She felt the heat of chagrin reddening her face. She had just... confessed her feelings after being warned not to by her mother, even. But not speaking up was torture. She'd been punishing herself for her choices and now she could add to that with putting her foot in her mouth. As soon as they were finally back in the house -- the walk not being terribly long but seeming longer right now with the different things she'd said. She couldn't even look at him as she picked up the pace and fled the scene, rushing away toward her room. Hell, she wasn't even sure if she could meet him for tea after all of that.

But then as she sat in dry underthings, using linen to squeeze the moisture from her hair, she knew she owed him the tea he offered. Of course, she would take her time to get dressed again, but right now, her fingers shook, not with cold but the fact that she hard started crying again, damn it all. She didn't want to leave, that was the worst part of all...

She finally emerged from her room after putting on her plainest frock, the one that swallowed her up. She wanted to hide within the confines of the voluminous fabric, the very gown she wore the day she arrived, heavy with pregnancy. Assuming he had gone to the library where they usually shared tea and supper, that was where she headed. Soon, she crossed the threshold into what had become a beacon of memories. She sat in her usual place.