By everything, she had not actually meant everything. Really, she was trying to discern how he felt about it all, but instead Mr. Greengrass (– probably she ought not to keep thinking of him as formally as Mr. Greengrass now, but –) had taken her at her word and explained, well, everything.
It was a lot. Blinking at the onslaught of it, the wedding and reception and honeymoon and changes to the Greengrass house all bundled up in one seeming breath, Jemima was overwhelmed enough that she sank back on the sofa, as if sitting would make any of it sink in. It all sounded very... businesslike, that everything was going smoothly, that he was possibly even nonchalant about it all; but Jemima was too familiar with anxious tics to miss his whitened knuckles around the bouquet or the uneasy shifting from foot to foot. So he was no more comfortable with this than she was. That didn’t make her feel any better, of course, but Jemima was a little bit desperate to at least understand where they stood (before they were both standing at the altar in a fortnight’s time). She swallowed. “Well, that’s – good,” she said lightly, as if by trying to alter her tone she could trick herself into general hopefulness for this fast-approaching future.
Only he had asked how she was, now, and Jemima felt the pressure she presumed he had when faced with the equally terrible prospects of lying through her teeth or telling him anything true. Jack asked me to elope, and I told him no but I can’t stop thinking about it; it sounds like you’re as miserable as I am; I’m going to be your wife, and I don’t know anything about you. What was a silver lining here?
“I’m fine,” Jemima said because she had decided to be brave about it to his face, even if she had cried most days this week. Maybe he hadn’t been getting the same stares from the rumour and scandal of it as she had. (He had apparently been more willing to endure them, anyway.) “I had an appointment for my wedding dress yesterday,” she supplied, managing a smile for politeness’ sake. “With your – cousin. Greer.” That was how Miss Owens had introduced herself, and she had been kind; surely that was something. Jemima picked absently at the embroidery on the day dress she was currently wearing as she considered his talk about the house, imagined what she might be thrust into in a few weeks’ time. “How did, um, the rest of your family take the news?”
It was a lot. Blinking at the onslaught of it, the wedding and reception and honeymoon and changes to the Greengrass house all bundled up in one seeming breath, Jemima was overwhelmed enough that she sank back on the sofa, as if sitting would make any of it sink in. It all sounded very... businesslike, that everything was going smoothly, that he was possibly even nonchalant about it all; but Jemima was too familiar with anxious tics to miss his whitened knuckles around the bouquet or the uneasy shifting from foot to foot. So he was no more comfortable with this than she was. That didn’t make her feel any better, of course, but Jemima was a little bit desperate to at least understand where they stood (before they were both standing at the altar in a fortnight’s time). She swallowed. “Well, that’s – good,” she said lightly, as if by trying to alter her tone she could trick herself into general hopefulness for this fast-approaching future.
Only he had asked how she was, now, and Jemima felt the pressure she presumed he had when faced with the equally terrible prospects of lying through her teeth or telling him anything true. Jack asked me to elope, and I told him no but I can’t stop thinking about it; it sounds like you’re as miserable as I am; I’m going to be your wife, and I don’t know anything about you. What was a silver lining here?
“I’m fine,” Jemima said because she had decided to be brave about it to his face, even if she had cried most days this week. Maybe he hadn’t been getting the same stares from the rumour and scandal of it as she had. (He had apparently been more willing to endure them, anyway.) “I had an appointment for my wedding dress yesterday,” she supplied, managing a smile for politeness’ sake. “With your – cousin. Greer.” That was how Miss Owens had introduced herself, and she had been kind; surely that was something. Jemima picked absently at the embroidery on the day dress she was currently wearing as she considered his talk about the house, imagined what she might be thrust into in a few weeks’ time. “How did, um, the rest of your family take the news?”
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