“The brain is still quite a mystery,” Dr. Morgan was saying as he sat across from Charlie in a plush velvet chair, Dr. Shaw seated nearby. Circles of smoke lingered around them from the cigars of several dozen gentlemen seated in similar groupings, discussing business and other inconsequentialities. Jonathan and Edward were sitting across the room, and Charlie glanced in his friend’s direction every once in a while, noting that he seemed unusually amused about something.
“I’ve been reading Freud’s theories of psychoanalysis,” Charlie said with a nod. “Do you think there’s any truth to his findings? Particularly regarding the unconscious mind?”
Dr. Morgan nodded. “I can’t say that I completely agree with all that Freud has to say, but I do with his theory that the unconscious mind plays a larger role in our actions than we previously understood.”
“Do you believe memories can be tr
Meg sat on a plush sofa in Maurice’s shop near Columbus Circle. From here, she could see the people outside bustling by on a warm June day, and she wondered where they were going and if any of them would mind if she went along. She’d rather be just about anywhere else.“I like the taffeta,” Grace was saying, “though with that tulle underneath, it seems a bit too… poofy, don’t you think?”It wasn’t Meg she was speaking to, so she remained silent, watching a plump, older woman proceed down the sidewalk with a little boy who she believed might be the woman’s grandson. He seemed reluctant to walk, and Meg imagined they must have had a disagreement. Perhaps he wanted a snack from one of the many street vendors, and Grandmother had said no….“Meg? Are you listening?”She turned her head to see Pamela addressing her. “I’m sorry—were you speaking to me?”
Dr. Morgan’s office was on the third floor of a five story building, nestled between two similar looking offices, and Charlie attempted to be discreet as he slipped inside for the first time. He knew that the field of psychiatry was growing in acceptance, yet he didn’t necessarily want to make an announcement to the world that he needed help. However, the accompanying chorus of voices that stepped off of the elevator with him was a reminder that he hadn’t been capable of getting better on his own.The receptionist was an older woman with a nice smile. She asked Charlie to wait one moment while she informed Dr. Morgan that he was there, and though there were a few leather bound chairs to choose from, Charlie chose to stand instead. He peeked beneath the curtains at the few autos and pedestrians traveling about below and wondered if any of those people belonged in here as much as he did.“Mr. Ashton!” Dr. Morgan said, his quiet voice still s
Sitting next to Meg alone in the overly opulent dining room, Charlie couldn’t help but smile. Even though the voices still clung to him, he had a feeling Dr. Morgan could actually help. For the first time since he’d arrived back in New York City, he felt hopeful that he could return to his former self.“You look awfully chipper this evening,” Meg said, as she took a sip of her soup. “I suppose that means Dr. Morgan was helpful?”“It does,” Charlie admitted, noting how lovely she looked in the light blue gown she wore. It made her eyes sparkle. “He really does know precisely what to ask and how to ask it.”“Are you studying him as much as he’s studying you?” she asked, amusement pulling at the corners of her exquisite lips.He looked at her for a moment, his head tipped to the side a bit, seeing if she would break into a giggle. She did. “And what if I am?”&ld
Ruth looked adorable in her pink dress, which hung to the floor, nearly tripping her as she danced around her parents. Kelly had stood beside Meg, along with Grace, and Charlie had been proud to have both Walter—who turned out to be every bit as silly as Charlie had described—and Quincy on his side.Now, it was all over, except for the reception. Then, Meg would return to Charlie’s house—the house they would share together—and embark on a new adventure, that of being Mrs. Charles Ashton.“Meg Ashton,” she said aloud, once the last of the well-wishers had moved along. “What do you think?”Charlie was already grinning from ear to ear, but his face brightened even more. “I think it sounds remarkable.”“That’s my name now, you know? Meg Ashton.”“What about Mary Margaret Ashton?” he asked, leaning close to her ear.“Heaven’s no. That&rsquo
She’d been in Charlie’s bedroom a few times before, but this time was certainly different. Butterflies fluttered around her stomach, some of the nervous variety, but most of them fueled by excitement.They were sitting on the edge of his bed, the door closed and locked, the drapes pulled tightly. She knew that there were a few servants elsewhere in the house, but they would leave the couple undisturbed at least until mid-morning. Glancing up at him, she could see that he felt much the same way that she did.“It turned out quite well, don’t you think?” Charlie asked, clearly meaning the wedding.“Yes,” Meg nodded.“Even though a few guests certainly had too much to drink.”She giggled, thinking of one older gentleman who had made quite a spectacle of himself trying to climb atop one of the tables to dance. He had been escorted out, but Meg was thankful for the diversion. For once, everyone wasn&r
PROLOGUENew York CityJohn Ashton poured three fingers of whiskey into two glasses and sat the decanter down on the side table. Sunlight streamed through a sliver of lace curtains that broke the deep red velvet drapes symmetrically, the only source of natural light that found its way into his study, illuminating a jagged river across the cherry floor and the side of a mahogany bookshelf as it found the face of his longtime friend, Henry Westmoreland, who reposed in a heavily cushioned chair that matched the curtains almost exactly.“Thank you,” Henry nodded as he took the glass, giving it a sip before nestling it between his hands on top of a crossed knee.John nodded and then found a seat across from his former Oxford roommate. “How was your trip?” he asked, taking a drink and then setting his glass on an end table. “Nothing exciting I hope?”“Heavens, no,” Henry laughed. “I can’t imagin
PROLOGUE, CONTINUEDThoughts of his own children, Grace who was twelve and Charlie who had just turned nine, brought a tear to John’s eye. “Yes, of course,” he replied. “How old is she now? Six?”The smile broke free this time. “Yes, six—going on thirteen, I believe. She’s a little twig of a thing. Always running about. Feisty, full of life.” He didn’t bother to wipe the tears away that were trickling down his cheek. “After losing the other three before we ever even knew them, Meggy has been the breath of fresh air I needed. I can’t imagine….” He paused, his voice catching in his throat. “I can’t imagine my life without Meggy in it. And my heart breaks for her knowing that soon enough, she will have to carry on without her old Da. That’s what she calls me, Da. Must be those Irish nannies,” he chuckled, finally brushing the tears from his face.John realiz
SouthamptonMeggy Westmoreland loved the toy pram her father had brought her back from New York City. She had snuggled two of her favorite dolls inside, wrapped up tightly in a blanket which had been a gift from her late grandmother. It was a lovely spring day, and she pushed the pram back and forth along the stone path that trailed through the back garden. While she loved all of the beautiful flowers that grew here, the lilacs and oleanders were her favorite. She had even named one of her dolls Lilac, despite her mother’s insistence that it was a “ridiculous name.” The urge to pick the flowers was overwhelming, but she had learned her lesson the hard way when she was only three, and the sharp slap to her hand hadn’t been forgotten. Her mother and uncle sat under a shade tree in the distance now, and the possibility of getting away with even pulling one petal free was simply not worth the risk.As she walked back and forth, stopping occasionally