Ewan had studied the way Matilda was. His heart bled fro Eugene, the way it always did when he thought back at the born gentleman, but that polite dread was soon overtaken by fascination at seeing his sister navigate the spaces between the men. Brother was proud. That was what Grant had become for them, then. Ah, and to think they had been brother princes once, fighting bushes while Matilda wailed in conjured fear behind them. Eugene had always held his stick a little dainty, hadn't he?<br/><br/>Propriety had seen Eugene slightly formidable though, if only for how his mention brought about the matriarch and her chill. Ewan smiled when Tillie shrunk away, and he locked his hands behind his back as he watched mother come closer. She was still walking on the same feet she'd stood on when she'd lectured him about being nice to Abraham. She passed him and he pivoted to follow. A hand made the shorter male retreat before he could give the woman ink.<br/><br/>"Mother." Ewan offered and held up his own, red cylinder. It was impossible to find in this country, and therefor the only writing aid he'd employ. Her signature was a formality. Henley was fiercely traditional and competitive. He'd not be progressive unless his rivals were first. It all went to the son. Old men have stone hearts. "Ah, go ahead then, mom." he said and looked over her shoulder, like his lightness would buy him back some of her grace. His hand came out to the side and beckoned for sister with its crawling fingers. In his care. He would have burned both continents to hear that.<br/><br/>His mouth blew an invisible bubble with a very real pop when Josephine came with her news. Ewan looked at her as though she doused them with cold water out of nowhere. "What?" he asked. "No woman of the Bradshaw manor should be her own guest." he suggested. If Tillie had come, and he wished she would, he'd hold on to her dramatically, like she was his shield against the nonsense. "Mother please." he wanted that request to be accompanied by Ada's insistent scribbling of her own name. Eugene had been good for that too, bringing the woman here.<br/><br/>"Let's have the same talk, but now I will play the part of a dutiful son. The son you raised, with all your lessons installed. My real part." he promised and made sure to stand beside his sister, arm around her to squeeze her other shoulder. Camaraderie in convincing her, like they had when they were small. She truly was the epitome of a woman to Ewan, the stately Bradshaw woman. How many girls had to wear wigs or say words their language didn't encompass in order to bring her to life, just a little, across the sea. He tried not to think about it, and mix those images with Ada, here, yet.<br/><br/>He'd take to signing things himself after that. So many words to say one thing, that the life that had been Henley's, was now his. It wasn't right, that the women who'd lived here when he couldn't had no claim but that which he decided to give them. A darker soul might have used it to his advantage. Ewan had accumulated plenty of soot. Soul like a well-smoked lung, on the boy with father's face. "Now," he said while he found all the lines and completed them with his new waves. "Josephine, please get me some ice in a plat cloth pouch."<br/><br/>He saved the pen in his vest again, and then petitioned for Ada's hand, this time not stealing it like he had by the carriage. His other hopefully held Tillie's already. "Now, a private family matter in the master bedroom? And an apology is due." he said with almost a flirtatious, infantile wrinkled on his cheek, to draw in the woman who'd want few other things from her son.<br/><br/>If they'd come he bring them, and have Eugene promise to keep Josephine company until they returned.