She saw the way he looked at her, heard the epitaph, words she'd definitely remember for the rest of her days, where he lost his composure for a slip of a girl like her. Her blush crept up her cheeks as she neared him. By the time she reached the bottom of the grand staircase, he might be able to detect the subtle aroma of orange blossom and honey, and the barest hint of something spicily aromatic... perhaps a touch of clove or cinnamon. She closed some of the space between them until she was almost within arm's reach of him, lowered those stormy eyes of hers, and dipped into a refined looking curtsy. She couldn't help herself; it was something she felt compelled to do.

"Hello, Mister Appleton," she murmured almost shyly. Then she straightened up and stood to slightly above her full heigh since she was now appointed with slippers that had heels instead of those ugly boots of hers.