When she had been all of a slip of a girl, long before she had ever married and while she had still been on the verge of taking up her apprenticeship, she had had a habit of twisting a bit of her skirt or apron between her hands while nervous. It was a habit she had fallen into once already in front of the Musketeer and had to actively fight against doing so again. Which was ridiculous, as far as she could see. It was her home, where he was a guest. Well, her husband's home, where she lived, but all the same. She was the mistress of the house and should have total control over at least her kitchen and her table.
Constance was a touch surprised that he might have any curiosity at all regarding her, blinking once before admitting, "There's not much to say, really." Such was true enough, and for a moment she was all too aware that she had not lived anything like an interesting life. "I've lived in Paris since I married Monsieur Bonacieux three years ago. Three older brothers." The usual marriage arranged by her father when she came of age, perhaps a bit younger than most, but she was hardly going to state the obvious there. Marrying for love was a luxury few were allowed, and not one she had ever seriously imagined she would have in her life. Not a bad life. Peaceful enough, really.
"My husband's a clothier, as you seem to have guessed already," there was a wealth of things she could not say there in regards to the man's business sense or his refusal to listen to any of her advice on such matters where it countermanded his decisions. "He does well enough, still building his reputation in the trade."
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Date: 2015-05-13 07:07 am (UTC)Constance was a touch surprised that he might have any curiosity at all regarding her, blinking once before admitting, "There's not much to say, really." Such was true enough, and for a moment she was all too aware that she had not lived anything like an interesting life. "I've lived in Paris since I married Monsieur Bonacieux three years ago. Three older brothers." The usual marriage arranged by her father when she came of age, perhaps a bit younger than most, but she was hardly going to state the obvious there. Marrying for love was a luxury few were allowed, and not one she had ever seriously imagined she would have in her life. Not a bad life. Peaceful enough, really.
"My husband's a clothier, as you seem to have guessed already," there was a wealth of things she could not say there in regards to the man's business sense or his refusal to listen to any of her advice on such matters where it countermanded his decisions. "He does well enough, still building his reputation in the trade."