Ford hesitated when asked for Jemima's favorite flowers, or favorite color. He really ought to know at least one of those two things, he thought, if he was trying to keep up the illusion that he had liked her before marrying her. Men could generally be forgiven for knowing nothing about flowers, but a suitor ought to at least have a sense of someone's favorite colors, probably. What colors did she wear most often? He wasn't even sure he knew that — when he pictured her, her dress was one of those pale non-colors that debutantes wore when they didn't want to wear white. Ivory, beige, something — but was he actually thinking of any dresses she owned in particular or just filling in blank spaces with a generic gown he'd seen at dozens of season parties?

Fortunately Mrs. Grimstone saved him by making a suggestion. "Tulips sound lovely," he agreed. The lilies probably were, too, but he always thought of lilies as funereal — he thought he remembered there being lilies at the funeral they'd had for Papa, though he didn't remember ordering them. Everything following Papa's death was a vague blur at this point, though. "Something bright, maybe? A happy color."

---