#“what a yapper this one is amiright??”

[awynter]

"Nonsense, it wasn't rude at all." She lets her eyes take him in for another moment, admiring him like an odd portrait. He was most likely closer to her age than to Lady Sarah's and yet his features were gentle and boyish when he smiled. Before she could open her mouth to ask another pointless question, the commotion from the foyer caught her attention and Anne rose to her feet.

"Good morrow, sir. Lady Pleinsworth." She bent into a bow, the motion practiced and instinctual. The older gentleman was accompanied by the lady of the house, who was wearing a similarly spirited grin and seemed to be holding her chin higher than the last time Anne had seen her. The Admiral's smile was contagious and, even if Anne wasn't entirely sure it was genuine, she felt herself mirroring his jovial demeanor.. Anne had spent enough time in the Pleinsworth household to know that the smile plastered on her employer's face wasn't exactly sincere, but it didn't appear forced, either. Anne had bore witness to both instances and felt at ease knowing that the Admiral was at least somewhat trustworthy.

Despite his infectious smile, the wink in her direction makes her own smile falter and it takes her a moment to regain her footing. "I'm afraid I hadn't gotten around to the embroidery hoop quite yet." She flashed a quick smile, hoping her joke wouldn't be seen as terribly rude in the presence of guests. "I was intending on saving it for when I ran out of topics to discuss. Thankfully, Mister Graves is rather pleasant company." Shooting John a subtly playful look, she continued. "He's quite the conversationalist."

John was left wanting. He found it odd, the way he was aware of his fleeting closeness to Miss Wynter, aware of how chilled his arm felt even through the material of his coat when she moved her hand away.

He didn't need her pity, but she wasn't here because she was the one who pitied him. She was here because she was at work, because she was told she had to be. It was the Admiral, the Pleinsworths, the girls, all of them who pitied him. Why else had they ventured into the gardens for a stroll knowing he couldn't join?

Anne smiled though in spite of his senseless ramblings and her laugh was all it took for his self-loathing thoughts to dissipate. She was attractive even when she didn't smile, and the thought made him wonder as to her age, as to why she had deemed herself a spinster. Was it because she felt trapped here? He understood the sentiment; he'd felt trapped ever since crossing the Atlantic for the final time.

John wasn't used to company, he wasn't used to speaking plainly with servants - there was always a notion of secrecy even in the comfort of one's home; servants were eyes and ears, the spies of a grand manor capable of bringing society to its very knees if one wasn't careful.

Though, he supposed there was a relief knowing the both of them were castaways; Anne wasn't invited to accompany the families outside either.

"Its... I adore the Pleinsworth girls, truly. And teaching is an immensely rewarding experience, but... no, I'm not entirely sure I would say I enjoy it."

"I'm sorry," he realized he'd asked as if the question was rhetorical, "It was rude of me to presume."

There was a sudden noise in the adjacent foyer and sounds echoed off the ornately wallpapered parlor room -- noises of the heavy door swinging open, the lively commotion of persons returning.

John could hear the familiar booming of his godfather's voice; the Admiral's voice was one of the few things he'd taken comfort in since returning home. He had his godmother, yes, but Margaret had only been married to the Admiral for a handful of years now; they were childless and would likely remain so. His godfather was all he had, and that frightened him when he considered it too closely. He didn't want to be the last one from his youth - his grandparents, his mother, his siblings, they were all gone.

"There they are, our forlorn guests," the Admiral was entering the parlor a jovial smile plastered on his broad face, "Come now, John, don't tell me Miss Anne's already put you to work with an embroidery hoop," the older man winked in Miss Wynter's direction; the man was hardly returned indoors and he was already searching for a quick confidant.