“But…how could…?” Letitia gestured at nothing in particular, but they knew what she meant.
“Precisely.” Dalziel glanced around the study—at the polished wood, the heavy desk, the books and curios on the shelves, the elegant chairs. “The ‘how coulds’ are endless. How could a farmer’s son have achieved all this? More, although he was only thirty-four, he’d been wealthy enough, for long enough, to have simply become accepted by the ton.”
“Wealthy enough to rescue the Vaux from gargantuan debts,” Letitia said. “And so marry me—and through me become connected with and have the entrée to the highest levels of society.”
Dalziel blinked.
Christian realized he hadn’t known about the debts that had led to Letitia marrying Randall. Letitia, Justin, and their father had kept that secret well.
It was on the tip of Dalziel’s tongue to ask—to confirm and inquire about the forced marriage—but then he glanced at Christian, his look plainly saying, Later?
Christian nodded.
Somewhat to his relief, a frown replaced Letitia’s stunned expression.
“But why?” She looked up at Dalziel, then swiveled to look at him. “Why, why, why? It makes no sense.”
After a moment, Dalziel said, “Yes it does. Just think—a farmer’s son rises to live as one with the highest in the land.” When they looked at him, he continued, “That has to be a dream, a fantasy many farmers, laborers, and the like indulge in. Randall didn’t just fantasize, he made it happen. Found ways to make it happen.”
“I don’t understand.”
They all turned to Hermione. She was leaning against the desk, arms folded, a frown identical to the one on Letitia’s face darkening hers.
“Why would he want to become one of us? Why not just be a very rich farmer?”
Dalziel answered. “Status. It’s something we take for granted, that we rarely if ever think of. We’re born to it—we assume its mantle as our norm. But although we’re barely aware of it, others are. They envy us what we barely notice—all the privileges we enjoy by right of birth.” He paused, then went on, “While there are many who—out of our hearing—rail against our privilege, the truly clever…they try to join us.”
Letitia hauled in a huge breath, let it out with, “In which endeavor Randall succeeded excellently well.”
She was a part of his success.
She looked up, met Christian’s, then Dalziel’s, eyes. “That fits. Very well. It explains a lot of his attitudes that I never understood.”
Dalziel nodded. “Very likely, but the most pertinent point for our investigation is that having succeeded so excellently well, Randall kept his success a secret. A very, indeed amazingly, closely kept secret. Who knew of his background? So far, we’ve found no one. No one even suspected. One might have thought that, having succeeded, he might crow—at least to close friends. But he didn’t have any—something that now makes sense. Yet nothing we’ve uncovered suggests even secret gloating. He might have inwardly preened, but he didn’t celebrate his success.”
“He wasn’t finished.” Letitia met Dalziel’s dark eyes, then looked at Christian. “He was set on taking Nunchance from Justin. And he wanted children.” Her lips curved cynically. “Unfortunately for him, he forgot to specify that as part of our agreement. I believe he thought it simply followed as a natural outcome of my duties in the marriage bed, and strangely—perhaps because he was in fact a farmer’s son—he never realized that I might have some way of preventing that.”
The depth of her aversion for Randall showed in her eyes, then she turned back to Dalziel.
Who had started to pace. “Even so, his secrecy might well have been the reason behind his murder. His continuing plans, which made maintaining that secrecy even more important, only add weight to the thesis.”
Letitia frowned. “I can understand him murdering someone else to preserve his secret, but how could such a secret have killed him?”
Dalziel halted. “I don’t know, but such secrets are always dangerous.” He frowned, then glanced at the paneling, as if only then registering what they’d been doing when he’d entered. “What were you searching for?”
They told him.
He hesitated, clearly weighing what else he had on his plate against the challenge of finding a secret door. It took him all of five seconds to decide. “I’ve got some time—I’ll help.”
Which made four of them, which, as Letitia remarked, was just as well. The study was a cornucopia of carved wood. They divided the room into quarters and settled to their search.
Starting in one corner, she poked and prodded, mindlessly working her way along the paneling’s upper rail; inside, her mind was awash with a litany of exclamations, all escalating versions of “a farmer’s son?” It was, simply, unbelievable—unacceptable. For a lady of her rank and birth…it was more than shocking.
More than scandalous.
If it ever became known she’d stooped so low as to marry a farmer’s son…
Halting, raising her head, she sucked air into s