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Sir Huxley had sent her flowers. He had called her “everything.” He was not bitter that she had solved the case, but admiring. After all, in the language of flowers, pink camellias meant one thing.

Longing.

She looked over at Drake. They had not discussed what had occurred at Percival’s. There had not been time, what with catching Diana, and then the rush of business in the wake of their success.

But his words still lingered in the back of her mind. And their kiss still lingered on her lips.

“Drake,” she began, “I need to say something.”

It was now or never, she thought, steeling herself.

“Let me, first,” Drake said. “I am sorry for everything that has occurred between us. You have my word. I will not cross the line again. I will maintain professionality and ensure our relationship is one of businesslike cordiality.”

She kept her eyes fixed upon him, considering his words.

She had independent means now. Beatrice was no longer bound by some of the restrictions previously placed upon her. Perhaps—she hardly dared to think—her personal life could now be her own choice.

Drake rose to his feet. He slowly strode over to where Beatrice stood. “That is what you want, is it not?” he asked. He kept walking until he was just before her. “You came to London to solve crimes, not to court a beau.”

“A lady,” she replied, “ could do both simultaneously.” She took his hand and moved it to her waist, and he inhaled sharply.

She put a palm to Drake’s scarred face, and he tightened his grip on her, pulling her closer to his chest. He leaned into her, and she into him—

Until the door to the office banged open, and they broke apart.

“My darling!” a familiar voice cried out. Beatrice turned to see her mother burst into the room—followed by her father, Louisa, Frank, and baby Bee Bee. [*]

“We know you have been so homesick,” Louisa said, rushing over to embrace her sister. “So we brought Swampshire to you!”

“How wonderful,” Beatrice said, met with a rush of both happiness and irritation. But she was grateful as she held Louisa tight, and then turned to embrace the rest of them. She really had missed them all.

“We received your money for the banister,” Mrs. Steele gushed to Beatrice. “It is being fixed as we speak, thank heavens! We had nowhere else to stay during the repairs…but I told your father, ‘Beatrice will be happy to host us.’?”

Frank shook Drake’s hand. “We read everything about your latest case in the paper,” he told him. “Impressive, truly! I had to write Louisa several sonnets to ensure she did not leave me for you….”

“One may think poetry is the food of love, but I think crime solving may usurp its crown,” Beatrice told him, shooting a glance at Drake. “Not to mix metaphors,” she added.

“I should give you all a moment—” Drake said, flustered, but before he could escape he was blocked by Mr. Steele, who began to pump his other hand up and down.

“Now you see, Inspector, why a man must always carry firecrackers! I will need you to replace those, however…they were the last of my stock….”

“Shall we take a stroll?” Louisa asked, passing baby Bee Bee to Frank, who bounced her on his hip. “After such a carriage ride, I must stretch my legs. And perhaps turn a few cartwheels—”

“I am certain your sister can show us all the best walking paths around Sweetbriar,” Frank assured her. “She is a Londoner now.”

“Let’s go wherever is busiest at this hour,” Mrs. Steele suggested. She adjusted her gown, a tasseled frock that Miss Bolton had helped Beatrice select and send to Swampshire. “The city must get to know the family of the wealthy, successful, wealthy Inspector Steele!”

Beatrice caught Drake’s gaze, and the corners of his mouth turned up. She held his eye as she reached over to the chessboard and made her final move. “Checkmate,” she mouthed.

A smile stretched across his scarred face.

They had more to discuss. There were cases to solve—and the matter between the two of them that also needed to be solved. But now they would take a turn about the garden with the Steeles and enjoy the cool evening air in Sweetbriar, out of the shadows, and into the sun.

As they left the office, no one noticed one letter sitting atop Beatrice’s desk. It was open, and had no postage, as if someone had simply walked into the office and left it there.

Dear Miss Steele,

You have caught my attention with your skills at crime solving. I had paused my little game, as Sir Huxley proved inadequate at catching me. But now I find myself inspired to start again…with you as my opponent.

I look forward to working with you.

Sincerely,

The London Menace

Skip Notes

* Mary was not there, as the family had forgotten to invite her.