Jemima had been having a perfectly lovely day, with no terrible incidents or missteps at all, so she was determined to spin it out for as long as possible, and had decided not to leave until she had combed through every corner of the place.
Besides: Lila liked plants more than she did, and there seemed to be plenty of society here, eligible men looking for their next bride. So, feeling that no harm could befall her in a greenhouse rather reminiscent of Professor Skeeter’s old classroom (– oh, she did miss Professor Skeeter’s shy looks and soft brown eyes –), she had stepped into the sheltered area, pleased at the trapped heat in the place.
There was a young man over towards the back, but Jemima had eyed him up and then taken the sensible route of otherwise ignoring him, even as she wound her way along the path in his direction and he had yet to move. (That was very impolite. One ought to move along and kindly give everyone their turn to see the plants.)
Her gaze slid back to him as his expression suddenly changed, and she side-eyed him for a moment, unaware of what the problem was. When he spoke, she was still confused.
“Why, um, what?” Jemima echoed as she took a few bewildered steps towards him, brow furrowed. A glance over her shoulder was enough to conclude that he was probably talking to her, because there was simply no one else nearby.
That was, if he was talking to anyone and not just muttering to himself, and talking to himself was not especially comforting a thought, either.
Besides: Lila liked plants more than she did, and there seemed to be plenty of society here, eligible men looking for their next bride. So, feeling that no harm could befall her in a greenhouse rather reminiscent of Professor Skeeter’s old classroom (– oh, she did miss Professor Skeeter’s shy looks and soft brown eyes –), she had stepped into the sheltered area, pleased at the trapped heat in the place.
There was a young man over towards the back, but Jemima had eyed him up and then taken the sensible route of otherwise ignoring him, even as she wound her way along the path in his direction and he had yet to move. (That was very impolite. One ought to move along and kindly give everyone their turn to see the plants.)
Her gaze slid back to him as his expression suddenly changed, and she side-eyed him for a moment, unaware of what the problem was. When he spoke, she was still confused.
“Why, um, what?” Jemima echoed as she took a few bewildered steps towards him, brow furrowed. A glance over her shoulder was enough to conclude that he was probably talking to her, because there was simply no one else nearby.
That was, if he was talking to anyone and not just muttering to himself, and talking to himself was not especially comforting a thought, either.
