“Ye know what I think of these sorts of events. A soiree?”
I assured him that he could always disappear with Munro into the cellar at Sussex Square until the festivities subsided.
“The cellar, ye say?” he replied with interest.
“There is, after all, a considerable amount of Old Lodge whisky stored there,” I replied.
“Or… we could simply stay here, and send our regrets ‘due to an unforeseen development in a case?’” I suggested.
Those “unforeseen” developments could be most interesting. That dark gaze softened.
“And disappoint her ladyship?” he pointed out. “How might you explain that to her?”
He took my hand in his, those long fingers encircling mine as he turned my hand and kissed the palm. My fingers curled into the softness of his beard.
“She is not a woman without some experience,” I replied.
“Aye, perhaps. But I would not want to be questioned about the reason we did not attend and be forced to tell her the truth.”
He could be such a devil at times…
Nine
Sussex Square had been transformed.
My great-aunt is known for her soirees, as she calls them. Small, intimate, get-togethers from time-to-time, that just happen to rival those of royal celebrations.
It was always amazing to watch everything come together with the expertise of a general who commanded a vast army.
However,“small and intimate”may have been a slight exaggeration. The Duke of Wellington had nothing on Lady Antonia Montgomery when it came to organization, commanding a campaign, and then executing with precision.
“Bloody hell!” Brodie exclaimed, the lights of Sussex Square illuminating the night sky before our coach had even arrived at the gates.
“I should have warned you. With the changes the architect made, there is every possibility that she is taking the occasion to celebrate that as well as the reception for Sir James.”
“The perfect situation for a thief to take advantage.” A blunt reaction to my aunt’s efforts.
“I am confident Munro has everything well in hand,” I replied. “This is not his first soiree.”
The entire front of the great old manor was illuminated from the main entrance up to the second-floor balconies. As a child growing up in that grand place, I had always loved all the candles and torches set about the grounds that had not been replaced by electric lights.
Our driver pulled to a stop at the end of the long line of coaches that had arrived ahead of us, with additional staff to assist the guests as they arrived.
I signaled him by tapping on the roof of the coach with my umbrella and asked him to take us round to the servant’s entrance.
The driver pulled round to the east side of the manor and one of my aunt’s servants scurried down the steps and opened the door.
“Evenin’, Miss Mikaela, Mr. Brodie.”
Even the servants’ entrance had been transformed with barrels and crates of food, and the essence of some lavish meal that had been planned for the evening that filled the night air.
Brodie grimaced. “It occurs to me that your notion about making an excuse might have been far more pleasurable.”
I tucked my arm through his. “Too late, and I do like your frowns almost as much as a smile.”
“What are ye blathering about, woman?”
“Onward, Mr. Brodie, the party awaits.”
