Daytime, 21st March, 1894 — Greengrass Home, Bartonburg

She had resolved to stay at the house today, so as not to have a repeat of that abortive shopping trip. (At the house: she wasn’t at ease enough yet to dare call it home.)

It might have been easier to settle in if Ford had been here during the days – she had just adjusted to spending all that time in his company at the Sanditon, and now he was at work. Not that anyone had been dreadfully unfriendly to her yet, but she still felt uncomfortably like a guest whom no one had actually wanted to invite. And – unlike a guest – even if Jemima took the hint, she had nowhere else to go.

So she had been doing her best to seem busy without getting into anyone else’s way – and without having any real purpose in life, either. (Previously most of her daily activities had been spent in debutante-esque pursuits, which were altogether irrelevant now.) Jemima was hovering at a bookcase downstairs, not-so-casually scanning the shelves. Ford had been reading something at the Sanditon, a book of poetry she thought she would recognise if she saw it again (and it felt mildly useful to learn a little about the things he liked). She hadn’t found it yet, but the door opening behind her made her jump out of her skin.

It was Clementine. “Oh – sorry – I was just looking for something to read,” Jemima explained quickly, although Clementine hadn’t so much as asked yet and she was sure she hadn’t been doing anything wrong, besides. Still, she turned away from the bookshelves just to gauge whether Clementine wanted possession of the room and preferred her gone. (Jemima would have been perfectly happy to cede the space to a dormouse if it had thought her a nuisance.)

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Clementine Greengrass/Aldous Crouch

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Bride and groom were home now, and Clementine was doing a very good imitation of someone who felt altogether pushed aside in her own house if only to avoid seeing her brother cast in any sort of romantic role. She was Perfectly Pleasant™, of course, but spent little time outside of meals in the common areas of the home, and found as many opportunities to spend time out and about with friends as possible. This latter had been hindered slightly, though, by the stain that the new addition to the family had brought with her when she moved in.

Jemima Greengrass was, to Clementine, a conundrum. She was no longer Miss Farley, that much was clear to all involved parties, but she had never been close enough with the older girl to call her by her given name, and Mrs. Greengrass was both painfully formal and also her Mama's name. And so, she was still Miss Farley much of the time in Clementine's thoughts (and diary), and nothing at all as much as it could be helped out loud.

The Greengrass household was clearly a den of love and togetherness.

She had sat down at the small writing desk in her bedroom to respond to Hermia's letter, only to realize she had left it in the parlour. Resolved, she descended the stairs and listened at the door. Satisfied that no one was in there (and thus, she was unlikely to be roped into conversation), Clementine entered the room only to see that it actually was occupied by her nameless new housemate.

"Oh," she said lamely. After a beat, Clementine added, "you needn't apologize. After all, it is your house now."

Jemima Greengrass

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— set by mj —

She had known Clementine the best of the Greengrasses previously (which did not say much, really, because they had been fellow Hufflepuffs more than bosom friends) but Jemima had seen startlingly little of her in the last few days. She wasn’t sure what to make of that. Should it be a relief, or did it make things more concerning?

But she had been civil thus far (for all of ten seconds), so that was – good. Maybe. Jemima tried not to flush at your house. “Well, yes, but – you have lived in it longer,” she returned, just as lamely. “And I don’t want to be in your way. I’m still finding my way around.” She had said so with a peaceable smile, but she regretted it, for it wasn’t a particularly clever statement: not funny enough to be a joke, and (as Ford had technically warned her) the Bartonburg house was hardly big enough for that to be true unless one was very directionally challenged.

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Technically, Noble had lived here longest, but Clementine often forgot that part given how frequently Ford liked to play the I'm responsible for the family card. Truly maddening.

"Are you... looking for anything in particular?" Clementine asked. Her tone wasn't exactly helpful, but since her words were, she doubted anyone would suggest she was not at least trying. She could not very well mold her future nieces into little feminists to terrorize their father if she was not on good terms with their mother, and while she wasn't eager to be best of friends with... her, she likewise did not want to burn any bridges for the future.

Jemima Greengrass

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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— set by mj —

“Oh, not really,” Jemima said airily, because she didn’t want to explain she was looking for one particular volume of poetry that Ford had brought on the honeymoon – and what if it wasn’t here, and he had kept it in his bedroom? It would only make her look worryingly nosy.

“Just a novel, maybe, or some poetry,” she said instead, and it was not wholly a lie – she did need something new to read, now that her days were not dizzyingly filled with rushed wedding plans and she was not crying incessantly. She tilted her head at Clementine, wondering if the other girl was too clever for novels, and looked down on them as frivolous, compared to non-fiction. “I don’t suppose there’s anything in particular you’d recommend?”

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Clementine's nose wrinkled as she made a face at poetry. If pressed, she might have simply insisted that it was frivolous, that her time was better spent on more intellectual pursuits, but in reality, Clem had never really much gotten poetry. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Why on earth was that so famous?

"I am... not one for poetry," Clem answered diplomatically, her facial expression suggesting very much that this was an understatement. "I do have some Austen in my room, though, if you need fiction—or, I wonder," she hesitated a moment before asking, "have yu read "The Subjection of Women"? It's an essay rather than a novel, but I do have a copy of that, as well."

Jemima Greengrass

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   Elias Grimstone

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— set by mj —

Austen was something, although Jemima had always found both the author and her female characters a little too much for her: they all seemed terribly virtuous, diamonds of the sex; and even the ones who had overt vices were still much too witty for her to relate to.

But novels would be a better comfort to her than essays, and poetry already sounded like a lost cause in this conversation.

“I haven’t heard of that one,” Jemima said, caught between dubiousness at the title and the desire to befriend her now sister-in-law. It sounded rather depressing, but perhaps ploughing through it nonetheless would endear her to Clementine? “Is it very enjoyable?” Oh, but that was the wrong question, she realised, so added in haste – “Or – well, what kind of woman is it about?” Jemima wasn’t sure she wanted to read about slaves, particularly.

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"It is about us all!" Clementine said brightly.

Alright, in truth, it was rather dry, but the concepts contained within were quite important, and she had read it with friends to explain the denser elements of the text to her. But if Jemima could be persuaded to read it, could truly appreciate the ideas it presented... well, that would certainly show Fortitude!

"All women, and their importance and value. It even has a section on marriage," she added helpfully, "though that was, perhaps, not as applicable to my own life, at this stage."

Jemima Greengrass

  

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— set by mj —

In spite of the elaboration, Jemima was still rather befuddled at what this essay could possibly say about women. (Essays sounded about as interesting as reading a Transfiguration textbook, generally.)

But if it was about women, then perhaps it would be an exception! Jemima didn’t say it, but privately she thought she ought to read anything she could about marriage, just so that she didn’t fail at it – Clementine was certainly persuasive.

“I’m sure it will be soon enough,” Jemima answered sympathetically, to not yet applicable (– she was trying to be reassuring, never mind the model her marriage had probably made of the prospect). “But – it sounds interesting. I confess I haven’t read many essays before. But I would be happy to – try,” she offered. It was the least she could do, if it would make her sister-in-law like her.

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   Clementine Greengrass

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At the mention of a potential marriage being soon, Clementine wrinkled her nose. Plainly, Jem—Mrs. Gr—her brother's wi—her fellow housemate did not know her very well. That was fine, could be fixed.

"Oh, I didn't read essays either before," she hastened to reassure the other witch. No explanation as to before what was even remotely forthcoming. "I shall fetch it for you when I return upstairs! Oh, it is going to give you and my brother so much to discuss!"

Clementine's smile was a little bit too predatory to be described as serene.

Jemima Greengrass

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— set by mj —

Despite the little nose wrinkle at something, Jemima fancied her first real solo interaction with Clementine was going quite well. She was even making essay-reading sound not too daunting at all.

“Thank you – that would be lovely,” Jemima said happily, at the offer of fetching and lending. She ventured a smile. She wasn’t sure if Clementine just meant about marriage, generally, or: “Oh, does your brother have an interest in essays too?”

The more she appealed to everyone’s interests, surely the better things would go.

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Ford has little interest in anything beyond being a pain seemed rather a churlish thing to say when he was not here to actually hear it, and for all her ill-feeling about the abrupt marriage situation, she did not wish to give her brother's new wife any more ill-feeling about him than necessary.

"I am sure Ford would endeavor to engage in anything that you found interesting," Clem replied diplomatically, sure of no such thing; however, he might actually consider the ideas espoused in the essay if they came from someone other than his youngest sister.

Jemima Greengrass

  

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— set by mj —

That was not a yes, but not a direct no either – Jemima let out a small, thoughtful sigh. What she took that to mean, really, was that Ford was not only trying to make the best of things, as they had agreed; but that he had that same kind of patience for people and their interests, generally. She could have married a much unkinder person than him.

And she could not argue with the remark without making it entirely clear that her husband had no built-in fondness for her or her interests, given the circumstances. So, instead, Jemima would try her very hardest to wade through any essay at all, if it gave her something not-fraught to discuss with her husband or any of her new housemates here. “Well, thank you, Clementine,” she added, with a sincere smile – and the oddest temptation to throw her arms about her new sister-in-law in gratitude, although she knew it to be a foolish impulse, and one that would not be much appreciated. (It was a product of her own isolation, she suspected; she would curb it by subjecting herself to essay reading instead.) “I can hardly wait to begin and let you know how I get on!”

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"Wonderful," Clementine beamed at her new sister-in-law. She could not help but feel smug, knowing she had gotten something over on her fool of a brother.

Perhaps this union was not quite such a disaster after all.

  

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— set by mj —