Nina's response surprises her on several fronts. That she sounds so calm about it is... well, it's one of the reasons she'd turned to her in the first place, if she's being honest with herself, but it still wasn't something she quite dared to expect. Nor does she know quite what to do with 'dashing' as a descriptor. It's not a word she thought she'd ever have applied to herself, in jest or -- if such a thing is possible -- fittingly.

She remembers Chloe with an internal pang, and thinks it might be quite nice to be dashing, if she could.

The thought of helping with baby names perks her up a little. In a perfect world, she wouldn't have to be a sounding board, but she would like to help. She glances over at Nina's wavering expression, and gives her arm a comforting pat. "Just name the baby after me," she advises with a small, gentle smile. "Problem solved."

Of course, Nina's next question cuts straight to the heart of her anxiety, and she covers her face with her free hand. "Desperately. I suppose it matters most what I think, because if I don't like it, it'll just have been a lark and it won't matter. But..."

But what if she does like it? Thomas has never objected to her fashion choices before, but they've also never strayed all that far from what was typical of her time -- or his. Necklines are more daring these days, and hemlines shorter, and she's worn sleeveless gowns before, but even the most daring ballgown feels a far cry from a suit. He might not want anything to do with it. She might look like a child playing dress-up out of his closet, to him.

It is too much to worry about too soon, but here they are, and she suddenly has to swallow past the lump in her throat.