“You didn’t think to go up and ask her—see her, find out, what state she was in?”
Justin grimaced. “I honestly didn’t know if she knew she’d killed him—as I said, the blow wasn’t that easy to see. She might just have struck him, not realized she’d struck so hard, then just flung down the poker and stormed out. Not the most likely thing, not with anyone else, but with her and Randall…well, it wasn’t inconceivable.”
“And you weren’t really thinking all that clearly.”
“Well, no. All I could think about was that she’d killed him, and all because of her marriage to him—all to protect the family, and that even then, she was protecting Hermione….” Justin’s jaw hardened. “I just thought it was time someone in the family protected her.”
Christian had question upon question crowding his mind—about Letitia, her marriage, the “situation”—but he forced himself to concentrate first on clarifying what had happened that night. “Let’s say it was eleven forty-five when you entered the study and found Randall dead. Mellon saw you leave the house, and he admitted he’d already been in bed for a time.”
Justin nodded. “I told him to take himself off, that I’d see myself in.”
“So he said. But Letitia must have left Randall shortly after that. You know your sister—she might rant, but the longest she’ll go for is ten minutes, then she runs out of steam, runs out of temper—and usually storms out and away from whoever she’s screeching at. In this case Randall. And that’s exactly what she says she did—so she must have left Randall at, say, ten thirty-five. Ten-forty at the latest.”
Frowning, Justin nodded for him to continue.
“So you find Randall at eleven forty-five, and wield the poker—but according to my knowledgeable surgeon, while Randall was definitely dead before you struck him, he’d only been dead for fifteen to thirty minutes at most. Not the hour that would have been the case if Letitia had killed him.”
Justin looked incredulous. “Someone else was there?”
Christian nodded. “It appears someone else saw Randall between she and you.”
“I didn’t hear anyone else arrive.” Justin grimaced. “Not that I necessarily would have.”
“Mellon swore no one did.” Christian reviewed what he now knew. “We’ll have to follow that up later, once we’re back in London.” He refixed his gaze on Justin’s face. “Let’s leave the mechanics of Randall’s death aside and concentrate on motives. What is it about Randall’s marriage to Letitia that explains all this?”
Justin blinked, then stared, expressionless, at him. Then he blinked again. “You don’t know?”
“Obviously not.”
Justin let his puzzlement show. “But why hasn’t she told you?”
A rhetorical question, but he gritted his teeth and replied, “You’ll have to ask her. But for now, why don’t you tell me.”
Justin’s perplexity turned to a frown. After a long moment he said, “It’s not my place.” His frown deepened, then he shook his head. “I can’t understand why she hasn’t told you. Before, I can understand—you never went near her, and so never gave her the chance…not that if she’d wanted to she couldn’t have created a moment. But now she’s asked you for help, and you’ve been seeing her for what? Six, seven days? And she still hasn’t told you?”
Christian looked at him. “Just tell me.”
There was that in his voice that brooked no further argument.
Justin met his eyes, raised his brows fleetingly, then capitulated. “I knew you and Letitia planned to marry, that she’d sworn to wait for you to return from the wars.”
He wasn’t surprised; Justin and Letitia had always been close.
“All was well until eight years ago. All just rolling along as it usually did, then suddenly—no warning whatever—m’father informed us, Letitia and me, that we—the Vaux, the family—were bankrupt.”
Christian blinked.
Justin saw and grimly nodded. “Indeed. Somehow, he’d run through the entire fortune, and it wasn’t a small amount.”
“How?”
“Investments.” Justin’s lips curled, and Christian knew what had turned him so conservative. “Somehow or other—it was never clear—the whole lot had gone. Worse, we were in debt, and sinking fast. There was no way back, no way out. Except…at just that time, Randall, who Letitia had met but only in passing, made an offer for her hand. The pater refused, of course—when Randall pressed, Papa intimated that the family weren’t flush with funds. Not long after, Randall came back—with a complete and accurate summat
ion of the family’s finances, and a plan to resurrect them.”
“Let me guess—the plan included Letitia marrying him.” He heard himself ask the question, but part of his mind had already disengaged. Was already absorbed with another, quite different question.
“Not included—the plan was contingent upon their marriage. And not just that. There were conditions. Some of them I don’t know—once she’d decided she had to do it, Letitia took it upon herself to finalize those with Randall. I do know that part of the agreement was that there would be no hint whatever that Letitia had married to secure the money—that he’d bought her, as it were. He insisted, and she ultimately agreed, that to the ton and the world, the marriage had to appear to be a love match.”