A Twist in Time (Kendra Donovan #2)

Was it? Kendra wasn’t so sure. It was difficult not to feel like she’d failed. And her failure had nearly gotten Rebecca killed.

“The rubies on the comb only proved that it was not Lady Dover’s, though,” Rebecca pointed out. “It didn’t prove that it was Lady Louisa’s.”

“I’ve had Snake hunting for the kid who delivered the note to bring me to the Crown Tavern. He found him today.”

“Snake—the boy who gave me his whiskey? His timing is most fortuitous. He identified Lady Louisa?”

“Yes—or rather, the pudding-faced mort.”

Instead of smiling, Rebecca pursed her lips. “We’re always reduced to our appearance, are we not?” She pulled herself out of the tub and reached for a towel. She caught Kendra’s eye. “You saved my life, Miss Donovan; I am in your debt. I don’t think there’s anything I can do to repay it, but if you should need anything, you need only ask.”

“There might be one thing . . .”

“Yes?”

Kendra smiled. “Maybe you can start calling me Kendra.”





They joined the men and Snake in a cozy room with low, beamed ceilings, darkly paneled walls, and an enormous brick fireplace with logs ablaze. Candles were lit around the room and the table was already set with platters of boiled potatoes and cabbage, thick brown bread, and a rib roast cooked on the bone. Kendra knew she was hungry when even the boiled cabbage made her mouth water. The too-large slippers that Rebecca wore slapped against the wooden floor as she hurried to sit down at the table.

The Duke eyed Rebecca carefully. “How are you doing, my dear?”

“I’m alive—thanks to . . . Kendra.”

Kendra had to suppress a smile. This was such a funny era, with its penchant for formal address. Rebecca had agreed to call her by her first name in private and among close intimates—but not in public, because that would have been a sign of disrespect.

Aldridge glanced at Kendra. “I apologize for my behavior, Miss Donovan. I . . . I’m ashamed to say that I did not understand what you were doing, and I reacted badly.”

She met his eyes. The Duke had lost a wife and child to drowning. Of course the experience had been traumatic for him. “Don’t worry. People panic. It’s been known to happen, even in . . . America.”

Alec lifted the stopper on a bottle of sherry. “Would you ladies care for refreshments? We have sherry. Or I am told the innkeeper’s wife makes an excellent plum wine.”

Snake picked up a glass. “Oi’ll ’ave a dram, gov’ner.”

Kendra frowned. “You’ll have milk.”

The kid stared at her in horror. “Gor, Oi’m not a baby.”

“Nevertheless.”

A maid came in carrying a long-pronged fork and a carving knife, and began to work on the roast as they sat down at the table. Kendra caught the maid casting glances at the occupants at the table as she served, probably wondering how a Duke ended up sharing a meal with a Bow Street Runner and a young criminal.

“How long before your carriage arrives, Your Grace?” Kendra asked. She picked up her knife and fork to slice the cabbage into bite-sized sections.

Aldridge took a moment to peer at his pocket watch. “I expect them to be here in half an hour.”

“Lady Louisa—” she began.

“I sent a note ter Bow Street.” Sam looked across the table at her. “The magistrate will have a couple of constables go over to meet with Lord and Lady Weston.”

“Will Lady Louisa be taken into custody?” In her era, the suspect would be brought in for questioning, and would then be formally charged. She had no idea how it worked here.

Sam frowned. “She’ll likely stay in the house. I’ve ordered constables and the Watch ter stand guard, ter make sure she stays on the premises. She ain’t goin’ anywhere if’n that’s what you’re worried about, Miss Donovan.”

Kendra wasn’t entirely sure if that was what she was worried about. She only knew that instead of a sense of satisfaction, she had a strange sense of dread growing in the pit of her stomach.





61




The Duke’s coachman didn’t come alone. He brought four outriders carrying large blunderbusses to deter any highwayman unwise enough to attack the carriage. Snake, his stomach full of roast beef, cabbage, potatoes, and, yes, milk—Kendra had put her foot down on the matter; she’d never realized until now, but she had her own twenty-first century sensibilities—clamored into the carriage, his eyes going wide as he took in the luxury. Kendra suspected the closest he’d ever gotten to something like the Duke’s carriage would’ve been holding it up at gunpoint with Bear.

“What will happen to Lady Louisa?” she wondered as they barreled toward London.

The Duke said, “It’s likely that Lord Weston will argue for house arrest, if she faces trial at the Old Bailey.”

Kendra felt another frisson of disquiet. “If? Why wouldn’t she face trial? She murdered Lady Dover and Miss Cooper. For Christ’s sake, she just attempted to kill Rebecca.”

“I’m certain her family will use their influence to have her declared insane,” said Alec.

Rebecca shifted in her seat, shivering a little beneath the carriage blanket that the Duke had given her. Kendra didn’t think the shiver had anything to do with the chill in the carriage. “She should be placed in a madhouse.”

Kendra considered what she knew about insane asylums in this era—grim, soulless places. As punishments went, she’d almost prefer the hangman’s noose.

It took them twenty minutes to enter the sprawling outskirts of London. The carriage slowed to a jerky stop-and-go as they hit a traffic jam. The Beau Monde was out again, seeking their nightly entertainment.

Kendra gave a startled jolt when Alec took her hand. Only then did she realize that she’d been drumming her fingers impatiently on her knee.

“All will be well, Miss Donovan,” he reassured her.

Her smile was forced. “I’m sure you’re right.”

And yet she couldn’t shake the sense of urgency.





They deposited Snake in Covent Garden near the Royal Opera House, at his request. Though she hadn’t given much thought to where the kid spent his days or nights before, Kendra suddenly felt a little squeamish about letting him out in this unsavory section of town, filled with gin shops, bawd houses, and taverns. Again, those pesky twenty-first-century sensibilities—no one else seemed to give it a second thought when the kid hopped off and vanished into the crowds streaming out of the Royal Opera House.

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