"We're not so far from Wellingtonshire," he said, to reassure her. He had caught something on her face for a moment and he wasn't entirely sure what it was, but he felt as though perhaps she would appreciate a reassurance in response to it. Of course, as soon as the words were out of his mouth he remembered his worry from a second ago about how she would be terribly disappointed once she arrived in Hogsmeade and wondered if he ought to do something more to manage her expectations. Would it make any difference if she learned more of the specifics of their situation now or later? Would she resent him more if she felt he had been willfully hiding something prior to the wedding, or would she resent him more for learning now and having more time to stew on it? There did not seem to be any right answers here.

"We're on the east side of Bartonburg North," he clarified. "But it's not a large house. Or — it's not exactly small," he continued, feeling he was starting to lose control of the narrative a bit here through no fault but his own. "It's a perfectly average house, we just have — a rather larger than average number of people staying in it. Especially with our cousins, Greer and Lorelei. But they don't intend to stay forever," he added. "But anyway, that's why the — why we had to add the extra bedrooms. But, ah — they'll be on the third floor, so maybe they'll have a nicer view," he concluded, trying to find a silver lining to end with (however slim it might be) since he was aware he had just said a lot of things she probably wouldn't be thrilled by.

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Set by Lady!

Jemima hadn’t thought to have any concerns about the house – not until now, at any rate, because the more he said the more he seemed to be talking his way around something, but what was wrong with the house she could not discern. It was small, then? No, average, he had said, but whatever was wrong with that? Cramped? She would manage. She was hardly in a position to be expecting the world from them. Besides, the Greengrasses were relatively similar in standing as a family as the Farleys, as far as she knew; she had no reason to suppose there would be any drastic changes for better or worse in that respect.

“Oh, thank you, but I’m sorry you’re going to all the trouble – I’m sure I’ll be very comfortable.” She supposed there hadn’t been enough time in this engagement to buy a house of their own; or that Mr. Greengrass was too fond a brother or a son to abandon the rest of his family before his sisters were all quite settled in marriages themselves. And comfortable was really all one could expect, so Jemima would take that. Indeed, she ought to be pleased if he didn’t resent her fiercely enough to stuff her up somewhere in a dusty old attic, out of sight.

Unless these third floor rooms were actually an attic – but he’d mentioned the view, so she would rather be romantic about the possibilities until proven wrong. And, well, Jemima would try her best to be romantic about Mr. Greengrass too. “And it is very kind of you to invite your cousins to stay.” Miss Greer had said as much, that they had taken them in after the death of their parents. Generous, kind, dutiful; if Jemima erased all memory of the coatroom incident, Mr. Greengrass had plenty of qualities. (Not necessarily the ones she had looked for in potential suitors before, but – qualities all the same.)

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She seemed inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, about the house — which was fine for now, but later on, when she was disappointed, he wondered if he would get any credit for having tried to warn her. Time would tell. In the meantime, she had moved on to his cousins, and seemed to be giving him the benefit of the doubt there, too. Ford actually had very little to do with the scheme to host their cousins; his mother had agreed to it rather behind his back and only revealed it when it was too late to politely decline or back out — but no one outside of he and Noble and Mama knew that, so he supposed there was no harm in taking credit for it. And anyway, offering to let people stay was the sort of thing he would do, if it hadn't been actively jeopardizing the futures of everyone else in the house by putting them in an even more precarious financial position.

"Family is important to me," he agreed, hedging. It wasn't that this was untrue — just that most people would not expect the sorts of things that he did on behalf of his family, and most wouldn't consider them so admirable as the sentiment itself. Burglarizing wealthy houses being one example — dashing young women's reputations to bits in order to preserve his alibi being, apparently, another. Neither of those were things he would have thought himself capable of, before — but here they were.

It occurred to him distantly that once they were married she would be included in the definition of family.

He hesitated for a long moment, then offered quietly, "I'm sorry for what I said to Mrs. Dempsey."

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   Jemima Greengrass

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Set by Lady!

So he was loyal, too, Jemima decided, as if telling herself these things would fashion a new reality where she had been hoping to marry him all along. It would at least give her things to say to people when they asked about him, as she was sure her friends would – facts were all well and good (and probably necessary, when it came to his family’s names), but if she wanted to give the same illusion that she was fond of him, then she would have to be able to gush.

Also to that end, she was looking at the way his hair curled, pleasingly, over his forehead when he spoke again, and she flinched, off-guard, at the reminder of it. What he had said to Mrs. Dempsey was the real sticking point of him, of this situation, the one thing she simply couldn’t reconcile – so although Jemima nodded gently, in an I know, she kept quiet for a while, just looking at him, waiting to see if he would follow it with anything else.

The reason, that was all she wanted. She was sure it was something bad, if he had damned her instead – but she didn’t dare to ask outright. Family was important to him, but if he was feigning fondness for her then he hadn’t told them the truth about the Floo or where he had been, what he was doing, perhaps whom he had been with. And, Jemima thought, biting her lip, if he hadn’t told his family the truth, there was no way on earth that he would tell her now. Given his past actions, she probably ought to assume he would choose to lie again.

And what would it change, the truth, today? She was already overwhelmed enough, was trying to make it through one day without crying; he had made himself her one route out of ruin, so she still had no choice but to marry him, whatever else he had done. They had agreed to make the best of this – somehow. So she met his gaze, surrendering in a small voice: “And I’m sorry you have to marry me.”

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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The sentiment would have been pitiful enough if she hadn't met his eyes while she said it. That made it worse, Ford was sure, though he would have struggled to articulate why. Maybe it was easier to assume that she really believed it when he could see her eyes while she said it. No empty self-effacement for the sake of modesty, no false humility at play; she seemed to really think he was coming out of this worse off than she was. And given the circumstances — given the rumors, and the thing he'd just apologized for, and everything he'd just told her about the crowded house full of potentially unwelcoming family she would soon be joining — this seemed to imply she held herself (or at least her value as a future wife) in very low estimation. He felt a pang of grief for her sake, laced through with a vein of fondness — because this was something Grace might have said, in a similar situation, and this was not the first time she had said or done something that reminded him of Grace.

Sorry, Tycho, he thought, but I think I've determined to like her. In the long term, of course, this was better for both of them... but it did feel like something of a betrayal to have determined it so soon.

But here, finally, he was on surer ground. He had next to no experience trying to woo anyone, unless one counted the visits he'd paid Miss Chang just for the sake of getting her family off her case when it came to prospective suitors. He had no experience being engaged to someone he barely knew and trying to find the right line between practicality and sentiment. But he did know how to talk to people who were distraught — and after weathering the conversation politely for this long she seemed to have let her mask slip enough for it to be obvious that she was, after all, distraught.

"No, let's not say that," he replied gently. "We can both be sorry to be marrying someone we don't know yet, but let's hold back judgement on whether I ought to be sorry about marrying you." He offered her a small smile, half hopeful and half wry, as though he wasn't sure whether or not he intended this remark as a joke. "Can you show me your favorite place here?"

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   Jemima Greengrass

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Set by Lady!

She didn’t know what she had been expecting him to say in response to that, except perhaps a damning I’m sorry too. But he had chided her for it instead, which was more comforting than Jemima had imagined. Some people would presume she had trapped him into marriage, especially the more reluctant he seemed about it – and Jemima would not be able to change anyone’s conceptions of that, but it made enough difference to her that he knew she hadn’t intended any such thing.

A part of her still worried that he would resent her for the marriage somewhere down the line, if not now; but there was nothing to be done about that except to try as best she could. So she mustered a smile back, and latched gratefully onto his change of conversation. “Yes,” she agreed, and stood up, almost relieved to be moving, and by a question that was at least, finally, an easy one to answer honestly. “It’s too cold to sit there in the winter, but I can show you the sunroom.” It was not a conservatory on a grand scale by any means, but the small glass extension at the back of the house was a cosy room the girls usually lounged in, reading or embroidering, through the summertime. “It has the nicest views of the garden. My sister Delilah – she moved home, after her husband passed away – she’s planted all sorts, so it looks lovelier than ever,” she explained, with new brightness. It would look even better by May or June, when everything started flowering – but Jemima supposed she would have to admire her sister’s gardening projects on visits, because she would no longer live here.

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