7 March, 1894 — Greengrass Home

By this time tomorrow, Ford would be married. He'd spent the morning at work buttoning up all of his ongoing projects, preparing for not being in the office for a week while he and his new wife honeymooned at the Sanditon. One of the benefits of working with spirits was that there was really very little that was time-sensitive; they had eternity, after all, so what was one more week? The issues with irritated living people involved he'd had to transfer to George, who was amiable enough even though Ford was sure he was less than thrilled to be inheriting only the issues Ford hadn't already managed to solve quickly and easily. But in any case, work was sorted and he'd escaped for the day. The wedding preparations were largely finished, so he'd been left to his own devices to pack for the honeymoon. He was sort of at a loss. He had put precisely zero thought into what might occur on a honeymoon (other than the obvious, which he was purposefully trying to avoid thinking about). He hadn't been eagerly looking forward to days spent lounging on the beach or anything, so he didn't know what to bring. Books, maybe? It seemed like a strange thing to bring on a honeymoon, in the abstract, but practically he thought perhaps it would be good to have some activities available to him that didn't involve his wife. He still barely knew her; spending an entire week in her company, uninterrupted, was rather a tall order.

So he had come down from his room to the parlor, where most of the books were crammed onto shelves opposite the liquor cabinet. Grace was in the room, which was better than Clementine or one of the cousins, but still not ideal. He had to pretend around everyone — everyone except Noble, sometimes — Grace was just... a little less hostile towards the act than the rest of them. He made a vague noise of greeting or acknowledgement but then turned his attention to the shelves, hoping he could get through this process without much conversation.

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Grace Greengrass

  

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Set by Lady!

It was normal, Grace thought, for girls to grow up dreaming of their own weddings. Of the dress, the flowers, the guest lists, the musical arrangements—oh, and the groom of course. It had been her default late-night daydream throughout her years at Hogwarts. She already knew what kind of dress she would wear (one without lace, it was too itchy) and what sort of husband she would have (someone with kind, warm eyes), but she'd also considered what kind of people her siblings would end up with.

Verity needed someone ambitious but patient—someone without a temper who would love he through her moments. She remembered how heavy the weight on her chest had been when Verity had married Mr. Swann.

Clemetine needed someone bright and just as clever as her. Someone who was competitive but kind, and not probably not very stubborn since Clementine would have enough of that for both of them.

Noble needed someone patient but vibrant, someone who would support him and share in his excitement over his potioneering pursuits. Someone clever enough to lure him away from his workbench when he got too involved with his work. Someone he could trust.

Ford... well, Grace had always seem him with someone who possessed patience above all else. Someone tender, someone sweet. Someone who understood that he would always put other people's needs above his own, and would put him first because of it. Grace had always thought he'd end up with some mousy young woman who liked to read and constantly reassured him that it will all be well, and everything will seem better once you've got a good night's rest. Someone who would not add to his stress, but actively alleviate it.

Miss Farley did not seem that type, although Grace didn't dare speak that aloud.

She had nothing against Miss Farley—she was kind, and seemed loyal and friendly and capable of providing all the love and support Ford needed from a wife. But she was also... a hurricane of a girl. Maybe it was a mischaracterization, since Grace still remembered the rumors about her following the diary scandal at Hogwarts years ago, so maybe she ought to keep her mouth shut. Maybe there was a part of her mind that actively sought reasons to dislike Miss Farley, because it didn't seem like Ford was actually excited to marry her.

Or maybe it was as simple as this: Grace did not want Ford to get married to Miss Farley because she was not ready for Ford to get married.

The thought had her choking up from where she sat in the corner of the parlor, a half-knitted crocheted blanket draped across her lap as she twirled the hooks in her right hand. She tried to distract herself, but she suspected she was very much like her siblings in that respect: she could try all she wanted not to stress, but the stress would inevitably overtake her.

The moment Ford entered the room, Grace stopped all pretense of crocheting and instead watched him pointedly ignore her on the way to the bookshelf. Her brows furrowed, but she stopped herself from saying anything, certain he would at least greet her. It was the night before his wedding, after all—what better time to at least try to crack a joke?

Ten seconds passed, then twenty, and Grace soon found it more awkward not to say anything than to say something stupid. "Ford," she called quietly, tilting her head in an attempt to see what he was looking for. "What are you doing?"

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He hadn't expected choosing a book to be so fraught. He'd read all of the poetry books he owned already, since he hadn't bought himself anything new since their father had died, but that usually wasn't a deterrent. But it had occurred to him while he contemplated the titles that he was going to be sharing a bedroom with her on their honeymoon, which meant she would see anything he packed. Suppose she wanted to strike up a conversation about the books he'd brought? It seemed entirely likely, which meant he couldn't just grab anything; the selection had to be tactical. Not the Tennyson book with the mournful saga In Memorandum. Something cheerful, maybe. Did he own any books of cheerful poetry?

Sonnets from the Portuguese could not be described as too dour, but he also didn't think he could bring a book with him that was explicitly love poetry. Ostensibly it was perfectly themed for a honeymoon, and if he had just been thinking of her maybe he would have selected it; maybe if she wanted to ask what he was reading they could shyly exchange some thoughts about what the future held, maybe start to feel optimistic about things once they were away from the scrutiny of society. They had both determined to make the best of it, after all. The honeymoon was as good a place as any to start.

But he also had to think about himself, and he didn't know that he could keep a veneer of amiability while reading love poetry. It would all remind him of Tycho, and he was sure there would be enough reminding him of Tycho during the excursion without him dragging along more painful reflections in his suitcase.

Grace's question startled him. He looked over at her, but remained facing the bookcase. "I'm looking for a book," he said, as though that wasn't obvious. Then, with a defensive undercurrent to his tone, "I've never taken a whole week on holiday before. I thought I might want one."

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Set by Lady!

Grace leaned back in her seat and looked at him, unblinking. There were so many things she wanted to ask, but if there was anything Grace had learned over the past few years it was to avoid asking questions she wasn't sure she wanted to answer to. Are you ready to be married? Aren't you excited? Don't you think you and Miss Farley will be happy? She's really nice, after all. It all felt very reminiscent of the night before Verity's wedding, and that marriage hadn't turned into some fairytale happily-ever-after.

"I hadn't considered that you might need one," she answered, letting the unspoken words remain unsaid. "Is Miss Farley fond of reading too? You ought to pick one you can read to each other." Honeymoons were a two-person holiday, after all, and didn't like to think about Ford abandoning his new wife on their trip to hide behind the pages of a book. It made her add another worry to her long list of worries about her own marriage one day—namely, ending up with someone so disinterested in her that they'd prefer to give their attention to a fictional person's feelings than concern themselves with hers.

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This was why he'd been hedging defensive already; presumably most people didn't need books on their honeymoon, but Ford was not most people. Miss Farley seemed nice enough, from the one conversation they'd had, but he still didn't really know her... and the idea of being left in her company for an entire week, with no distractions or breaks of any kind, left him feeling vaguely nauseated. He hadn't even had that sort of uninterrupted contact with people he actually liked, and now he was being faced with it with a girl he hardly knew. Actually, what was the longest stretch of time he'd spent in one person's company in the past? Maybe when Macnair had taken him to Paris, but actually that had only been less than a day all told before Ford broke things off and came back. Was it Billy Darrow, in the last blizzard? Merlin's ghost.

He hesitated in response to her question. He didn't know what she liked to read (or if she even liked to read; some people didn't). He didn't want to admit that to Grace. It seemed like such a basic thing to not understand that he was worried it would cause the whole facade, the idea that he had ever been even remotely fond of Miss Farley, to come crashing down around them. And he sometimes thought it was more important for Grace to believe that than anyone else.

"I don't have any novels," he pointed out. It seemed like a safe bet to imagine that if Miss Farley read, whatever she liked might fall into the broad category of novels. "And it's a little late to run to the bookstore."

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Set by Lady!

Grace unfolded herself from her seat and stood, letting the crocheted blanket fall to the floor as she walked towards the bookshelf. She paused when she stood at the opposite end, reaching out with one hand to brush her fingertips across the spines. They were a mixture of Ford and Mama's and even some of Noble's books—Grace wasn't much of a reader, but she did like books in theory. The pages and the words, the recorded thoughts and feelings of authors who were probably long dead, the history they painted a picture of. She hadn't finished a novel since she was freshly-graduated; everything else had seemed so much more important since then.

A new marriage definitely seemed more important. She tried to picture Ford holed away in the hotel room with a book in hand while Miss Farley visited the zoo or the beach or whatever else the Sanditon had to offer at this time of year. It didn't seem right.

"I don't think she'd be very pleased if her husband decided to read instead of spend time with her," she reflected, assuming that this was something that had simply slipped his mind. Ford had never seemed like the womanizing type—she couldn't remember a time where he'd flirted with ladies or tried to charm them in a way that made her roll her eyes. She had friends who frequently remarked that their older brothers made an ass of themselves at parties, but Grace could never relate. "Maybe a game? Does she like cards? Chess?"

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This was where Grace was wrong, of course, because the odds were that Miss Farley was probably just as sick at the thought of spending a whole week with him as he was thinking about spending a whole week with her. She would probably be relieved if he brought a book and gave her some time to just breathe, he thought... but maybe he was just projecting how he felt. Maybe Grace, for all her naive idealism, knew better. She was a woman, after all; maybe she had better insight into what a woman would want from her honeymoon, even if it wasn't a normal honeymoon.

"I suppose cards are easy to pack," he allowed. He knew some games, but he hadn't the slightest idea of whether or not Miss Farley played card games. Did women even play cards? He'd mostly played with other men, at the club or in retiring rooms that offered an escape from otherwise dull ballroom experiences.

This, of course, did not get to the heart of the thing that Grace hadn't said, but had made rather clear: it seemed he was looking for ways to avoid Miss Farley on his honeymoon.

"You know," he said, defensive again. "There's all these things you wouldn't know about someone until you live with them. You always got to bed before me," he pointed out. "What if she does, too? I might have a book for the night-time."

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Set by Lady!

Grace plucked a book from the shelf, needing to do something with her hands. She felt uncharacteristically nervous; usually Ford's presence was one she sought for comfort, but she didn't know what to say to him or how she would even go about saying it if she figured it out. Would it have been different if the marriage had come after months of steady courtship? If she'd had time to get to know Miss Farley as a potential sister and not a stranger that would be living with them in a week's time? Would she be just as nervous then, or was it because of all the unknowns?

"I would like to know if my fiancé liked to play chess before we married," she said softly, glancing up from the spine of the book she held to look at Ford. "I would hate to feel silly if he wanted to play with me and I didn't know how."

Maybe it was silly of her to expect to know someone well before marriage. Maybe it wasn't. But at the end of the day, it didn't really matter, because Grace couldn't understand why Ford would marry someone he didn't know that well.

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Ford was about to say well of course you'll know if he likes to play chess, but stopped himself. Who was he to offer reassurances? Verity had married someone who had dropped out of the sky, a deus ex machina that no one could afford to scrutinize too hard because they couldn't afford for her not to marry after she'd been missing a week and no one knew what had happened to her. Ford was getting married to someone he hardly knew. What assurances could he really give her in good faith that her situation, when it came around, would be any different? And that was if Grace ever married. At the present juncture it was a very big if indeed. Neither she nor Clementine had very serious prospects before the coatroom incident, and now they had the reputation sting of association with an allegedly rakish brother and soon an allegedly whoreish sister-in-law, which was hardly illustrious. And he still couldn't afford a dowry for either of them, which hurt their chances further — not that either of them knew that.

So it was really less of a question of whether Grace would be able to know or like her fiance before she married him and more of a question of whether that fiance would ever exist in the first place. But either side of this issue was something he'd rather die than bring up in conversation with Grace, so instead he stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'll teach you to play chess," he offered. "When we're back from the honeymoon."

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Set by Lady!

"Ford," she blurted, unable to hold her tongue. He was missing the point—no, he was being intentionally obtuse, because she didn't think he could miss the point. He was too smart. "You're okay, aren't you? This... this is okay, isn't it?" Abandoning her paperback on the edge of the shelf, she took a step closer and reached out to clasp her fingers around his forearm.

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As soon as she said his name he knew he wouldn't like what was coming. He braced himself, but there was no way to be ready for a question as bluntly stated as you're okay, aren't you? No, obviously he wasn't, but he couldn't tell that to Grace. He couldn't even tell that to Noble at this point, because if he did Noble was going to think he was freaking out and getting cold feet and might not go through with it tomorrow, and obviously they were in far too deep for that. He couldn't even tell Tycho, because Tycho was losing just as much as he was, and Ford was acutely aware of how selfish it was every time he thought of seeking out some sort of comfort from Ty when he was providing very little in exchange. But if he'd been willing to talk about it with anyone it might have been Ty or Noble — he certainly could admit nothing to Grace, Grace for whom he was doing this in the first place, Grace for whom he'd been sneaking out of parties to rob people, Grace for whom he was always trying the best that he could and always falling short.

"Oh, Grace," he said, with a heavy sigh. "I thought you'd be happy for me." She'd been doing a passable job of pretending to be, so far throughout the engagement — or had he maybe only assumed that, because she hadn't expressed any concrete reservations so far? But Grace was the idealistic one, the romantic one; she was supposed to believe in this myth that they were telling everyone about how the pair of them were fond of each other and it was only a slight hiccup in the circumstances that was seeing them wed this way and not in a more traditional method. But apparently not even she believed it, and that made Ford feel... tired, more than anything else. What had been the point of pretending for the past three weeks if he hadn't managed even to convince Grace?

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Set by Lady!

Grace flinched and dropped her hand from his arm.

"I am," she replied on instinct—but only on instinct. Being accused of not being happy for someone's marriage seemed like something she ought to take offense over, especially after watching countless acquaintances make their way to the altar, some of them accusing their other acquaintances of being jealous that they'd snagged a husband first. But this was Ford, so it stung in a different way.

"As long as you're happy about it, I mean. I would never seek to deprive you of the happiness you deserve," she insisted, an edge of defensiveness finding its way into her voice. "But it doesn't... you don't..." She trailed off and just looked at him, brows knitted together and lips downturned at the corners. "Tell me I'm wrong." She didn't think she was.

She also didn't think he could lie to her.

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Ford frowned. He was going to have to lie to her. And not just lie to her, not give her a flippant answer like the one he'd given Verity that seemed to have irreparably damaged their relationship, because he still had to live with Grace after this and he couldn't cope with having her skulk through the house avoiding him. He had to tell her a lie that she would believe.

He could do this. He'd been practicing. It was the only thing he did when he was lying awake at night waiting to fall asleep: rehearse fraught conversations he might have to have with people sometime between now and the wedding. That was one of the many reasons he'd been almost religiously stealing away to Tycho's whenever he could — at least if he was exhausted from sex and curled in the other man's arms he didn't have to wait long for sleep. Not enough time for his mind to start tracing through all the anxieties.

"Look," he began, reaching out for her arm. "I'm — worried. And nervous. I guess probably everyone is, at least a little, before they get married, but I — well, I never thought I'd get married this soon," he admitted. This was mostly the truth, if one changed this soon for at all. "I've been focusing on you and Verity and Clementine, since our father died, and I wasn't looking for anyone. But you don't have to be looking to find someone." (This was a line he had rehearsed; he hope Grace found it romantic). "But it feels a little... it feels like I'm going to be trying to do two things at once, and I don't know if I can," he continued. "So I'm worried. But it's — we'll figure it out, won't we? Things will work out."

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Set by Lady!

Grace immediately felt silly. Of course he was worried—how could he not be? It wasn't easy being the legal guardian of two debutantes, and even less so being the guardian of two debutantes with few prospects. She couldn't hide the shame on her face, her teeth nipping at her bottom lip and a patchy redness overtaking her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she said, going even redder at the abject guilt in her voice. "I know it's been a lot with us, and I—you should be able to enjoy being happy." She looked up at him, her brown eyes glassy. She'd tried work on coping with her feelings since graduating Hogwarts, but she couldn't with Ford. He'd seen her at every low point in her life, and it seemed like her body knew there was no point in trying with him.

"I want it to work out. I'd get married tomorrow if someone would have me," It sounded so pathetic when she said it like that, but she didn't think she could stomach the thought of adding more stress to Ford's plate. "You deserve to start a family in peace. Clementine will find someone this Season, I'm sure, and I'm sure I can manage... something." Hopeful, always hopeful. She had to be hopeful, else her worries would overtake her.

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Well, she'd believed him — and he hadn't even had to get to the point of insisting Miss Farley had a plethora of delightful qualities, or even parade out the word love. This ought to have been a win for him, and in a small way it was, because he'd sidestepped a conversation he couldn't hold to navigate... but Grace had taken it poorly, and Ford was kicking himself for not having come up with a lie that was a little farther from the truth, because in hindsight of course she had taken it poorly.

"Grace," he said, reaching to take both of her hands in his so that he could be sure he had her attention. "I wouldn't trade being your brother for anything. I mean that," he insisted gently. (He would have traded a few things to be her brother and have her married by now, but saying so was hardly going to be helpful). "It's my job to worry about you, yeah? And not the other way around. You just be happy for me," he concluded. "And let me figure out the rest."

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Set by Lady!

It took an embarrassingly small amount of time for glassy eyes to turn into teary ones. She swiped miserably at her cheeks, wiping her fabric on the skirt of her dress. It was one thing to feel like a burden on her family; it was another to get confirmation, however unintended and well-meaning it was. She hated it. She'd known that most girls didn't get married after a single season, but three? And now Jemima Farley, who was just a year beneath her in school, was marrying her brother and would probably resent her, too.

It was selfish to be thinking of her own feelings and she knew it, so when Ford took her hands she attempted to reel them back in, sniffing and clearing her throat until her tears stopped flowing.

"I am one-and-twenty," she insisted, straightening her back. Confidence. Self-assurance. Control. She needed all three right now, because tomorrow was Ford's day and she couldn't send him to bed worrying about her. "I am not a little girl anymore. I will do everything I can to take what weight I can off your shoulders." It was Clementine's turn to have the center of attention, anyways. "I swear it."

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