Next chapters please...
The Ditzy One: You rock. And I agree.
Mari324: Ha! Awesome! I actually wasn't sure about that line - I almost erased it! But now I am proud of it. Thank you.
Mrs.Scott323: Yes, you did very well. But I want my pudding back, lol. You are very right about both Alistair and Glynnis, get ready to hate them some more...
Sometimes things seemed to go really, really slowly. Like at Faye's house, where everyone was swimming in devastation. Can't really blame them, I have to say. That restaurant was like, their world.
It was also their main source of income.
And it was also their reputation. Therefore, their only other source of income (that being Mrs. Winthrop's wedding planning) was being affected as well. People found it simply dreadful that this extraordinary wedding planner was both wife and business partner to the owner of a rat-infested restaurant.
So, now, everyone seemingly hated the Winthrops. And the Winthrops hated themselves. Believe it or not, the most cheery one around that house now seemed to be good old Uncle Ianslastname, who had now taken to barking wonderfully encouraging remarks such as, "You should have gone into accounting, like your father." and "Wily entrepreneurs never make it in this world."
Wily? Wow. No other word described Laurence worse, and no other word fit Uncle Wallace more perfectly. Still, there were far worse people in my world, to whom using "wily" as a description would be a HUGE understatement.
Things weren't that great at school, either. I mean, considering my so-called "friends" had cut ties with me. I would get offers to sit at other tables from girly Luke-gushers, but I of course had no interest in conversing with them. And despite the fact that I seemed to be unwittingly leading a revolution against Clarissa that involved most of the school, she still had her conniving brood of leeches that suckled off of her and hated my guts.
She and her group seemed to be attempting to be more domineering than they were before - so domineering that they were almost to the caliber of Clarissa's Lumberjack Barbie mother. And they were doing a pretty good job.
But when I wasn't in the depressing cave that was the Winthrop residence or in the swirling pool of intimidation that was Jasperstone Academy, time seemed to speed up tremendously.
Which is why I was shocked to find myself suddenly in the middle of November.
I had been, for the weeks that led up to this, spending a great deal of my time with Luke, and with Daphne's father and grandmother. I have to say, it was incredible how close I'd become to the people I just mentioned. So close, in fact, that unless my mind happened to touch on the subject of my cousin for any particular reason, I was never the least bit uncomfortable around them. Which really wasn't good, because Daphne was the main reason I was there, but, that was that.
Luke and I were getting closer to each other every day. We found ourselves missing each other constantly whenever we weren't together, and it was becoming easier and easier to lean in to each other's faces and bring contact to our...snogging mechanisms. The snogging, actually, was happening more and more frequently. (To snog, by the way, is defined in my British slang dictionary as to kiss passionately)
And in case you're wondering, yes, I did get around to telling Luke that I fancied him.
Anyhow. It was the middle of November, and I was getting the mail, standing at the front edge of the cottage walk where there mailbox was located.
And I was surprised to find an envelope addressed to me that wasn't postmarked in the US. I opened it, and this is what I found:
The Morris Brenshire School for Boys
and
The Jasperstone Academy For Girls
cordially invites
Miss Meghan Beatrice Reynolds
to their annual
Winter Ball
which shall be jointly held by both schools at
Everston Mansion
on the evening of
November the twenty-fifth, two thousand and three
at
Eight o'clock
Inserted with this lovely invitation was an equally lovely set of rules on conduct and dress code, which I promptly put back into the envelope.
I saw that I was holding along with the rest of the mail a very similar-looking parcel for Faye. She would be included in the ball as well. Which is amazing, considering the horrible wretch she thought she was. If it had been up to Faye, she would have long since sent herself into exile.
I immediately knew what must be done, after receiving an invitation to a ball and reading it and pondering it.
That thing was to eat a sandwich. Because I was hungry.
But right after that, I would call Luke. And he would take me to the woman who'd been eagerly anticipating the arrival of the invitation far more than I was.
"Lovely!" Jocelyn chirped. "This is wonderful. You've received the invitation to your first ball."
"You mean, there are more?" Meghan squeaked.
"Why, of course! Have you forgotten Miss Brenshire's New Year's gathering?"
She had forgotten that.
"Oh." Meghan said, smiling. "Right."
Nerves. Nerves were clouding Meghan's thought. And the nervousness came from the excitement Jocelyn was getting out of this dance.
The excitement swelled even higher as the woman stood up, breathing in sharply and clasping her hands together. A glowing smile graced her lips.
"Oh! Yes! Now! Now, I can show you!" Jocelyn exclaimed. "Come, Meghan, come with me."
The girl did as she was told, following Lady Dashwood all the way into what looked to be her actual bedroom, which Meghan had still not been into as of yet, despite her many visits to the mansion.
She was pointed toward the huge canopy bed that centered the room, which she promptly sat on.
Did my etiquette book say something about it being rude to sit on a bed? Meghan wondered. Though she was pretty sure she wasn't supposed to lie down...
"I have something for you." Jocelyn said excitedly as she dove into her closet. What she came out with made Meghan's eyes bulge in surprise.
A dress. Not just any dress, either. THE most beautiful dress Meghan had ever been less than ten feet away from. And Jocelyn was holding it up right in front of her face.
"That?" Meghan sputtered. "No way."
"Why not? Don't you like it, Meghan?"
Jocelyn laid the garment on the bed, right near where Meghan was sitting.
"No, I mean, of course I like it. It's beautiful." She stood up with Jocelyn to stare at what had just been laid out to her. "But me? In...in that?"
"Of course."
It truly was a gorgeous dress. It was ivory, but not white, almost tea-stained actually. The bodice sported an intricate beaded design, and thick silk straps converged at the back of the neck. It flared out sufficiently and had a fair amount of organza, but was not at all poofy and looked easy to move around in. It was also not very long, and was built to hit at about the middle of the calf, exposing part of the leg. More silk made the sash, which tied in the back, and a few tiny sequins could be seen throughout the bottom of the dress. It was a gown for a princess, or maybe even a queen.
But Meghan was sure it could not be for her.
"Uh..." she stammered, forgetting her etiquette.
"I found it in a sweet little boutique not very long ago, and I knew instantly that I must grab it up for you. I'm quite sure that it will compliment your brown hair perfectly."
Meghan could only stare.
"Try it on."
She looked up.
"But...I..."
"My dressing room's right over there." Jocelyn said, shoving the dress into Meghan's arms. "Well, go on then!"
And of course, Meghan did so. Within minutes, she was stepping tentatively out of the little dressing enclosure and back into the woman's plain sight.
"Oh, my!" Jocelyn breathed, now completely in swooning mode." You look positively divine!"
Meghan stepped over to the full-length mirror, with her companion stepping up behind her. And she could not believe her eyes.
The dress fit perfectly, and fell in all the right places. Her wavy hair pooled around her face and just barely touched the top of the dress, Though it was a light color, Meghan was surprised to find that it really didn't seem to wash out her skin, Maybe she wasn't that pale, after all.
But what surprised Meghan the most was being in the dress itself. She had never, ever, ever worn something so extravagant, so elegant, so...pretty. Not even at those weddings her aunt had sang for, not even at those few formal dances she and Daphne had been to, had she worn such a fancy dress. It felt foreign, and new. But it also felt amazing.
Meghan was almost in a trance, having never felt so beautiful in her entire life. However, due to the things she'd been presented with recently that had put her in similar trance-like modes, she was able to quickly bring herself out of it.
"Lady Dashwood." she wavered. "This is all very, very nice of you. But I'm really not sure -"
"It's perfect." Jocelyn stated. "You're just not used to this kind of thing, and I understand. But you like it. I can see it in your face. This dress was made for you. And now it is yours."
Meghan ran her finger across the beads on her chest. Part of her did feel wonderful. Part of her did feel like she fit. Not only in this dress, but in everything. Where she was. Who she was with. The dresses, the courtyards, the fountains, the gardens, the sophistication...and the people. In some strange way, Meghan did feel like she belonged.
But ever present was the part that was telling her that she was a greedy, lying snake, thinking that she had a right to any of these things that in truth should rightfully belong to her cousin.
Meghan's head drooped down, if only a little. But Jocelyn noticed. She took Meghan's chin on the tips of her fingers and gently tilted her head up, looking directly into her eyes.
"Whatever it is you are thinking, Meghan," Jocelyn said, softly but firmly, "I want you to disregard it. I am doing these things for a reason."
Meghan kept looking, now on the verge of tears.
"I can't say I know for sure what it is that makes you want to pull back. I have a feeling, however, that you think my attention should go to someone else. If that is the case, than it is so. But I also made up my mind, a long time ago, to care about you. And I intend to do that, regardless of the circumstances I may be presented with. I know one thing for a fact, Meghan - you are no ordinary girl. If you were, you would not keep coming around."
There was nothing Meghan could think of to say in response to that.
"Now hurry on back in there and change. Lucas is waiting for you. And in case I've not informed you yet, you are to call me Jocelyn."
As Meghan, carrying her new dress, came out of the mansion with the other teenaged visitor, she realized she had to say something.
"Luke." she said in a resigned breath. "I don't know how much longer I can do this."
"What?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.
"This. Coming here. Being with them, when I know it's not right."
"Who said it wasn't right?" Luke countered. "Meaning, other than Sir Mr. Payne?"
"No one said it. It's just true. Daphne is Jocelyn's grandchild. Daphne is Henry's daughter. But it's me who keeps coming and doesn't say a word. I know what I need to do. But I can't do it."
"Just because you haven't done it yet," Luke said as they strolled out of the gates, heading for Brenshire Manor, "doesn't mean you can't do it at all."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"What I mean is that no one would expect you to just walk up to Lord Dashwood and say, 'Hello. My cousin is your daughter.'. Well, certainly not me anyway. I can only imagine the difficulty that something like that would present. You're holding off. Does that make you cruel? You think it is wrong that you're here, or even that you're in England? Bullocks. I think it's quite the contrary, actually. You were obviously meant to be here, and though you won't really admit it, I think you want to be here."
"Of course I want to be here!"
"No. That's not what I mean. I think you truly want it, more than just a pleasant little experience you can carry around in the corner of your memory, more than just the chance to say, 'I've been to the United Kingdom.', more than just a bunch of snapshots you'll show your friends in the States and go, 'Well, let's see, what country shall I conquer next?'. You, Meghan, are not that kind. I've seen hundreds upon hundreds of tourists, many of whom from America, roaming the streets, with their giant visor hats and their comfy white sneakers and their cameras around their necks. They were only visiting. You, my dear, are thriving."
Meghan had no idea where he'd gotten this nonsense.
"Thriving? Sure. If by thriving you mean being plastered on every magazine in the country, constantly being tortured by Clarissa, being in the headmaster's office at least once every week, causing scandal everywhere I turn, and just making a general fool of myself on a regular basis - then yeah, I guess I'm thriving."
Luke only grinned and chuckled to himself.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing. Just how oblivious you are at times to the most obvious things."
"Well, whatever. That still doesn't help the fact that I'm here, and Daphne's in New York. And that I don't seem to want to do anything to change that."
They still hadn't yet reached Luke's residence, but he stopped anyway, rocking on his heels, seemingly in thought. Then, he pulled Meghan aside, over near some big stone wall.
"Henry and Jocelyn both will be chaperoning the ball, am I right?"
Meghan looked at him, a little confused.
"Yes..."
Luke held up his finger as he looked away for a minute, verifying to himself what was forming in his mind.
"Then I say...we tell him. On that night. November the twenty-fifth, two thousand and three."
Meghan kept her eyes on him.
"Really. You think the perfect time would be in the middle of some big party, surrounded by crowds of people."
"No, you silly thing. The mansion has private rooms! We take him aside. And the night of the ball will make it special. It will also give everyone time."
"Time?"
"Yes. Time for you to ready yourself, time for Jocelyn to do all of her ball planning things, time for these already existing supposed 'scandals' to settle, and time for Clarissa to enjoy her last few days as the Dashwood daughter."
As much as it scared her that she now had a set time at which she'd reveal the truth, Meghan did feel better. She'd be able to do what was right, and give Daphne what she'd always wanted. And Luke would be there, the entire time. She could count on him not to leave her, because he already knew the whole story, knew who Meghan was as opposed to who her cousin was - and was still by her side.
"And then, Daphne can come to England. She'll be here. With you."
Meghan's heart soared at the thought of seeing Daphne again. It was sealed.
"Okay. We'll tell him at the ball."
With that, the two naturally melted into a kiss. That signed it. It was signed and sealed - now, it only had to be delivered.