His son looked at the folded paper in Sebastian’s hand.
“What happens to the points?”
Sebastian placed it beside his own plate.
“We’re going to talk about that.”
Teddy drew a breath.
Then, finally, he ate.
At the other end of the table, Lavinia’s father cleared his throat.
“Sebastian, perhaps we should remember there are guests.”
Sebastian looked toward him.
“I haven’t forgotten.”
Frederick adjusted his cuff.
“A child doing a little work isn’t a tragedy.”
“No,” Sebastian said. “It isn’t.”
Lavinia’s expression changed slightly, as though she heard the beginning of support.
Sebastian continued.
“Serving dinner is work people deserve respect and wages for. My son was told he had to do it to qualify for a chair in his own home.”
“That’s an exaggeration,” Lavinia said.
He held up the paper.
“Did you write this?”
“Yes, but—”
“Did you tell him he needed twenty points before he could sit?”
“He was supposed to learn that privileges come with responsibilities.”
“Dinner isn’t a privilege.”
Nobody answered.
Teddy kept eating, taking small, careful bites.
Sebastian saw how hard he was trying not to be noticed.
That decided the next step.
He turned toward the guests.
“Thank you for coming. We’re ending the evening early.”
One woman immediately reached for her handbag.
A man beside Frederick opened his mouth, then closed it.
Lavinia stared.
“You’re sending everyone home?”
“Yes.”
“This was planned for weeks.”
“Then we’ll talk about what was planned after Teddy has finished eating.”
The household manager stepped forward to help with coats.
Sebastian stayed in his chair.
He did not stand at the door to smooth over the evening.
He did not ask his son to wish anyone goodbye.
When Frederick passed, he rested a hand on Lavinia’s shoulder and told her to call him.
Teddy watched him leave.
Then he whispered, “Is he cross because I sat?”
Sebastian put down his glass.
“No. Adults are responsible for their own reactions.”
“But he said—”
“I heard what he said.”
His son studied him.
Sebastian kept his voice quiet.
