Chapter 5

Dinner at the Halloway estate was always a formal affair, an elaborate display of etiquette and restraint that did little to mask the underlying tension lingering beneath the surface. The grand dining hall, with its towering ceilings and glistening chandeliers, was dimly lit by flickering candelabras that cast long shadows across the polished mahogany table. The place settings were immaculate, the silverware gleaming under the soft glow, and the aroma of freshly prepared dishes wafted through the air, promising a meal that would be as refined as it was unapproachable.

Violet took her usual seat, across from Clara and Theodore, and beside Miss Ophelia. Tonight, however, the older woman seemed disinterested in sparring with her, focusing instead on her glass, swirling its contents absently as if lost in thought.

Instead, the evening's most notable voice belonged to Felix.

"Everette, you should have seen the disaster at the stables today," Felix began, his restless fingers tapping against the polished wood of the table. His brown hair, slightly disheveled, suggested he had spent the afternoon outside, and his green eyes sparkled with a liveliness that stood in stark contrast to the rest of his family.

Everette, who sat beside him, rolled his eyes and leaned back slightly in his chair. "What nonsense did you get yourself into now, Felix?"

Felix huffed. "It wasn't my fault this time. One of the stable hands left the gate open, and that blasted stallion nearly trampled me."

Everette smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Or perhaps you were poking around where you shouldn't have been. Again."

Felix grinned in return, an almost boyish mischief flashing across his face. "You wound me, brother. I was merely observing."

"Observing," Everette scoffed, cutting into his roast. "That's a polite way of saying 'meddling.'"

Violet watched the exchange with mild amusement. Felix's presence was a breath of fresh air compared to the solemn nature of the house, but she could sense that his energy was often regarded as an inconvenience rather than a delight. It was clear that Everette, with his composed and measured demeanor, was used to reigning his younger brother in.

As they continued their back-and-forth, the footmen moved around the table, carefully serving the evening's meal. Tonight's fare consisted of a rich venison roast, accompanied by buttered potatoes, stewed greens, and fresh-baked rolls. The aroma was intoxicating, and yet, as Violet had come to expect, the tension in the room always made it difficult to truly enjoy the food.

Clara sat quietly, carefully cutting her food into small pieces but eating very little. Theodore, as usual, was attentive to his sister, ensuring she had what she needed, though he remained relatively silent. Across from Violet, Augustus ate methodically, his expression unreadable. She knew she would be reporting to him later, updating him on the first lesson with his children, but she found herself uneasy in his presence, as if always being evaluated.

Ophelia finally spoke, her voice cool as she glanced toward Felix. "If you're going to be reckless, at least have the courtesy not to involve the staff in your foolishness."

Felix sighed, picking at his food. "Yes, Miss Ophelia. I'll be sure to conduct my affairs with the utmost decorum next time."

Everette chuckled under his breath, but Ophelia merely exhaled sharply and returned to her meal.

Violet observed them all carefully, the siblings so different in nature yet bound by an unspoken heaviness. She still found it strange that there was no real mention of Lysandra at the table, no visible grief over her passing, nor any regard for their stepmother Eleanor's death. If not for what she had been told, she would not have even known two family members had been lost so recently.

Had Eleanor truly been so broken by grief? Or had the family's sorrow simply manifested in this peculiar way? Violet couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing from the puzzle. Ophelia, her expression unreadable, finally set down her glass and turned to Augustus. "I saw the officer in the reception area earlier," she said coolly. "What did he want?"

Augustus barely glanced up from his plate. "He's investigating Lysandra's stolen jewels. The ones taken the night she was killed."

Ophelia's lips pressed into a thin line. "It's been two years. If they haven't found anything by now, why bother?"

Violet kept her expression neutral, but her ears perked at the mention of the investigation. Stolen jewels? She hadn't heard much about them before. Why had no one mentioned them until now? Her mind raced as she considered the implications—was the burglary truly just a crime of opportunity, or was there something more calculated at play? She glanced subtly at Augustus, who remained composed, though his grip on his utensils seemed slightly tighter than before.

Ophelia let out a soft, exasperated sigh. "Surely, after all this time, you can let this go. What difference does it make now?"

Augustus' gaze was sharp as he set his fork down with deliberate care. "Lysandra had something of great value to this family—something that was meant to remain with us. Your mother gifted her a piece from our family's heirloom collection. That is what I want recovered."

Ophelia scoffed. "An heirloom? That's what this is about, Father? It's lost. Either sold or buried somewhere far from here. That officer won't find it any more than the last one did."

Augustus' gaze remained steady, his voice measured but firm. "It is not just any heirloom, Ophelia. It was a piece your mother gave to Lysandra—a symbol of her lineage. It belongs to this family, and I will not have it lost to carelessness or greed."

Ophelia let out a sharp breath, crossing her arms. "And you truly believe it will turn up now, after all this time? Even if it does, what difference does it make? Lysandra is gone. She has no use for it anymore."

His eyes darkened. "It is not about use. It is about what is rightfully ours."

Violet listened intently, the pieces beginning to take shape in her mind. So the stolen jewels weren't merely about wealth, but legacy. Sentimental value. Something deeply personal to Augustus.

Dinner concluded with dessert—an elegant serving of fruit tarts dusted with sugar, accompanied by freshly brewed tea. The contrast between the sweetness of the dish and the stifling atmosphere of the dining hall was almost laughable to Violet, but she kept her thoughts to herself.

As the plates were cleared and the family prepared to retire for the evening, Violet found herself thinking once again of Augustus' warning: This family is particular.

Perhaps she should take heed of those words.