Okay, here I am...with a slight change of plan. 53 ain't ready yet, so only 52 is up. BUT expect 53 either tomorrow or Friday - not TOO long a wait, I hope? And be excited - 53's a pivotal chapter. ;)

cassiopoeia: YaAaAaAaY!! You're back! Though you haven't reached this chapter yet...but I am SO happy and I LOVE your reviews. (and I sadly haven't been to England either. YET.) By the way, Third Rock? It Rocks.

elle: Patience, my dear. But be very excited. :)

Mrs.Scott323: Yes, Alistair is the creepiest of the creepy. Enjoy the chinese food, it's fresh...I think. / I love your reviews

It was the night before the ball. Funny enough, it was a Monday night. And Meghan and Luke planned to be as prepared for the following night as humanly possible.

There had been one final dress fitting/dance recital for Jocelyn that afternoon, which had gone quite smoothly and enjoyably - though her son, as he had been lately, was nowhere to be seen. Then, Meghan had gone with Luke for his tuxedo fitting.

"How do you like this one?" he'd asked her, as he modeled a suit that had an interesting-looking jacket - one that had a split tail in the back.

"Uh, does it come with a matching bowler hat?" she'd asked, trying not to laugh.

"Clever. On to the next one then."

Eventually, they finally did find the perfect tux. However, much to Luke's boredom and exhaustion, it took them an hour and a half to do so. Therefore, by the time they left the third shop of the day, suit in hand, it was already dark. It was also on the verge of raining.

Which it did. And Meghan was thankful that both the suit and the dress were safely wrapped in plastic as she rode back to the Winthrops' on Luke's motorbike.

"I'll be picking you up at seven tomorrow night." Luke told her when they came to her front door. "Will you be ready?"

"I...hope so." Meghan told him.

He squeezed her hand.

"Don't worry. Everything will be fine. You'll see."

Meghan forced a little smile and nodded her head. She was trying to believe him, but she had a strange, foreboding feeling that wouldn't subside.

He gave a small smile back and winked. But as Luke walked back down the path toward his soaked bike, Meghan watching the whole way, he himself was wondering what millions of things might go wrong.

A minute later, Meghan was inside. Emma was in the kitchen, cleaning again, in a bit of a worried haste.

"Meghan, thank goodness you're back. Ya haven't seen Faye by any chance, have ya dear?"

"No...is she gone again?"

"'Fraid so. Ack, I dunno what gotten inta her! It's rainin', and she's out who knows where..."

Meghan wished she could help Mrs. Winthrop, for she knew exactly what had gotten into Faye. But she didn't know how to change it, let alone even talk to Faye, which parts of her were still determined not to do.

Meghan thought of what Faye had said last night, when her mother had questioned her about the ball.

"I'm not going to the ball."

Figures. Meghan knew that Faye hated herself too much to even think of attending.

She took off her coat, hung it, and took her dress up the stairs. Laying it on her bed, she noticed that the window in Faye's bedroom was open just a crack.

That's weird... Meghan thought, walking over to close it. She did so, and was about to dig out her dress shoes when something out the window caught her eye.

It was a girl, sitting on the bench of a picnic table in the park. A blonde girl. Faye.

She was sitting with her head somewhat bent, one leg tucked behind the other. She had on a slicker and hat, but neither one seemed to be doing her much good as she sat there, just letting the rain pound down on her.

It was a very depressing sight.

Without hesitation, Meghan moved from the window and pounded down the stairs. She grabbed her coat, and an umbrella.

"Meghan, you just got here! Where are you going?" she heard Laurence call from the den.

"To get Faye." she shouted back. And she ran out the door.

The rain was coming down harder than it had been before, and it seemed about eleven times colder, too.

Splash! Splash! Splash! Splash!

Meghan's feet hit the ground, one after the other, as she kept up her determined run. As she started to reach the more public area, she worked to dodge the fast-walking people as they shuffled home from work. The water pricked her legs, which were partially bare between the tops of her knee socks and the bottom of her coat.

She rounded the corner into the park. At that same speed, she kept moving - until she was about ten feet behind a certain picnic table, staring right at Faye's back.

And Meghan stayed that way, for a minute. Just looking at the poor girl whose life had been turned upside down. Faye was alone - at least in her mind, and wasn't putting up any sort of front whatsoever. Her depression was honest. Meghan knew that Faye deserved to have at least that to her name.

Faye wasn't heartless. She was just lost.

"Faye!" Meghan shouted.

The girl didn't move, nor did she answer. Nothing changed.

Meghan came closer.

"Faye! Please listen!"

Still no reply. Meghan advanced even more, until she was close to being directly on the other side of the picnic table.

"Faye. Come on. Just come with me. Get out of this rain." Meghan breathed one more time. She lifted the umbrella, which she now realized she'd neglected to open - and opened it now.

Faye saw its shadow. Meghan's shadow. It was unmoving.

Slowly, she turned her head, showing half of a wet, resigned,

beaten face. Tears crossed courses with raindrops as they trickled down the girl's cheeks, streaming away from her desperate eyes. Faye turned her gaze, forlorn, on Meghan, breathing in, then breathing out...

And then, she surrendered.

Faye pushed herself up, walking over, and grabbed hold of the umbrella. She stood there until Meghan began to walk. Then, she walked with her.

Meghan felt Faye's nearness and heard her breathing as they stepped together, huddled under the umbrella. No one said anything, no one looked at the other's face. Faye only stared down at hers and Meghan's feet as they moved, while Meghan herself looked up and ahead and guided their way. They walked through the park and out into the town, weaving around the busy people. They walked back into the residential district, uphill, past every little yellow or white or brown cottage, until they came to the most familiar one of all.

Meghan opened the gate, and they walked on through. When they reached the door, Meghan turned the knob. She stepped aside to let Faye go in, and then followed in herself.

Faye stood there, in the entryway, with Meghan behind her, until Emma looked up from her kitchen work and saw her daughter's face. Instantly, Emma flew over, catching her daughter in a tight embrace. Laurence, who'd seen her fly by, came out of the den - and was soon doing the same thing.

And Meghan watched them for a minute, before hanging up her coat, and going up the stairs.

Jocelyn had been to a great many balls to say the least, and had chaperoned a considerable portion of them. But almost never in her life had she anticipated attending a ball of this importance.

If you asked her why this ball was so important, it's uncertain whether she could give an exact answer. She didn't know for sure herself, though she did have a few ideas floating around. But mainly, it was just an overwhelming feeling of change, a flipping over and shaking out.

What was it? Who knew. But certainly, it must be worth preparing for.

Which she was doing. Of course, her outfit for the affair had long since been arranged, and she planned on sporting a regally modest hairstyle, as she always did. And then there was the ball itself - she'd been a main consult on the committee, helping with preparations for over a month. She had agreed from the beginning that Everston Mansion would be a lovely spot, with its excellent ballroom and polished decor. The mansion itself had been there since 1875, but had been so well maintained and so well built in the first place that one would almost assume that it was brand new, and only made to look old. A perfect destination.

There would be many important people there as well. It was a welcome fact that Henry would be accompanying her, which would surely force him to take his mind off his work for at least a short while. Of course, however, Glynnis and Alistair would be attending as well, being that it was Clarissa's last Winter Ball before leaving Jasperstone Academy. She knew that the two also had other reasons for coming along, such as to make absolute sure that at least one of them was orbiting around Henry the entire time.

Perhaps the "mind off work" idea was a bit too much to hope for.

In any case, one aspect of the ball seemed to excite Jocelyn more than anything else - the girl from New York, who'd be wearing her dress.

Yes, Jocelyn had told a little white lie. She hadn't in fact found the dress in a sweet little boutique, as she'd said - but rather had procured it from the recesses of her closet. Like that mansion, the ivory dress had been so well made and well kept that it hadn't altered a bit since she'd worn it in 1961.

Well kept? It had been exceptionally kept. And NO ONE, not even Henry, knew who the dress truly belonged to. Not that it had ever really been a secret, per se, but...what interest would a boy have in frilly things like that anyway?

Of course, traditionally, it would be assumed that Clarissa, her future step-granddaughter, should be the rightful owner and wearer of such a priceless item. But something had told Jocelyn that Meghan would appreciate it more. And besides, the dress had been made for a petite girl, which Meghan was - and Clarissa was not.

Did it matter whether or not that beautiful dress went to a family member? She supposed not. At least, it shouldn't matter. What should matter is whether or not Jocelyn deemed the recipient deserving of it enough. Miss Reynolds fit that requirement. And perhaps...she might fit other criteria as well.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps Clarissa was the closest thing she'd ever have to a grandchild. Or maybe...

Or maybe neither of which was true.

Clarissa wouldn't show it, but inside, she was positively fuming.

Why should she be fuming, you ask? She had only just succeeded in not only bashing the life of...what was her name...Fanny Wizpot, but had also been able to finally, FINALLY crack Meghan Reynolds. Hadn't she done what she'd set out to do? Hadn't she accomplished her long-awaited revenge?

Well, not quite.

True, she had been able to cause two girls she hated TOTAL HUMILIATION. She had turned the blonde into a raving monster (much to Clarissa's entertainment), and had finally gotten that wretched foreigner to shed those sweet, sweet tears.

But had either one of them transferred schools, or better, left the country? No. Had both of them really possessed the audacity to actually show up at school the very next day? Why, indeed they had. And had that mysterious envelope of obvious importance been kept out of her reach, despite the fact that Clarissa still had ownership of a certain precious piece of jewelry?

It had.

And what was more, one of them - and in Clarissa's mind, the worse of the two - would be at that ball, sharing her dance floor, tomorrow night. And accompanying her would be the gorgeous, rich, irresistible boy who, like the dance floor, should rightfully be hers. And this made Clarissa's cheeks burn with fury more than anything else.

It was almost too much for Clarissa to bear. Meghan Reynolds had positively taken over her world. She'd overtaken Clarissa's rank at Jasperstone Academy, shoved her off the covers of every magazine in London and beyond, and had even gone so far as to set her grimy foot in Dashwood manor, to converse with Clarissa's family. Chess with Daddy. Tea with Grandmumsie. Every single solitary thing that Clarissa couldn't be bothered with but should still be entitled to.

But having Lucas as well...that tore it. That just TORE IT.

Miss Reynolds had been given every chance to break it off with him. She'd been threatened several times - that should've been enough to alert any sensible person to back off and surrender what didn't belong to them. Granted, she was an American, and a mindless American at that, and so therefore was in fact a bit short of sensible - but dumbness was not an excuse. Meghan knew who her superiors were.

And yet, she'd kept on. She'd stayed with Luke, despite knowing that it wasn't her place. This alone, even aside from her other breaches of boundary, was enough to deserve a thorough roasting and disposal. Even so, Meghan had chosen to ignore the warnings and have her own way.

But no more. NO MORE.

The girl had crossed the line a long time ago, and had set a ticking time bomb in Clarissa the moment she'd slammed into her that first day. Now, it was about to go off. It was high time that wretch be destroyed, once and for all.

And tomorrow night, she would be. Of that, Clarissa was quite sure.

Keep your eyes open for the next chapter. Eet ees especial.

-rf-