"Here we are, indeed." Each word is measured, slow, a dry remark on the ridiculousness of their situation. Complaining without complaint, in the way one does in polite society--which this is, of course, not.

It's strange, though, it's been so long since he's spoken to someone who understands that who isn't a member of his own family. Modernity fits him awkwardly. He's made a place for himself in this city well enough, but it always feels off. Conversations that don't connect, mannerisms that always put him out of place. And yet, when actually seeing someone from his own time, he's reminded how much he's changed and how it feels like her has to re-adopt some of the habits he'd had to leave behind in Mayfair. A formality that he likes, but hasn't been able to use, precisely because of situations like these.

"You are welcome to sit with me, of course," on his lap being the only real option. The sort of thing that would make the mamas of the ton completely beside themselves, "but I can understand if that would make you uncomfortable. There is no pressure." At least, not from him. Pressure from the city is another thing entirely. "You must be newly arrived. Are you from London?"