"Well..." she said with her cheeks brightening a slightly pinker shade of pink, if that were possible, she dropped her gaze. "I feel as if I am in a different world. I wasn't born into squallor, but never did I think I would find myself inheriting someone else's fortune. This soup only tastes better because somebody else made it." She chuckled with little humor. This wasn't anything she was used to. Her callouses were still hidden beneath the gloves that covered her tapered fingers. Her eyes lifted and she tilted her head toward him.

"I was taught that this," she paused and indicated her gown with the plucking of fabric with her free hand, the soft drape of it emphasized as the fabric practically glided back into place with nary a wrinkle, "Is vain. I've never gotten to wear vibrant colors before that make me look different." She gave a chuckle, "Part of me wishes to enjoy it, and part of me is frightened that my brother will walk in uninvited and call me a trollop."