This is so far outside Myr's experience that his own idiot fearlessness is failing him. He's stuck as close to Wren's side as seems proper (that's to say, not very) throughout their admission to chez Vauquelin, maintaining his silence and keeping his ears open. Being hustled off with the servants is one uncomfortable thing; being passed into the presence of a titled Lady and presented to her as a guest is another, and it makes him acutely aware of how small and damp and bedraggled he must be.

But-- He's a small damp bedraggled thing that's a part of the Inquisition, and all men are the Work of our Maker's hands--, so act like it, Myrobalan. Shoulders square, back straight, head up, no leaning on the staff-- He isn't sure whether he ought to speak or not on his own behalf and so elects for not, though he ducks his head graciously in Gwen's (presumed) direction as he's introduced. Lacking the precise protocol for such an encounter he'll have to fall back on simple politeness, and hope that's enough not to embarrass the Inquisition.