Alistair is, of course, the farthest thing from upset -- a truth that becomes evident from his bright grin the moment he releases her from a tight, protective hug. She's as willowy as ever in his arms, her thin frame made even thinner by the restraints of her expensively-tailored dress. In the back of his mind he's already devising ways to excuse the creases that he's made in it, means by which to distract what will no doubt be the sharp, chastising look of her mother. It's a tiny mercy, arguably an insignificant one, but to Alistair there is nothing (no inconvenience too small, no threat too large) that he would not to go to any lengths to keep his dearest cousin from.
That was, after all, why he had come in the first place, hadn't it? To protect lovely, sweet-faced Robin from her own parents' good intentions (because, truly, what else could such a proper union be other than good). He wished to prepare her for the uncertain journey of marriage that lay ahead, to learn the mind of that second son with all of his thin-lipped quietness. Already resolved in his mind on the matter, Alistair knew he would resort to unpleasantness if necessary, would call upon the highness of his station. It was something he was privately loathe to do, but for Robin he would spare no personal expense. Experience, observation: these things had taught him that there was very little that could not be won through influence. Through extortion. With a little creativity, a lack of scruples, there was nothing that could not be acquired; it was his father's greatest lesson and his worst. And Alistair had come all this way to see it in practice, to ensure that Robin would know some kindness in her new life (however shamelessly bought).
"Am I upset, cousin?" he asks cheerfully, those unpleasant thoughts buried too deep beneath the surface of his mind to ever show through. With both hands he reaches up to touch the rises of his cheeks, the shape of his mouth. "Has my face been lying to you? Oh, that will never do." He laughs and then lifts his hands to hold her again. They come to rest first on her shoulders and then at her throat before finally cupping her face so that he may look at it fully. She's aging, very slowly and carefully, the lines of her face growing finer and less soft even though her eyes remain young.
"I'm sorry it's taken me so long to visit; I promise to be more mindful of it in the future. Father has given me leave of him until you are properly made a Windham. So! Let us know happiness together before you are swept off and made a blushing bride, shall we?" Alistair nods encouragingly. "You have been missed as well, Robin. So much more than a proud Stonewell should admit to." With a finger he reaches up and taps her once on the tip of her nose.
At last, the lady has her champion. Cousin Alistair has always been Robin's knight in shining armor for as long as she can remember. Scraped knees and torn dresses would always lead her to seek his aid before even her mother's or her nanny's. Even as a child, he would always console her. He had a way of making things right. And now, though she's becoming a grown woman and soon to be wed, in her heart Robin is reassured by his presence. It calms her, as if him being there alone will make everything work out just the way it's supposed to. Her fears about the wedding, about Aubrey, about her new life-- all of it suddenly seems quiet.
Her nose scrunches up slightly when he taps her, but she smiles. It's a genuine smile, more real that the small, tentative ones that sometimes curve at her mouth when she is conscious of things like being proper and being a lady. She is much too happy to see her cousin to remember such details. After all, she has something to look forward now, beyond the tediousness of getting clothes fitted and decorations chosen and all the other overwhelming things that become a bride's responsibility.
"It will be our little secret, Ali. I promise," Robin answers quietly, glowing with pleasure that at the knowledge that she's been missed. (She suspects sometimes that her husband-to-be does not miss her often.) "Will you walk back to the manor with me? We can take the long way. I have so much to tell you-- about everything. I can't even imagine where I ought to begin."
That was, after all, why he had come in the first place, hadn't it? To protect lovely, sweet-faced Robin from her own parents' good intentions (because, truly, what else could such a proper union be other than good). He wished to prepare her for the uncertain journey of marriage that lay ahead, to learn the mind of that second son with all of his thin-lipped quietness. Already resolved in his mind on the matter, Alistair knew he would resort to unpleasantness if necessary, would call upon the highness of his station. It was something he was privately loathe to do, but for Robin he would spare no personal expense. Experience, observation: these things had taught him that there was very little that could not be won through influence. Through extortion. With a little creativity, a lack of scruples, there was nothing that could not be acquired; it was his father's greatest lesson and his worst. And Alistair had come all this way to see it in practice, to ensure that Robin would know some kindness in her new life (however shamelessly bought).
"Am I upset, cousin?" he asks cheerfully, those unpleasant thoughts buried too deep beneath the surface of his mind to ever show through. With both hands he reaches up to touch the rises of his cheeks, the shape of his mouth. "Has my face been lying to you? Oh, that will never do." He laughs and then lifts his hands to hold her again. They come to rest first on her shoulders and then at her throat before finally cupping her face so that he may look at it fully. She's aging, very slowly and carefully, the lines of her face growing finer and less soft even though her eyes remain young.
"I'm sorry it's taken me so long to visit; I promise to be more mindful of it in the future. Father has given me leave of him until you are properly made a Windham. So! Let us know happiness together before you are swept off and made a blushing bride, shall we?" Alistair nods encouragingly. "You have been missed as well, Robin. So much more than a proud Stonewell should admit to." With a finger he reaches up and taps her once on the tip of her nose.
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Her nose scrunches up slightly when he taps her, but she smiles. It's a genuine smile, more real that the small, tentative ones that sometimes curve at her mouth when she is conscious of things like being proper and being a lady. She is much too happy to see her cousin to remember such details. After all, she has something to look forward now, beyond the tediousness of getting clothes fitted and decorations chosen and all the other overwhelming things that become a bride's responsibility.
"It will be our little secret, Ali. I promise," Robin answers quietly, glowing with pleasure that at the knowledge that she's been missed. (She suspects sometimes that her husband-to-be does not miss her often.) "Will you walk back to the manor with me? We can take the long way. I have so much to tell you-- about everything. I can't even imagine where I ought to begin."
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