The hesitation before she sits is easily covered - assessing, only, a pause. Deciding where to lay her coat once she removes it, the pause where in her own rooms she might have shed the bodice over her darkened samite blouse as well and does not, here, though she toes her slippers from her feet and lays dramatically back, an elbow over her face, her sly smile peeking out from underneath. It is not quite Adelaide's lap, but her message had been theatrical and so...

"Cold."

Theatricality. It underscores what likely is a genuine glimpse at what happens behind her serene gaze - but not an unconsciously given one. Dorian she has befriended inadvertently, unintentionally, but while he might not court with his vulnerabilities, Benevenuta has fewer such compunction and wishes to be Adelaide's friend. Her confidante. A trusted voice. Adelaide is a healer - a kind, honest, pragmatic woman, unfashionably sensible in Orlais and impossibly fussy here in Ferelden.

She shows nothing untrue. But it is a choice to show it, coolly made, with an eye to an outcome.

It is the only sort of choice she's accustomed to making.

"It is a far cry from Nevarra. Redcliffe was - ah. Did Dorian speak of it, with you?"

(From Nevarra, from the Orlais. But 'we' so quickly would be clumsy. Let Adelaide draw her own affinity between them, strangers in a foreign, clumsy land.)