Basil frowned at Atticus’ agreement. He hadn’t expected that, and the words that followed only made him want to sigh. It was always the same thing, over and over. He wasn’t home enough, he didn’t try enough, their mother worried for him. Well, their mother worried for Atticus too! Basil knew she did, because she wrote to him. He was a hell of a lot closer with their mama than Atticus and the other would never dare to admit it. “You always marginalize the concessions I do make for you,” he huffed. “Do you think I enjoy parading around with these simpering debutants? Or coming out from my ‘fantasy world’ as you call it, to even pretend for your sake? I don’t. I do it for you Atticus! To satisfy your vulgar ego and keep you out of my hair! But it’s never enough for you is it?”
Basil took another step back and debated running out the door after Lissnigton after all. It had to be better than hanging around here being tossed every direction. “And I am not selfish for wanting a career,” he shot back instead. “I’ve made something of my life! What have you accomplished since father died, hm? All you’ve done is step into his too-big shoes and tripped around over your own feet trying to control everyone around you! You haven’t married and started a family as is expected of the heir! You haven’t managed your own business pursuits like Anthony. You haven’t done anything, and yet you stand there daring to call me selfish for contributing to society!” Basil laughed derisively.
“I will make my own choices, and I don’t need you to come crawling back to.” He paused, feeling a small flush dot his features again. Of course he wouldn’t need to come crawling back, because there was nothing with Lissington to break. Right? He steamrolled through that small lapse determinedly. “He’s not a mistake. And you have no right to treat him badly.”