Page 84 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
“Well, I was hoping . . . I thought . . . oh, Rosie, I don’t know what to do. Should I give my approval when I’m not interested in him? At least when it comes to marriage.”
Grandmother pursed her lips. “I advised her against it.”
“Any particular reason?” I agreed with her, but I was curious about her rationale.
“Because,” said Grandmother with steely patience, “she’s not in love with Breckhurst. She’s toying with the idea merely to elicit jealousy from another quarter.”
Chrissie flushed. “You don’t know that.”
“Grandmother is not wrong, sweetheart,” I said gently. “If your heart is truly elsewhere?—”
“I like Breckhurst,” Chrissie said. “He’s kind. He reads poetry.”
She thought a poet made for an admirable suitor. Personally, I would be bored to flinders. I much preferred a man of action. “But he’s not the one you write about in your diary.”
Her eyes widened. “You read it?”
“I did not. Petunia did. I scolded her after she told me. You’ll need to find a better hiding place.”
Grandmother made a sound somewhere between amusement and disapproval. She’d always had a fond spot in her heart for Petunia. But her tone when she addressed Chrissie had no softness in it. “You cannot trifle with a man’s affection, Chrysanthemum. It may wound more deeply than you imagine.”
Chrissie glanced down at the envelope. “I suppose you’re right,” she murmured. “I’ll speak to Cosmos and tell him to politely decline.”
“A wise decision,” Grandmother said. “Speaking of your brother, where is he?”
“He’s escorting Claire home,” I said.
“Oh,” she said in a mild tone.
“You don’t object?”
“It’s not up to me to object. Or approve, for that matter. That decision falls squarely on your brother’s shoulders.” She sighed. “And frankly, Rosalynd, I was growing a bit concerned. Cosmos has never shown the slightest interest in the female gender. If he’s attracted to Lady Edmunds, I’m actually relieved.”
“But she’s toying with him.”
Grandmother gave me a sharp look. “Are you quite sure of that?”
“I doubt she’ll marry again, given how much she despised her marriage.”
“Oh, my dear. Why must it lead to a wedding? Couldn’t they simply . . . enjoy themselves?”
“Grandmother!” Chrissie exclaimed, clearly shocked by her statement.
Grandmother turned to her with firm eyes. “Don’t be getting any ideas, my girl. That opinion is solely reserved for your brother.”
Chrissie lifted a defiant chin. “Because he’s a man?”
“Partly. And partly because he’s finally shown interest in something beyond his plants. Now run along, Chrysanthemum. I wish to have a word with your sister.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She kissed Grandmother’s cheek and swept from the room.
As soon as the door closed, Grandmother turned her sharp gaze on me.
“Now then. Let us discussyourbehavior.”
I lifted an innocent brow. “What behavior would that be?”
“Attending an inquest. Visiting a stationer’s shop. And this sordid business at St. Agnes—all in the company of the Duke of Steele. With no chaperone in sight. Not even a maid.”
