His brows knit. “Prefer what?”
“To do this on your own. If it is uncomfortable for you, and you are determined to do it, would it be better if I were not there?”
“No, this is fine,” he says, and climbs out and walks toward the house without another word.
ChapterFive
As the butler leads us through the house, I don’t notice any of it. I’m too busy fuming at Gray. I’ve done backflips to be sensitive and suggest ways to alleviate his discomfort, and in the end, all I got was his wasp sting of annoyance.
Screw that, then. He’s an adult, and he can make his own choices and deal with his own discomfort. Whatever’s going on here is between him and Lady Inglis. I just happen to be stuck in the middle of it.
As long as I’m there, I’ll take my place at that center. I’m the detective, and since there are no dead bodies involved, I’m in charge.
We enter the dining room to find Lady Inglis arranging flowers on the side table. That gives me pause. Oh, flower arranging is a very suitable hobby for a wealthy woman. But this is also the era when people assigned meanings to every flower and color. It was a method of communication, especially between men and women. I know nothing about the language of flowers, though I am aware that there could be some meaning in the arrangement Gray might comprehend.
And then I remind myself that I don’t give a shit.
I don’t even look Gray’s way to see his reaction. I greet Lady Inglis and compliment her on the lovely arrangements and the lovely home. She seems startled, and I presume the impression I gave last night was one of slightly less poise.
The flowersarelovely—white honeysuckle and blue cornflowers. The dining room is also lovely, tastefully appointed in the same colors, white and blue, carried from the carpet to the lampshades to the wallpaper.
Lady Inglis invites us to sit at the table, fully set for lunch. She takes what I presume is her usual spot at one end. Gray gets the other, and I’m in the middle, literally this time.
There is a bit of awkward small talk, which I stay out of. Having decided I don’t give a damn also means I don’t feel the need to smooth the way for Gray. I spend my time discreetly taking in my surroundings.
Most of the art is landscape, but there’s a portrait that seems to be Lady Inglis and her father until I realize she’s in a wedding gown and he doesn’t quite look old enough to be giving away the bride. Her husband, then. In it, Lady Inglis is about twenty. She’s holding her new husband’s arm, and she doesn’t look frightened or even determined. She looks happy. Genuinely glowing.
The first course arrives. At home, lunch is a fairly simple affair, betraying the Grays’ middle-class background. There is rarely a first course, and the meal often makes use of leftovers from the day before. That’s not frugality as much as convenience and efficiency. Dinner takes much longer to prepare in this period, and unless you have a dedicated cook, shortcuts are essential. One thing we always have, though, is dessert, because our gorgon housekeeper, Mrs. Wallace, dotes on Gray. God forbid the man miss an opportunity to have a rich pastry or slice of cake.
The first course here is a cream of asparagus soup along with fresh bread. I wait for everyone to take their first sips of the soup, and then I say, “You will forgive my bluntness, Lady Inglis, but I do not wish to take up too much of your time. May we discuss the case over lunch?”
Her gaze shoots to Gray, who scoops another spoonful of soup and says, “Miss Mitchell will take the lead here,” without looking up.
“Lacking Dr. Gray’s background and position, I am usually forgiven for also lacking his manners.” I smile, but it feels a little feral. “I am, as I said, rather blunt. I can get to the heart of the matter where he might need to dance around it, and I can ask questions that might give him pause.”
“I see,” Lady Inglis murmurs. “All right, then. Let us move directly into discussing the situation. As I said, I am being blackmailed. You are aware that I am a widow?”
“I am.”
“You said that your background allows you certain liberties. My status allows me others. One is that I do not need to forsake the company of men.”
Her gaze holds mine, as if trying to convey a delicate secret that I might be too young to comprehend. Victorians have a reputation for prudery that is well earned. Sex is not a thing you discuss, at least not if you are female... or a male in mixed company. I’m going to presume men talk about it among themselves, but not being a man, I can’t comment on that.
I know women—at least those in lower classes—talk about it. But well-to-do ladies do not. This does not mean well-to-do ladies aren’t having sex. It doesn’t mean that men who turn bright red at the most obtuse mention are not having sex. There is plenty of that going on—and plenty of it is extramarital—but everyone acts as if there isn’t, even if they’re having it themselves.
I’m sure many widows enjoy their freedom to some extent. God knows, I wish Isla would. But Lady Inglis watches my reaction as if I would be scandalized.
“I understand,” I say.
She hesitates. “I am not certain you do. This is a matter of great delicacy, Miss Mitchell.”
“You have lovers, and this blackmail is connected to them.”
I shouldn’t be so blunt. The fact that I am might prove I’m still annoyed with Gray and in a bit of a mood. Her gaze shoots to him, and I notice he gives the barest shake of his head. Telling her that this information did not come from him. Technically true.
I continue, “You forget that I do not share Dr. Gray’s background, and certainly not your own, Lady Inglis. These things are much more common—even natural—where I am from.”
Catriona actually seemed to be from a middle-class family, but Lady Inglis nods her understanding, even as color touches her cheeks.
