She's surprised to find herself experiencing some sort of nervousness as she readies the tea, although it does not manifest visibly in her hands, barely a discernible tremor even to her own awareness — and these are motions she knows without even having to lend considerable thought to it, an act she was trained in performing long ago. The tray is set and she lifts it easily, and no doubt the sounds of her heeled boots against the smooth floor will herald her return long before she's actually visible in the doorway, greeting him with a polite smile as she crosses the room to set everything down in front of the long sofa.

Of course, her positioning herself to serve the tea also requires her to sit beside him, something she does with an almost apologetic quirk of her mouth as she carefully arranges the long skirt of her dress across her lap — and when she leans forward, she can almost feel his gaze on her, palpable, while her hands hover in the air in a moment of hesitation.

"How do you take it?" A pause, and then she somehow feels the need to specify. "Your tea, I mean."