As he released Ms. Torie and felt her pull away from his touch as anyone was wont to do when being put down, Anthony felt a pang at the loss. She was warm and fragile, and at least for the few minutes he’d held her, she’d been safe. He brushed the silly feeling aside and straightened, running a hand tiredly across his face. At the lady’s prompting, he turned a weary look in her direction and nodded. She was right. He should sit a moment.

The cabin was filthy, evidently remaining unused in the wake of the eldest Foxwood’s death some many years ago. Anthony didn’t know Atticus to lead particularly long hunting parties either so the idea of finding much here seemed scant. Still, he pulled aside another of the crates and settled himself upon it, close but not too close to Ms. Torie. He offered her a sheepish little smile. “Thanks,” he hummed.

There was an awkward silence then, the kind he’d been trying to ignore since the beginning of all of this. The obvious elephant in the room was no longer obscured by imminent danger or threat. Anthony ducked his blue gaze away in embarrassment at the thought. He’d behaved abysmally, all around, and now was at an extreme disadvantage with knowing what to say. About any of it.

He hadn’t yet processed much, even after his conversation with Lucy. He knew that in the end it had turned out to be amortentia that forced his cousin’s loose lips and pushy nature - which in retrospect made sense given what he knew of Basil - but it didn’t excuse the fact that he, Anthony Alderton, had tried to stand in the way between them at all. (Or, that particular evening in the lady’s distress, had /not./) Cheeks burning with chagrin, Anthony let out a soft breath. He had a tremendous amount of guilt built up about not behaving a gentleman but it seemed too late to apologize now. What could he possibly say?

Shifting instead, and deciding it was for another moment, the brunette stood anxiously. “Ah, how are you?” He asked. “Can I get you anything before I go back for the horses?”

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