The Simpson was not a place where you ordered. You went there to get a Sunday roast and you received a Sunday roast. Which meant that they were seated and then served in short order. They were given a plate with as much prime rib roast, Yorkshire pudding, mashed potatoes, roasted squash, and gravy as they were inclined to eat. They were then brought two mugs of fine brown ale that would pair perfectly with the beef, given horseradish and hot mustard as condiments, and left to eat.

"It all looks lovely!" she declared as she eyeballed all of the food. She moved to sit down and looked around. Claire was in good spirits, in good company. As they began to eat, she told him more about her family and how they were philanthropists who liked to do good for other people, while keeping their quiet dignity about them. She spoke of her dreams and how she had wanted to travel for a long time and finally did.

Quentin shared a little of his own parents, though sparingly. She got the sense that they had been quite controlling prior to their deaths and that he had escaped to the army because of that overwhelming parental oversight. She learned that it was in the army that he'd discovered his love of travel which he'd taken into his new life when he was discharged early due to his parent's deaths and him needing to take over the family estate.

She told him about her favorite place in Louisianna, describing the way the Spanish moss hung spookily from the branches of trees and that gator was a delicacy in those parts. "I would stay awake at night sometimes and picture myself running through the bayou when the sun is high in the sky..." she sighed and ate some Yorkshire pudding. It was delicious.

"It sounds like a lovely place." He wipes up the last of his gravy with the last of his Yorkshire pudding leaning back in his seat before he pops it into his mouth. Reaching into his vest pocket he checks his pocket watch. "I look forward to visiting it with you in the future." He says tucking the watch back into his pocket. "Speaking of, it is getting late. Do you want to try to catch a train back to Whitby? Or would you like to visit my home here in London and stay over for the evening?"

"I think we both know the answer to that," she said with a chuckle. "I'd love to see your home," she went on. Claire reached over and touched his hand, letting her finger run over the knuckle of his forefinger and upward toward his wrist.

Quentin shifts his hand so his palm is laying face up on the table letting her stroke her fingers against his wrist. "If you want to get technical, it isn't my home. It is the London house, the estate I grew up in is just outside of a small town called Edenhall, the town being named after my family's estate. Which we can also visit at some point if you would like."

"We can do that soon," she murmured as her fingers moved to stroke at the pulse at his wrist. "I do not fancy a train ride this late in the day," she chuckled.

"No, I can imagine just what you fancy. Shall we go then?" He asks her with a grin.

"We shall," she said with a grin, curling her hand into his.