An Innocent Affair

XVIII

"Maybe we tried to leave as much memories of ourselves with each other because we knew one day we wouldn't be together any more." Makoto Shinkai, 5 Centimeters Per Second

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XVIII.

At a complete loss of knowing what to do, Jem could not allow his sister to stay any longer in London. Grace had supported his every endeavour, and Adam had done everything in his power to give him a position and a foundation to support a marriage. Unless a long lost relative spontaneously died and bequeathed him ten thousand pounds, there was not anything more his sister of brother-in-law could do for him.

Grace, Adam, and Cecily departed London for Ashwood shortly after Jem had returned from asking Mrs Martin for Cressie's hand. When Grace had learned of Jem's failure in his mission, she had not wanted to leave him. But Jem, after a season of selfishness where his sister was concerned, could not allow it.

And so, Jem was left alone in the big house in London to wallow in his first taste of monumental heartbreak. He had heard about. He had read about. He had certainly seen tastes of it in the flickering memories of his mother's grief after his father's death. But he could never have known the gut-wrenching pain that it was to have one's heart broken.

All optimism was gone. Hope was lost. What, indeed, was hope? It seemed like a distant memory now, and Jem felt delusional that he had ever thought himself good enough for Cressie Martin.

Mrs Martin's words infuriated him, and only added to the pain that he felt. He felt incredibly condescended to. How dare she suppose to understand the depths of his feelings, or the depths of her daughter's affections? Young love was still love. Age meant nothing.

Why, Adam had remarked on several occasions how he had known that Grace was the one to be his wife when they were both in the school room as children. Age meant nothing. It was irrelevant.

Mrs Martin seemed to believe that his feelings would pass, and that Cressie's would also. But the gaping hole in his chest where his heart used to be seemed to suggest otherwise. Unless Cressie came to return it, Jem was certain that his feelings would never change.

And that was what made this whole ordeal so much more painful. There was nothing to be done. Cressie was underage. She could not marry without permission. And Jem was never going to be good enough for her mother.

Jem made feeble attempts over the next few days to distract himself. He needed to do anything that would not tempt him to climb through Cressie's window. He hated to think of her own pain when he thought of his own. He knew that she would be suffering as well, and that was what made it terribly worse. He couldn't bear the thought of her pain.

Jem caught up on his correspondence with his mother. He had been a dreadful son in that respect, and Mrs Denham had written faithfully to remind him that:

You still have a mother, you know.

And:

A note to assure me you are still living would do my nerves the world of good.

Jem wrote a letter to his mother, creating a narrative of a charming stay in London, and how he had been to parties and balls and seen Peter and Belle, and Jack and Claire. Her granddaughters were well, and everything was fine.

The lie of it all made him want to throw the damned letter in the fire.

And Jem began to assume his role of House Steward. Despite this role not being enough to secure Cressie's hand, that did not mean that Jem did not take his new responsibilities seriously.