It had been a long while since Atticus had accompanied his mother to tea, although given her recent illness (despite having a full recovery) he was more attune to helping her when she asked. It was only natural that Rose Foxwood used this to her advantage; his smile had been strained when they’d entered, his mother’s arm looped through his as they neared the table where Ms. Blackwood was seated, although she patted him on the arm and excused herself to sit on the sofa near Mrs. Blackwood a few moments later.

Atticus’s mother had been pushing him to find a wife sooner rather than later because she wasn’t getting any younger and wanted to enjoy her grandkids. As if she also didn’t have another son who was capable of producing children. He nearly rolled his eyes but instead focused on his company. Atticus managed a smile at the woman before him, awkward and uncomfortable. “As much as I can Ms. Blackwood,” he replied. “My project this off season was to begin the restoration of my childhood home, although it has been a nice break to hide from…everyone.”

Out of the corner of his eye he peered at the women on the couch, who appeared caught up in their own conversation. Mrs. Foxwood had a sly smile on her lips. He loved his mother dearly but sometimes she could be overbearing. “And how has your off season been?” Atticus asked as his eyes flicked back over to her. He relaxed in the seat as much as he could.

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