He seemed to be keen on talking about this, even if he said the discussion hadn’t made an impact on him – but all Jemima could wonder about him during this was whether he was a rake or not, whether he had committed all sorts of sins in his youth. They hadn’t, obviously, but there had certainly been rumours about him courting – or flirting with courting – a young lady already. Which didn’t mean anything by itself, of course – he might have been perfectly respectable, until Jemima had dashed his reputation by her untimely presence in that room. Or he had been off committing sins just before he’d come through the Floo. She wasn’t sure which prospect was more likely, but she supposed she would find out tonight. It would probably be apparent, she imagined, if he was more studied at, well, ‘wedding nights’ than her.
(But – if she looked for some bright side – at least someone would know what they were supposed to do from here?)
And maybe he had done this plenty of times before, but he had changed the topic forcefully enough to give her whiplash, and the topic of his rambling had not been making her any more relaxed before it, so when he asked about her dress every muscle in Jemima’s body was tense. “Um,” she wavered.
Once her mind unfroze, she fancied she probably could manage most of it herself tonight. But, mortifying as the thought of letting him help was, it would be even more humiliating if she disappeared to the bathroom and got panicked and stuck on some unfastening, and had to come back out in the same graceless state of half-undressed disarray as in the coatroom. So although she didn’t want to, Jemima managed a quick, false smile to steel herself (– grow up, Jemima, wasn’t that what marriage entailed –) and said, “I think there’s, um, just one or two at the back that are a little fiddly to reach. If you don’t mind.” Jemima hadn’t done it up herself, but her sisters and mother helping her to dress this morning suddenly felt like a very long time ago.
She swivelled slightly on the spot to illustrate where, feeling herself already holding her breath at the thought of him stepping over to undo the clasp. Stupidly, really, because they had already as good as been here before. Maybe this was supposed to be the easy bit.
(But – if she looked for some bright side – at least someone would know what they were supposed to do from here?)
And maybe he had done this plenty of times before, but he had changed the topic forcefully enough to give her whiplash, and the topic of his rambling had not been making her any more relaxed before it, so when he asked about her dress every muscle in Jemima’s body was tense. “Um,” she wavered.
Once her mind unfroze, she fancied she probably could manage most of it herself tonight. But, mortifying as the thought of letting him help was, it would be even more humiliating if she disappeared to the bathroom and got panicked and stuck on some unfastening, and had to come back out in the same graceless state of half-undressed disarray as in the coatroom. So although she didn’t want to, Jemima managed a quick, false smile to steel herself (– grow up, Jemima, wasn’t that what marriage entailed –) and said, “I think there’s, um, just one or two at the back that are a little fiddly to reach. If you don’t mind.” Jemima hadn’t done it up herself, but her sisters and mother helping her to dress this morning suddenly felt like a very long time ago.
She swivelled slightly on the spot to illustrate where, feeling herself already holding her breath at the thought of him stepping over to undo the clasp. Stupidly, really, because they had already as good as been here before. Maybe this was supposed to be the easy bit.
