The logical, practical, skeptical voice at the back of Jemima’s mind – it had begun sounding more than a little like her father’s flatly disappointed tone, nowadays – told her that Miss Owens, Greer, was being more polite than sincere.

But Jemima would rather cling to that kindness without regard for it being real or feigned. It was about all that was keeping her afloat right now, that and the reassuring touch to her arm. She could hear her mother wandering over; she knew she had to put on a brave face again. So she nodded, and forced herself away from that brink of tears as best she could, and allowed herself to be childishly excited for the thought of another new dress – one entirely separate from all the associated expectations of a wedding gown.

She ought to have protested the offer, but Jemima really didn’t have enough patience to act her way through everything. She had done a terrible job of seeming excited about anything else. “I’d like that. That’s so kind of you, Miss – Greer. Really, thank you.”

If the Greengrasses were half as generous as their cousin, Jemima supposed she could think of far worse families to marry into.

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