Gown
Meg sat on a plush sofa in Maurice’s shop near Columbus Circle. From here, she could see the people outside bustling by on a warm June day, and she wondered where they were going and if any of them would mind if she went along. She’d rather be just about anywhere else.
“I like the taffeta,” Grace was saying, “though with that tulle underneath, it seems a bit too… poofy, don’t you think?”
It wasn’t Meg she was speaking to, so she remained silent, watching a plump, older woman proceed down the sidewalk with a little boy who she believed might be the woman’s grandson. He seemed reluctant to walk, and Meg imagined they must have had a disagreement. Perhaps he wanted a snack from one of the many street vendors, and Grandmother had said no….
“Meg? Are you listening?”
She turned her head to see Pamela addressing her. “I’m sorry—were you speaking to me?”
Pamela let out a soft giggle as if she wanted to be angry at Meg for being distracted but couldn’t because the girl was just too pathetic. “Yes, darling. I was saying this chiffon would look lovely with your complexion, don’t you think?”
Meg looked from the fabric Pamela was holding out toward her to the bolt Grace was holding. While Meg had worn her fair share of just about every popular fabric in creation, she’d never really bothered with learning the differences. They were both ivory, she knew that much. They looked quite similar. “I like it,” Meg said, forcing a smile. “I defer to your expertise.”
Pamela’s smile broadened. “Darling, don’t you want to pick your dress? I know we’ve done most of the choosing for you, but surely you have something in mind for your wedding gown?”
Meg thought about a portrait that used to sit in her mother’s parlor, one that had been gone for quite some time. It had been of her parents on their wedding day. Her mother had looked stunning in a fitted white gown with a high neckline, a lacy veil over the back of her head. Despite desperately wanting to marry Charlie, she hadn’t put much thought into the wedding itself, thinking it would be a bit of an olive branch to allow his sister her say as much as possible, under Pamela’s guidance. Now, since they were asking, she found she did have an opinion after all.
“I think I should like a full skirt, one that does have a bit of—what did you say, Grace? Poof? Yes, I think I should like that. And I would like the neckline to be lower—not scandalously low, but not choking either. As to the fabric, anything but lace.”
Pamela and Grace exchanged looks. “Very well, then. I think we can accomplish that,” Pamela said, still smiling. They went on about their conversation, Pamela occasionally asking Meg if she agreed and Grace periodically shooting daggers across the room. Eventually, they settled on the chiffon with a tulle under-layer, and Pamela went out to find Maurice to let him know of the decision.
Grace set the bolt of fabric they had chosen against the sofa where Meg had been sitting for nearly an hour now and stretched her back. “It’s a pity your friend couldn’t come. What’s her name? Kitty?”
“Kelly,” Meg replied, knowing Grace was likely aware of her friend’s name. If Kelly had been there, it may have been a more hostile situation. Meg had wanted to ask her but decided against it. This was a day to be endured, and she would gladly do so if it took her one step closer to being Charlie’s wife.
Sitting down several feet away from her, Grace said, “I imagine you’re quite pleased you won’t have to wait until the fall to make sure Charlie can’t change his mind.”
Meg’s eyebrows shot up. “I wasn’t aware that was a possibility,” she said with a shrug. “I’m fairly certain I could wait a few hundred years and he wouldn’t change his mind—though I’ll be the first to admit it is surprising.”
Grace looked at her curiously. “You believe so?”
“Yes, of course.” Meg straightened her back. “I’m fully aware that I don’t deserve your brother.”
One perfectly formed eyebrow arched above a brown eye. “You are?”
“How could I not be? He’s nearly perfect, you know. I don’t suppose any woman truly deserves him. I certainly don’t. I’m aware of all the mistakes I’ve made over the years, Grace. We’ve discussed them, I’ve apologized and explained, and he has forgiven me. Perhaps you might consider doing so yourself one day.”
Grace continued to stare at her as if she didn’t understand the language Meg was speaking. After a few moments, she settled back into the sofa and turned her attention toward the large window in front of them. “It isn’t that I don’t forgive you, Mary Margaret. It’s only… I was afraid you might want him for other reasons. That you might be more concerned with becoming an Ashton than becoming Charlie’s wife.”
“I can understand that,” Meg nodded. “But that isn’t the case. I tried very hard not to become an Ashton, but it wouldn’t take.”
She turned her head to look at Meg and a bit of a smile began to creep into the corners of her mouth. Grace shut it down. “Do you have something against the family name?”
“Not at all,” Meg replied, smiling. “I’ve only heard pleasant things about your family. Your parents’ generosity is well known. They were certainly loyal friends to my father.”
“Then why wouldn’t you want to marry into the family?”
Meg took a deep breath and scooted a bit toward Grace, who didn’t move away. “I wanted to choose, Grace. I wanted the capability of standing in front of a man and saying, ‘Yes, you’re the one.’ I wanted that for Charlie as well. While I knew in my heart my father would always have my best interests in mind, I also knew my mother didn’t, and I wasn’t quite sure whose request I would be fulfilling if I went along with this. But then I realized my da had chosen Charlie purposefully, and I couldn’t have made a better selection if I’d been given all the men in the world to go through.”
“But Charlie deserves a choice, too,” Grace interjected, spinning around to face her. “That has always been my contention. Peter might not be perfect, but I chose him. Charlie didn’t get that opportunity.”
“Oh, but he did,” Meg assured her with a nod. “He chose me more than once when I didn’t think he would. I gave him every opportunity to leave me and go on about his life, but he wouldn’t do it, so here we are.”
“No, Charlie would never go against father’s wishes and let you go when he knew how much the arrangement with Mr. Westmoreland meant.”
“He easily could’ve if Mary Margaret Westmoreland was missing in England or had died aboard Titanic. Both of those things could’ve happened.” Meg dropped her eyes to the floor and added quietly, “Both of those things did happen.” She raised her eyes to Grace. “For whatever reason, I cannot say, but believe me when I say your brother has chosen me. And if I am lucky, he will continue to choose me every day for the rest of my life. Don’t be cross at me because you believe I am unaware that I am unworthy. I’m quite aware of that fact, and that’s just one of the reasons why I thank God every day for knowing what was best for me when I had absolutely no idea.”
With a sigh, Grace blinked back tears and slowly wrapped her arms around Meg. Neither of them said anything, and when Pamela came into the room, Maurice on her heels, Meg heard her let out a slow gasp. Meg couldn’t help but think Mr. and Mrs. Ashton had chosen the correct name for their daughter after all.
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