Everything she had hoped for? For all she had fretted (usually in Delilah’s vicinity, too) about her prospects and finding a husband, Jemima had come to realise she had never thought terribly hard about what came after the wedding, imagined what truly came of being married. That had been the finish line to a race she had always felt she was losing – and then she had stumbled gracelessly across that finish line, and had to reevaluate everything.
Delilah’s fond look had lulled her into a false sense of security; Jemima glanced down at her teacup, trying to be coy but feeling her cheeks heat up at all the things she wanted to say. I think I have a crush on my husband was hardly something she could admit to, not in public and not anywhere else, either. How ridiculous it sounded! She didn’t know if anyone in society had been naive enough to believe their spun tale about being already-head-over-heels after the coatroom affair, but they had made the best of things behind closed doors, as they had promised. And maybe Jemima had been so prepared to be miserable for the rest of her life, but Ford was actually... funny, and kind, and thoughtful. He had a sincerity and a sweetness which made him charming in a different way – almost inadvertently, not at all like those men for whom it felt smooth and disingenuous, entirely rehearsed. He was honest, then. She liked his embraces, and his kisses; she blushed just to think it. She was even fond of his family.
“I don’t know what I hoped for,” Jemima admitted, in a fairly low tone, so that no one but her sister would hear it, “but – it’s better than I expected.” She took a sip to hide the full width of her smile, and once she had set the teacup down again she had grown thoughtful. “I just – don’t know if I’m a good wife, yet. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.” She glanced at Delilah imploringly – her sister had been married, and her life had seemed to be smooth. Delilah had even managed to be a healer as well as a wife. Jemima did nothing outside of the household and barely anything for it, so she still felt a little useless at it. There must be something she was missing. Maybe her sister would enlighten her on how to be better.
Delilah’s fond look had lulled her into a false sense of security; Jemima glanced down at her teacup, trying to be coy but feeling her cheeks heat up at all the things she wanted to say. I think I have a crush on my husband was hardly something she could admit to, not in public and not anywhere else, either. How ridiculous it sounded! She didn’t know if anyone in society had been naive enough to believe their spun tale about being already-head-over-heels after the coatroom affair, but they had made the best of things behind closed doors, as they had promised. And maybe Jemima had been so prepared to be miserable for the rest of her life, but Ford was actually... funny, and kind, and thoughtful. He had a sincerity and a sweetness which made him charming in a different way – almost inadvertently, not at all like those men for whom it felt smooth and disingenuous, entirely rehearsed. He was honest, then. She liked his embraces, and his kisses; she blushed just to think it. She was even fond of his family.
“I don’t know what I hoped for,” Jemima admitted, in a fairly low tone, so that no one but her sister would hear it, “but – it’s better than I expected.” She took a sip to hide the full width of her smile, and once she had set the teacup down again she had grown thoughtful. “I just – don’t know if I’m a good wife, yet. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be doing.” She glanced at Delilah imploringly – her sister had been married, and her life had seemed to be smooth. Delilah had even managed to be a healer as well as a wife. Jemima did nothing outside of the household and barely anything for it, so she still felt a little useless at it. There must be something she was missing. Maybe her sister would enlighten her on how to be better.
