He’d knocked something over and Jemima would have winced at the noise it made, if she hadn’t already been so dismayed by his general presence – no one was supposed to have been coming or going at a time like this! Where had he been?
Not that that was the top of the priority list to ask, at the moment – and maybe she was only trying to push her own guilt about being here onto him and his untimely interruption, for she was sure he was judging her in turn and she hadn’t even done anything wrong – but even as he obediently turned away she felt her face burning.
He’d asked if she was okay. No, Jemima almost wanted to say, plaintive, because no one had seen her in so exposed a state before – not besides her sisters, the maids who helped them dress, and her former dormmates at school. Certainly not a man. She knew this was bad, and wrong, and never mind mortifying, but – she was determined to fix this, and fast. So –
“Yes, I – am now,” Jemima said, swallowing her embarrassment as far as she could, and taking advantage of his back being turned to grope breathlessly for her bodice layers to restore her modesty. She found them where she had discarded them in her spike of panic, but – she recalled the struggle it had been to get them off in the first place, alone – she would probably need a second pair of hands to get properly dressed again, and preferably before someone came to fetch their cloak or investigate that horrible shattering noise he’d just made.
(The anxiety was threatening again; Jemima was all-too-aware of her climbing pulse.)
“I was just a little lightheaded,” she told him quickly, praying that his mind wasn’t leaping to more horrible conclusions about her from this. She had had her fill of rumours already. “But I need some help... will you please?” She trailed off, having crossed over to him (it had taken every ounce of resolve she had to do so in this state of dress) and tapped him on the shoulder. Jemima was facing away now, clutching her bodice layers to her front with one hand and gesturing helplessly at her loosened corset-strings at her back with the other. They needed re-tightening; and then he would just have to help her with the finicky little hook-and-eye fastenings of her bodice proper. And then they would leave and never have to mention this encounter ever again and everything would be fine.
Not that that was the top of the priority list to ask, at the moment – and maybe she was only trying to push her own guilt about being here onto him and his untimely interruption, for she was sure he was judging her in turn and she hadn’t even done anything wrong – but even as he obediently turned away she felt her face burning.
He’d asked if she was okay. No, Jemima almost wanted to say, plaintive, because no one had seen her in so exposed a state before – not besides her sisters, the maids who helped them dress, and her former dormmates at school. Certainly not a man. She knew this was bad, and wrong, and never mind mortifying, but – she was determined to fix this, and fast. So –
“Yes, I – am now,” Jemima said, swallowing her embarrassment as far as she could, and taking advantage of his back being turned to grope breathlessly for her bodice layers to restore her modesty. She found them where she had discarded them in her spike of panic, but – she recalled the struggle it had been to get them off in the first place, alone – she would probably need a second pair of hands to get properly dressed again, and preferably before someone came to fetch their cloak or investigate that horrible shattering noise he’d just made.
(The anxiety was threatening again; Jemima was all-too-aware of her climbing pulse.)
“I was just a little lightheaded,” she told him quickly, praying that his mind wasn’t leaping to more horrible conclusions about her from this. She had had her fill of rumours already. “But I need some help... will you please?” She trailed off, having crossed over to him (it had taken every ounce of resolve she had to do so in this state of dress) and tapped him on the shoulder. Jemima was facing away now, clutching her bodice layers to her front with one hand and gesturing helplessly at her loosened corset-strings at her back with the other. They needed re-tightening; and then he would just have to help her with the finicky little hook-and-eye fastenings of her bodice proper. And then they would leave and never have to mention this encounter ever again and everything would be fine.
