"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.

Though managing the house finances did not distract him well enough for the morning newspaper a week later.

His eyes seemed to find the engagement announcement by themselves. Or perhaps he had sought it out. Perhaps he had been waiting for it, and fearful that it would come. And today it had.

Mr Everett Delaney of Henshaw House, Yorkshire, heir to the Delaneys of Suffolk, to Miss Cressida Martin, daughter of Mr and Mrs Martin, after a brief courtship are to be wed at St Agatha's Church on the thirtieth day of June 1812 at ten o'clock ...

Jem could not read any further.

He was numb. He forced himself into numbness as he could not experience the full weight of what he had just read.

Cressie was engaged. She was engaged to him. The man was two decades older than her, but so long as he had a weighty purse, he would do.

Cressie was to be another man's wife. Jem abandoned the paper and buried his face in his hands. Never did he imagine that there was something below helplessness and despair, but there was, and it was this. Whatever this feeling was, it was ferocious in its toxicity. It threatened to swallow Jem whole.

***

Cressie existed for the next month. She wasn't living. Living required purpose, determination, and feeling. Cressie certainly had feeling, but it was not of the living variety. She was utterly despondent, and nobody seemed to notice or care.

Especially not her mother.

Mrs Martin, on the other hand, had never been happier. She had access to all of Mr Delaney's accounts, and had been busy planning a grand affair for the wedding at the end of June. Cressie was not involved in any of the decisions, not even the dress, which had been commissioned at Desjardins, just as every other of Cressie's dresses.

Belle was delicate in her interactions with Cressie, but Cressie was unable to speak. For what could she say? What could she do? Nothing. Hope was lost. Her life was gone. It had never even been hers to begin with.

Mrs Martin happily purchased ribbons and lace and bonnets and every other frivolous thing that Cressie supposedly needed for her trousseau. An elaborate wedding breakfast was planned, and the horses would have their manes braided and everything would be perfect, as when this marriage occurred, they would be saved.

Cressie did not feel saved. Cressie felt as though she was clinging to a precipice and was slowly losing her grip one finger at a time.

On the night before her wedding, as she held onto the precipice with her very last finger, Mrs Martin entered Cressie's bedroom quietly. Her mother's cheeks were rosy in the light of her candle, and she wore such an expression of pride. Cressie had seen her own reflection as she had taken her hair pins out before bed. She looked as dead outside as she felt on the inside.

Mrs Martin delicately sat down on the edge of Cressie's bed and she placed the candle down carefully on the table beside the bed. "I cannot wait for you to know how happy you will be," she murmured. "Just you wait, my darling. Just you wait. It will all be alright, and you will be happy. I know it."

Cressie said nothing.

"Now, I have come to have an important discussion with you." Mrs Martin stroked the back of Cressie's limp hand. "There are things that you need to be aware of. Things you must know before your wedding night tomorrow."

Cressie sat and listened as her mother described what she called the marital act. She explained in detail what would be expected of Cressie, and what, indeed, her new husband would do to her the following night. It was an act that created children, her mother explained, and she hoped that Cressie would be blessed with children to love very soon.

"You will find that your husband experiences certain desires for his wife," Mrs Martin said conclusively. "Our role is to be amenable. It is easiest, dear, if you lay quietly."

Cressie was horrified. She was horrified that she would be expected to be so ... so exposed before a man she hardly knew. She was horrified that this man would know her so intimately. She could hardly speak, and weakly shook her head when her mother asked if she had any questions.

The word 'desire' triggered several memories in her of when Mr Delaney had used such a word. Had he been referring to this?

Mrs Martin left Cressie alone as her mind flooded with equal parts panic and horror. This was what it led to. Kissing and desire led to this. But the very idea that this act would take place between her and Mr Delaney felt criminally wrong. She didn't want it. Not with him.

It was too much. It was all too much. Cressie had kissed before. She had experienced desire, now that she knew the name of it, before. And along with that desire, she had experienced the type of love and security that people dreamed of. Only it was not with Mr Delaney.

Cressie was unsure of for how long she sat in her bed panicking. It might have been hours, for the street below from her window was eerily silent. She moved quickly, donning only a hooded cloak overtop of her nightgown, and she stole down the stairs and out of the front door quickly and quietly. She had not even stopped to put shoes on her feet.

Her mother and Nelly had not seen her, and they had certainly not stopped her. They both had to have been asleep as Cressie donned her hood and took off in a sprint.

Cressie could barely concentrate for running, for breathing so heavily that she might have brought up a lung. She did not have the space in her mind to be panicked at the fact that she was running alone down the London streets of Mayfair, with only the dim streetlamps for light. She knew the way to safety, and that was all she could focus on.

When Cressie came to the iron gates before Ashwood Place, she thanked God that the gate was unlocked, and that the servants kept it well oiled. It did not make a sound as she pushed it open. She could not knock on the door and risk waking the house, and she could never guess which one of the many windows belonged to Jem.

Like a thief in the night, Cressie stole around the side of the house, her feet hurting as she stepped on brambles and pebbles. She cried out soundlessly. Pushing through the foliage of the Ashwood gardens, Cressie made it to the servants' courtyard outside of the kitchen, and she could still smell the remnants of tobacco in the air from the footmen smoking. But the kitchen was dark through the windows as the servants had all gone to bed.

Cressie closed her eyes and wished as she approached the wooden door of the kitchen and breathed a sigh of great relief as it opened without struggle. As quick as a mouse, Cressie stepped inside the dark kitchen and closed the door behind her. The kitchen was still warm from the hearth and the gorgeous smells of supper lingered around her. But Cressie did not stay long to imagine what might have been Jem's meal. On the counter, however, was an extinguished candlestick. Cressie seized it and dashed to the embers of the hearth to light it. The flickering flame immediately illuminated her surroundings, and Cressie found the narrow staircase in which she had to climb. She darted to the stairs and sprinted up them as quietly as she could.

Cressie had no idea of where she was going, and she chose to exit out of the first door that she found. When she stepped out, it was terribly dark, but the candle helped her to see that she was in a wide corridor dressed with a luxurious rug as well as tapestries and portraits on the wall. This was no longer the servants' quarters. This was part of the main house. When Cressie turned to the left, she could dimly see the first floor landing from the staircase. To the right was a wing of rooms with ten-foot doorways. Could these be the bedrooms?

Which could be Jem's? Which would house the duke and duchess, or the dowager duchess? She could not dare risk waking them.

But she had little choice but to check. She had come this far, and whatever was coursing through her veins in that moment gave her the bravery to open the first door. Cressie quietly cracked the door and held the candlestick inside. But she was met with an empty bedroom.

The next three doors yielded the same results.

When Cressie opened the fifth door and used the candle to light the room, she nearly fainted when she saw that this room was occupied. In the bed against the far wall, she could see a figure lying there. Only he wasn't asleep. His eyes reflected the light of the candle, and he was looking right at her.

"Who goes there?" His voice was defensive, his hand reached for the drawer beside the bed.

Defensive or not, Cressie knew Jem's voice, and something washed over her in that moment of realising that he was there. It was almost enough to make her delirious. She nearly dropped the candlestick as he legs gave way beneath her and the fatigue suddenly found her after running all this way. Her heart could not slow and she could not breathe in enough air as she slumped against the door, the click of the latch sounding as it shut behind her.

"Jem," she whimpered.

"Good God! Cressie!" Jem cried. He leapt out of the bed and crossed the room in seconds, owing to his large strides.

"Did I wake you?" she asked rather pathetically as he reached her, his hands hesitating for a moment, before they settled on the sides of her face. Cressie leaned into his touch automatically, without even realising, as though her body knew it was safe before her mind could comprehend it.

"How could I sleep when you are getting married tomorrow?" Jem murmured softly. "Cressie, what are you doing here? Are you alright? Are you hurt? What can I do?"

Cressie couldn't help herself as she climbed onto Jem's lap, wrapping her arms around him as she rested her head against his chest. His heart was beating nearly as quickly as hers was. "I had to see you," she whispered against him. She felt his arms tighten around her. She then felt his lips brush her hair. It made her smile with the first feeling of peace she had experienced in weeks.

"Cressie, what do you want?" It was not a demanding question. She could hear the pain in his voice.

Her heart squeezed tightly in her chest at the knowledge that she had caused him pain. They had both experienced the same pain.

What she wanted and what could have were two entirely different things. She was behaving like a fool, but she could not care about anything else in that moment except for Jem. What he had awakened inside of her these last months was entirely intoxicating.

"I wanted to be safe," she replied softly. "My mother told me these things, and I just wanted to be safe with you. I am sorry if that is selfish. I know I am being selfish, but I wanted to be with you."

"You are never selfish," Jem declared rather fiercely, his grip, if it could be imagined, tightened even further. Cressie relished in his security. "You are the least selfish person I have ever met. In fact, I wish you would be selfish."

Cressie moulded her face to Jem's chest as she felt tears begin to trickle down from her eyes. Lord, how he knew what to say. She felt his truth in his conviction, and he wasn't angry that she had come. "I have to get married tomorrow," she whimpered.

"You don't have to do anything. You can be selfish, Cressie," Jem whispered back.

"I have to," Cressie whispered back. "Mama ... I have to. And that is why I know I am selfish for coming to you, because no matter what, I have to get married tomorrow."

Jem was silent for a long moment, but he never released her, and Cressie thanked God for it.

Cressie couldn't say 'no'. Her mother could not afford to support them beyond the Season without Cressie marrying, and she was never going to allow her to marry Jem. She had to be married to Mr Delaney, or else she and her mother would be living on the street come summer's end.

"You are not selfish," Jem said finally. "I hope your mother thanks you every day for what you are willing to do for her. You could never be selfish, Cressie Martin."

Cressie dared to look up at him, and she found his beautiful ocean eyes looking down upon her in the flickering light of the candle. But then she proved him wrong. She could be selfish. She knew it was selfish. But she kissed him. She stretched up her neck and she kissed Jem with everything that she had. She held onto him for dear life.

She felt such overwhelming emotion, such fluttering in her stomach, as her passion overcame her. And she felt it reciprocated from Jem exactly. This was what it was supposed to be like. Cressie felt like she knew nothing, and everything, when she was held by Jem. What her mother had explained to her made little sense when she was with him. Cressie could hardly think of what would be expected of her tomorrow night, but it was there in the back of her mind as she suddenly pulled away.

Cressie remained close to Jem, their noses touching as they each felt the other's rapid pants. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything," breathed Jem.

"Do you know what happens between a husband and wife on their wedding night?" Cressie genuinely had no idea if Jem would know. She, herself, had only learned of it a few hours earlier. Though she supposed men were more learned in these matters than women.

Jem nodded cautiously, a slight grimace on his face. "Yes, I do know," he confirmed quietly.

"I don't know if it works if you're not married, but ..." Cressie fumbled with her words. Now was not the time for bashfulness. She knew exactly why she had come here, and that was why she knew that she was selfish. "I want it to be with you."

Jem's brows furrowed as he reached up to cradle one of his cheeks with his large palm. "Are you certain?" he asked her seriously.

"I have never been more certain of anything in my life," she replied, nodding. "I told you I was selfish."

Jem leaned down and stole the words from her lips with a soft kiss. "Stop calling yourself selfish. I won't hear it," he instructed softly. "I will take you home."

Cressie froze as he went to move. She became dead weight on his lap. "No!" she said entirely too loudly.

"You will hate me tomorrow," Jem reasoned.

She shook her head with conviction. "I will love you tomorrow, as I love you now, and I will love you always."

Jem stared into Cressie's eyes for a long moment, searching for any crack in her determination. But he wouldn't find any. Her conviction grew by the second. And then he kissed her, his arms encircling her as he lifted her against his chest, before he carried her over to the bed.

***

Jem stretched his arms lethargically as his eyes fluttered open. His bedroom was illuminated by a single beam of sunlight breaking into the room from a gap in the thick drapes at the window.

It took a moment for his eyes to focus, and another to realise that last night had not been a dream. Cressie had been there, and she had been his in every way but the one he wanted most. His bride. But she had fallen asleep in his arms, and he had been the happiest that he had ever been.

God, she couldn't marry him. She simply couldn't. As he rolled over to declare this, to tell her that they would travel to Scotland and wear the consequences of her mother's ire, he was shocked to see the other side of his bed had been abandoned.

Cressie was gone.

Jem sat bolt upright in bed, panicking, and searching frantically for Cressie elsewhere in the room. But she wasn't there. As he threw back the bedclothes, his fingers brushed over a stiff piece of parchment, and there on the bed beside him, he found a letter.

It was folded over once, and simple read Jem on the outside.

Jem fearfully unfolded it and read her words. In tear-streaked ink, she had written:

I was right. I told you I would still love you in the morning.

I love you now. I love you always. Thank you for showing me what it is to love and to be loved. You have my heart, and I leave it with you for safe keeping. It will never belong to anyone else.

I am sorry to leave you. You cannot know how I wish it could be different.

I will imagine it as you.

C

"No." Jem couldn't accept it. He couldn't lose her now. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair.

What time was it? Jem's darted to the clock on the mantle, and nearly emptied his stomach when he saw it was twenty minutes to ten. The ceremony was at ten o'clock. He couldn't be too late. He just couldn't!

Jem dressed as quickly and as sloppily as he ever had in his life. He pulled on his boots as he ran down the stairs and past the servants asking after him with concern. He had not the time to wait for a horse to be saddled. Now was the time for his extraordinarily long legs to become of some use. Jem ran. He knew exactly where St Agatha's Church was. It was a few miles away, and Jem had travelled there soon after he had read the engagement announcement in the newspaper. Why, he did not know. But perhaps it was for this moment.

What would he do? he wondered as he ran. The fine gentry of Mayfair looked upon him with confusion. The ladies turned their noses up at the chaotic young man running past them. Would he storm into the church? Would he steal her from the altar?

Lord, he would fight that man, her intended, with pistols at dawn if it meant she didn't have to marry him.

He passed the last few familiar corners. The church was close. He had no idea of the time. Finally, Jem rounded the right corner to where the little church was situated. But just as he did, the church bells began to ring, and he stopped in his tracks across the street. The wooden doors of the building opened, and the guests of the wedding began to spill out. Jem stood frozen, paralysed completely, as the wedded couple emerged as well.

She walked, as beautiful as an angel, draped in lace, silk, and flowers, on the arm of another man. On the arm of her husband.

Jem was too late.

----

I promise I'm doing it for you. *slaps own hand* BAD LAURA! BAD LAURA!

I warned you, didn't I Jemmy and Cressie? I warned you both that it was going to be hard? Maybe I didn't warn you enough? I didn't warn you that your author is just sick in the head and takes pleasure from making others suffer?

I

AM

SORRY

KINDA

NOT

REALLY

I know I definitely warned you guys that it was gonna be a BUMPY ride hahaha. I hope you didn't loosen those seatbelts. If you did, that's on you ;) hehehehe

How the hell am I going to get them out of this one? Or am I going to be able to? Is this going to be the first story where I've just dug myself too big of a hole? Will I just leave Jem and Cressie to suffer like the rest of you?

Alright. I have to leave you for this weekend. I won't be able to get a chapter up until next Saturday, and we'll resume our usual date night ;)

So you've got plenty of time to wonder about what the hell I'm going to do next. Who knows? Oh, wait, I do. I have a sick, horrid plan to bring about pain and suffering as we all know :)

Happy stressing, friends!

Vote and comment! Xxx