Atticus, for what it was worth, was having a decent evening. Basil hadn’t put up too much of a fight when it came to attending the ball and Anthony… well, he hadn’t spoken to his cousin since Christmas but that seemed like a problem for the upcoming year. They had a lot to discuss, most of which had to do with Miss Victorie, although it had dawned on him that he hadn’t even considered what the young lady would like. Or whom, rather. If either of them. Atticus hoped for Basil only because this appeared to be his only chance to marry someone he tolerated, and who tolerated him. Anthony would have others, and Atticus wouldn’t be surprised to find if he came home from France one day with a fiancé on his arm.

Having had his fill of dancing for the moment with his own fiancé, she and Atticus parted ways with him moving to find his cousin. They should speak at some point, even if it was just to say a curt hello and be on their merry way. He hadn’t seen him with Miss Victorie all evening and he appreciated giving Basil at least a chance to confess whatever feelings were brewing in his mind, although come to think of it, he hadn’t even seen him in a while. He was probably hiding somewhere. Frowning at the thought, Atticus glanced around the ball just to realize he didn’t see Anthony either, although he did hear the crashing of something behind him caused him to crease his eyebrows together.

Atticus had a sinking feeling whatever was happening there had to do with his family.

So, he straightened his own waistcoat and moved toward the library with smooth footsteps, his own eyebrow arching at the scene: Basil with a look of adoration on his face and Anthony with a broken lamp in his lap. Miss Victoire looked horrified. Atticus moved to offer his cousin a hand while keeping an eye on his brother. “Why is it always you two?” He almost growled, but instead he pursed his lips together, waiting for an explanation. He shifted closer to his brother.

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