“My dear Letitia!” The duchess enveloped her in an exuberant, scented embrace, touching first one cheek, then the other, to hers. “Such a happening! I would offer my condolences, but then again, while I did not know your late husband well, one cannot imagine that his absence is devastating.”
The duchess was French. Outrageous was her middle name. She could give—and over the years had at times given—the Vaux a run for their money.
“Letitia was just telling me that Dearne’s been helping her find Randall’s murderer.” Lady Osbaldestone leaned on her cane.
“Excellent!” The duchess opened her lovely pale green eyes wide. “So useful to have a gentleman about who has more than one string to his bow, nein?” She beamed at Letitia.
Who inwardly sighed. If she decided to break with Christian, she would simply have to weather the scandal.
Nevertheless, while she chatted with Lady Osbaldestone and the duchess, then after parting from them, with various others, she continued to adhere to her story that he was merely helping with the investigation into Randall’s death. Nothing more.
Much good did it do her. Her aunts Amarantha and Constance were a case in point; they cornered her, literally, and demanded to be told all.
“Such a wonderful thing—well, I know one is not supposed to say that over a death,” Constance quickly amended, “but really it’s very hard to mourn Randall. I’ve tried to think of him, but it seems we hardly knew him.”
It seemed no one had, Letitia thought.
“And anyway,” Amarantha declared, “he’s dead—and you and Dearne aren’t.” She fixed her intent hazel gaze on Letitia. “So what’s afoot? Randall murdered, Justin vanished, and Dearne hovering protectively—you can’t tell me that’s not going to be the story of the season.”
Letitia set her jaw. “I don’t wish to feature as the story of the season.”
“Pshaw!” Amarantha waved aside the comment. “You’re a Vaux—you can’t simply suspend your heritage. The haut ton expect us to entertain them—and I have to say that currently you and Justin are doing a fine job of it.”
“Indeed—I haven’t had so much attention in years,” Constance stated. “I vow I’m mobbed wherever I go, with ladies—and gentlemen—wishing to know ‘the Truth.’” Constance edged closer; Letitia all but had her back to the wall. “So what should we say?”
Letitia told them precisely what she wished them to say.
Much to their disappointment.
Constance picked at her spangled shawl. “I can’t imagine why you think people are going to swallow such a tale—that the only thing between you and Dearne is this investigation.”
“And anyway,” Amarantha informed her, “the investigation’s not what they want to hear about. Randall being murdered and Justin having to disappear until the real murderer is caught and the authorities get themselves straightened out is all very well, but it’s the romance everyone really wants to know of.”
“Indeed?” Letitia arched one brow. In her haughtiest manner—not all that effective against her aunts—she stated, “If and when—and I do stress that if—there is anything to report on the romance front, rest assured I will let you know.” She inclined her head to them both. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I must find the withdrawing room.”
Grudgingly, they stepped aside and let her go; she retreated to lick her wounds—or more specifically, to soothe her aggravation.
On the opposite side of the room, Christian found himself in his aunt Cordelia’s sights. Ermina had fluttered about him earlier but hadn’t settled; Cordelia, in contrast, looked determined on an interrogation.
She trapped his gaze, her own unflinching. “Is Justin Vaux guilty or not?”
That one was easy. “Not.”
“Indeed?” One brow arching, Cordelia turned and pointedly looked across the room.
Following her gaze, he had no difficulty locating Letitia as she glided through the guests; her height, combined with the fabulous richness of her dark red hair, made her easy to spot.
“If that’s the case, then I suggest you move smartly to establish that point. More, to prove his innocence. Otherwise…suffice it to say you might well find yourself facing a hurdle you won’t wish to front.”
He let his lips curve although there was no real amusement in the gesture. “Thank you, Aunt.” On a murmur he added, “What would I do without your sage counsel?”
Cordelia snorted. “Indeed. While I’m sure you’ve seen the point yourself, in your usual arrogant fashion you won’t let it bother you. But if you’re anything like your father, you’ll have forgotten that it’s not just you involved—you might be perfectly willing to stare down the ton, but will she let you?”
Christian blinked.
“Exactly. Think about that—and then, if you’re serious about claiming her, you’d better get cracking on proving to all the world that Justin Vaux is utterly blameless in the matter of his brother-in-law’s murder.”
Having said her piece, with a regal nod, Cordelia swanned off.