Perhaps Atticus was a little surprised (and a bit elated) that Basil was able to control himself in the way that he did; he could see the anger fleet across his features, and as his brother composed himself, Atticus took a moment to pull in a deep breath of air. The cool air filled his lungs. It was a welcomed feeling - clearly whatever was (is) transpiring between them wasn’t going to be resolved tonight. Time away from Basil would do him some good.

The younger Foxwood rattled off, but Atticus again chose to ignore his words. He stepped back as the hansom appeared, merely watching as his little brother rattled off an address while slamming the door in his face. So much for any manners their governess had drilled in them as children. Atticus grit his teeth, sharp words pressing against his teeth that he refused to allow out, even as his brother spat words that would have once cut his skin.

Tonight there was no point in arguing with him - not with so many people around with monolithic ears and loose lips. He had no desire to squash any rumors of the Foxwood family that tonight may spur.

Atticus stepped forward and kept his voice low. “Such a cumberworld since your return home. Off you go, child.” He didn’t care how his brother reacted; instead he turned on his heels to make his way back toward the party, his fingers already itching for a drink. Basil did that to him.

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