He ought to have visited her as planned on Wednesday night after the wedding reception, or failing that he ought to have at least sent his regrets via letter with some reasonable excuse beyond his ill temper. It had been hard to muster up the energy to do anything he ought to do on Wednesday, however. It wasn't the rejection itself, but rather the idea that she might hear about it, either from himself or from someone else. He hadn't known at the time whether the Fawleys would be inclined to tell the world what had passed in their parlor, and after his conversation with Angelica on Friday night and the letters that followed he thought there was a chance she might have gotten it out of him even if they didn't. If she was going to hear about it, he could survive it — but the idea of having to watch her expression as she learned he'd been rejected by the parents of a teenager was more than he could manage, so he'd chickened out and stayed at home. He knew that was poorly done, and the guilt had prevented him from writing immediately; he'd waited until he could find a suitable gift to smooth over the damage he might have caused.

She was wearing them tonight. That was a good sign, though he could have wished she was a little more at ease as he stepped through the floo. Emrys crossed to her and reached for her hands with both of his, his eyes drinking her in as he did. "I suppose you'll have to wait for a proper inspection to find out," he teased flirtatiously. "But so far, I like your chances. Kiss me."

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