The woman measured Jane and presented them all with flutes of champagne. Another brought Jane a dress on a silk hanger to try on.
One of the women helped Jane into the dress. “Made in the art deco style. We’ve cut the silk crepe on the bias.” They returned to Sofia and Derek, and Jane peered at her reflection in the mirror. A white angel peered back at her.
“What is this wet stuff coming out of my eyes?” Sofia was smiling at Jane.
“What color is this?” Jane asked, gazing at her reflection. The wedding dresses from her own world abounded in shades of blue, striped with gold, cream, lemon.
“Ivory. Perfect for a May wedding,” the shop assistant said.
“You’ve made all the dresses in white,” Jane said.
“Yes. They are wedding dresses, miss,” the woman replied.
“Jane, wedding dresses are white now,” Sofia said. “White means purity. It symbolizes that the bride is a virgin.”
“Oh, I see,” Jane said, blushing.
“We like to pretend.”
“Yes,” Jane said. She bowed her head.
“How do you feel?” one of the women asked Jane.
Jane shrugged and checked her reflection once more. How did she feel? The beautiful white dress seemed to float across her body. Although her life up until this point had been preoccupied with procuring and acquiring a husband, she had never imagined what it involved once she achieved the elusive prize. She had never before pictured herself in wedding clothes, nor as a wife.
“How should one feel?” she said.
“Triumphant?” Sofia said. “You look stunning. Fred will love it.” She winked at Jane and turned to the shop assistant. “Now that’s sorted, I shall be trying on bridesmaids’ dresses. If we’re going art deco, then I want Gatsby—the seventies one. I want classy. I want diamond brooches, I want pearl earrings, I want Bonnie and Clyde. Show this to me.”
The woman rushed off and Sofia followed her with more directions.
Jane stared at her image in the mirror.
“You do look beautiful,” Derek said to her. “No lies.” He smiled and nodded his head toward Sofia on the other side of the room.
“Thank you,” Jane replied. “Are you married, Derek?”
“Four years,” he said with a smile. He held up his hand. A gold wedding band graced his finger.
“Congratulations,” Jane said. “And your wife. Did she wear something similar to this on your wedding day?” She pointed to her dress.
“My husband, actually.”
“Oh,” Jane said. She inhaled, staring at him.
“And he did want to wear something similar, but luckily I talked him out of it.” He chuckled with a kind voice.
Jane’s head whirred. “You married . . . a man?”
“Yes. Are you okay?”
“Uncle Anthony,” Jane replied. She found herself overcome with such a feeling she heard herself make a little gasp.
“I’m sorry?”
“I had a godfather named Anthony. A friend of the family. My favorite. He practiced the law and was an adroit man. He wrote great letters. Everyone feted him at parties; he entertained all with his warmth and good humor and his generous gifts. He had a friend, a gentleman named Matthew. One day, a neighbor . . . discovered him and Matthew. His business went under. They went abroad. I was told not to write to him. His name was never mentioned again by any of us.”
“I’m so sorry,” Derek said. His face bore a surprised look, and he seemed to study Jane with new eyes.
Jane smiled at him. “Have you known such things, Derek?”
He shrugged. “My father has not spoken to me since I told him.”
“Goodness.”
“But I do live with the man I love.” He smiled.
Jane looked at her reflection once more. The attendants placed her on a pedestal, so all could view the full length of the dress. She felt like a statue.
“Uncle Anthony stayed with his friend,” she said. “I believe they were happy.” She forced her face into a bright smile. “I wish you agency and joy in your life, sir. You are living the life you choose, regardless of what other people think. May the rest of us possess half your courage.”
“Oh,” Derek replied. “Thank you.” He smiled.
Sofia and the others returned. “Well, what do you think?”
Jane wiped a tear. Derek did also. The shop people cooed. “Look at her! She is so happy,” they sang.
“Would the mother of the bride approve?” one of them asked.
“I don’t know. What do you think, Jane?” Sofia asked in a soft voice.
“I think she would smile,” Jane said.
“Where is she?” one attendant asked.
“She is not here,” Sofia answered in a stern voice, halting any further questions on the subject. Jane did not meet her eye.
“Let’s take a picture for your mum.” They placed a veil on Jane’s head and gave her a flower. She posed for the picture. Derek took her hand as she did so and squeezed it, and she found herself wiping another tear.
Chapter Fifty-One
The next morning, Fred bundled through the front door with a pile of envelopes.
“What is this?” he said. He held an envelope up to Jane’s face.
“It appears to be the post,” Jane said. She read the address on the front of the envelope. “It’s a letter. Addressed to you.”
“It’s from Blackheath James,” Fred said.
“If you say so,” Jane replied.
“Why am I getting a letter from a publisher?” Fred asked her, his eyes wide. “I’ve never sent them anything.”
“And yet here we are,” Jane said. She raised her chin and said nothing more.
Fred looked at the envelope once more. “How dare you,” Fred said, his voice filled with outrage, though he stared at the envelope longingly.
“Will you open it?” Jane asked.
“I’m going to throw it in the bin,” he replied. He did as such, though his action resembled more a careful placing in the receptacle, away from food scraps.
“You feel no curiosity as to its contents?” Jane asked.
“Nope.” He looked at the rubbish pile with a mournful stare.
“It looks foolish, lying there in the refuse, unopened,” Jane said.
Fred paced about the room. He snatched the envelope up, harrumphed at Jane, and tore
