Left to herself for several long moments Fiona had removed the small book she had hidden among the folds of her dress in a cleverly sewn pocket. The layers of tulle were useful in hiding the pockets in her petticoats, a thing she had designed on purpose; there was also a small bit of lace and beads she had been sewing to keep herself busy tucked away in there but for now she favored the book. It was poetry by a poet over three hundred years dead but still a favorite of hers, a epic poem that filled the whole book and was the story of a Faerie queen.<br/><br/>Readily she sank into the reading, lips absently forming the words as the minutes slipped past; she had glanced up of course when a new client appeared but Cameron appeared to have the young woman well in hand and she had no reason to move so the redhead returned to her reading. Lessard coming downstairs was also noted, though she felt too unsettled to seek out the man she saw as a mentor; he saw too much and currently she wasn't feeling up to anyone seeing her who could read her well. Fiona liked the privacy of her own thoughts and her emotions, those that were not easy and bright, were locked away for her to experience alone.<br/><br/>Passion, laughter, the brighter spectrum she reveled in earnestly and easily but the others...no, they had no place here, only when she was in her room and locked away from the rest of the world.<br/><br/>Caught in her thoughts, staring blankly at the page before her she didn't notice Atticus until he was standing in front of her, that familiar voice teasing into her thoughts. A welcome thread to latch onto, for a moment at least. The artist. She could focus on her friend rather then herself. Up the redhead glanced, a easy smile in return upon her lips with only a faint tightness about her eyes to reveal she had anything on her mind other then poetry and sewing. "Good evening Mr. Cross. There seems to be one new client, Mr. Cameron saw to her though I believe, outside of that none as of yet."<br/><br/>"If you mean to ask if I have clients tonight, then I have no certainty as of yet. Ms. Emma mentioned a line up though and so here I am." She paused there, thinking of a time when every evening had been certain and steady. Why must she torture herself so to think of what would never be now though?<br/><br/>"How did the session with the artist go? Oh....he left a drawing for you, on my tea table. I put it up to keep it from being ruined." She smiled softly then, thinking of how expressively Atticus had been captured on the page. "Sir Nicholas certainly has a talent, I hope he found my room to his taste."