[ It's just like he's been slapped. Valmont jerks back from his own tea and gapes at Manuela, a how dare you on his tongue. With difficulty and rare presence of mind, he swallows it. This excursion was supposed to be a chance to prove that he still had the ability to romance others, wasn't it? How did he end up here, more out of his depth in this subject than he's felt... well, ever?

It's true, certainly, he has been complaining rather a lot since they've been here. But that's how it works, isn't it? The people he's used to having tea with are usually the sort who would complain right along with him, maybe lay a sympathetic hand on his arm: oh no, what kind of respectable establishment doesn't carry Earl Grey, you poor dear, how utterly dreadful, all entirely the sort of comfort his present company seems disinclined to give him.

So he's left staring at Manuela, goldfish-like, as he tries to put together some words, any words that won't launch him further into the pit of her disdain. Because for some reason, he's finding that he actually seems to care what she thinks of him, which is frightening. He's never tried to woo someone like her before. He doesn't know what to do. ]

Look - I said it was good, didn't I? I was wr- wrnngh-

[ Give him a minute, this isn't easy for him. ]

I was... wrong, all right? What do you want me to say?

[ He's trying. Very, very slowly, he's trying. ]