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Edith and Thomas came in laughing, completely soaked from a combination of snow, mutual enthusiasm, and far too thin coats for the occasion. After drying off, they came into the living room to see that Edith's father had arrived back home, and was sitting there with a book, something that was fairly unusual but far from unheard of, hot tea awaiting them both.
Tea had not been a very usual (or even known) beverage in the Cushing household previously, but when Thomas had been starting to feel homesick it had been the perfect cure, and as Edith had started to grow fond of it as well, one was now always sure to find it in the house. Thomas had not appeared to be homesick since, and Edith was happy for that.
As they sat down, Thomas pouring the tea for them both (a frankly adorable habit, if you asked Edith), she watched the two men closest to her heart, satisfied now with what she saw. Thomas respected her father very much, she knew that, and she suspected he was grateful for his suspicion, for protecting her from his sister. Maybe, he even liked him a little? She hoped so. She was certain that her father had grown to like Thomas, and she could definitely see him smile slightly now, though he no doubt thought that she couldn't.
As Thomas handed her a teacup, putting the teapot back onto the tray and settling down with his own cup, leaning against the backrest of the sofa, she leaned against his side, letting out a small sigh of contentment that definitely made both men smile. Thomas wasn't even trying to hide it. They could be so predictable sometimes... but she liked it.
Noticing Edith smiling next to him, Thomas found himself smiling in responce before he could even think about it. There was something almost secret about that kind, loving, happy smile on her face, that made him wonder what she was thinking of. Maybe she was just amused at the way Carter Cushing was smiling, as if he was attempting to look stern but just not had it in him.
There was a time when he would have fallen for it, or even more likely would never have been in the man's sight when he looked like that, but he was not intimidated by him any longer. They both loved Edith and wanted only the best for her, and her father had proven by far the more capable in seeing to that, so Thomas was only grateful that he was around. Not that Edith wasn't perfectly capable all on her own, for the most part.
As he sipped his tea, he ran his fingers slowly up and down Edith's side, enjoying the way she sort of curled into him, having no need for something to happen all the time, as Lucille always had felt was necessary, instead capable of just enjoying being close sometimes. He was grateful for that.
Having drained his first cup, Thomas carefully - as not to disturb Edith - reached out to refill it. He had truly missed tea during his first few months here, well, after the very first while, when even tea would have brought back unpleasant memories. He had never told Edith that his sister had used tea in order to poison his first three wives, as she undoubtedly would wonder at why he had the habit of bringing her tea so often, if she knew that.
The very simple truth, of course, was that he was english. Tea was the ultimate expression of just about anything, in his world, and bringing Edith tea was just another way of telling her he loved her. That part, she probably understood. He had a nagging suspicion she would not understand it any longer if she had known, and he didn't want her to think that he was thinking of poisoning her... he startled a little at that mere thought, even as it couldn't be further from the truth, making Edith look up at him wonderingly, and he had to smile. His sister had been right about one thing: he could be truly ridiculous at times.
Edith looked up at Thomas, as he smiled to himself, as if to some private joke, probably to do with tea. He was absurdly fond of tea, but Alan had informed her that everyone english was. He had not seemed to miss it during the first few months of their marriage, but maybe that was just due to bad memories; she remembered from the trial that his sister had poisoned tea in the past.
Edith smiled back and rested her head against Thomas' chest, after first putting her empty teacup on the table. Maybe Lucille Sharpe simply hadn't liked tea at all, and that was why it had been her preferred metod? Edith was quite happy with never knowing, because Lucille was defeated, and Thomas now belonged only with her. And that was a very good thought.