Jemima felt ridiculous to need or want such assurances from him, when they had not intended to marry each other either, and she still hardly knew him – but, in spite of all logic, his no quieted her worries a little, all the same. She felt a bright relief blooming in her chest. His answer had come with no hesitation – there had been no one else he had wanted to marry more – so that was already more than she might have hoped for.

She gave him an apologetic smile, for the asking. Should she tell him about Jack, though? It seemed almost too late for that (before the wedding would have been better, even if he had thence refused to marry her because of it), but now was surely the time if there was still any... but she didn’t know how to begin confessing it. She had already interrupted them once, dampened the mood with her questions and her worries: she didn’t want to do it again. And she had spent enough time in her few days of living here, trapped in her own head. Ford’s visit to her bedroom had been the first chance she had had to feel better again.

So she let any other intentions she had slip away without stopping them, and ducked her chin in answer, yes. “You don’t need to ask,” Jemima said, a small smile toying at her lips as she tilted her face up towards him again. She was his wife, and she wouldn’t waylay him any longer – and they had already come a long way since their wedding night, if she wasn’t even worried about where the kissing might lead.

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