If Mrs Wilkes knew that her daughter was hosting Evan Rosier for afternoon tea at the cottage she'd probably have some sort of attack of the vapours--over Evan's eligibility, or it being only the two of them, or the unsuitability of Euphemia Wilkes' comparatively small and cozy dwelling to such company. Annie had long ago stopped paying attention to the details of her mother's sensibility; and in any case, this was business.
Actually, the likeliest cause of Mrs Wilkes' disapproval would be that Annie had done little to prepare for the occasion beyond doffing her greenhouse apron and scrubbing the dirt from beneath her fingernails. Oh, she was using her grandmother's floral tea set and had tucked a handful of delicate violet harebells into a slender vase--she wasn't a savage. But her hair was still twisted up into a rough but out-of-the-way knot at the back of her head, and her dress was the simple green one she'd been wearing all day.
With the pot filled and the tray arranged, Annie tapped a charm against the porcelain side of the teapot--ensuring perfect brewing and a maintained temperature--and gave her guest a smile. "It's a pleasant afternoon; I've nothing like a terrace, but there's a nook in the garden where we could take our tea. But you mentioned something about looking around the property?"