“It’s not enough for me to be with ye, in that way, if ye get my meanin’,” he had said then. “I want more, even as I stand here knowin’ that I have no right and fully expect ye to say no, or at the very least to argue with me.”
That did seem somewhat of an unusual way to propose by emphasizing my faults.
As for no right to ask me? If that wasn’t enough, I had come completely undone at his next words, even though at the time I considered that it might have been my weakened physical condition in the aftermath of that last case.
“I want ye,” he told me. “God help us both, and I have nothing to give ye, except meself andthis.”
Thishad been the one thing that was most precious to him, the St. Christopher’s medallion given to him by his mother as she lay dying.
And then, knowing me quite well, he had simply added, “I will give ye time, Mikaela Forsythe…”
“So,” my sister said, as we talked over luncheon days earlier. “What is your answer to Mr. Brodie going to be?”
I was quite surprised as I had not mentioned his somewhat unusual proposal to anyone upon our return to London.
“You’d be quite foolish to turn him down,” she had announced before I had a chance to reply.
“Particularly if you insist on pursuing these cases with him. He is undoubtedly the only person who can put up with you, aside from myself and our aunt, of course. And, he is wickedly handsome.” She had proceeded quite calmly to take a sip of wine.
“There’s no need to look so surprised,” she commented. “Aunt Antonia mentioned it some time ago, and you may close your mouth now,” she added. “You look like a cod at the fish market and people are beginning to stare.”
So much for keeping things to myself.
I loved my sister. But it seemed she had gone through some sort of transformation, emerging much like a butterfly from a cocoon. Or, possibly a bothersome insect most particularly with her comment about my resemblance to a fish— cod to be precise.
Now, speaking ofwickedly handsome— I looked up to find Brodie descending the stairs from the office rather urgently.
Wicked was most definitely an appropriate description with his dark hair overlong at the collar of his coat and that dark gaze that softened as it met mine in that way that spoke of other things we shared.
“We will need the driver,” he informed me as he motioned for the man to wait.
“Has something happened?” I asked as he assisted me up into the rig, then climbed in beside me.
“There’s been a development in the matter of the photograph that was received by Sir John and Lady Mainwaring.”
That sounded quite ominous.
“It seems that their daughter, Amelia, did not arrive at the home of an acquaintance yesterday evening as planned,” he explained. “And this was delivered this morning to the Mainwaring residence.” Brodie pulled an envelope from the inside pocket of his long coat and handed it to me.
At first glance, it seemed to be a photograph much like any common photograph. The young woman, who appeared to be Amelia Mainwaring, was sitting on a park bench with hands folded on her lap as if awaiting the arrival of an acquaintance or possibly the driver of a hack or cab.
“Someone playing another prank?” I commented.
Lady Althea Mainwaring, an acquaintance of my aunt, had contacted me some weeks earlier while Brodie and I were in the midst of another case, regarding a photograph of her daughter they had received.
In that odd way of connections, Sir John Mainwaring was the cousin of the former foreign secretary whom we had encountered previously. Lady Mainwaring had contacted us because of that unfortunate circumstance as well as her acquaintance with my aunt.
Now a possible turn in what had initially seemed a rather innocent if bothersome situation. The first photograph appeared to have been taken without their knowledge in the gardens of the Mainwaring estate at Portman Square, Marylebone.
It had been disconcerting for the family and they were unable to provide any information that might have led to the identity of the person who took it.
I had made the usual inquiries on their behalf as Brodie was up north in Scotland at the time. But there had been nothing to indicate who might have taken the photograph.
With no possible clues to indicate the meaning of that first photograph, or even when it might have been taken, it seemed to have been more of a prank.
“Take a closer look at the second photograph,” Brodie said now. “And this note accompanied it.” He handed that to me as well.
I read the cryptic message. “And then there were three…?”
