Her fingers were clumsy with her shoes, and she was already conscious of her heartbeat – as if it were tapping right up against her ribcage – but at least she was able to bow her head for a moment to try and settle herself, concentrating hard until the shoes were off.
And it felt like a small relief to sit for a moment after such an involved afternoon, but Jemima supposed she shouldn’t get too comfortable, particularly not if he wanted the chaise. Instead, she scooped up the shoes and moved to the wardrobe, opening one of its doors and tucking them into a space on the bottom shelf. But – her trunk had already been unpacked for her, and her gaze stalled briefly on some of the other new garments hanging there. Amongst them, a pristine new nightdress: finer and more elegant than any she had possessed before.
She supposed she should sleep in it, but how she was supposed to accomplish this, she wasn’t sure. Ought she change into it now, or was that something for after? And, for that matter, should she retreat somewhere to change, or was that supposed to be part and parcel of it? Her mother had neglected to give her any firm opinions on the matter – indeed, her mother had not given her much practically useful information at all. The coatroom incident had done its damage in more ways than one: everyone, whether directly, like Mrs. Dempsey, or indirectly, by gaping omissions, by what they didn’t say, obviously supposed she was already too familiar with matters that should be reserved for marriage.
And here she was, married with no idea what to do with herself, and memory of the coatroom had only made the prospect of undressing again in front of him more fraught for her. So Jemima was almost thankful for his remark to draw her attention across the room again, though it also made her suddenly self-conscious. She cast him a sheepish smile, because he had to say that just to be polite, didn’t he? It didn’t mean he believed it; it was just a kindness. The expected thing. (Still, she thought – maybe there was something to be said that he had made the effort to say it? He could just as easily have said nothing. So he was – trying.)
Jemima exhaled, all too aware of the warmth creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. “Thank you. So did –” (no, that wasn’t what she had meant to say; why wasn’t her mind working properly anymore?) “I mean, your suit’s very nice. It – suits you.” Merlin.
And it felt like a small relief to sit for a moment after such an involved afternoon, but Jemima supposed she shouldn’t get too comfortable, particularly not if he wanted the chaise. Instead, she scooped up the shoes and moved to the wardrobe, opening one of its doors and tucking them into a space on the bottom shelf. But – her trunk had already been unpacked for her, and her gaze stalled briefly on some of the other new garments hanging there. Amongst them, a pristine new nightdress: finer and more elegant than any she had possessed before.
She supposed she should sleep in it, but how she was supposed to accomplish this, she wasn’t sure. Ought she change into it now, or was that something for after? And, for that matter, should she retreat somewhere to change, or was that supposed to be part and parcel of it? Her mother had neglected to give her any firm opinions on the matter – indeed, her mother had not given her much practically useful information at all. The coatroom incident had done its damage in more ways than one: everyone, whether directly, like Mrs. Dempsey, or indirectly, by gaping omissions, by what they didn’t say, obviously supposed she was already too familiar with matters that should be reserved for marriage.
And here she was, married with no idea what to do with herself, and memory of the coatroom had only made the prospect of undressing again in front of him more fraught for her. So Jemima was almost thankful for his remark to draw her attention across the room again, though it also made her suddenly self-conscious. She cast him a sheepish smile, because he had to say that just to be polite, didn’t he? It didn’t mean he believed it; it was just a kindness. The expected thing. (Still, she thought – maybe there was something to be said that he had made the effort to say it? He could just as easily have said nothing. So he was – trying.)
Jemima exhaled, all too aware of the warmth creeping up her neck and into her cheeks. “Thank you. So did –” (no, that wasn’t what she had meant to say; why wasn’t her mind working properly anymore?) “I mean, your suit’s very nice. It – suits you.” Merlin.
