When It's Perfect by Adele Ashworth

do enjoy it. Don’t we, dear?”
    “Oh, yes,” the vicar agreed, amusement shading his aging mouth.
    “But of course this isn’t entertaining, Lord Renn,” she added, returning the teapot to the tray and lifting the creamer. “We were all so pleased to hear of your return, even under such dreadful circumstances.
    We, too, were deeply mortified by your sister’s accident, and know how you must be looking for answers. I’m so very sorry this grief has come to your family.”
    “Thank you,” he said forthrightly, tipping his head graciously.
    “How is your mother faring?” Claudette continued, offering cream to her guests. “We haven’t seen her since the funeral.”
    “She’s doing as well as can be expected,” was his standard reply.
    “No doubt your return has helped her through this terrible time,” she added.
    He felt his shoulders tighten involuntarily. “She is quite relieved to have me back at Baybridge House, yes.”
    A moment of silence passed among them even as the rain began to strengthen to a steady pounding on the windows and roof. The parlor had grown stuffy and warm as well with the added moisture in the air, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Mary shift her weight in her chair.
    “We are all still in shock,” the vicar said at last, shaking his head as he stared at the creamy white tea in his cup. “Especially poor Viscount Exeter.”
    Marcus sucked in a breath as Mary placed her spoon on her saucer with a noticeable clink . This brought their reason for calling front and center, making it the perfect time to address it. But before he could gather the appropriate words, Mary began the queries for him.

    “And is the viscount well?” she asked, lifting her cup from its saucer.
    “You said you saw him this week?”
    They all took a sip at once—except for him. His concentration was simply too acute, too focused. But of course he would have to play his part and at least appear relaxed. Sighing inwardly, he raised his cup to his lips and took a swallow of surprisingly good Ceylon.
    “The viscount is of course in poor spirits,” Claudette returned after a moment, her thick gray brows furrowed. “And he seemed especially tense, I thought, but that too is to be expected after losing one’s betrothed so tragically.”
    “Of course,” Mary acknowledged as she should, lowering her teacup.
    “He cared for Christine very deeply,” their hostess added.
    “As I’m sure she cared for him,” Mary quickly added. “She spoke of him fondly.”
    “And frequently,” the vicar echoed without looking at any of them.
    The energy in the room seemed to intensify as they all quietly sipped the hot, strong brew. Then Claudette began to take great interest in passing out small china plates of cucumber sandwiches and ginger cakes.
    “He was rather surprised at your return, Lord Renn,” she carried on with a casual air. “He wanted to know if we’d had a chance to speak with you yet.”
    Marcus tried not to speculate too much about that. “Did he,” he stated rather than asked.
    The vicar nodded very slowly, concern etched upon his creased white brows, a gentle frown upon his lips. “I’m sure he wants to meet with you shortly to discuss… arrangements.”
    “And he’ll get that chance, naturally,” Marcus replied, accepting his plate of tidbits. “I’m anxious to speak with him, as well. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Exeter.”
    “The viscount said much the same on Wednesday,” the vicar acknowledged after swallowing the rest of a cucumber sandwich.
    “Seems unfortunate, since yours have always been such close families.”
    Another moment passed while he took a bite of very good ginger cake. As awkward and solemn as the occasion was, he was hungry. But then he was always hungry. So was Miss Marsh, apparently, as she quickly finished off her cucumber sandwich and began on her cake. He rather liked the fact that she ate more than she played with her food, and had