She turned her palm into his hand and squeezed back, looking into his eyes and she said, "I am not worried about what society thinks. If Mister Blacke is the brother of Joeseph Blacke, by chance, his family is in the pages of the gazette and I think she would be in good hands. As for me..." She paused and then squeezed again but did not relax her hand for the rest of what she would say.

"It isn't true what they said and you can prove that. In fact, she may very well have been seen by locals in a man's company. I am not fragile like most of the ladies who attend that school. I have nothing to hide and we should not let them have our dignity. Besides, you do know that many servants live for gossip, right? Gossip spreads if it is truly something of this magnitude..."

Those Blackes? In other circumstances that would have improved his opinion of Mr. Blacke. As it was, he didn't care about the soldier. Not right now. His sister wasn't hearing him. He withdrew his hand and got up, his breakfast practically untouched. "I don't give a damn about our dignity. It's violence I worry about. Pack your things. I need to check on Pippa." And with that, he left the kitchen to go pick up supplies from the consulting room.

She stood up and followed him to the other room, her anger boiling over. "If you are so scared, you may go. I will leave this house only since its clear my welcome has been worn out, but I am not running away with my tail between my legs like you want. I am not a coward." She said it in such a tone that brooked arguing at one's own risk, and she did it with her eyes glittering dangerously with her keeping her temper in check. And then she turned on her heel, not caring if he responded, and stormed to her bedroom (if one could do it politely, she did it that way) to get get her few remaining things in the bag she had come with. It would only take her a moment to grab her already packed things and unless Tris blocked her exit, she was gone from the house in the next few moments.

Tristan closed the cupboard he had just opened. It was tempting to argue with her unfair portrayal of the matter, but he held his tongue. The most important thing was that she left, he reasoned. He could reconcile with her later. If it would be long before she'd speak to him again, he could live with that. But he'd never forgive himself if she came to harm. Anyway, he had to focus on Pippa.

But it was almost a full hour before he knocked on the attic door. "Are you awake, Pippa?" he asked quietly.

Pippa opened the door, her eyes sort of tired looking, resigned even. She was in the last clean smock that still fit, if you could call the top buttons secure at all and the bottom buttons close to out of the eyes. She couldn't afford a new smock so she crossed her arms over the worst.

She stepped out into the hall and leaned against the door. "I am awake..." They way she said it made it clear she was present in the moment. In her eyes was profound emotion but without tears. She was too tired to cry. She was too tired to feel anything other than mostly numb. She swallowed audibly and her lips slightly tightened as if to keep them from trembling.

"I didn't want it to be true," she said, and the tone was indicative strongly of the death of her family. It was a frail sounding whisper that spoke louder than a scream. Then she simply started making her way toward the kitchen, pausing for him to simply let him join her with a slight nod. Her breathing was deep inhales and slow exhales. She didn't have words at the moment and even almost seemed to stare ahead of her. She moved to start putting a fresh kettle on, her movements done in a way that was practiced. It was with ease that she tidied up whether he spoke or not. She was busying herself because it was how she coped...

Each thing she had learned in a short time was with her doing a specific routine.. attempted to get the fire going again, adding a few lumps of the coal... Flames danced soon once more as she got the water, put it on... And so on without missing a beat... She just... Made herself busy in front of him, assuming he did take the silent invitation for tea. Pippa could almost feel her heartbeat in her ears, the inhales becoming deeper. The one thing she could not seem to do just yet was look at him... Looking at him would be the bringer of tears and she did not want to cry anymore.

To his surprise, the door opened, and Pippa stood in the doorway, dressed and looking slightly better than earlier that morning, he thought. Slightly. Still, she looked miserable. She sounded miserable. Was she speaking of Penelope leaving? Had Pippa heard her?

He wanted to tell her to get back into bed. He preferred talking things through with her while she was in a safe space. But she already moved to the stairs, and Tristan remembered what his sister had told him about letting Pippa make her own decisions. He had been making a lot of decisions for her. He wanted to do so again right now. What if her legs gave way and she fell? What if she fatigued herself and her mind went into a state again? But he followed her without argument, staying close enough behind to grab her arm if he needed to. She made it down in one piece.

“Pippa…” Miss Danes, she was now, “… you needn’t do that anymore,” he said quietly, when she began to make tea. He walked over and gently touched her arm to nudge her in the direction of the bench. “Let me do that. Please sit down. We need to talk.”

"No!" She said emphatically before relaxing a little and saying, "I... Need to busy myself. Please let me." She looked at him and sighed, "The work gives me comfort. I am only making tea." And then she glanced over and saw the dishes that had been left behind.

That had her automatically moving to pick up the small mess. But then she stopped and did sit on the bench because he was rightfully worried, she did not feel very well.

Tristan bit his tongue so that he wouldn't argue. He waited instead, observing her closely. His arm itched. Mercifully, she sat down soon enough. The doctor approached and crouched in front of her, trying to catch her eye. "How are you feeling? How's your mind?" He didn't want to spring any life altering information on her without ensuring she could handle it. "Can you still see him?"

Pippa looked at him, her eyes clear, though tired. "He is gone. I am merely tired, but that is normal as of late." She touched the swell she could no longer hide or deny. "I have to be strong for the child. It isn't their fault that I acted foolishly." She gave a slight, sad smile, her eyes suspiciously wet before she closed them with a flinch.

"I want my mother, Dr. Wells .. she would know what to do. She always knew what to do when I got myself into a mess. I'm rather scared, if I am to be candid." Her voice was tight and the words were halting in nature, and despite her best efforts, her face crumpled and she let out the stupid sob that she had managed to hold back up until that moment. "And my brother... He would have protected me if he had known what was going to happen.... And most of all, I miss papa. He would have hugged me and not ket go until I begged with a smile." And then there were no words after that, her grief readily apparent.

His relief on finding the delirium had passed was short-lived. He felt a lump in his throat when she mentioned wanting her mother. Of course she did, poor soul. She was barely past girlhood. To be so alone in the world and have to reconcile to the fact that her mother would never again be there to guide her - he could almost feel her pain in that moment. And Pippa had not just lost her mother, but also her brother. Her papa.

It was sudden. It was swift. He could do nothing to stop it. Tears sprang to his eyes. He tried to push them back, but he already felt a warm trail along his cheek. In that moment, he'd give anything to hug her to offer her some substitute for that fatherly love she so missed. But it would be inappropriate, even more so now that she was again Miss Danes, the New York socialite. Instead, he quickly brushed his cheek with his shoulder and reached out place his hand on hers, very very gently, so that she could pull away if she wanted to. "I'm so sorry, Pippa," he croaked.