Tristan nodded. "I am glad to hear that." He took a sip of the wine, held it in his mouth slowly, savouring the taste, and swallowed. "How have you been otherwise? You look healthier than when you started."

"I have been better," she said, looking down into her glass, "though sometimes it is lonely, I'll admit... not knowing anyone, that is." She bit her lip for a moment... "And you, sir, how are you?"

He smiled a little, involuntarily. "Much the same, I am afraid. I am not from the region and apart from my friend Mr. Appleton who was visiting the other week, I don't know anyone here yet." Pippa had probably met Tobias when he had visited the last week, though only in serving their tea. Tristan had not yet met the young wife his friend had talked - no complained - about, though he had just received a request from his friend to come and assess the girl's psychological health.

He sat back. "Where were you from again?"

She nodded, having remembered vaguely the man in question only because she overheard a little bit of the complaints, though not enough for her to want to eavesdrop. She was a servant now, yes, but she couldn't stand gossip of any kind and she knew that servants liked to talk to other servants about their employers, having overheard her father's servants blabbing about something her brother had done once. It was a rude practice. "I remember," she said. At his next words, she said, "I am from Massachusetts, sir... Boston."

Tristan nodded. "A true stranger to this place then," he commented. "If you don't mind my asking, what brought you all the way to England? Would it not have been easier to stay in Boston, perhaps depend on an old family friend?" Or toss herself into a marriage with a rich bloke? Hadn't that been the plan for her from the beginning? She might not have money anymore, but she had looks and fine manners, and probably a name, and she would form a fine ornament in some rich gentleman's house.

"I... didn't know what else to do. I wasn't thinking clearly." She looked away from that, for it was still a sore subject, but she would answer his questions. "I suppose it wasn't the smartest thing to do in retrospect, but I just remember being numb." She didn't start to tear up, she looked back over to him with clear eyes, sad ones, but they were not wet. "I miss them very much and I do wish that I had stayed sometimes, but I've found my place here, I think." She then took a larger sip of wine than she intended to. She was starting to feel a little flushed.

He noticed the changes in her face, though he was glad to see that she did not respond as strongly as when they had first met. He knew that she still cried sometimes, but it was a sign that she was beginning to heal - insofar as healing was possible. "Grief can make us do strange things," he said quietly. "I apologise. I shouldn't have gone there."

"It is quite alright. I have to talk about them sometime." She gave another slight smile and a humorless chuckle, taking another sip, a tiny one this time. Her eyes moved to look at him again then and she went on, "I couldn't simply forget about them all."

"Of course not," he said, observing here. The glass of wine in his hand was quite forgotten. She was right. It could even be good to talk about the people one had lost. But it was hard to estimate when was the right time. "Would you like to talk about them?" he asked.

"Not right now," she said in a low voice. "Perhaps soon, however. I am not quite ready. But thank you for asking." She didn't trust him just yet with that much of... her. Suddenly, she felt quite vulnerable and the look of it was in her eyes. She seemed to shrink within herself just a tiny bit, minuscule really but just enough for someone like him, who was probably used to reading expressions, to find.