When It's Perfect by Adele Ashworth Page A

always,” she said, following his gaze as she took a sip of her tea.
    “I do enjoy watching the bay in the early morning.”
    He shoved his hands in his pockets and glanced around him. “This room’s too purple.”
    She sighed again, only this time so he could hear it. “It’s my room and I like lilacs. If you stayed home—”
    “Don’t start, Mother. I’m not staying home, and you know that.” He looked down into her eyes and held her gaze. “I’ll be leaving as soon as I discover why Christine died, and what frightened her so much in the weeks before. It’s my duty as her brother.” He turned to stare out the window again. “After that I’ll be returning to my work in Egypt.”
    Gwyneth bit her tongue to keep from arguing. On a rational level, she understood Marcus’s desire to see the world and work at something that intrigued him. But on an emotional level, she wanted him home. He belonged here, with his family, performing at least some of his duties as earl. She needed him; England needed him. But she didn’t know what to do to convince him to stay this time. It would take nothing short of a miracle, she was sure.
    “I heard you saw the vicar yesterday,” she noted after another sip of cool tea. “How is Mrs. Coswell?”
    Marcus straightened. “She’s very well, I suppose. They looked the same.”
    Gwyneth placed her near-empty cup and saucer on a sideboard beside a glass vase of fresh lilacs. “Is it true you traveled with Miss Marsh?”
    She thought she might have heard her son inhale sharply, but she didn’t look at him. Instead, she crossed her arms over her stomach, keeping her focus on the barge making its way slowly from the bay to open water.
    “She went with me at my request,” he answered forthrightly.
    Gwyneth couldn’t decide if he was annoyed at her questioning, or just annoyed in general, as he often was early in the morning. But he was altogether defensive, and she didn’t like that at all.
    “You know,” she dared to add after a thoughtful pause, “spending time with Miss Marsh alone could be a bit… unseemly.”
    He snorted, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I like her.”
    “Rubbish,” she shot back. “You don’t even know her.”
    “I know her better than you think. ”

    That reply left her speechless for a moment. Then, in what could only be described as horrible timing, his coffee arrived, its pungent odor filling the room at once.
    Marcus turned from the window and walked to the tea table where a service had been set. “Lovely china,” he remarked, sounding a bit bored.
    “Last year’s pattern,” she returned, though it wasn’t much of a pattern. A simple white with gold inlaid trim. Standard but elegant.
    She lowered her trim form onto a chair and spread her skirts around her legs daintily. “About Miss Marsh—”
    “Nothing unseemly has occurred, Mother. She is willing to help me, and I’ve asked her to stay. That’s all.”
    Gwyneth watched him move to the settee and sit, unconcerned, apparently, that his jacket wrinkled behind him. He’d obviously lost his manners in Egypt as well, but she wouldn’t mention it now. There would be time for that later.
    “Help you with what?” she asked hesitantly, though she was afraid she already knew the answer.
    He reached for his cup, then leaned his heavy body against the settee back. “Help me to discover what happened to Christine the day she died.”
    Gwyneth’s eyes widened negligibly. Her mouth went dry, though with all her good breeding, she managed not to show her shock.
    “Marcus, I don’t think that’s wise.”
    His brows rose. “Whyever not?”
    “Because Miss Marsh is just an employee,” she stated, relaying the obvious. “She can’t possibly know what Christine’s thoughts and actions were before her accident.”
    “God, would all of you quit calling her death an accident?” he fairly shouted. “She died, Mother, and had she been perfectly happy before that death, I could