Chapter Text
That evening the dinner table buzzed with unusual warmth.
Daphne was smiling at her wine glass, cheeks slightly pink. “Simon asked if I’d like to see his estate after the season. Just the two of us.”
Eloise raised an eyebrow. “Well. That doesn’t sound like anything scandalous at all.”
“I don’t need scandal,” Daphne said dreamily. “I just want him.”
“Scandal is vastly overrated anyway,” said Colin, grinning. “Marina and I spent half the afternoon in the laundry hut pretending to look for linens.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Benedict muttered, dramatically stabbing his potatoes. “Can we not go one dinner without hearing about someone’s lust in the linen closet?”
Francesca cleared her throat delicately. “Michael—my music instructor—said I had a beautiful ear for harmony.” She hesitated, then added, “I think I’m going to ask him out.”
Everyone actually paused at that.
Then:
“Hell yes, Francesca,” Eloise said, raising her glass.
“Careful,” Benedict said. “Next you’ll be making out behind the cellos.”
“Don’t be crass,” Violet scolded. “Though well done, dear.”
The door creaked open.
Anthony stepped in, looking like he’d walked through a thunderstorm in his mind. His sleeves were rolled. His brow was stormy.
He sat. “Everybody pack tonight. We’re leaving in the morning.”
Silence.
“What?” Colin blinked.
“No,” Francesca said. “You said we’d stay through the talent show.”
“I changed my mind.”
“I’m performing,” she said, voice rising. “You promised.”
“It’s one extra day,” Daphne said. “And Simon’s staying. You don’t want to see him sulk.”
“This is not about Simon,” Anthony muttered.
“I think someone is already sulking,” Benedict said, poking at him with his fork. “What happened? You get dumped?”
Anthony’s jaw flexed.
Francesca’s voice cracked. “I worked so hard. I have a whole piece.”
“You can perform another time—”
“It’s not the same,” Eloise snapped, defending her sister.
“Anthony.” Violet leaned forward, frowning. “Why are you doing this?”
He didn’t answer.
Daphne opened her mouth to speak, Anthony glared at her.
“Don’t.”
Benedict gave him a long, knowing look. “Is this about a redhead, by any chance?”
“Is this because you lost something you didn’t fight hard enough to keep, Brother?”
Anthony stood abruptly, the scrape of his chair loud in the room.
“Enough,” he said.
“No,” Violet said.
Everyone turned.
Violet set down her wineglass and gave her eldest son a look that could pierce granite.
“I don’t know what happened,” she said calmly. “And I won’t press. But I do know this: your siblings deserve to stay. Francesca deserves to perform. And whether you like it or not, we are not running away just because something—someone—scared you.”
Anthony didn’t speak.
Violet’s tone softened just a touch. “You can brood all you want. You can sit at the back and pretend not to care. But we are staying one more night. We will leave the morning after the talent show.”
He held her gaze for a long moment.
Then he sat back down.
Francesca exhaled. Daphne smiled gently at him. Eloise reached across the table and squeezed his hand.
Colin just grinned and said, “Well. I guess I’ll go tell Marina I’ve got another night in the laundry hut.”
“Colin.”