Zechariah’s face was neutral, but there was a wicked gleam in his eye as he leaned comfortably into the couch and rested his free arm on the armrest.

“Because,” he answered glibly, “she would bring a pregnant, unmarried sister by for scraps.”

He savored a shorter sip of champagne. Suddenly, Zechariah did not seem to mind questions.

That was rather shocking, though he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the sister. Still, if Pippa would bring strangers in, he'd probably fire her.

Probably wouldn't because he was a pushover.

He'd speak sternly.

"That's bad, I'm sorry. Perhaps a more experienced maid, then," he suggested. He took another drink of his champagne. Two thirds gone. He was getting there.

“Perhaps,” he said noncommittally.

Did it look good that he had no maid? No. Was it nice to be able to attempt seduction upon a man he should not bed in the smack dab middle of his own rented cottage? Goodness, yes.

“Do you drink often?” he teased, taking another sip of his champagne with a pinky up this time.

Tristan shook his head awkwardly. "Just moved to Whitby," he tried to justify the non-drinking. "Don't know that many people yet, and it feels a little sad to drink alone."

His explanation that was supposed to not make him look like a loser... just accomplished exactly that. Tristan downed the rest of the glass.

Hm. This perfect man seemed a little bit like a loser.

“Do they not drink where you come from?” Zechariah laughed.

… How was he going to keep this loser entertained? He took a longer sip of his champagne in hopes to make him interesting again.

If he hadn't felt embarrassed before, he certainly did now. "No. Yes. But I worked in an asylum which kept me busy." That busy? Tristan held out his glass to compensate.

“That is exciting,” he said, politely.

Yawn.

Would writing poetry make up for the skinniness? It might.

Zechariah refilled Dr. Well’s glass, and finished his own.

“What was that like?”

"Interesting, though rough at times." Tristan answered, feeling a little nervous now that the man's words and actions didn't match. He quickly drank a little to feel less awkward. "It was satisfying when people made progress, but the conditions of asylum could be improved to make that easier." Was he talking too much? Another sip. "Did some work for the court and goal." Probably leave it there. Sip. "You still haven't told me what you do."

Now, Zechariah looked sly. He leisurely filled his own glass and sipped.

“What are your thoughts on the Hippocratic Oath, my friend?”

What if this doctor took up fishing for his health? Would that bulk him up a bit? He lived near the fishing families …

A reply suddenly his mind and with a little burst of confidence, Tristan sat back and looked at his glass. "What do you do for a living that is so embarrassing?"