"It's fine," Theodore said, waving away her concern. They were old robes, and he could barely see where the bits of oil and steam had marred the dark fabric. He could scrub it later, by hand, if necessary -- he'd learnt that much as a child, though he didn't dare mention it to anyone. His childhood had been considerably less idle than many of his colleagues, regardless of his father's wealth. "Well. Not the coming home bit. I'd rather my sofa not be mangled by feline claws." His father's sofa, that was. Little of what Theodore owned was really his.
He paused in his cutting to peruse the bag, and helped himself to some peas, after making a space for them on the plate, regarding her frown with an expression of bemusement. Who could possibly object to peas?
Despite the, admittedly, awkward balancing act he was having with cat and fork and food, he shook his head politely. "No hands for a knife -- what would I pet the cat with?" Cassandra seemed to agree, bumping his hand, and while Theodore enjoyed the affection, he was certain she was in it for the fish. Maybe later.
"I'm enjoying myself, thank you. And what does anyone have time for these days? Avoiding protests and the occasional meal with a friend, I suppose." A pause, and he moved the cat to the floor so he could attend to his supper. Seeing someone involved a great deal more than simply time, which he was short on. It involved risk and the ever-present knowledge that even if he found someone he'd like to marry, he couldn't risk having children in the political clime. It meant fearing for a family instead of anticipating it. It meant having a wife who might have to bear his legal status, assuming she didn't already have a detrimental title already.