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He had to smile at Locke’s little quirks, and watched him as he strode off. That seemed safe enough (though he was not looking forward to the rook getting any bigger, being quite annoying enough in its infancy), and Thornley was pleasantly surprised that he'd actually told him of his plans - alas, the pleasure faded at the thought of impending doom. Heavy in his heart lay the anxiety that their dear father might have heard or heard about the morning's commotion - so much so that even Thornley opted for breakfast in his room, finally fully-dressed and nervily looking out his window at each mechanical bite.

Unfortunately the dreaded call came. He was summoned to the Earl of Ashford's study just as his tray was cleared, and the elder Ormonton son immediately felt like retching. With a weary sigh, he tied his hair back and proceeded out.

His heart sank even more as he encountered Locke; if it involved them both, it was sure to be...he shook his head and stared at him dolefully.

His fingers closed over the handle, and with a manful narrowing of eyes, he swung open the door. Once they were both in and the door shut, Thornley took a deep breath and started his impassioned defence:
"Father, I can explain."

"Explain what?" It was said with a raised eyebrow, with suspicion and an edge of humour - The Earl of Ashford was in a surprisingly good mood. That threw Thornley off, and he paused in some confusion. He punctuated the following silence with an awkward "er...", veined hands held together.

"These dalliances - though unsavoury and sometimes quite troublesome - are not unexpected," The Earl waved, with a knowing look at Thornley. The relief that struck him was immense: that was his father's semi-proud, pretending-to-be-disappointed face, and he roguishly grinned a little back.

The Earl continued, "now, the reason why I called you both here is to announce a party in the next fortnight- your mother has missed holding such frivolities, I have business matters well attended to in such a setting and the two of you..." He eyed them purposefully, "one could do with an wife, and the other could do with any form of social engagement." He cast a solemn glance over his other son. "Your eyes are getting darker, Locke. Pray get some sleep lest you frighten the ladies off."

"Speaking of ladies, one I implore you two to take heed of is Lady Falconcrest - she may be gracing our event, and you must be attentive and gentle with her. It will be her first time back in society since the passing of good Lord Falconcrest. I expect your word on that," he paused, not for a response, but in thought: his face darkened as something evidently displeasing crossed his mind. "I hear that in her unfortunate mourning she has become attached to some strange deer of all things - a bizarre disease, if you will, for she is apparently not the only one with a newfound attachment to game." He snorted dismissively, his great white beard shuddered with scorn. "It all reeks of superstition, and I cannot stand the very thought of it. If Lady Falconcrest brings her ridiculous deer I shall tolerate it for her sake, but - my boys," a significant stare, those wise old eyes sharp and truthful, "if I ever find you partaking in such twaddle, I'll shoot you and the deer both."

The hint of a smirk had long disappeared, and Thornley’s back was stiff and straight, a stricken expression on his honest face. And so his face turned to his brother, sharing his heart with words unsaid.