Where there's tea, there's hope.

[very_sharpe]

Thomas tried not to be nervous. It was silly to indulge in that, wasn't it? It was just a nice afternoon tea, with a lovely woman. He should be practiced at this; it should feel like old hat.

But that was the thing: it wasn't, really. Edith had been the first choice he ever made, the first woman he ever pursued because he liked her. And now here he was again, about to spend time with someone he genuinely liked, that he was interested in by virtue of the fact that-- well, he was interested. And that meant sincerity, and sincerity meant vulnerability, and--

No, he would not get wound up about this. He wouldn't be an anxious mess - Greta deserved a lovely afternoon, and he would endeavor to give her one. His favorite teahouse was decorated for the season, and he'd gotten them a table in a cozy corner between the fireplace and a window. Since it was afternoon tea, they had a lovely assortment of sandwiches and desserts available for them to have at their leisure.

He'd dressed... nicely, but not overly fancy. It wasn't high tea, after all, and even if it was, modern tea service was quite different than what he remembered. No gloves required. A waistcoat and no proper jacket seemed appropriate.

As soon as he saw Greta walk in, Thomas rose from his seat and remained standing as she was guided to the table by the hostess.

Comments

[very_sharpe]

Thomas considered for a moment, and he thought he might owe Greta some truth, if he was going to continue asking to see her. She had certainly been nothing but forthcoming with him so far.

Besides, Greta spoke in the past tense - even if her answer was vague, she certainly made it clear that she thought of her marriage as over.

"I was, as well," he admitted. "She was here, though, when I arrived. It made for a strange reunion."

[andhiswife]

He speaks a bit hesitantly, as if he isn't keen to admit that he was married once, too. Greta isn't sure why; from where she's sitting, it's rather a relief. There are plenty of well-bred men back home who would view a once-married woman as used goods, fit for a dalliance but not much else. If he's been married (and he deliberately uses the past tense, too), maybe he won't see fit to fuss over her having a history.

... Not that she even needs to be thinking along such lines. They're just having tea; he's not asking for her bloody hand.

"I suppose it would," she says, easily able to imagine how strange it would be if she were suddenly faced with her husband again -- or if he'd been here already, before she arrived. Treading a bit more carefully, she continues, "Was she sent home?" She doesn't want to inadvertently twist any knives, but she also wants to know if she'll be bumping into his ex-wife anytime soon.

[very_sharpe]

"No, ah--" Thomas huffed a laugh, though it was entirely humorous, maybe a bit exasperated. "She died. She was killed during the Purge."

He shook his head, a bit worried that he might look hysterical. Edith's loss was still fresh in his mind. "We weren't living as husband and wife, and had not been since I arrived here, but..."

Thomas trailed off and looked across the table at Greta, half apologetic and half bewildered.

"I'm sorry," he said at last. "Do you like reading?"

[andhiswife]

Oh no. Greta stares at him, aghast. That's quite possibly the worst answer he could have given to that question, and she dearly wishes she could take it back. Even as he elaborates -- as if the fact that they weren't living together somehow makes it better, or the loss easier to bear -- she's shaking her head in utter mortification.

This really couldn't be going much worse, short of her upending the teapot into his lap.

And then he attempts to change the subject, and she can't help herself. She does try: she hastily lifts a hand to her mouth to stifle the sound she makes, which is more akin to a cough than a laugh, as if the horrible awkwardness is something she can physically dislodge.

"I'm so sorry," she hastens to add. "I'm not--it's not funny, it's dreadful, I just--" She just doesn't know how to make this right, and she unthinkingly reaches across the table to take his hand, a physical apology that she can manage more easily than a verbal one. "I'm so terribly sorry."

And now she is giggling, not out of amusement, but because she doesn't know what else to do in the face of all this awfulness except burst into tears, which she thinks might actually be worse. She has to bury her face in her free hand, and she can tell she's gone bright red. "God. Maybe we should just start with the weather and work our way up to books. I'm not sure we can be trusted."

[very_sharpe]

The grief still clawed at him, despite their mutual hysteria, but Thomas was not remotely offended by the fact that Greta was falling apart as well. He accepted her hand, squeezing as he held onto her to reassure her of-- of what? That everything was alright?

He supposed it was, after a fashion.

Thomas gave them a moment to just attempt to recover, holding onto each other across the table.

"At least it's finally starting to feel like winter again," he said, when he was sure his voice would be a bit more composed.

[andhiswife]

This is absurd. Other diners are probably giving them Looks. But she's far more concerned with Thomas's response to all this than that of any eavesdroppers, and when he squeezes her hand, she starts to believe this might be salvageable -- something they can look back on without wanting to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment.

She isn't entirely expecting him to play along, so when he does speak, there's a perilous moment where she almost starts giggling afresh. But she swallows, gives his hand a gentle squeeze, and withdraws so she can take a fortifying sip of her tea.

"It is nice," she agrees, managing to sound almost normal. "I didn't think I'd miss snow very much, but they're so much better about clearing it away, here. You can just appreciate how pretty it looks without having to slog through it all the time."

[very_sharpe]

They managed a more normal conversation after that: the weather, they did make it around to books, to films they'd seen and liked, ones they hadn't. They bonded a bit over the strangest things they'd had to get used to in Darrow - not including the strangeness that Darrow threw at people.

They went through nearly two pots of tea and, between the two of them, managed to clear the tiered tray between them.

Thomas smiled and looked down at his cup; at some point, he'd leaned forward on the table, a way of being closer.

"Ah, I hope you don't think this is terribly forward. But Magnus Bane is throwing a party for the holiday season, and I was wondering if you would care to accompany me."

[andhiswife]

The rest of their conversation goes so smoothly that Greta almost marvels at it. But then again, it's hard to remain nervous when you've already stumbled into every awkward pitfall possible within the first five minutes. Buoyed by the relief of being past it all, it's much easier to just talk, without getting hung up on the fact that he's a Baronet who could probably do a whole lot better than a baker's former wife.

That particular hang-up returns full force when he invites her to Magnus Bane's holiday party. She received the invitation as she had all the others -- and, like all the others, she'd assumed the proverbial 'everyone' didn't include her. 'Everyone' was invited to the King's Festival, too; that didn't mean everyone presumed to go.

"I--" she huffs out a laugh and sits back, shaking her head in bewilderment. "I've never been to one. They're not..."

How does she even explain this? He's probably been on the guest list of every party within a hundred miles, back in his world. Baronets go places that Bakers never would. For a moment, she almost resents the invitation, no matter how well-intentioned it might be, because now she has to do this. She has to bloody well spell it out for him, when it's something that, frankly, he should already know.

"They're not for the likes of me," she explains, cheeks prickling. "'Everyone' never really means everyone."

Even as she says it, a small part of her objects that she's not being fair to Magnus; they get on well enough, and she can't imagine he'd turn her away at the door. But still.

[very_sharpe]

"I'm actually entirely certain that most of the people that attend his parties have never actually met him," he pointed out. And perhaps he'd been a bit hesitant to just go to that first one, but he'd also wanted an excuse to get out of his apartment, and so he'd taken that.

"Given the sheer attendance size, I doubt he even manages to socialize with everyone at these events. And they really are great fun, I've not been disappointed yet. And it would be... rather nice to have someone to share that with."

He did alright for himself even when he attended alone, but. He was asking none the less.

[andhiswife]

That's not the point, though she also can't argue against it. She's not afraid of being caught. At worst, Magnus would probably just be pleasantly surprised to see her, knowing what he does of her own experiences with magic.

And it's not the magic that puts her off, either. It's just that grand parties have always been things she imagined attending. In her imagination, she can't wear the wrong thing or fumble the dance steps or otherwise make a fool of herself, revealing to all and sundry that she's a--a peasant with no actual business in such a setting. In her imagination, it can't all go wrong.

She really, desperately doesn't want things to go wrong with Thomas.

And his comment about wanting to 'have someone to share that with' is so charming it's almost infuriating. How is anyone supposed to say no to that?

"I have nothing to wear," she objects, but it's clear from both her tone and her expression that she's faltering.

[very_sharpe]

"All the more reason to ask you so far ahead of time," he said with a small, hopeful smile. "There's two options, of course. Questionable sweaters or formal wear."

And he would seek to match her effort, of course, whichever direction Greta wanted to go in.

"You don't have to answer right away if you'd rather think about it," he added, not wanting her to feel cornered into giving him an answer right then.

[andhiswife]

She shakes her head again, though this time, it's less at him and more at herself: some last vestige of her sensibility insisting that this is a bad idea, while the rest of her gets caught up in the thought of actually going to such an event. Not just imagining it, but being there.

Things are different here, aren't they? She's still working class, but so are most people. Coming to Darrow tends to be something of an economic equalizer. And if she can't quite shake her own class-related insecurities, she's not oblivious; she knows most other people don't share them. Look at Biffy: he's every bit as well-mannered (and well-dressed) as Thomas, but he's never been anything but kind to her, and she's never really considered herself unworthy of his friendship.

He could probably help find her something to wear, now that she thinks about it.

"No," she says in resigned response to Thomas's insistence that she could think about it. She could pretend to think about it, but all she'd really be doing is fretting over the decision she's already made. Belatedly realizing he might take that 'no' as a general rejection, she bolts upright in her chair. "I mean--not 'no,' that I don't want to go at all, I... I would. Very much."

[very_sharpe]

Thomas smiled when Greta finally got around to saying she'd go with him. He hadn't been holding out much hope - it felt forward, even to him, to ask her after only the first date.

"Wonderful," he breathed. "I-- the invitation said it was open to adults and children, so if you wanted Saoirse to join us, I would be delighted to escort both of you."

He didn't want her to think that Saoirse had to be left out on his account. He thought the silent little girl was rather charming.

[andhiswife]

The offer to bring Saoirse along is a relief, for the most part. Honestly, if Magnus is throwing a party and inviting children on purpose, she feels all but duty-bound to bring the girl along; she doesn't want to imagine the look she'd get if she had the audacity to show up without Saoirse in tow.

On the other hand, she knows what a convenient buffer children can be. It feels like the nearest thing they could get to being chaperoned, and she can't help but wonder if this is an exceedingly gracious willingness to include her young charge -- further reassurance that Saoirse isn't a problem -- or an attempt to keep things from getting too... improper.

And it's not as if she can really fault him for wanting to, what, progress at some sort of rational pace? She's the one getting ahead of herself. She should be thanking her lucky stars (or perhaps just Mad Sweeney) for every moment she gets with him, not chomping at the bit, in pursuit of more than he's willing to offer.

"I'm sure she'd love to come along," she says, hoping her smile isn't coming across as rueful. "And I'm sure Magnus would be thoroughly unimpressed if I left her at home. He's rather fond of her, as well."

[very_sharpe]

"And I would be very honored to escort you both."

Thomas checked the time a bit ruefully. "Speaking of, though, I suppose I really ought not keep you longer." They had already been at the tea house for a few hours by that point, and the time had flown.

Unfortunately, it had been an afternoon date, and that meant Greta likely had obligations back home to attend to - particularly, a little girl waiting for her.

"I'll call you to coordinate everything, and I-- I hope you'd be open to meeting like this again."

[andhiswife]

If it came from anyone else, she'd think 'honored' was laying it on a bit thick. It still might be, quite honestly, and she has to quell the urge to roll her eyes, even though there wouldn't have been any real scorn behind the gesture. More of an 'oh, please,' than anything else. But with Thomas, she thinks he might actually mean it. Not that it's a literal honor, which is ridiculous, but that he isn't winding her up or going overboard on purpose.

"Oh." She checks her phone, startled to realize just how much time has passed. It's not late enough that she has to leg it back home -- Saoirse won't be shivering on the front step or anything -- but she shouldn't linger much longer if she wants to beat the lass home without rushing. "Yes. She'll be getting home from school soon."

It's a pity. She hadn't known what to expect, going in, and she hadn't been certain of his intentions. But it's getting easier to believe that this is all sincerely meant. Whether he's slightly mental for being interested in her may be up for debate, but... god, he really does seem interested. It's unbelievable, and ridiculously flattering, and she'd really like to stay longer and just sort of bask in it, as if he's the walking embodiment of an unseasonably warm day.

She settles for a wide smile that she just barely keeps from turning into an outright silly grin. "I think I could manage that. We only tried one tea, after all." There, that's a much more measured response than what she's actually thinking, which would be something more like, God, yes, of course, you're dreamy and I can't believe you actually want to see more of me, I'd be completely bonkers to turn you down. At least she has some restraint.