An Innocent Affair

VII

"Our hearts are bars of soap that we keep losing hold of; the moment we relax, they drift off and fall in love and get broken, all in the wink of an eye. We're not in control." Fredrik Backman, Anxious People

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VII.

"What do you think, is blue my colour?"

Jem dramatically draped a length from one of Belle's bolts of fabric against his torso and flapped around, deliberately trying to elicit a laugh from his brother and sister-in-law.

Belle giggled. Peter snickered, shaking his head, before he called Jem a, "Muttonhead."

"Blue is certainly your colour, Jem," Belle encouraged with a laugh. "I shall sketch something for you immediately. Do you prefer tulip or trumpet sleeves?"

Jem pursed his lips. He really had no idea what a tulip sleeve was, but the very word reminded him of the bouquet of tulips that had been sitting in Cressie's drawing room when he had arrived, next to which his mourning bouquet of chrysanthemums now resided.

He shook off his embarrassment over the whole affair and said, "Trumpet, I think. They sound terribly noisy and irritating. I should like to march through Peter's office wearing them constantly."

"Of course, you would." Peter rolled his eyes with an amused smile on his face. "You should sew bells onto his boots and a tambourine onto his bonnet to complete the ensemble, Belle."

"I shall certainly be the best dressed deb at the ball," Jem joked. He then rolled up Belle's fabric and stowed it away in the bin in which he had found it.

It was after eight, and Belle had long closed her shop for the evening. Considering she had not been open for long, it looked like a very established dress shop. They had done well to organise it in the time that they had. Jem's only reference for a dress shop, of course, was Belle's table in Mr Andrews' grocer shop in Ashwood where she had mended rips in hems and sewn buttons onto coats for the villagers. This was the establishment in which she belonged.

Peter had also returned from his work at Beresford Press for the day, and they had entertained Jem for supper that evening. Rather, Jem felt that he had imposed himself upon his brother and sister-in-law by annoying them until he was asked to stay.

He was staying with Grace and Adam at their home in Grosvenor Square. But he had not been home since calling upon Cressie at her home that morning. Jem knew that his sister would have been anxious for news as to how the visit had gone, and Jem was not yet ready to tell her that it had been a complete and utter disaster.

Of course, his interactions with Cressie had bene wonderful. He had loved conversing with her, even if they could not speak properly with her mother listening nearby. But in confessing his position, or lack thereof, Jem was almost certain that he had ruined his chances at ever being seen as a serious suitor of Cressie's. It was clear that she already had another suitor as well, and by the way Mrs Martin spoke, she approved of him.

Jem, Peter and Belle were gathered around Belle's large worktable. It was littered with her sketches and materials for the project she was working on. On it were collections of buttons and scraps of fabric and offcuts of cotton. It looked like organised chaos. Jem picked up a smooth, white stick and flipped it between his fingers.

"What's this for?" he wondered aloud.

"It is a whale bone," answered Belle.

Jem flinched, dropping it instantly as though it had burned him. "What on earth do you need a whale bone for?"

"They are used in ... women's stays," Belle replied delicately.

Jem felt entirely ignorant. "A woman stays where?"