next in beer pong, babe. Come play. Be my good-luck charm. Then he affectionately patted my butt, kissed my cheek, high-fived Greg, a teammate, clasped my hand and tugged me toward the direction of the deck, where the game was set up. Someone had strung up Christmas lights, and it looked really cool.

Well, I’m going to make a smart life choice and head back to the dorm, Becks said, giving me another pointed look with her big brown eyes.  Come with.

I knew I should go.  

Stan was tugging my hand. Beer pong and hooking up would be fun. I lived for fun. I shrugged and grinned sheepishly. I have to be his good-luck charm.

Gabrielle Christina Fox.

Rebecca Jane Bennett, you know I hate when people use my full name.

I just think you should at least not get wasted the night before your poetry midterm, Becks said. And then, opening the question up to the room at large, she asked in a loud voice, Amirite? Can we all agree on that?

Oh, gawd.

I looked around to see if people were agreeing with her. My gaze fell to Ned, leaning against the kitchen counter, beer can dangling from his fingertips, and OMG, who was the Goth girl he was standing with? I’d never seen her around campus, and I knew everyone on campus.

She wore black from head to toe—boots, leggings and a very boho-chic flowing black tunic. Her hair was cut into a black bob with bangs, a style made all the more striking given her pale skin and vampy red lips. Her black liquid liner was expertly applied, and that wasn’t a skill most people possessed. I admit I was impressed.

I guess it’s a question of priorities and what matters in life, isn’t it? Goth girl mused, blinking those black-winged eyes. She tilted her head, and I thought I saw bits of glitter in her hair. You never know which little choices can profoundly change the direction of your life, she said while examining her red nail polish.

Fate, or free will? Ned mused. Nothing like Philosophy 101 on a Friday night.

Boring or boring, more like it.

Then she just shrugged and said, I guess we make different choices when we’re not just thinking of ourselves.

The mood in the room felt weird all of a sudden—what was up with all this deep, philosophical stuff? It was Friday night! But even I couldn’t deny that her words had wriggled = under my skin, squirming right into that secret place in my heart of hearts where I stuffed all my insecurities and anxieties. Yes, I had them, and no, I didn’t want to talk about it. It was the place I didn’t visit, ever, because it was scary and messy and definitely not pretty. I sure as hell wasn’t going to do some deep soul-searching at this raucous house party while a crowd full of jocks and nobodies looked on.

Um, it’s just beer pong. And a poetry midterm, I said, rolling my eyes for effect. Even though I knew it was more than that. I can probably get extra-credit work or something if I need to.

Are you new here? Becks asked the Goth girl.

Yeah. I transferred from Pembroke. She held my gaze while rubbing a moonstone pendent between her thumb and forefinger. Weird.

Stan chose that moment to open the back door and holler, Babe! Are you coming?

I paused, torn between my boyfriend and my best friend. And, like, torn between the dumb thing to do and the right thing to do.  

Becks sighed, and we both knew I was about to make a poor life choice. But the thing was, I knew I was going to fail that poetry midterm whether I studied or not, got drunk or stayed sober, had a late night or did that whole early-to-bed, early-to-rise shit. School just wasn’t my thing. No one expected me to be smart, anyway.  

Might as well have fun, right? Might as well be a supportive girlfriend. I didn’t really love playing beer pong. It was pretty boring. And Stan got really handsy and loud when he drank. But Stan never gave me those judgy looks like Becks and Ned and the new girl.

Look, I knew right and wrong.

But I picked fun every time.

I gotta go, Becks, I said quickly. Before she could respond, I lifted my beer and shouted, Cheers!

Then I stepped outside, and that was the last thing I remembered.

2

ALICE

England, 1819

The day began like any other: the soft clink of cutlery on china, the rustle of Father’s newspaper, the constant, plaguing hum of my sisters’ inane conversation and the quiet, desperate sense that something was Not. Quite. Right.

Mother sipped a cup of very hot tea, no sugar please, and read from her endless correspondence, selecting choice excerpts to read aloud to the family.

We were joined by cousin Minerva, a pale-skinned, dark-haired woman who was not actually a cousin. In fact, no one was quite sure how we were all related. She was one of those women so long on the shelf that she had firmly entered her spinsterhood and, as such, passed her existence with visits to every extended relative, given that she had no household of her own. That was what happened to women who did not marry.  

And then there was I: Lady Alice Fellows, nineteen years of age, the neighborhood misfit and wallflower. I was the plain girl who preferred the company of books to people, which was just as well, since I was hardly sought out.

I have word that Lord Xavier has returned to the neighborhood, to Briarley house, Mother said, looking up from the letter in her hand.

My sisters ceased their incessant chattering to pay attention.

My ridiculous heart beat faster at the mention of his name.  

Briarley is such a marvelous house, Mother carried on, attending to the least interesting part of the news. Possibly one of his finest houses, I have heard.  It’s dreadful what happened to that family. They used to be so esteemed. And now…

Who is Lord Xavier? Minerva inquired.

Clarissa and Pamela collapsed into giggles, echoing the question. Who is Lord Xavier, indeed.

William Henry Castlemaine, Viscount Xavier, had once been the darling of the village.

And then he was not.

Something tragic had happened to his father—there were whispers of ruin, scandal and sacrilege. But no one ever told young ladies anything, especially if it was interesting. We all just knew something terrible had occurred, and men did not invite him to join them for fox hunts and young ladies were disabused of romantic notions toward him. Though he possessed a title and a fine house, he was no longer considered a suitable match, which was just as well, since he had departed for a tour of the continent with his mother and sister two years ago, immediately after The Scandal.

Lord X is no acquaintance of ours, Father said firmly. Everything about him was unyielding, like the perfectly crisp folds of his cravat, to his neatly cropped gray hair. One was not supposed to question him. Then Father turned the page of his newspaper and snapped it to attention.

What has happened to the family? Minerva asked.

Nothing that polite company speaks of, Father said, and his word was final. Lord X’s family scandal was so great, one dared not even use the full name aloud. After the scandal, the family was no longer welcomed in polite company.

We were polite company.

Do we think he might be at the assembly tonight? Pamela asked, blatantly ignoring our father. Given how much time had passed since the scandal, it was not an entirely foolish hope.  

Oh, I do hope so, Clarissa said in the breathy, dreamy voices of hers that men found intoxicating. I thought it made her sound like she’d taken a touch too much laudanum. But no one asked me for my opinion. They never did.

"He is expected," Mother said, reading from the letter, her voice revealing her shock. Pamela and Clarissa squealed with glee. 

My stupid, foolish heart beat in triple time in anticipation of the prospect of an assembly with Lord X. But why should I get excited? He would never ask me to dance and if by some miracle he did, Mother and Father would never allow it.

How appalling that he would even consider it, Father said.

I wonder if he is as handsome as ever, Clarissa said.

He is, I whispered to my toast in such a soft voice that no one would hear. For they could not know I had seen the scandalous Lord X recently. And I had shared a moment with him. He probably didn’t even remember it, or me. But every second of our brief encounter had been burned in my memory.  

I saw in one of the cartoons that he still is. Pamela glanced at Father’s newspaper, waiting for him to finish so she might have a turn.

She was up to date on all the London gossip and fancied having a London Season for herself. She had already turned down two proposals and was holding out for a title; none of the other young lords in our area struck her fancy. Lord X was her best hope.

Perhaps he shall take a liking to one of us, Clarissa said dreamily.

I should hope not, Father said. Pity if he does, as I shall refuse his suit. No daughter of mine will marry into such an ugly family. Bad blood, it is. I won’t have it mingling with ours.

Whatever feelings I might have possessed for Lord X ought to be smothered until they were extinguished; they would cause nothing but anguish otherwise. He barely noticed me, save for our all-too-brief, fleeting and insignificant encounter, and as Father had made plain, there was no point in even trying to capture his attentions.

Do not get any ideas, mother cautioned sternly, speaking to my sisters.

Why do you always pick on me? Clarissa protested. Pamela is just as likely to pursue him, if not more. She always said she won’t marry a mere mister and for all his faults, Lord X does have his title. Though perhaps I should set my cap for him, in case Cedric doesn’t return, Clarissa said darkly.

Cedric was her beau, a navy captain. They planned to wed upon his return from his present voyage. If he returned. He and his ship had departed two years earlier. They’d been in love at the time of their engagement, but Clarissa was not known for her attention span.

I sipped my tea. No one ever told me not to get ideas. No one thought I would, say, recklessly pursue an unsuitable gentleman. But, honestly, I didn’t think I would, either. The very idea of it made me feel odd inside—nervous and scared and something else I didn’t care to identify.

You are trouble. Both of you, Mother reprimanded. Now, why can you not follow Alice’s example? My nerves would be eternally grateful.

What, lurk quietly and oddly in all social situations? Pamela asked, laughing.

Stick my nose in a book all the time? Clarissa chimed in with her fluttering laugh.

I used to flush in anger and embarrassment when my sisters teased me so, but by now I was accustomed to it. Instead, I added a splash of milk to my tea and took a small sip.

Now, now… Mother said absentmindedly, sipping her tea and returning her attention to the letters in her hand.

Minerva caught my eye. She saw my darkened gaze and replied with a kindly smile.  Lady Alice has many fine qualities, she said, defending me, which no one ever did.

I think I shall wear the blue silk dress, Pamela declared. The blue silk dress was exceedingly low cut in the bodice and left its wearer in the precarious position of constant near-exposure.

No! It is my turn to wear it, Clarissa shrieked.

Please do not attract undue attention to yourselves, Mother said, as she always did when the subject came up. But then, for the first time, she added, Perhaps Alice should wear the dress.

 So she can attract Lord X’s attentions? Whatever for? Clarissa asked. She laughed.

It would be a waste of the dress, Pamela said.

Not that he would fancy you, Alice. Not that it would even matter if he did. Because you have Lord Dilhorne.

I have it on good authority that he may make you a proposal soon, Father said. He lowered the newspaper and smiled kindly at me. He has asked me for your hand. I have given my permission for him to ask you.

Oh, Alice, he may ask you at the assembly tonight! Mother said. Wouldn’t that be splendid? Then we could announce it right away.

Suddenly my stomach felt queasy. I wondered if the milk in my tea had gone off.

"I cannot believe Alice is the first one among us to marry," Clarissa said with a sigh.

"Yes, but it’s Dilhorne," Pamela replied, pulling A Face that showed I never had to worry about my wanton sister making advances on my future husband.

"You should all be lucky to make such an excellent match as Lord Dilhorne," Father said sternly. 

Lord Dilhorne could not propose fast enough. I could not accept fast enough. It’s true that he wasn’t the most handsome of men, or the dashing sort to sweep a girl off her feet. But oh, how I longed to be mistress of my own home, especially one like Lord Dilhorne’s, which had the finest library in the county.   

As Lady Dilhorne, I could stick my nose in a book and no one would dare mock me for it. As a proper Lady, I would outrank my sisters and, lud, it was shallow of me but I would enjoy going into supper before them.

It mattered little if the mention of his name had no effect on my pulse.

And it was completely beside the point if I drifted off to sleep imagining Lord X’s dark and brooding gaze, the touch of his hand, the soft sensation of his lips against mine.

"Who would have thought Alice would marry first?" Pamela asked, with a groan.

I daresay Lady Alice might surprise us all yet, our cousin replied with a smile. Like she knew something none of us did. Though there’s no telling what she might achieve if she followed her heart.

My sisters laughed it off—me, doing anything surprising!—but cousin Minerva’s words plagued me all day. Follow my heart—impossible! Or could I? No, I did not dare risk my family’s censure and position on some imagined flirtation with the black sheep of the neighborhood. I would accept Lord Dilhorne’s proposal and enjoy his library, and that was that. I kept repeating this to myself while Mary styled my hair into a fashionable halo of curls, and all during the carriage ride to the assembly, through the first set of dances and right up to the moment Lord Dilhorne asked if I would like to join him on the terrace for a bit of fresh air.

By a bit of fresh air, I suspected he meant a proposal of marriage.

I said, Of course, my lord, and stepped outside toward my future.

That was the last thing I remembered.

3

GABBY

England, 1819

Alice, wake up, a strange voice urged.

I ignored that, obvs, because I wasn’t named Alice and didn’t know anyone who was. I was Gabrielle Christina Fox, and I had partied waaay too hard last night. I knew the pain would hit me the moment I opened my eyes, so I kept them close for just another minute.

Alice, do open your eyes.

The voice was insistent.

Who the hell is Alice?

Lazily, I opened my eyes and blinked a few times as the room came into view.

It wasn’t a room I recognized. In fact, there was something profoundly different about this room, but my brain was