Free Virginia Henley by Ravished Page B

injured?”
    “He’s dead, Alex,” Rupert said through stiff, bloodless lips.
    Alexandra sat stunned as she watched the grooms carry the body into Hatton Hall. Her very first thought was of the shouting match she had overheard this morning between Lord Hatton and his son. Nicholas, no! Her heart contracted. Nick would be blamed—Nick was always blamed. She rejected the thought instantly, then her own words about the house party came back to her. She had said to Nick, “Keep your fingers crossed for something scandalous.” Alexandra closed her eyes as guilty remorse washed over her.
     
    Nicholas opened his brother’s bedchamber door and admitted the two men who knocked. The questions by Colonel Stevenson, Justice of the Peace, were perfunctory. He completely ignored Christopher Hatton and addressed Nicholas. “Tell me what happened.”
    Nick looked the colonel directly in the eye. “There was a stag. I thought I had a clear view. Father rode directly into my path as I fired.”
    The colonel held out a gun. “Is this Heylin pistol yours?”
    Nick did not hesitate. “Yes, sir.”
    The colonel nodded to Lord Staines, who had brought a death certificate with him. Neville wrote accident against the cause of death, then signed it in his capacity as County Coroner. Colonel Stevenson added his signature as witness, and that put an end to the legalities. In a trice the matter was set right and tight as a drum; all clean, and legal, and above board. The gentlemen offered the twins their condolences and departed.
    The members of the upper class were adept at cleaning up their own messes; they happened on a regular basis. Appearances were what mattered most to Society, and took precedence over any other consideration. Once the legalities were airtight, however, the gossip and conjecture of the beau monde would run rampant. The upper class was addicted to blood sport.
    When Stevenson and Staines departed, Kit asked eagerly, “Is that it? Is it over?”
    “Perhaps the legalities are over, but there is a plethora of things to do, arrangements to make, plans for the burial—”
    Kit recoiled. “I can’t face any of that!” He strode to the cabinet and filled his glass with whiskey.
    “Things have to be faced,” Nick insisted. “We have to go down and see what they’ve done with Father’s body. And we can’t just ignore a houseful of guests.”
    Kit took three gulps of his whiskey. “Let the servants look after the bloody guests.”
    “The people who serve us will be overwhelmed. They’ll be looking to us for direction.”
    Kit lifted his gaze from his glass and looked into his brother’s eyes. “I’m still shaking. Since you’re so cool and calm, you give them direction.”
    Nick threw his twin a look of contempt as he watched him lift his glass to his lips. Kit despised their father, yet he had many of Henry Hatton’s weaknesses. He got dog-bitten-drunk far too often. Nick rubbed the tension from the back of his neck. Perhaps he was expecting too much of his brother. He’d just gone through the horrendous ordeal of causing a fatal accident, and the guilt of it must be eating him alive. Kit would need time to come to terms with it all. “I’ll go down and cope with things.”
     
    Lord Staines tapped on Lady Longford’s chamber door and entered discreetly. “It is as we feared, my dearest. The accident was fatal. Henry was shot through the heart. I’ve just signed the death certificate.”
    “Well, it’s a wonder he wasn’t shot years ago. Who shot him? Was it Annabelle’s husband?” she asked bluntly.
    “Dottie, my dearest, I shall never get used to the outrageous things you say.” He took her hand as if to soften the news. “Hatton was accidentally killed by his own son.”
    Her hand went to her throat. “Not Christopher?” “No, it wasn’t his heir; it was Nicholas. It is best that I go to the courthouse and file this death certificate immediately. I want everything tidy, with no loose ends;