Jemima didn’t know what had just happened. She had thought – the truth. The truth, humiliating and unfortunate as it may be, had been about to be their way out of this. She had nearly even sighed a real breath of relief; instead, as Mrs. Dempsey told him coldly to fix her dress and all Jemima could do was stare blankly at him in slow dawning disbelief, the noise that rose in her throat was more like a moan.
“I – don’t understand,” Jemima said, in so small a voice that it was almost a whisper. Maybe Mrs. Dempsey wasn’t stupid, but Jemima evidently was, because she couldn’t work out what had possessed him to say it. Why hadn’t he taken the hint and just explained? Or... where could he have been, what else could he have been doing, that was possibly worse than... whatever was now implied that they had been doing here? Because she was – still half undressed in the middle of a ball; the Minister’s wife was headed for the door, suddenly inscrutable, her suspicions confirmed. If any shred of this surfaced beyond the room, be it true or mostly false, it was going to ruin her. Utterly.
Her lips tightened in an attempt to keep some composure, but hot tears were pricking at her eyes now, her hands bunched up in the bodice she still hadn’t been able to put on, and Jemima didn’t know anymore if she was more angry at herself or at him. If she said anything else now, she was going to cry before she got the words out, so all she managed was shooting him a look, part-wounded and part-accusatory, a how could you do this to me?
“I – don’t understand,” Jemima said, in so small a voice that it was almost a whisper. Maybe Mrs. Dempsey wasn’t stupid, but Jemima evidently was, because she couldn’t work out what had possessed him to say it. Why hadn’t he taken the hint and just explained? Or... where could he have been, what else could he have been doing, that was possibly worse than... whatever was now implied that they had been doing here? Because she was – still half undressed in the middle of a ball; the Minister’s wife was headed for the door, suddenly inscrutable, her suspicions confirmed. If any shred of this surfaced beyond the room, be it true or mostly false, it was going to ruin her. Utterly.
Her lips tightened in an attempt to keep some composure, but hot tears were pricking at her eyes now, her hands bunched up in the bodice she still hadn’t been able to put on, and Jemima didn’t know anymore if she was more angry at herself or at him. If she said anything else now, she was going to cry before she got the words out, so all she managed was shooting him a look, part-wounded and part-accusatory, a how could you do this to me?
The following 3 users Like Jemima Greengrass's post:
Alice Dawson, Fortitude Greengrass, Thomasina Dempsey
Alice Dawson, Fortitude Greengrass, Thomasina Dempsey
