February 22nd, 1894 - Gladrags

Well that had escalated quickly.

Greer was setting up for the appointment with Miss Farley and still unsure as to how this was all going to go. She would mind her manners, for Fortitude's sake, but it would be a bit of a stretch. Frankly, she was all still baffled by the entire situation and would never quite understand how people got themselves into this situation. It all felt rather off to her and she knew that if she was Miss Farley, she would have certainly done things differently. Too late to back out now though, so Greer would put on her best customer service face and do her best to get this dress made in time.

The door opened, bringing with it the goddamn cold and the fresh face of the woman who would be joining her extended family. What a mess. Greer put on her best welcoming smile to greet Miss Farley and her companions. "Congratulations," It felt like the right thing to say? Greer still wasn't sure. "My name is Greer Owens, I'm Fortitude's cousin," second cousin? Something removed? Honestly cousin was just easier. "Why don't you come back to my office and we can discuss your vision for your dress." Greer assumed there would be something to go on at the very least. She could pull something out of nothing most of the time, but there had to be a baseline to go off of; a color, a silhouette, a flower, anything.

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@"Jemima Farley"

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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It had been the worst week of her life by far. Jemima would not have left the house if she didn’t have to. Not that being at home was not its own kind of punishment, where her parents were fretting about things and conversations went deathly quiet the moment she came in the room and she was too restless to concentrate on anything.

But the outside world was probably worse: exchanging a prison cell for being gawked at like she was on show at the circus. Being bulwarked by her mother (matter-of-fact and determined, head held high) on one side and a maid (nonchalant, bored) on the other made her feel no more protected and no less conspicuous. She was sure she could feel eyes on her wherever she went, muttered comments designed to be overheard. She understood why, of course. If she were a bystander she would have been thinking the same things herself.

As they entered Gladrags’, a little of the pressure lifted off her sagging shoulders, and her head inched a fraction upwards from where she had been diligently observing the patch of floor just in front of her feet. She wasn’t ready for this, by any means: because she was going to be married to a man she didn’t even know – they hadn’t so much as spoken since that night – and his cousin, whom she also didn’t know in the slightest, was already talking about her vision of the dress.

Jemima had imagined the day she would get married countless times before, storing up all her hopes for the moment and sure that it would be the most exciting, dreamlike time of all her life. It did not feel that way yet. Now that she was here, she was fiddling nervously with the hem of her glove and counting the minutes. But if this was Mr. Greengrass’ cousin, congratulating her and smiling, then she would have to put on a brave face somehow, so that she didn’t make their first impressions any worse than they already were. “Jemima,” she said with some effort, trying to make the smile stick. “It’s nice to meet you – and thank you for all your help.” She followed the blonde and dutifully took a seat, glancing around the room so as not to look like she was watching Miss Owens too closely. Dresses, Jemima. Surely she could talk about dresses.

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"Don't think anything of it," Greer was paying back a debt of gratitude, because she was thankful that they had family, as extended as they were, to take her and Lorelei in at their lowest point. It was fucking cold here and she wasn't sure she wanted to stay, but the Greengrass family had been kind to them and so Greer would do whatever it was that she could do to make this any easier, even if she didn't understand it at all.

Greer scooted around behind her small desk, a blank piece of parchment already started with a base sketch for the dress. Adding the silhouette was the easy part, if Jemima had something in mind. "Did you have something in mind? A color? Any special designs? Embroidery?" The last was her specialty, but it was also the most time consuming and the one thing Greer really couldn't use magic or a machine to go faster. "White has been the trend, but it's not necessary." Greer still preferred colors, a dress that could be worn again in the future, rather than the white of a debutante or wedding, but that was because she held the practicality of clothes over most else.

Having jumped right into it, Greer finally took a moment to take a good look at Miss Farley. Ugh. She looked a little like a lost puppy. In a rare show of empathy, Greer's expression softened. "How about some tea?" Greer should have started with that, she realized, before assaulting the young (younger than her? No, unlikely...) woman with questions about something most women held very precious.

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She had always been a little at the mercy of overthinking, so Jemima certainly would think something of it, thank you. But she relaxed another infinitesimal fraction to know that Miss Owens was willing to help. Family or not, the situation was bad enough that she was sure eyebrows had been raised, and that that was not a given. Whatever the rest of the Greengrass family thought of her and of the impending wedding was – well, she would find out sooner than later, although she was half afraid to know.

And she bit her lip at the mention of white. She had worn white at her debut, like every other girl; she knew what it symbolised, and what people supposed she was now. And she – wasn’t any less pure and innocent than she had been at her debut, but – she had to imagine people might think differently. She liked colour, though, and might have been excited at the prospect of a flattering new gown for her wardrobe, otherwise...

But she had still frozen up at the whole prospect of it, until her mother cleared her throat in a gentle prompting, and Jemima realised Miss Owens had asked about tea. “Oh, yes please,” she agreed, feeling herself come a little back to life as she nodded. “And – really whatever you can manage in a fortnight, I suppose,” she said shyly, because she could hardly ask for the world. People would only have so much time and patience – and Jemima didn’t need to ask to know that her parents were hardly going to reward her for the mess she had put them in with anything too extravagant. “And whatever you think is best,” she ventured, because Miss Owens probably knew better what was fashionable and she did not want to be any trouble. “Something in silk? And – maybe ivory?”

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Greer got back up to poke her head out of her office and ask the shop hand to start the kettle. It wasn't uncommon for those she was going to have a decently long appointment with to have a little refreshment during. As she sat back down, Greer pulled her sketching supplies from her desk, jotting down the ivory silk. "That'll be lovely with your complexion." She assured Miss Farley with a smile. This was far from her usual countenance during an appointment; Greer was all business and she wasn't afraid to tactfully tell the person she was working with that they should do something else instead. Today she was doing her best to make everyone comfortable and hopefully still come up with something Miss Farley would like.

"I can do quite a bit in a fortnight." Greer was no miracle worker, but she would be able to do an acceptable dress that was simple, understated, but classic. "I think a slimmer skirt would work well, with a train of course," less fabric would be easier, but the general lines of dresses were less bustle-y these days, thank Merlin. Greer was already sketching as she spoke. "Do you have any thoughts on a silhouette up top?" The larger sleeves were en vogue but Greer thought them to be somewhat impractical. Plus this was a wedding gown. A spring wedding would see Greer doing a jacket over the gown, but that might be out of her timeline. Maybe though, if she could work quickly enough and Miss Farley didn't want too much embellishment. "I have some new, absolutely beautiful lace, and I could do some embroidery along the neckline." Greer thought the sleeves in lace would be nice.

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The compliment cheered her slightly, even if it was all professional politeness. A kind word had rocketed in value to her, in the past few days; any praise was a small speck of something to weather the storm of people supposing she was a shameless flirt. And maybe the prospect of a fine new dress would help soothe the ache in the smallest of ways. She could throw herself into this, if she only tried – she may as well imagine she was marrying Jack in a fortnight, if she liked. It would hurt nobody but her to pretend it.

“Probably nothing too dramatic,” Jemima said, of silhouettes, though she nodded of course to the train; besides that, she did not want to add daring fashion statements to her list of reasons people were talking about her. She would have liked something floaty, she thought, but still demure: pretty, but not provocative. (She hadn’t quite erased the feeling of being half-dressed before him and the Minister’s wife, so – the more restrained, the better.) “I should like lace,” she agreed, eyes a little more alight, “and embroidery. But I suppose it should be something I can wear again.” (She could not imagine her husband-to-be would be delighted to fawn over her or spoil her with a new wardrobe anytime soon, particularly. So she would be sensible, and make this worthwhile.)

“Have you worked here long?” Jemima ventured curiously, watching her sketch, because she was sure she had never met this seamstress before.

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Greer was getting an easy picture in her head, an easy, more classic wedding silhouette, something to fit the time of year in addition to the occasion. Embroidery along the neckline and the sleeves, slim skirt with some lace overlay, maybe an airy layer over the satin, some lace along the train. It was fairly easy to envision. The tea was brought in while she worked, and she motioned for her guests to take what they would like.

She listened as she sketched, nodding along. "If you like, after the wedding, should you like me to change the color afterward I certainly can, to make it more of a staple piece." Color charms were her other specialty, at least in women's clothing. Greer was actually a far better men's tailor, but she wasn't about to say that aloud at this point in time.

"No, my sister and I moved here in early October after the loss of our parents." Greer had always been up front about the facts, though this time was a little less harsh in her delivery. "My father was the cousin of Mrs. Greengrass, they were the closest family we had, so they took us in." She still thought unnecessarily, but wasn't about to add that either. "I've been a seamstress for a few years now." Starting apprenticing in the summers between her last couple of years at school, then taking on a position full time once she'd graduated. Embroidering had been something she'd done her whole life though; it was therapeutic to stab things but still make it pretty in the end.

"There, what do you think?" Greer turned the the sketch toward Miss Farley with a small smile. "Would you like a long veil or short one? We can look at fabrics next, unless you'd like changes?"

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“Oh, that would be lovely,” she agreed, at the prospect of colour-changing. (She was not sure how fond she would be of opening her wardrobe only to see the wedding dress in plain view every day for the rest of her life, however well the dress turned out – so something not so tied to the memory of this particularly inauspicious beginning might would be more bearable, probably.)

And she breathed out a sigh of sympathy, brow furrowed and lips downturning at Miss Owens’ explanation. “I’m sorry,” she said, with feeling. Other people’s tragedies at least pulled her out of her own self-pity for a moment... and this at least told Jemima something new about Mr. Greengrass, too. And – she pinkened – “I suppose we will be living together soon, then?” (She was trying not to sound overtly surprised by this, because in theory she ought to be more aware of Mr. Greengrass’ life, of what she was stepping into – but either way this was the first time she and his cousin had met, so it felt safe enough to say.) Jemima tried to smile in a way that suggested she was delighted by the prospect. It was not quite as vibrant as she liked, but she took a quick sip of tea to cover it, and fortunately could let her eyes fall on the sketch.

“Oooh,” she cooed in admiration, softening at the design. “It looks perfect. And – short, I think,” Jemima added, biting her lip. “I shouldn’t like another excuse to trip up.” She had no intention of causing any more scenes, and she was nervous enough as it was.

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Greer made a few more notes on the sketch about the color change and the veil, and tucked it aside. "Thank you," she smiled softly at Miss Farley. She wasn't very good accepting condolences or compliments so kept it simple.

"Oh," of course she would assume that. "No, my sister and will be finding a new place." Greer assured her. "It's been the plan all along, we just needed to get back on our feet." She hurried on to explain, hoping that nobody assumed they were being kicked out. "You'll want to enjoy the house without the lot of us." Miss Farley would still have Noble, Clementine and Grace to contend with, but that made sense, unmarried sisters were still the obligation of the oldest brother.

Without having touched any tea herself, Greer stood from behind her small desk. "Come, let's look at some fabrics." This was the fun part. She motioned for the ladies to join her and stepped out onto the shop floor where all of the display fabrics were available. "Over here might be a good place to start." They shop was loosely organized by color, sometimes by fabric type, but most of the nicer, wedding fabrics were near the window. "See anything you like?" She gestured for Miss Farley to take a look while she moved to pull the previously mentioned lace from its shelf.

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“Oh, well, if you’re sure – I would not want to, um, upset any plans,” Jemima offered, trying to be polite. In spite of all the plans she had already upended, obviously. And she tried not to flush at the prospect of enjoying the house, because she was sure people would assume that, keep assuming all kinds of things, based on how this engagement had begun. Merlin, she hoped society wouldn’t think she had practically turned the Greengrasses’ cousins out of the house the moment she moved in, after all Miss Greer was doing for her here.

(Certainly, she was worried about moving in with the rest of the Greengrasses regardless, but she could see the positives as well as the negatives. It would be – sufficiently awkward even to live with Mr. Greengrass alone, after all, even without people to pretend to.)

But she pushed all thought of the future out of her mind for now, and concentrated on the fabrics in front of her, running her fingers over the samples she was drawn to, and holding them up against her skin tone to see. She envisioned herself in the half-sketched dress; maybe, indulgently, imagined what Jack would remark about her in it. “I like – these two, I think,” she said, pointing out a pair of samples, too indecisive to pick between them. She would defer to the seamstress, here. “Whichever looks best with the lace.”

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"No, not at all. The Greengrass family has been very kind in helping us get back on our feet and we are, so it was time we found our own place anyway." Greer was not so used to being around so many people all of the time that she still hadn't quite adjusted, so was looking forward to the change. The family dinners were the one thing she did sort of enjoy and would miss those, but she and Fortitude had agreed they would be welcome back to join every once in a while, which was all she really could ask for.

With the lace in hand, she let Miss Farley look over the selection. As she made her choice, Greer unrolled the bolt a little bit to hold the lace as an overlay for the two fabrics indicated as the top choices. "Here's what it would look like with the lace." She offered, draping it in easy view. She knew which she would pick, they colors were just a bit closer that it would look seamless when done right, but it was ultimately up to Miss Farley.

"Which do you like?" Geer asked as she snuck in to separate the two fabrics from one another, so Miss Farley could see them individually.

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Miss Owens was being so very accommodating and so genuinely helpful that Jemima wanted nothing in the world than to be a good customer and model and bride-to-be – to give her no trouble and nothing to scoff at in the slightest – and yet she still found herself peering between the two similar fabrics against the lace helplessly.

This was almost the first decision she had been at liberty to make about the wedding and the rest of it. (Not the date, not the locale, not even the groom –) So Jemima ought to have leapt at the opportunity to have some control, some say in the whole wreck of an affair, but as she stood there she felt tears – senseless, impulsive, ungrateful tears – welling up at the back of her eyes and her throat. One small decision in her lap, just one, and she was quite sure she would get this one wrong.

No, she wouldn’t make this more of an ordeal than it had to be. Jemima lifted her hand to her face, feigning that the sudden sniffle had come from a stifled sneeze and not utter despair, and forced a smile. “I’m – I don’t know the fashion,” she said, trying to snap out of it before her mother could round on her from across the shop and catch sight of her wobbling. She blinked away the tears before they fell and offered Miss Owens a swift beseeching look. “Truly. Either will do.”

What was the point of her deciding, anyway? Some stupid illusion of choice.

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Oh Merlin's beard. Miss Farley looked overcome and as somebody who hadn't cried in near a decade, not even after the loss of her parents, Greer didn't exactly know what to do as the unshed tears collected in her future cousin's eyes. What had Ford done? This was not the same look she saw in every other bride she had ever worked with. Nerves certainly, but this went beyond that. Greer was not a naturally empathetic person, nor did she truly understand what was at play here, but she knew at least where she stood and what little she could do about it.

Gently, she reached out and laid her hand on Jemima's arm. In the grand scheme of things, Greer wasn't doing much but offering the one thing she was good at. She may not have been very good at exhibiting kindness, but she was good with gratitude and she owed the Greengrass family quite a bit. "Let's do this one, it has a bit less shine to it." Greer offered her a small smile and showed her preferred fabric with the lace. It really would look lovely together. "I'd like to make you something for after, too. While you're away on your honeymoon. Just a day dress or something you could wear to dinner." Everything was better in a new dress. The trousseau itself was rather straightforward and Greer thought they both might die of embarrassment if they had to discuss nightgowns and chemises right now. Greer could make those with little input based on current fashions as soon as she found out Miss Farley's favorite colors.

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   Jemima Greengrass

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The logical, practical, skeptical voice at the back of Jemima’s mind – it had begun sounding more than a little like her father’s flatly disappointed tone, nowadays – told her that Miss Owens, Greer, was being more polite than sincere.

But Jemima would rather cling to that kindness without regard for it being real or feigned. It was about all that was keeping her afloat right now, that and the reassuring touch to her arm. She could hear her mother wandering over; she knew she had to put on a brave face again. So she nodded, and forced herself away from that brink of tears as best she could, and allowed herself to be childishly excited for the thought of another new dress – one entirely separate from all the associated expectations of a wedding gown.

She ought to have protested the offer, but Jemima really didn’t have enough patience to act her way through everything. She had done a terrible job of seeming excited about anything else. “I’d like that. That’s so kind of you, Miss – Greer. Really, thank you.”

If the Greengrasses were half as generous as their cousin, Jemima supposed she could think of far worse families to marry into.

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