Somewhat put out by her excuses and with genuine concern, I had taken myself off to her residence where I discovered the obvious reason— James Warren.
It seems that she had thrown caution, along with the threat of scandal, to the wind in their growingrelationship. To be more precise— their affair.
Her reasoning, when we had met for luncheon the following day, was quite well-thought, articulate, not to mention most entertaining.
“Do say something,” she had finally insisted. “I would understand if you do not approve…”
I had burst out laughing, which brought considerable attention from other guests at the Savoy.
“What are you laughing at?” Linnie had demanded somewhat put off.
“Seeking my approval?” I finally managed to reply after sufficiently recovering. “You are a woman of independent means, quite capable of making your own decisions and choices…” I had pointed out.
“It is not necessary for you to have anyone’s permission,” I continued. Most certainly not mine, I thought, considering my relationship with Angus Brodie.
“You’re not angry?” She had been genuinely surprised.
“Good heavens, no!” I had replied. “Why do you think I introduced you to him? He is intelligent, well-respected, and quite knowledgeable in the world of art. You have a great deal in common.”
Linnie was very talented as an amateur artist, but had been forced to give that up as her former husband felt it was not appropriate for the wife of a peer to hold showings of her work at a London gallery.
“And he is quite handsome,” I had added.
“He is, isn’t he? she had responded before catching herself. The sudden color in her face spoke volumes.
“He’s been most encouraging about my taking up my painting again,” she had quickly added as if she needed to convince me.
“You must do that, of course,” I replied.
“Then you don’t disapprove…” She had still been hesitant.
Of her painting, or the affair? It really was too tempting, but I didn’t say it.
“It is about time,” I replied, quite pleased for my sister, and I had managed to avoid any discussion about my relationship with Brodie which had taken a turn at the conclusion of our previous case.
We were both recovering from mishaps on my great aunt’s property in Scotland. I could have blamed it on too much of my aunt’s very fine whisky that was produced at Old Lodge, however neither one of us had had any at the time.
“I understand yer hesitation,” Brodie had explained, and I knew that he did.
The man knew quite a lot about me by then— my habits, quirks, and shortcomings— mystubbornness and taking myself off into dangerous situationshad been mentioned.But notwithstanding that, what followed had definitely left me speechless— he had proposed!
I had been taken aback to put it mildly. I had spent the better part of the past several years avoiding such things after an engagement that I had called off when I realized that I didn’t want to be the usual society hostess for someone else’s ambitions.
Over the intervening years, I had taken myself off on my various adventures, established myself as a successful author, and happily ignored the whispers of those in my great aunt’s social circle about my unmarried status.
I had succeeded quite well in convincing myself that I didn’t need or want the usual trappings of marriage. My parents’ disastrous marriage as well as my sister’s were examples of situations to avoid.
Then, there was Brodie.
He could be stubborn, opinionated, old-fashioned in many ways, and yet… he valued my opinions and ideas, and as my great aunt once said, was the only person “for the situation, and he could be trusted.”
There was that other thing, of course, something I had never experienced before… Something my great aunt assured me was worth its weight in gold. He made my toes curl.
So there it was. In that uncompromising way, he had left me quite undone with his heartfelt and quite stirring proposal. Who else would have cared or told me that he knew where my hesitation came from?
“I’m not the same sort of man as yer father,” he had told me that day at Old Lodge.
I knew that, of course. One didn’t pursue the cases we’d worked on over the past two years, often in dangerous situations, and not learn the true character of someone. And it was not the difference in our social status that might be an obstacle. I didn’t give a fig about that.
