By the time Alicia has entered the parlor - oh, goodness, she just completely swept past Ciara with barely an acknowledgement of her existence, what must she be thinking (- quite possibly, "Teenagers..." -) - well, she's calmed down a bit from the foul mood that Rill Kergove's well-meant comments left her in.  This doesn't mean, however, that she's much less dour-feeling as she awaits the commencement of a small family brunch.  Not even the news that her Great-Aunt has arrived on schedule truly buoys her; she does believe that she'll like the woman even with the addition of her present perspective, but...  This is what one might call a working meal, and right now, she doesn't truly wish to stare the enormity she has built with her own two hands, and her own decisions, in the face.  It's...

Unpleasant, to consider how much her choices shaped, and how uncaringly they did.

Still, appearances need must be maintained, at least until the Duchess pierces them again.  She pastes on a smile; it even has some genuine sentiment behind it.