Behind the screen, James raised his eyebrows at her comments. [i]"Dear James,"[/i] she had said. That was... intriguing. He mulled on that small endearment as he finished drying off, listening to her answers attentively and grinning when she inquired as to his own marital status.

"A wife?" he chortled teasingly, "Oh, my. Yes. Great ogre of a thing. Eats servants for breakfast and virgins at luncheon and tea. That's why we moved to the countryside, you see? Much too hard to find virgins in the city. Not to mention good servants." Dried, he began to dress. Surprisingly, the clothes were a goodly fit! True, they were hardly the neat and flash fashions that he normally wore and still a far cry from anything in his tailored wardrobe. Yet they felt as well as they fit. Worn to the point of being comfortable, her loaned garments made James feel even more at ease. He found it easy to talk with Brenna, and the words flowed out as he answered her questions.

 "But in truth? No. My sainted mother" and the words dripped with sarcasm "has paraded no small amount of [i]genteel[/i] ladies before me in the hopes of making a match. Pasty faced, spiritless things that look so much like sticks that someone cruelly glued pillows to in all the wrong places. i'm sure they mean well enough and are perfectly pleasant in their own... bland ways. All the worse for it is that my mother is about as subtle as one possibly could not be regarding the whole affair. There is nothing quite like the sensation of being treated like some prize bull to be sold off for studding. And the way she refers to these young ladies, in private of course, always in private, is little better." He dropped his voice and began speaking in an exaggerated farmer's cadence in mockery. "Look'r at that one there, by, sure to give plenty of milk and calves, so she will. Be sure 'n' check her teeth first, though!"

It wasn't often he voiced his opinions regarding his mother so openly and bluntly. Perhaps it was the clothes he was donning, or the atmosphere of the cottage itself, but James found as though the expectations of his wealth and position in society were lifted from his shoulders. In Brenna's company, he felt... warm. Welcome. As though in some strange way he had just truly come home.

Stepping out from behind the screen in his borrowed clothing, James favored his hostess with a genuine smile. He held his arms up, palms out, so that she might see how well the clothing fit. "Well?" he quipped as he turned around for her inspection. His damn, curly hair was all stuck about at every angle for want of a comb, making him look quite foolish. James didn't seem to mind. "What do you think? Will I turn heads as I walk down Drury Lane? Am I fit for a night at the opera now? Or perhaps for a spot of dancing at the Duchess's Ball?" At this last, his smile brightened even further. With all the solemnity of being at court, he bowed to her with his hand extended upwards. "My most stubborn and teasing lady. Would you be so kind as to honor me with a dance?"