8th March, 1894 — Wedding Reception, Farley Residence

The day had really gone more smoothly than it had had any right to, given everything; but Jemima felt almost pretty in her dress, and the flowers that had filled the church and now the family house were beautiful, and the cake – they had cut it, and she had drifted over to take another piece (the first had been tiny, as if everyone supposed the bride was much too busy to eat) – was a delight.

So she had found herself more cheerful than she had expected to be for most of the day, resolutely chasing off every collecting drop of doubt in her gut with another bright smile. But as time wore on Jemima became increasingly aware that this was the last time she would be in this house and live here; that there was a ring on her finger; that she had a new life and a new last name. It struck her all at once, in one quiet moment, and she sucked in a breath to try and fend it off before anyone saw it.

At that moment, she realised one of her new sisters-in-law was nearby, and swiftly rectified her expression to smile hopefully at her. She was still holding the piece of cake in a little napkin, but hadn’t time to sidle off to put it down on a side table to look more elegant, so Jemima just discreetly wiped her fingers and hoped there was nothing on her face. “Mrs. Swann,” she greeted – she had already met the family earlier, but had not yet spent a considerable degree of time alone with any of them; and her husband was – somewhere across the room, and thus no help now.

And he had told her the least about Verity Swann, so she was of course the person Jemima was most anxious about meeting. She had meant to say something – anything – light and pleasant like it’s wonderful to finally meet you or are you enjoying the day?, but her throat had closed up on her.

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Verity Swann/Alice Dawson

  

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The wedding had, despite her every belief and hope otherwise, gone off without a hitch.

It wasn't that she wished to see Miss Farley (Verity had thus far refused to consider her new sister-in-law with the same title that belonged to Mama) ruined, but rather she hoped to see her brother spared of a life he didn't want. Ford might have gone along with the plans and put on a (rather convincing) show to all the others, but Verity saw him that night. She saw the disinterest in his body language and the way he was willing to ruin that poor girl. She still could hear his utterance of a heartless rake then echoing through the Farley's home. Ford hadn't wanted this and Verity felt guilty for having insisting he rush towards it.

Other than the required well wishes, Verity had managed to avoid speaking to Ford altogether. The argument he had insisted upon that day in the kitchen had never come to fruition — not that Verity had ever allowed herself to hope that he might seek her out so that they would finally have that necessary conversation. And so, in the weeks following, she spent whatever required time with her family anxiously peering into rooms before entering in order to avoid him. Thankfully, there were only a few more hours until the newlyweds would be off on their honeymoon and Verity would be able to breathe for a few weeks.

(Days? Truthfully, Verity knew nothing of their honeymoon plans but given the lack of dowry provided for her marriage she doubted Ford had the funds to provide a honeymoon similarly lavish to the one Everett had.)

Verity would have continued on without engaging Miss Farley at all had the bride not called out. Avoiding Ford meant avoiding any sort of interaction with his wife that might be reported back. Even so, she smiled and returned the greeting with, "please, call me Verity. After all, we're sisters now." That, and if Miss Farley was to call her Mrs. Swann then Verity would have to reply properly as well.

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Jemima Greengrass

  

There was a split-second wherein Jemima thought, or had imagined, that Mrs. Swann was going to blank her entirely. But she breathed a sigh of relief when the other woman answered, and even, even! said that they were sisters. (Sisters were not necessarily bound to like each other, but – Jemima would hope.)

“Verity,” Jemima echoed gratefully, although her gaze was still anxiously surveying her new sister-in-law for traces of private resentment behind the smile. “And you must call me Jemima,” she added shyly, because in truth she felt she hardly had the right to ask the Greengrasses to do anything at all, but.

“Mr. Greengrass says you visit often,” she began, meaning to say something like so I hope we’ll get to know one another soon, but halfway through she realised that all this sounded bad in semi-public, if their engagement was to seem even a little less abrupt than it was. So, anxiously, she let the statement hang like a question instead, hoping Mrs. Swann – Verity – would save the conversation instead by saying something clever or smooth or otherwise encouraging. (She hadn’t yet managed to think of Mr. Greengrass as anything more intimate than that, even if he was her husband now – Verity, comparatively, she could manage.)

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Jemima might as well have been a startled doe in the forest for how much confidence the girl seemed to have. Had Verity come across as anxious on her own wedding day? Did Sylvia regard her with same level of mild disdain and curiosity? She hadn't wanted to marry Everett - everyone in her family had been aware of it on some level. But surely - surely! - she was better practiced than this.

She managed a kind smile despite her feelings being anything but. This was Ford's wife - Verity loved her brother enough to not alienate his wife from their very first meeting. "Oh, yes. We're a very close bunch. Mama invites me over for tea on a bi-weekly basis, but I sometimes craft a reason to stop in more often than that." Her voice dropped to a joking conspiratorial whisper for the last bit of her explanation.

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“Oh,” Jemima chirped, in what she hoped was an equally conspiratorial, delighted tone, a sort of unspoken then I’m sure we’ll be perfect friends. In truth, this was more worrying than anything, the idea that Mrs. Swann – er, Verity – was likely to spring visits on them, with manufactured reasons, at any point. Jemima would have to... be eternally prepared, she supposed. Her best foot forward; making good impressions, and seeming like a good wife to Mr. Greengrass, seeming – happy.

She suspected Verity would be too sharp not to notice if anything was amiss.

Perhaps it was because she did not have children, that she had such time to keep involved in her family’s affairs?

“Well, I hope that won’t change now,” because of me, Jemima meant to assure her – although was that presumptuous of her to say, as if she might have deigned to discourage her? “I mean – we’ll still be grateful for the company.” We was a far-fetched word, wasn’t it? As if Jemima could speak for Fortitude, or anyone in the household – she panicked – “I’d love to have you for tea, too.”

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Her impromptu visits had already ceased, a fact Verity had only remembered a beat too late. She still attended tea if for no other reason to appease Mama, but all the little pop ins and the easiness of returning to her family's home disappeared after her first argument with Ford.

"I would be delighted," Verity commented with a practiced ease despite knowing that tea with Jemima Farley of all people was far from her list of personal delights. And, now that Jemima knew she visited frequently, Verity was going to have to somehow stomach being in her brother's orbit without causing a scene. (Was it wrong of her to hope Jemima got pregnant quickly so that she might be bedridden for some time?)

"You will have to come with Grace and Clementine sometimes for tea at my home as well." If only to stop the siblings from gossiping too much. "We will have plenty of opportunities to get to know one another this summer I hope." A slight dig, perhaps, at how quickly this wedding had come about. Verity was doing her best to be kind to Jemima but she was no saint, nor had she ever claimed to be.

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   Jemima Greengrass

Wonderful. Fabulous. Delightful – Jemima wasn’t sure who was more regretting this conversation. She wanted to believe that Mr. Greengrass’ sisters would be her allies in this (out of familial duty if nothing else) – allies for her would be few and far between until this all died down, somehow – but there was an edge of something in her tone on that remark about getting to know one another that worried Jemima a little. It was bad enough that they scarcely knew each other yet, at her own reception; it would be worse if they got to know one another and Verity Swann decided she did not like her much.

“Yes, certainly,” she agreed with all the enthusiasm she could muster. (What else would she do with her summer? She would not have the Season to fall back on, if she were married – if fewer people invited her places than usual. It would be strange not to be a debutante.) “Did you find the summers and the Season terribly different once you were married?” Jemima asked curiously, venturing an honest thought just to see if Mrs. Swann might possibly prove a confidante or a nurturing elder sister sort.

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There was an edge of fear that colored Verity's first season as a married woman. Everett was obviously mixed up in something that involved evil people, and as such Verity's first season was spent fearing a similar event to the fall. However, as the years have gone by and no such repeats her fear had finally ebbed into something more resembling relief. To this, she answered, "not at first. It took time to settle into marriage." They still were, and Noble's knowledge that they hadn't been intimate still was weighing heavily on her mind. "Once you do though, it's kind of ... freeing in a sense. There was a lot less pressure on me knowing the future was settled."

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Time to settle in. Jemima knew that would be a given – she had scarcely had more than a fortnight to come to terms with the prospect of marrying at all, never mind getting to know her husband or his family. But although the first part of Mrs. Swann’s... Verity’s... answer was sobering, cautionary, the second part came in like a breath of fresh air. There was a little hope in that.

Jemima gave a tentative smile at that, or maybe merely at her honesty. So much small talk in society were nothing more than the words one wanted to hear. Less pressure on me could not be anything but candid. “I think I shall look forward to that, at least,” Jemima admitted – not that she meant she was dreading the rest of her marriage (though she was, and she was sure everyone knew it) – but the pressure of the Season had been weighing on her since the moment of her debut, and she would never go so far as to say she had enjoyed society. She was always too afraid of misstepping. And she was going to be married now, for better or for worse, so it would be different from now on. Her fate was set, there was no fighting it. (How many other missteps could she truly make?)

So relative freedom was something. She resolved to be grateful about that.

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