The dry comment from Letitia had Christian glancing at her. Then he looked back at the group around Trowbridge. The ladies, one and all, appeared to be flirting outrageously with the man, while Trowbridge responded to the top of his bent. He frowned. “Do those ladies know that?”
“Of course.” Slipping her hand onto his arm again, Letitia murmured, “That’s why they flirt with him so openly—no matter how he responds, his preference for men makes him perfectly safe.”
Christian’s brows rose higher. “I see.”
They circled, holding to their own company but keeping Trowbridge in view. Eventually some of the ladies drifted away, then, having expounded at length on the points of a statue of a satyr, Trowbridge stepped back, allowing those left a moment to reflect.
Letitia and Christian exchanged a glance, and moved in.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Trowbridge.” Letitia gave him her hand. “I’m Lady Letitia Randall. We met at Lady Hutchinson’s event.”
Trowbridge smiled delightedly and with an extravagant flourish bowed over her hand. “Enchanted, my lady.”
“Allow me to present Lord Dearne.”
Christian exchanged a circumspect nod with Trowbridge.
“I wished to speak with you”—Letitia glanced at the ladies still studying the satyr—“to ask your advice on the relative merits of the pastoral style of works”—a wave indicated the pieces studding the lawn—“versus the humanistic style, from the viewpoint of long-term investment.”
Trowbridge blinked.
Turning away from the satyr—and the other ladies—Letitia started to stroll slowly down the lawn toward the river wall that marked its far end.
Trowbridge necessarily kept pace. “I…er, don’t really advise from an investment point of view. My interests are more on the artistic side—the skill of the artist in capturing his subject, his technique, the quality of execution. Sadly, investment value is more driven by what becomes popular, rather than by artistic merit.”
Contrary to Christian’s expectations, Trowbridge didn’t halt, ready to part from them and return to his bevy of admirers. Instead he continued to stroll beside Letitia, his gaze on her face. Waiting.
She glanced swiftly back, confirming they were out of earshot of all other guests. “I see. Regardless, Mr. Trowbridge, I have something I wished to discuss with you.”
“Yes?” Trowbridge’s tone was frankly expectant.
Christian had fallen back, strolling a pace behind Letitia’s shoulder, leaving Trowbridge’s interrogation to her—at least to begin with. He drew closer as she drew breath and said, “I daresay you’ve heard about the murder of my late husband, and that the authorities suspect my brother of the crime.”
&nbs
p; Trowbridge’s face blanked.
Glancing up, Letitia saw, waited. When he said nothing, simply stared at her, she went on. “I believe you knew my husband rather well—you and he were close friends, were you not?”
Trowbridge halted. “Ah…no. Not close. Not anymore. Not for many years.”
Halting, too, Letitia raised her brows. “Indeed? Then it will come as a surprise to you that he left you a bequest in his will.”
“He did?” Trowbridge was either an excellent actor or was truly surprised. “But I thought…that is to say, we’d agreed—” He broke off altogether. After a moment of staring into space as if seeking clarification, he refocused on Letitia. “I really don’t know what to say, Lady Randall. Randall and I hadn’t been more than passing acquaintances socially for…well, the last decade.” He frowned. “What did he leave me?”
“You’ll no doubt hear from his solicitor in due course. It was an antique clock—he said you’d admired it.”
Trowbridge’s face lit. “The Glockstein?” When Letitia nodded, he rattled on, “Indeed, it’s a very fine piece. He came across it years ago and was wise enough to pick it up. I was always envious. He even said it was knowing my taste that spurred him to buy it. Such ornate work on both the face and the hands. I’ve always—”
“Trowbridge.”
Christian’s deeper voice jerked Trowbridge back to blinking attention; he caught the man’s gaze. “How did you know Randall?”
Trowbridge’s eyes widened. “How?”
Christian felt his face harden. “Through what avenue did you first meet him? It’s a simple enough question.”
“Yes…but why do you want to know?”