It's as close to an apology as I suspect Margaret Ashford ever offers.
"That would be lovely," I say.
Drinks turn into genuine conversation.
Margaret asks about my studies, real questions, not surface politeness. When I mention working with Mira on herbal medicine, she listens with actual interest.
"My grandmother used to keep a herb garden," she says, surprising me. “She said it grounded her. Kept her connected to something real."
"It does," I agree. "There's something about working with plants. Growing things. Knowing you're part of a cycle that's bigger than yourself."
"Calder mentioned you're quite talented. That you've been helping other students with remedies."
"Some. Anxiety blends mostly. Sleep aids. Things that help with stress."
I think about the blend containing digitalis that Rani didn’t take and push it from my mind. Not tonight. Tonight is about Calder. I imagine Margaret would pull her son from Elderwood at the first hint of trouble that might affect the family reputation.
A butler appears in the doorway then. "Dinner is served, madam."
Margaret rises with practiced grace. "Shall we?"
We move to the formal dining room, and I have to work hard not to stare.
The table is set for seven with a precision that feels almost military. Crystal glasses at each place, three different sizes. Silver flatware arranged in careful rows, more pieces than I know how to use. Cream linens with subtle embroidery. Fresh flowers as centerpiece, tasteful and elegant.
White-gloved servers stand at attention along the walls.
I've never seen anything like this outside of movies.
Calder moves to my chair before I can reach it, pulling it out with the kind of smooth certainty that speaks to years of training. His hand briefly touches my shoulder as I sit, grounding, reassuring.
This is who he was raised to be. Heir to all of this.
The realization settles strangely in my chest. I've seen him in the greenhouse, dirt under his fingernails. Seen him exhausted and vulnerable after the rut. Seen him laughing with Tyler and debating with Julian.
But this? This polished, formal version who moves through his parents' world with effortless grace? This is new.
He takes the seat beside me, and under the table, his hand finds mine. Squeezes once.
Margaret sits at the head of the table, Robert at the foot. Marcus across from us, between Tyler and Julian.
A server approaches with the first course, something delicate on tiny plates.
"Seared scallop with citrus foam," Margaret says, though she doesn't look at me when she explains. "Chef's specialty."
I watch the others, follow their lead with the outermost fork. The scallop is perfectly seared, caramelized on the outside,buttery soft inside. The citrus foam is bright and unexpected, cutting through the richness.
It's one perfect bite. Gone too soon. I want another immediately.
Robert asks Julian about his research as servers whisk away our plates. Julian explains pack dynamics theory with his characteristic precision, and Robert actually engages, asking intelligent questions about statistical models and demographic trends.
The plates disappear. A winter salad arrives, microgreens I don't recognize, candied walnuts, pomegranate seeds, drizzled with something that tastes like champagne and honey. Each bite is crisp and sweet and tart all at once.
Tyler tells a story about teaching at the community center, working with young omegas questioning traditional expectations. Margaret listens, though her expression remains carefully neutral.
"That must be challenging," she says. "Teaching children to question authority."
"Teaching them to think critically," Tyler says. "To make informed choices about their own lives."
