Listening to his story, Grace found it difficult to keep her expression neutral—well, as neutral as wide-eyed sympathy could get. It was hard to imagine a sixteen-year-old Mr. Echelon-Arnost, let alone one who was screaming and thrashing with the pain of a carriage crash injury. The most physical pain Grace had ever endured was twisting her ankle while dancing, so it was difficult to truly grasp how much pain had been caused by a leg so irreparably damaged.
Grace had been blessed with a kind, tender heart, but not as lucky when it came to expressing it. She didn't want him to have to walk her home, but she didn't want to say that out loud, knowing it would only sound like she was rejecting his offer. In the same stroke she couldn't simply accept his explanation and then force him to soldier on, knowing it would be insensitive. How to express sympathy without pity? How to show that she saw him without being too... much?
Her hand had left his arm, but it still hovered above, unmoving. She let it drop back onto his sleeve and gave a gentle squeeze, her best attempt at comfort. "You're much stronger than me, Mr. Echelon-Arnost," she replied. Then, looking over his shoulder across the cobble street, she thought of something. "They're having a special at the desserterie. I think I should like to sit with a hot cup of cocoa before I go home. Have you had theirs before?" she asked, her smile broadening by just a fraction. It was an invitation, one more graceful than she thought she'd been capable of managing. There he could sit, and she could sip cocoa, and she would not feel like a burden, and he would not have to be embarrassed.
Grace had been blessed with a kind, tender heart, but not as lucky when it came to expressing it. She didn't want him to have to walk her home, but she didn't want to say that out loud, knowing it would only sound like she was rejecting his offer. In the same stroke she couldn't simply accept his explanation and then force him to soldier on, knowing it would be insensitive. How to express sympathy without pity? How to show that she saw him without being too... much?
Her hand had left his arm, but it still hovered above, unmoving. She let it drop back onto his sleeve and gave a gentle squeeze, her best attempt at comfort. "You're much stronger than me, Mr. Echelon-Arnost," she replied. Then, looking over his shoulder across the cobble street, she thought of something. "They're having a special at the desserterie. I think I should like to sit with a hot cup of cocoa before I go home. Have you had theirs before?" she asked, her smile broadening by just a fraction. It was an invitation, one more graceful than she thought she'd been capable of managing. There he could sit, and she could sip cocoa, and she would not feel like a burden, and he would not have to be embarrassed.
