Anew: Book Three: Entwined (24 page)

Amelia

M
y grand-mother knocks on the door to my room just as
I finish talking with Ian. Still distracted by thoughts of him, I call out
absently. “Come in.”

She does so, spies me lying in bed,
and smiles. “Good morning, darling girl. Did you sleep well?”

Belatedly, I realize that both
sides of my bed show clear signs of having been occupied last night. Not to mention
that most of the covers are half-on, half-off, and one of the pillows has somehow
made it all the way to the other side of the room.

Vividly aware that I’m flushing, I
pull the sheet up to my chin and say, “Very well, thank you.”

It’s not quite a lie. The few hours
of rest that I did get when Ian and I dozed were very restorative. I feel
buoyant, as though every weight and worry has been taken from me. The world is
brighter, the air sweeter, reality has never been lovelier or more enticing.

“Good,” she says. “We really must
get started. The wedding consultant will be here in an hour. Zosimo is coming
as well. You remember him?”

How could I not? Society’s reigning
couturier designed my wardrobe when I first arrived in the city. The tyrant
with spiked red hair and pale skin is exhausting but undeniably brilliant.

“Before then,” my grand-mother goes
on, “you should have some breakfast and try to organize your thoughts.”

“Of course, definitely.”

I’d get up but I’m not wearing
anything. The diaphanous nightie that I had on is fortunately not in sight. I
think it may be buried somewhere under the covers bunched at the foot of the
bed.

Adele’s smile deepens. She glances
toward the balcony doors, still standing open, and says, “I’ll leave you to get
ready.”

When she’s gone, I jump out of bed
and hurry into the bathroom. A quick shower leaves me feeling more alert and at
least a little in control, although I suspect the latter will prove to be an
illusion. Already I feel as though the wedding preparations have taken on a
life of their own despite the fact that they’ve barely begun.

By the time I make it downstairs to
the small family dining room, my stomach is rumbling. I happily accept servings
of scrambled eggs, toast, and fresh fruit from the young footman who is back on
duty. My tea is still brewing as Adele bustles in.

“We really must concentrate on the
dress today,” she declares without preamble. “That will take the most time. But
we also must begin drawing up the guest list. Do you and Ian have any
particular preferences--big, little, strictly family and friends, just some
business associates?”

The corners of her mouth twitch.
“Or an all-out extravaganza that will set the city back on its ear and still be
talked about a decade from now?”

I shrug. “Ian said to do whatever I
want but honestly, I don’t feel right about that. This is his wedding, too.”

My grand-mother nods in approval. “I’ve
already spoken with Helene and Marianne. Ian called them this morning. They’re
thrilled, of course. We can expect them shortly. I’m sure they’ll have a great
deal to contribute.”

I’m pleased that he wasted no time
telling his mother and sister, and I’m looking forward to their help. Perhaps
this won’t be so daunting after all.

I have just enough time to eat most
of my breakfast before the wedding consultant arrives, trailed by three of her
staff. Barely have we been introduced than Zosimo and his assistants descend on
us. Much trilling and air kissing follows.

“Bellithima!” Zosimo exclaims with
the affected lisp that is as popular among certain members of the elite as it
is ear-clenching to me. “Did I not thay you were going to be the greateth
succeth? And now here you are, making the most brilliant marriage and tho
quickly!”

He cups a hand to his ear and
pantomimes listening. “Do you hear that? It’th the thound of teeth gnathing all
over town! The elusive Ian Slade brought to heel at lath!” He laughs
delightedly.

I fake a smile that turns real as
Helene and Marianne arrive. Ian’s sister doesn’t hesitate to elbow Zosimo
aside. She’s all but jumping up and down with glee.

 “I just knew it!” she exclaims. “That
night when we were all at the Crystal Palace, Ian couldn’t take his eyes off
you.”

The belated memory of how that night
ended--in blood and terror--makes her pause but after a moment she shrugs it
off and goes right on.

“He’s a wonderful brother and he’s
going to make a fantastic husband. Have you decided if you’re going to be
staying in the city most of the time or do you prefer the palazzo? It’s so
beautiful there--”

“Let her breathe, Marianne!” Ian’s
mother says with a laugh. Helene enfolds me in a gentle hug. “I’m the luckiest
woman one earth to gain you as a daughter,” she says. “Ian couldn’t have made a
better choice.”

Tears sting my eyes. In all the
excitement of Ian’s proposal, I haven’t had a chance to think how my family is
expanding. I am gaining not only a husband but a mother-in-law, the closest I
will ever have to a mother, as well as a sister. To have come so far from my
isolated beginnings fills me with awed gratitude.

I can’t help but smile as I step
back and look at the two women. Marianne is about my age--blond, slim, simply
lovely. Helene is about fifty, also blond and slim with beauty all her own. I
think of what she survived in her marriage to Ian’s father and my admiration
for her swells.

We settle in the conservatory at
the back of the house, which Adele declares to be the command center. A long table
has been cleared and chairs brought in. The consultant--a whippet-thin woman with
a head of bleached white hair cropped short--has her minions setting up what
looks like a large box six feet high and as wide.

Her name is Heidi Verplanck, of the
New Amsterdam Verplancks, Adele tells me in a whispered aside. Whey emigrated
to the fringes of the New World four hundred years ago and settled in the city
when it was little more than a cluster of buildings huddled at the southern tip
of the island. I gather that no Verplanck has thought much of the waves of ‘new
money’ that have been arriving ever since and Heidi is no exception. However,
she has made it her mission in life to assure that members of the city’s elite,
whoever they may be, show proper respect for ceremony and etiquette when they
marry.

I’m wondering what the purpose of
the box could be when suddenly a vision of myself in an extraordinary
confection of gold silk and tulle appears within it, turning slowly so that all
sides of me can be seen. The illusion created by the hologram is eerily perfect,
if alarming. I look as though I’m wearing the creation of a fairy godmother in
the grip of a vicious hangover.

“We will do a preliminary
run-through of gowns using the holo-chamber,” Miss Verplank decrees with a firm
look at Zosimo.

“I don’t approve of thuch thingth,”
he says with a sniff. “But with the thchedule what it ith--” He sighs with the resignation
of an artist marooned in a crass, unfeeling world.

With a quick nod, Miss Verplanck
continues. “I’m sure we are all well aware that time is of the essence.
Ordinarily, I would never have agreed to take on such a schedule but--” She smiles
faintly in a gesture I fear may crack her face. “--I do love a challenge. Let
us begin.”

Abruptly, she claps her hands,
once, loudly. The sound makes us all jump. I give my attention to the
holo-chamber.

For the next half-hour, as Zosimo
alternately sighs with delight and grumbles in my ear, I watch a succession of
gowns that range from the classic to the outrightly bizarre. Very quickly, I
reject the more outré designs. Out go the winged ensembles in a range of colors
from snowy white to neon pink. So, too, anything reminiscent of Marie
Antoinette, Marilyn Monroe, or a sexy vampire, the cyclical craze for the
latter having returned yet again much as locusts always do.

“People seriously wear these
things?” I ask Heidi, as she now tells me to call her. I gather I’ve won a
measure of her approval.

“Not at my weddings,” she sniffs,
looking down the long blade of her nose. Even Zosimo seems cowed by her. “Thank
you for saving the time it would have taken me to talk you out of the unsuitable.
Now let’s get on with it.”

At last, I find myself looking at
gowns that I can actually imagine wearing. All beautiful, all classic but one
in particular catches my attention.

“Wait,” I say before it can go by.

The display halts. I stand up and
walk toward the holo-chamber. The gown I’m looking at is simplicity itself, at
least at first glance. Long-sleeved and off-the-shoulder with a fitted bodice
and skirt, it is made of ivory moiré silk encrusted with glittering crystal
beads. As I peer more closely, I realize that the subtle design of the
needlework resembles the unfolding wings of a butterfly.

I smile as I think of myself,
breaking free of the chrysalis that was the gestation chamber, rising into the
world, drawn by Ian’s passion and love. He is the sun at the center of my
being. I look down at the ring he placed on my finger as the overwhelming fact
that I will soon be his wife unfurls within me.

“This one,” I murmur.

Zosimo sighs dramatically. “What
did I thay?” he demands of no one in particular. “Only the rareth and lovelieth
for thith rare and lovely lady. It can’t be done in time, of courth. The
beadwork alone--” He waves a hand suggesting the eons of time needed to
accomplish such a work of art. “But we will do it all the thame. For you,
Bellithima, only you!”

He snaps his fingers and at once I
am swarmed by his assistants wielding handheld devices that they pass in every
direction a few inches from my body. Zosimo looks at the results and frowns.

“You have loth weight,” he says
accusingly.

Terrified that this will somehow
extend the proceedings, I say, “I’ll gain it back, I promise.”

He seems satisfied by that, if only
reluctantly. We move on to the vital matters of the head piece, veil, gloves,
undergarments, shoes, stockings, on and on and on until I catch myself entertaining
fantasies of escape.

If Ian can climb up to a balcony,
surely I can shimmy out a window, especially one that’s on the ground floor. A
quick dash across the garden, a brisk trot down Fifth Avenue and before I know
it, I could be at Pinnacle House. I’d be safe there.

“Amelia?” My grand-mother’s gentle
voice draws me from my reverie. “You look a bit pale, dear.” She waves a hand,
summoning a servant who is hovering nearby. “Tea, I think. And something to
eat.”

We all murmur appreciatively except
for Zosimo who rises and declares. “Alath, I muth go. Tho much to do, tho
little time!” He bends over my hand. “Until anon, Bellithima.”

I’m wondering when ‘anon’ is as he
exits with his fashionable heel-to-toe gait, followed by his assistants who
trail after him like so many ruffled goslings.

“We’ve made wonderful progress,”
Helene says. She beams me a smile.

“Oh, yes,” Heidi mutters. “Nothing left
but the date, guest list, venue, music, flowers, food, invitations, attendants…”

Helene, Marianne, and my
grand-mother exchange a look that I cannot decipher. Quietly, Adele says, “As
to the guest list, while I can certainly understand the temptation to have an
intimate family wedding, there is something to be said for the blow-out
approach.”

“Indeed,” Helene says. “A great
deal to be said.”

Off hand, I can’t think of a single
reason to want to be married before a crowd of strangers. I expect Heidi to jump
in with something about how much time it takes to arrange a big wedding rather
than a small one but she doesn’t say a word. Silently, I wait for the others to
explain themselves.

“Perhaps Amelia isn’t comfortable
with anything like that,” Marianne ventures.

The two older women shot her a
chiding look and go right on as though she hasn’t spoken.

“One has to consider the purpose of
a wedding,” Adele says.

Helene nods in agreement. “Indeed,
for the longest time, it was so that others could bear witness to the marriage
and by their presence, indicate their acceptance of it.”

“That was in the past,” Marianne
says. She’s not backing down.

I appreciate her taking what she
rightly thinks is my side but I also suspect what lies behind Adele’s words. Given
Ian’s intention to bring about change in our society, the more supporters he
can attract, the better. I’m not so naïve as to think that everyone who comes
to our wedding will become a friend, but I can also see the potential to bring
at least a few to our side.

Especially if--

“I’ll have to discuss this with
Ian,” I say. A sudden thought has occurred to me that, as appealing as it is, I
cannot in good conscience act on without his approval.

“Best do so quickly then,” Heidi
interjects. “The invitations will be going out shockingly late as it is.”