Lenore's invitation is passed through a servant, informal and without expectations. She asks if her mother wants to have tea with her that afternoon in the garden. It doesn't take long for her to receive an answer and a description of her mom's shocked face and teary eyes as she promised to be there. And with that, Lenore starts preparing for tea in the garden's gazebo, a place with trees placed in just the right spots to block the wind and provide shade from the sun when it was at angles the gazebo's roof didn't reach.
Of course, her actual involvement means giving out instructions rather than preparing the area herself, a shift that she still struggles to get used to even after months as a duchess. While she knows that this afternoon is a chance for her to start bridging the gap that years of separation have left between her and her mother, she feels that same separation more prominently as she makes decisions about what to serve.
She doesn't know her own mother's tastes, and that hits her harder than she thought. Would she like a light herbal tea? An earthy green one with a touch of citrus? The spice of black tea lightened with milk and sugar? If she hadn't been taken by her uncle, then she would know these things. These basic things about her mother—and by extension—her father and siblings.
The townhouse servants end up helping her more than she asks, familiar with the trends that are hot in the capital right now and suggesting that adhering to them could be a fun new experience for both women.
As a result, Lenore finds herself sitting across from her mother in the garden's gazebo, a variety of snacks between them that she's never tried. From the way her mom is looking at them, she hasn't had them in the past either.
"I heard that this is what's hot in the capital right now," Lenore says. "However, I have no idea what any of it is."
The tension fades from her mom's shoulders as she laughs, plucking a pastry at random to set on her plate. "Well then, let's discover it together."
It's not what Lenore thought teatime with her mother would be like, but it ends up being better. Her mom bites into a small tartlet that looks like it might have a lemon custard inside of it. She tilts her head to one side as she chews slowly and swallows.
"Was that a lemon tart?" Lenore asks.
Her mom shakes her head. "No, I think it was an egg tart."
"Was it... good?"
Instead of answering, her mom pushes the plate of them towards her. "You tell me."
Lenore finds that the tart is sweeter than she thought, but still undeniably creamy. "It's good. I prefer the ones with fruit, though."
Their afternoon passes by like that. They take turns trying each item, talking about the flavor and if they enjoy it or prefer another option. In-between treats, they sip from teacups and refill them until the teapot itself is empty. There's laughter and no burdens. Just the joy of learning to exist in the same space again. Of the chance to learn about each other again.
In that moment, it feels like no time has passed between them.
But of course, that moment fades and the distance returns, though not as sharp. It's natural that one afternoon isn't enough to erase that distance.
"Thanks for having tea with me today, Mom," Lenore says. "I had a lot of fun. Can we do it again sometime?"
Lenore keeps her eyes down on her empty teacup when she asks, but when the silence continues without her mom answering, she looks up to find her mom with both hands over her mouth and tears streaming down her face.
She freezes at the sight, then stammers out, "You don't have to. It's okay."
"No! No." Her mom reaches across the table to take Lenore's hands in her own. "That's not it. I'm just so happy that you want to spend more time with me. I just... I never thought that this day would come after everything."
"Did you think that I would be upset with you and Dad and Evander and Vella even though what happened wasn't the fault of any of you?"
"That's so sweet of you, Lenore, but it was our fault. Your mom and dad should keep you safe. It was our job to keep you safe, but we weren't able to, and I'll never forgive myself for that."
"I forgive you," Lenore says. "Even if you don't forgive yourself. I didn't at first. Uncle Claude spent years telling me that you and Dad abandoned me. That he was doing me a favor by giving me a place to sleep and food to eat. I know that's not true now. I think part of me did in the past, too, but I wasn't old enough to understand the situation or think that he could be lying. Now, I think lying is all he does."
Her mom is still upset, so Lenore stands and helps her stand, keeping their arms linked as she moves to sit on a bench in the garden. For a few moments, they sit in silence. Her mom fights back sniffles and the tears of the past, and Lenore keeps her arm around her mom's shoulders.
"You grew up so well."
"Um, thank you." Lenore isn't sure what to say. She's not sure that she grew up well, either. It was just that she knew to stay quiet to avoid attention, and she knew how much Alina hurt the people around her. Lenore just... didn't want to be like Alina. She didn't want to be like her uncle. Instead, she wanted to be someone better.
"Are you happy in Barrowmere?" her mom asks. "You can always come home if you want. Your bedroom is still there. We left it as it was."
The "just in case" is left unsaid, but Lenore hears it in her heart.
"I am," Lenore says. "Alaric is good to me. And Mom? He might never feel the same way, but I think I love him."
It's the first time she's spoken that thought out loud, but hearing it only confirms what she already knew inside.
That those words are true.