He no longer knew what she felt for him-something, certainly, even if it wasn’t what he’d thought. She hadn’t been in love with him as he’d been with her.
But did that matter?
The truth was…
For long minutes more he stood looking out unseeing, wrestling with the question of how much he was willing to give-to bend, to forgive, to accept-to recapture a semblance of those long-ago dreams.
Chapter 6
He bowled through the Nunchance Priory gates at mid-afternoon the next day. The long, winding drive was, he noted, in excellent repair, the trees shading it old but well-trimmed. The lawns and gardens that surrounded the house were neat, but not rigidly so, comfortable and colorful with rambling roses tumbling over walls, their perfumed blooms nodding in the warm breeze.
Beyond the changes expected of the years, all was as he remembered it.
He pulled up in the circular forecourt before the huge, rambling, late Tudor mansion. It had indeed been a priory, one linked to the abbey at Dearne; whereas the abbey hadn’t withstood the ravages of time and the various assaults visited upon it, the priory had escaped the old wars relatively unscathed, and succeeding generations of Vaux had preserved and added to its red-brick magnificence.
Leaving his curricle and horses in the care of a suitably reverent groom, Christian looked up at the long facade, at the many leaded windows that winked and blinked at him. The Allardyces and the Vaux were neighbors of sorts; while they didn’t share any boundaries, they were the two most senior families in the area and throughout the generations had been close acquaintances, if not always as close as friends.
That had been one reason both families had looked upon his and Letitia’s long-ago romance with benign approval, if not outright encouragement. No Vaux and Allardyce had married before, but once the idea bloomed, everyone had concurred that it was high time the families established a closer bond.
Then he’d gone to war, and Letitia had married Randall, and all thought of closer ties in this generation had faded. But the underlying acquaintance had not.
Climbing the shallow front steps, Christian tugged the bellpull.
When the butler, a thoroughly imposing specimen, opened the door, Christian smiled easily. “Good afternoon, Hightsbury. Is your master at home?”
Hightsbury recognized him and unbent enough to return his smile. “Indeed, my lord. Do come in. And may I say what a pleasure it is to see you here again. If you’ll wait in the drawing room, I’ll inquire as to the master’s pleasure.”
Christian consented to cool his heels in the elegant, formal drawing room; naturally, being a Vaux domain, it was also a cornucopia of rich and colorful visual and textural delights.
He barely had time to absorb their combined impact before Hightsbury returned.
“If you’ll come this way, my lord. His lordship is in the library.”
Following Hightsbury down the long, wood-paneled corridors, remembering what little Letitia had said about Justin’s falling out with their father, he considered how to approach the coming interview.
Hightsbury opened a tall door, went in, and announced, “Lord Dearne, my lord.”
“Heh?” A white-haired figure hunched over a large desk swung around to peer at the door.
Christian was momentarily taken aback; the earl appeared swathed in a dressing gown-then he realized it was a long, soft, dun-colored coat of the sort serious scholars wore to protect their clothes from ink stains.
He smiled and went forward.
The earl peered at him from under bushy white brows. His hair stood up in tufts, as if he’d tugged at it; Christian saw the odd ink stain in the tumbled locks. All in all, the earl’s reputation as an irascible, unpredictable eccentric appeared well-founded.
But there was nothing at all vague in the sharp hazel eyes that met his.
The earl inclined his head; his expression was relaxed but his eyes were watchful. “Christian, my boy-good to see you again.”
Christian half bowed. “Sir.”
Lord Vaux studied him, increasingly intent. They exchanged a few words about Christian’s aunts, then the earl waved him to a chair to one side of the desk. “And to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, heh?”
Christian sat, his gaze skating over the papers scattered across the long desk. Most appeared to be rough notes, others looked more like treatises, extensively annotated and overwritten. He returned his gaze to Lord Vaux’s face. “I’m unsure how much you’ve heard from London, sir, but I believe Letitia informed you of her husband’s murder.”
Lord Vaux nodded, his gaze increasingly sharp. “She did. And I’ve since heard that some have cast my son as the murderer.”
Christian inclined his head. “Unfortunately, that ‘some’ encompasses the better part of the ton, and, I believe, the authorities.”
“Nonsense!” Lord Vaux scowled. “My son may be many things, but a murderer he is not.”
“Indeed. However, it appears Justin has deliberately cast himself as the most likely candidate.” Christian smoothly went on, “I understand you and he have had a falling out.”
When he waited, pointedly polite, for some response, the earl’s eyes sparked and his lips thinned. Eventually he barked, “We don’t speak. That’s common knowledge. The why concerns no one but ourselves. What’s that got to do with Randall’s death?”
Christian inclined his head placatingly, hiding his surprise at the strong undercurrent of bitterness in Lord Vaux’s voice. “I have no idea. However, I believe you should know…” Sticking strictly to what he knew for fact, he outlined what he’d discovered and why he’d concluded that Justin had acted as he had to divert suspicion from Letitia.
As he spoke, Lord Vaux’s bitterness receded, but his scowl grew darker. He did not, Christian noted, find Justin’s supposition of Letitia’s guilt of sufficient note to comment. Indeed, his lordship followed and accepted his son’s logic without protest.
Christian ended his recital with a summation of their lack of success in locating Justin. Somewhat to his surprise, Lord Vaux’s expression turned thoughtful; he cast a quick, surreptitious glance at a bookcase across the room. From the corner of his eye, Christian saw a gap-a space where a tome was missing from the regimented row.
There were books aplenty lying on various tables and chairs around the room, but he would have taken an oath that Lord Vaux knew where every single volume in his extensive library was-except for the missing book.
Remembering the book left open on the table in Randall’s library, Christian longed to ask if the missing work was Seneca’s Letters from a Stoic, but he was as yet unsure-all personal feuds aside-just where Lord Vaux stood when it came to protecting his son.
Indeed, once he’d reached the end of his report, Lord Vaux regarded him with a wary, faintly suspicious air. “If I might ask, just how did you come to be drawn into this, Dearne?”
Not his name, but his title. Christian held his lordship’s hard gaze. “Letitia, realizing-correctly, as it transpired-that Justin was going to be the prime suspect, appealed to me for help in proving his innocence.”
“She did?” That information had Lord Vaux regarding him in an entirely different light; hope, along with blatant interest and curiosity, now colored his tone.
Although he’d never formally spoken, never asked for Letitia’s hand, his interest in her had been common knowledge twelve years before. “Indeed.” Studiously bland, Christian continued, “She and I have been working together, both to locate Justin and, as I believe will become increasingly necessary, to discover who killed Randall.” He considered his now relaxed host. “Apropos of the former, I thought it might be useful to visit here and ask if you have any idea where Justin might be.”
The earl’s eyes started to shift toward the gap on the shelves, but he suppressed the impulse. He fixed his gaze on Christian. “No.” His gaze remained steady and direct. “I have absolutely no notion where my son might be.”