He hesitated and then apparently decided there was no harm in telling her and admitted, “Your father’s marker. Between that and the blackmail money, I can set myself up well in France or Spain. Have a good life as a man of means.” He sighed at the thought.

“Why would Dicky have the marker?” Christiana asked.

He scowled her way and then propped his hands on his hips. “Bloody women, always asking questions, just have to know everything. I suppose you won’t shut up and give me a moment’s peace until you know everything?”

“Probably not,” she admitted unsympathetically.

His mouth twisted and he snapped, “Fine. I knew all from the start. I knew when George hired those men to kill his brother, I knew he then stepped into his shoes and pretended to be him, enjoying his wealth and title in his place. I knew when John Butterworth told George about the dowers for you and your sisters. I—”

“So it was all for the dowers,” Christiana interrupted with disgust. While she’d suspected it for quite a while, actually hearing the words made her angrier than she’d expected.

“Oh, yes,” Freddy said with amusement. “He drugged your father and dragged him to the gaming hell to make him think he’d gambled so deep he would accept an offer of marriage for you in exchange for George’s supposedly paying off markers he already held. And he did the same again, this time to force Suzette to be married to one of his friends. The markers were to be George’s payment for acting as procurer.”

“Who was the friend who was supposed to marry Suzette?” Christiana asked curiously.

“Does it matter? She’s set her mind on marrying that damned Woodrow,” he pointed out dryly, and then shook his head. “Were George still alive he would have arranged an accident for the man or some other such thing, but the stupid bastard went and hired idiots to kill his brother. They failed him and now Richard is back and poisoned him to get his title back.”

“Richard did not poison him,” Christiana said firmly.

“Well someone did,” Freddy snapped.

“Yes, but it wasn’t Richard,” she assured him and then tilted her head in question. “How did you know he was poisoned?”

“Because I saw him die,” he said grimly. “He dragged me into his office the morning your sisters arrived to crow about the latest success of his plans.

He was sure they were there about your father’s latest apparent faux pas,” he explained, and then continued, “Once assured I was properly impressed with his cleverness, George sent me for snuff. When I got back the whiskey was there, and he was clawing at his throat, then he died right there in front of me.”

He grimaced. “Well, I know trouble when I see it and got myself out of there right quick. Told the cook I was unwell and his lordship had excused me to recover, then came in here to await the hue and cry that he was dead. But there was none,” he added with exasperation. “When I finally ventured out it was to be told his lordship was feeling unwell and resting abed. I came back to my room to try to puzzle that one out. I knew damned right well the man was dead. So I waited until the servants were all abed and you were at the ball and then snuck upstairs to see for myself, but as I started up the hall your bedroom door opened. I ducked into the guest bedroom across from yours and watched through the cracked door as a man came out carrying George over his shoulder with a second man following. I recognized the one man as Lord Woodrow and while George’s body obstructed my view of the other man’s face, when Woodrow called him Richard I knew he wasn’t dead after all .”