“The unsub—the killer,” Kendra identified, for Lady Atwood’s benefit, “didn’t plan to cut her face in such a manner. He only thought of it after she was dead.”
“How do you know that?” the Countess demanded. “How can you possibly know what was in the fiend’s mind?”
“It’s a calculated deduction based on what we know,” Kendra told her. “We know the killer used a stiletto, which he brought with him. That shows premeditation. He was either going to kill her or use it to threaten her. Yet if he intended to kill her and then cut her face like he did, why didn’t he bring a better knife? One better suited to that purpose?”
The room fell silent as they considered that.
“Mayhap the attacker was unfamiliar with knives, and therefore unaware that a stiletto is a tool used to stab rather than cut?” Aldridge offered finally.
“Possible,” Kendra conceded. She’d remained standing. Having spent so much time sitting in the carriage, she now wanted to move, which she did as she spoke. “But the cutting wasn’t done in the heat of anger. Lady Dover was dead by that point. I feel like the mutilation was a statement.”
Lady Atwood gave a delicate shiver. “Regarding what?”
“I don’t know. But we need to figure it out, because I think it’s key. It certainly was important enough for the killer to take the time, possibly risking exposure, to do it.” She paused and sipped her sherry as she turned over several possibilities in her mind. “Maybe he did it to show his vengeance. Tit for tat. He’d ruin her beauty just as she was trying to ruin him.”
Lady Atwood frowned. “Ruin him? Pray tell, how would she do such a thing?”
Kendra froze, realizing too late how sensitive the next topic would be.
Alec’s eyes narrowed. “Miss Donovan?” he prodded when she remained silent. “I, too, would like an answer to that question. What power did Cordelia hold over her killer?”
She exchanged a glance with the Duke. There was no easy way to deliver this news, no way to cushion it.
“Lady Dover was pregnant,” she said simply.
“Good heavens!” Lady Atwood gasped.
Alec’s face went blank in his shock. “Pardon?”
“I’m sorry,” Kendra said. “Dr. Munroe said that she was about three months pregnant. You didn’t know?”
“Good God, no. How can you think . . . no.” He stared at Kendra for a second. Then he turned around abruptly, went to the side table, and selected a stout glass. He bypassed the more placid sherry and went for the whiskey. Kendra didn’t blame him. Splashing a generous three fingers into the glass, he tossed it back like it was medicine, and then refilled his glass.
“Alec, my boy . . .” the Duke began uncertainly.
“She sent me letters, asking me . . . begging me to meet her. What if it was to tell me about the child?”
Tricky area, Kendra thought. “What would you have done?”
“Christ, I don’t know.”
The blasphemy, more than anything, told Kendra how shaken Alec was by the news. Gentlemen were never supposed to curse in the drawing room, in the presence of ladies. She discounted herself from that particular category of delicate sensibilities, but there was still his aunt to consider.
“Our affair had run its course,” Alec continued, “and I’m not such a fool as to take Cordelia’s word that the child was mine.”
“You might not have had any choice if she had created a scandal-broth by claiming you were the father of her child, Alec,” Lady Atwood said sharply. “You would have been forced to marry her.”
“Her own reputation would have been in tatters,” countered Aldridge.
“Pshaw!” Surprisingly, the Countess was the one who issued the rude sound. “What is that measured against becoming a marchioness and eventually a duchess? Men have no understanding of what some women will do to achieve their ambitions.”
Kendra moved to the window as she considered the matter. The street and park below were as dark as pitch, any light from the moon scuttled by clouds and probably fog. She could feel the moist, cold air seeping through the windowpanes. Shivering slightly, she turned back to look at Alec. “If, as you say, Lady Dover was involved with other men, then you might not be the only one she sent letters to. Ambitious women—and men, for that matter—usually have more than one game plan.”
Lady Atwood’s blue eyes took on a steely glint. “You are quite right, Miss Donovan. If she failed to bring my nephew up to scratch, the brazen creature may very well have had someone else in mind.” She sniffed, then tilted her head to study Kendra. “Tomorrow, you and I shall pay a morning call to an old friend of mine—Lady St. James. We had our first season together.”
“What?” Kendra was taken aback at the non sequitur. “No, I can’t. Mr. Kelly is bringing us to the crime scene tomorrow morning.”
The Countess gave her an exasperated look. “Don’t be stupid. Morning calls are not done in the morning—certainly never before eleven. Do Americans know nothing of social etiquette? We shall time our visit to half past three, since Lady St. James and I have a close connection. I trust you will be finished with your business by then. It will also give me time to engage the services of a lady’s maid for you.”
Kendra’s head began to spin, and it wasn’t because of the sherry. “I don’t need a lady’s maid. I already have Molly helping me.”
“Nonsense. You are the ward of a duke! You shall require a proper lady’s maid. Which reminds me, we must visit my London modiste. You will need new gowns.”
“I already have gowns.” Morning gowns, walking gowns, afternoon gowns, evening gowns; Christ, she had gowns coming out of her ears.
“We are not in the country anymore, Miss Donovan. We are in London.”
“We are in London to investigate a murder.”
“You can investigate and still be fashionable.”
Kendra’s temper began to rise. The woman was insane. “Being fashionable is the least of my concerns!”
“That is quite obvious—”
“Half past three will be plenty of time for us to pursue our inquiries,” interrupted the Duke, clearly recognizing the stubborn glint in both his sister’s and Kendra’s eyes. “But I must ask, my dear, why you insist on paying a call tomorrow to Lady St. James? We do have other priorities.”
The smile the Countess bestowed on them was smug. “You want to know who Lady Dover may have been involved with, do you not? Lady St. James is not only one of my oldest friends, but she is one of the most notorious gossips in all of London. If Alec did not father Lady Dover’s babe, she ought to be able to tell us who did.”