But that was for the morrow. That night they met at his aunt Cordelia’s house, first in her drawing room, then later they sat side by side at her long table while a highly select company dined.
It was primarily a political gathering, a renewal of contacts before the autumn session got under way; discussions ranged widely. Now he was Dearne, and fixed once more at home, Christian knew he would need to take a more active interest. Somewhat to his surprise, he discovered Letitia was more than qualified to advise him.
When he cocked a brow at her—Randall had held no seat in either the Commons or the Lords—she shrugged. “I act as Papa’s surrogate of sorts. I keep an eye on events, and if I tell him his vote is needed, he’ll grumble but come down to cast it. These days Justin could do the job, but with their falling out, the task has remained with me.” She glanced around the table. The ladies had yet to retire, primarily because they were, one and all, too deeply involved in the discussions going on. “It’s at events such as this that one hears the true story. Not just what the news sheets say, not just what the Prime Minister might decree, but the true nature of affairs underlying the decisions, or forming the basis for those yet to come.”
She looked back at him. “Do you plan to be active in Parliament?”
He met her gaze. “Until I know more, I can’t say, but…if one holds a seat in the Lords by virtue of one’s birth, it seems incumbent on one to do what the job requires—just like any other part of the duties of a marquess.”
She considered him for a moment, then nodded. Looking about the table, she murmured, “In that case, you might want to consider…”
Over the next twenty minutes, she gave him a concise political history of those about the table, the ladies included. With the discussions still raging, Cordelia dispensed with the customary separation and the whole company rose and adjourned to the drawing room.
They circulated, then Cordelia swooped, captured Letitia and bore her off to clarify some point with two other ladies—leaving Christian to fall victim to Lady Osbaldestone.
Watching Letitia’s back—wondering if, once they left, he could persuade her to walk across the square rather than around the corner into South Audley Street—he didn’t even know that terrifying dame had him in her sights until he felt something strike his foot. Glancing down, he discovered it was her cane; he looked up and met her eyes, blacker than night, sharp and shrewd.
“You could do much worse,” she regally informed him, “than to follow what is clearly your inclination. Indeed, there are many of us who view Letitia’s previous marriage as a regrettable if unavoidable aberration, one that should be wiped from the collective conscious of the ton.” Her eyes bored into his. “We’re counting on you to accomplish that task. See you don’t let us down.”
With that, she inclined her head and moved on to her next target.
Letitia reappeared moments later. “Lady Osbaldestone said you were looking for me.”
He’d never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. “Indeed. I think we should leave. There’s something I should tell you, but not here.”
She agreed readily enough. They took their leave of Cordelia—who to Christian’s alerted eyes looked far too satisfied—then walked out into the night.
Once they’d gained the pavement, Letitia wrapped her shawl more snugly about her shoulders. “What did you want to tell me?”
Christian took her hand and drew her to walk beside him. He crossed the street and headed around the deserted square; the gates to the park in the center were locked at sunset. “Did you know that some of the ladies—who exactly, I don’t know, but Lady Osbaldestone at least—suspect you had some…for want of a better word, ulterior motive for marrying Randall?”
He glanced at her, saw the face she pulled. “I always worried they might—they’re so sharp-eyed, nothing much escapes them—but while Randall was alive, they kept their suspicions to themselves. I’d hoped they would continue to do so.”
“They are, they will…I think.” They would as long as he did as they wished.
“I gather she spoke to you—what did she say?”
“In her usual inimitable fashion she was cryptic, but I gathered she and they, whoever ‘they’ encompasses, were not at all happy about you marrying Randall.”
“They weren’t. But now he’s dead, so…” She shrugged. Frowning, eyes down, she kept pace beside him.
They’d reached the other side of the square. He led her up his steps, fishing in his waistcoat pocket for his latch key.
Only when they halted before the door did she look up and realize.
“This is your house.” Letitia looked at Christian.
He shrugged. “My bed’s bigger than yours.”
An unarguable point.
When he simply held her gaze, and waited, she inwardly shrugged. She waved to the door. “All right. Just as long as you remember to wake me up in time to walk me home.”
He smiled and opened the door. The truth was, she felt more comfortable there, in his house, than she ever had in Randall’s. And she had far greater faith in Percival’s discretion than she had in Mellon’s.
As it transpired, Percival wasn’t there to greet them.
Christian noticed her looking down the front hall. “I told Percival not to wait up.”