Chapter Twenty-Nine
TWENTY-NINE
This isn’t our first picnic. That would have been at the Highland wedding, where Gray snuck me out for one by moonlight.
Nothing romantic, of course. I’d had trouble sleeping, and I was uncomfortable in a house with his friends and a whole lotta dramatic tension, and he’d been giving me a break from that.
Picnics aren’t something Gray and I can do, even platonically. The Highland one was a risk. I’m an unmarried woman. Gray can’t be seen alone with me unless we’re on business, and there’s nothing businesslike about a picnic.
When I tentatively ask if this is okay, he jokes that it’s too early for the gossipmongers to be awake yet. We go in the coach, with Simon driving, and our destination turns out to be Arthur’s Seat.
Arthur’s Seat is a volcano, thankfully both ancient and extinct. It’s part of a set of hills that swing out from Holyrood Park and—after a strenuous hike—give magnificent views of the city.
I’ve climbed this trail—both in my time and this one. Gray only leads me up, partway along one side path and then another, until we tuck into a hidden spot.
As Gray spreads the blanket, I stare out over the city.
“This is beautiful,” I say.
“Completely private as well. Hugh and I used to sit up here as boys, and I came up last night to be sure it has not become more popular. Even if someone is passing on the paths, they will not hear us talking.”
He came here last night? That’s really going the extra mile for a picnic. I don’t comment, though. I wouldn’t want him feeling as if he’d overdone it.
When he produces a bottle, I say, “Champagne? What are we celebrating?”
He only smiles. “Life. I believe, occasionally, it deserves celebrating.”
“Ah.” I hope my smile is genuine. I should be delighted. A morning champagne picnic in a private mountainside spot? Perfect. But it has my insides quivering.
Something is wrong. He has bad news, and this is how he’s delivering it. Cushioning the blow.
“Are we … celebrating anything else?” I ask carefully.
“Hmm?”
“I presume Hugh will speak to you before he proposes to Isla.”
Gray pops the bottle open. “He will. Even if it is merely a formality.”
“But he has not.”
“Not yet.”
When Gray looks up from pouring the glasses, I think I stop worrying my lip in time, but he notices and sighs.
“What is the matter?” he says.
“This is very nice, and I do appreciate it.”
Another sigh. Deeper. “It is not something I do, which is making you anxious.”
“It’s just me. Weird sleep schedule recently plus the case plus the audience with the Queen.”
He lifts a hand. “You do not need to make excuses. I am doing something out of character, and so you are concerned that I might be about to deliver bad news.”
“Yes.” I make a face. “Sorry.”
“There is no bad news. Nor is there any news that is good for others but problematic for us, such as my sister’s engagement. That is coming. I am sure of it. Hugh has tentatively broached the subject of you, in regards to that.”
“Me?”
He hands me a glass. “Your situation. They are aware of it.”
I resist the urge to down the drink in one gulp. “What happens to me when they marry should be the last thing on their minds.”
“It is not, because you are their friend. However, I have assured him that it is taken care of. I have a contingency plan.”
My gut goes cold, and I look down at the drink.
Gray sighs again, deeper. “No, Mallory, I did not bring you here to propose a marriage of convenience. I learned my lesson in that. When Isla marries—as she will—my mother will take up residence at Robert Street again. I have already discussed it with her by mail. When my sister marries, our mother will declare the town house her primary residence.”
“But your mother lives abroad. She likes living abroad.”
“She will divide her time. Isla has visited her thrice since you arrived, and no one questioned you being temporarily in the house with me. There is a full staff playing chaperone. All that society needs to know is that there is a lady of the house, which will be my mother.”
“Are you sure she’s okay with that?”
“You can ask when you meet her. For now, the matter is settled.”
“And we’re celebrating that?”
He opens the picnic hamper. “Partly. But we are also celebrating the fact that I am a genius.”
I choke on my champagne, earning a fake glare.
“Sorry,” I say. “Yes, you are. I just didn’t expect you to say it.”
“But I know it, obviously. With my ego, how could I not?” He passes me a wry smile. “In this case, though, I am a genius for devising a solution to another issue, though I may owe some credit to Her Majesty.”
“Okay…”
“She mentioned my undertaking business and the position of police surgeon, and while I am not changing any of that, it did get me thinking.” He looks me in the eye. “I don’t want you to be my assistant any longer, Mallory.”
Now I really do choke, nearly spilling my wine before he sets it down and pats my back.
“I am terrible at this,” he says.
“It’s okay. I understand. It’s been awkward and—”
“I want you to go into business for yourself. As a private detective.”
I stare at him. “What?”
“A consulting detective.” He settles back onto the picnic blanket.
“We will work together, of course, as we do now. Except I am not a detective, though I have been given the title of one unofficially. You are the detective. I am the scientist. There has been too much confusion, and I would like it to end now.”
He notices my expression, and his head slumps forward.
“The face,” he says. “I am still getting the face. There is no trick here, Mallory. No insult to your abilities as an assistant. Only the recognition that it is wrong for you to continue playing the role of assistant when you are the professional.”
“I don’t mind being your assistant, Duncan.”
“I do mind.” He starts unpacking the hamper, and I know him well enough to recognize a diversionary tactic when I see it.
“Does it bother you because of what people think?” I ask softly. “That they suspect I’m actually your lover.”
“That bothers me,” he says as he takes out a loaf of bread. “But only on your behalf.”
“Okay.”
He gets through cutting three slices of bread before thumping the knife down on the cutting board. “Do you not want to be recognized as a professional?”
“I don’t think it’s that easy.”
“It will be.” His mouth sets as he plunks down the butter and jam.
“We are opening a new business together. I would happily make it entirely yours, but I recognize the limitations there, so it will be a joint venture. A partnership. A…” He waves a butter knife.
“What did you call it? A detective agency? Like the Pinkertons.”
I shudder. “Not like the Pinkertons, thank you. No one’s hiring me to break up unions.”
He hands me a slice of bread on a plate. “You understand what I mean. An investigative agency, run by a detective and a forensic scientist.”
When I don’t answer, he squeezes his eyes shut. “Would you please stop looking at me like that, Mallory?”
“Like what?”
“As if I am holding out fish for a stray cat, while hiding a rope behind my back.”
I manage a short laugh. “Pretty sure that’s not how I look.”
“It is exactly how you look. Hopeful, but wary and suspicious.”
“I’m not suspicious,” I say.
“No?”
I butter the bread. “Okay, but it’s not that I suspect you of trying to trap me. I just suspect there’s something you aren’t telling me. A problem this is intended to solve.”
“Yes, the problem of you not being recognized for your contributions.”
“I don’t care about that.”
“I do.” He slathers a half inch of jam on his bread and takes a bite, chewing and swallowing before he says, “I do not like being your employer. I have not liked it in a very long time.”
He raises a finger. “And do not interpret that as any kind of insult. You know it isn’t.” He sets down the bread. “We work as partners. You learn from me, and I learn from you. We are friends, as well, yes? Very good friends?”
“Yes.”
“Then I find the employee and employer part of our relationship extremely uncomfortable, particularly when coupled with the fact that you are reliant on me in other ways.” He meets my gaze.
“You have become part of my household, my family. You are not from this world, and while you could manage on your own, it would be difficult.”
“But I could.”
“I said that. You certainly could. However, I am not only your employer but your landlord and even your guardian, at least insofar as the world would see it. I do not like that. For you.” He holds my gaze. “For us.”
“Okay.”
“As long as I am your employer, I have power over you. Authority over you. And I hate it.”
“I haven’t thought of it like that.”
“Have you not? Truly?”
I shift position on the blanket. “An inkling of it, I guess. Mostly it feels like a game. The two of us playing roles for the world, secretly rolling our eyes at the need to play them. If you really acted like my boss, it’d be different. That’d be extremely uncomfortable.”
“So I have never asked you to do a task you did not particularly want to do, and you have done it because I am your employer.”
I shrug. “Okay, yes. Once or twice.” I exhale. “Fine. I have felt the power imbalance.”
“Exactly. And I am certain I have inadvertently taken advantage of it. That I have, in some ways, been oblivious to it. Isla has told me so, and I have started to see it. Where I particularly see it…” He takes a drink of his champagne.
“Where I particularly see it is in our personal relationship. I have become very aware of how I could suggest something that, if you refuse, could affect you immensely, in ways I did not intend. Like the marriage proposal.”
I inhale.