An Irishman's Pledge

Chapter 3

The appointment at the dressmakers turned out to be fitting for Micara's wedding gown. Madame Freeman had ordered no less than a dozen bolts of fabric for Micara to choose from and the first three, a selection from Quebec, had finally arrived. The others, imports from England and France, would take several more weeks. But until they arrived, there was still much to do in preparation. A pattern had been made and a sample put together of basted muslin. And of course Madame Freeman had arranged for an entire bridal trousseau, everything from undergarments to winter cloaks.

Maggie watched in amazement as bolt after bolt were laid out for Micara.
Intending only to look, Maggie perused the shop's collection of fashion plates. She was shocked to see a depiction of a woman in a large straw hat and powdered curls sketched wearing what appeared to be nothing more than a layered chemise with a sash tied at her waist.

Madame Freeman wandered near and upon seeing Maggie's expression, let out an amused murmur. "What do you think of the chemise a la Reine?"

Maggie' shock showed clearly and Madame chuckled. She lowered her voice to a level appropriate for a good intrigue and said, "Quite the scandal. This is the Queen of France."

Maggie's jaw nearly dropped.

Madame Freeman's eyes twinkled. "It will not hep her popularity, but I think we will be seeing ore of this style soon. I may not be daring enough to wear such a frock, but I do think it would feel quite pleasant in the heat of the summer months."

Maggie shook her head in bewilderment. The notion of prancing about in one's undergarments astounded her. Especially a queen. But, if a the queen of such a fashionable country as France had given her seal of approval to the garment, surely it could not be such an unthinkable outfit. She gave the image one last look, now that her shock had dissipated. She supposed the many white layers and airy sleeves were not quite as immodest as she'd first thought. It was quite pretty, and did look a good deal cooler than most of her own summer dresses.

She might have said as much to Madame Freeman, but when she turned towards her, the older woman had her head cocked to the side, studying Maggie's borrowed gown. After a moment, she gestured to one of the seamstresses and began conversing with her in rapid French.
Nodding and gesticulating, the seamstress replied and the approached Maggie. "Choose," she said, indicating the fashion plates.

Quickly replacing the drawing on the table, Maggie glanced at Madame Freeman questioningly. The older woman came forward, picked a selection of plates for the seamstress, and then took Maggie's hand and led her to the display of fabric samples near the entrance of the shop.

Maggie's heart skipped a beat. Hope crashing through her, she gazed at the fabric and then back to Madame.

With a squeeze of her hand, the older woman smiled and said, "We must address your wardrobe if you are to attend this summer's functions as part of my household."

Maggie could not contain the joy that leapt to life inside her. She fairly flung herself at Madame. The action evoked an exuberant laugh. Madame Freeman patted her and disentangled them, instructing Maggie to pick three or four fabrics to begin with.

Maggie squealed once more. She then flitted over to Micara and they both fawned over patterns and textures until it was time to leave.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
On the other side of town, the sun beat down on Will's buckskin covered back as he walked through the streets of Trenton. He'd awoken with the dawn and had been wandering aimlessly since then. He was trying to understand what Maggie saw in this place. He had covered nearly all the streets in the heart of the rapidly growing city, paused to inspect several large buildings, and dodged the ever increasing bodies that rushed about. None of his observations had helped him understand.