She supposed she should have been pleased when he changed the subject, back to cheering her up and asking her to dance – but Jemima wasn’t wholly convinced by it. Tycho Dodonus was supposedly one of his best friends, after all, and either they had fallen out and he was pretending not to be affected by it (badly; because he had frowned and now he was trying too hard), or everything was just fine and dandy between them.
Except when she had asked do you want to go say hello?, Jemima had half-imagined that he would say yes, and in fact insist she came along with him, to make proper, if belated, introductions. She had hoped, maybe, that his friends would become hers too, or at least sympathetic allies in a ballroom like this. But of course he didn’t want to introduce his close friends, his real friends, to her. He wanted his own life back, or at least to keep as much of it separate as he could now. She was a wife he had not wanted; she was an inconvenience to look out for, an anchor to drag him downwards. She was – feeling sorry for herself again. No one would think her happy if she didn’t try.
“Alright,” Jemima conceded, forcing herself to smile back – but she offered him her hand. “Why don’t we take it a dance at a time,” she suggested mildly, “and see when people start being shocked?” The only flaw in this was how to tell when they crossed the line of outrageous when Jemima was fairly sure there were countless beady eyes trained on them already. She lifted her chin slightly.
Except when she had asked do you want to go say hello?, Jemima had half-imagined that he would say yes, and in fact insist she came along with him, to make proper, if belated, introductions. She had hoped, maybe, that his friends would become hers too, or at least sympathetic allies in a ballroom like this. But of course he didn’t want to introduce his close friends, his real friends, to her. He wanted his own life back, or at least to keep as much of it separate as he could now. She was a wife he had not wanted; she was an inconvenience to look out for, an anchor to drag him downwards. She was – feeling sorry for herself again. No one would think her happy if she didn’t try.
“Alright,” Jemima conceded, forcing herself to smile back – but she offered him her hand. “Why don’t we take it a dance at a time,” she suggested mildly, “and see when people start being shocked?” The only flaw in this was how to tell when they crossed the line of outrageous when Jemima was fairly sure there were countless beady eyes trained on them already. She lifted her chin slightly.
