He looked at the young woman and tilted his head in acknowledgement. Just wanting to be polite, he said, "Would you... and your sister... like to stop for lunch before I go home?" Not that he actually wanted to spend time with the Carringtons.

"That would be most agreeable, Mister Culpepper. We should be delighted to lunch with you."

"Would you like food from the vendor nearby or would you like to eat at that inn over there? I hear they have excellent roasted chicken," he nodded to the inn in question.

"Oh food from a vendor sounds daring." Olivia responded with manufactured excitement. Anything to get to know this man better. At the edges of her vision, she was dimly aware of her sister wrinkling her nose. "Some might think such things as degrading, but I prefer to think of it as supporting our community. What was it that Kipling said? If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings, nor lose the common touch."

He stared at her for a moment in consideration, then said, "Vendor food it is." There was the hint of a smile that touched his lips, but his eyes remained cool. He wasn't sure whether she was being sincere or not, but he was hungry.

Food from a vendor.. how delightfully risqué. Olivia ignored the disgusted scowl from her sister. Anything to spend more time with this dashing young man. The hot fat from the meat pie soaked through the paper that served as a 'plate'. Her mother would be appalled, but Olivia was being purely selfish. Indeed, cheap food was probably ruining her gloves, but that was a problem for the servants to worry about. If they could salvage them all the better; if not Olivia would shout at them and then simply buy a new pair.

He hoped that this food would not encourage the chit to pursue some kind of relationship with him beyond platonic friendship, if friendship was even a remote possibility. He managed to hide any disgust he might feel for the situation, and intended to somehow wrench himself free. He said, "Well then," he bought her meat pie to be polite, nothing more, nothing less, pasted on a smile, and ate one of his own. He forgot about her for a moment in genuine surprise at the flakiness of the crust. Delicious.

The hot savoury morsel did indeed mess her gloves. Yet at the same time, it awakened a memory; of a young Olivia sneaking fresh treats like this one from the kitchen when the cook wasn't looking. What was her name? Began with a 'B' or was it a 'P'? That plump old dear, stern though she was, was more of a mother figure to her than Anne. Enraptured by buttery lardiness, Olivia looked up to see that Culpepper too was occu-pied. Maybe it was fate that they were bonding over a love of vendor snacks.

"Well, it is delicious..." he said, giving an honest chuckle. "It was good to see you again, Miss Carrington... You as well... Miss Carrington," he nodded toward the elder sister. "I must get the flowers to my mother now."

Olivia was desperate to spend more time with him, but not so desperate that she would publicly debase herself by doing something so crass as crying out after him when he withdrew. To stay within his orbit would require subtlety and grace.

"You shall have to let us know if your mother enjoys the flowers, Mister Culpepper. It was most kind of you to accompany us, my sister and I do appreciate it. Perhaps we shall lunch again together, soon?"