He gave a shrug. “My father was blinded by Cordelia’s beauty, but I saw the creature for what she really was—a mushroom. She had no pedigree, no personal fortune. Nothing to recommend her except for her comely figure, which she artfully used to seduce an old man still grieving his late wife. My father went to his grave regretting his impulsive decision, I think.”
“That must have been difficult for you, having this stranger take advantage of your father.”
“I found it . . . distasteful.”
“I can imagine.” Kendra nodded and then fixed her eyes on his. “Where were you on Monday night, between eight and eleven, Lord Dover?”
He frowned. “What does . . .” He gave a gasp of outrage. “Good God, you don’t think . . . ? I did not murder her!”
Sam spoke up. “Then you shouldn’t have any difficulty in telling us your whereabouts during that time, milord.”
He gave the Runner a sharp look. “I do not have any difficulty. I do find it insulting.”
“Rise above it,” Kendra suggested.
Lord Dover glared at her, but, after his gaze flitted to the Duke, he appeared to swallow whatever angry rebuke sprang to his lips.
“I spent the evening at my club,” he offered grudgingly.
Kendra asked, “All night, from eight until eleven?”
“Don’t be absurd. I left around ten or half past ten. I don’t remember the exact time.”
“What’s the name of your club, sir?” wondered Sam.
“White’s.”
Kendra took up the next question. “And where do you live?”
“Upper Brook Street.”
“Your specific address, sir?” Sam put in.
Lord Dover’s mouth knotted, but he answered, “Number 52.”
“What time did you arrive at your home?” Kendra asked.
“I don’t know. Eleven, I suppose.”
Sam had on his flat cop face. “How did you travel?”
“I hailed a hackney.”
“The jarvey will verify your whereabouts?” persisted the Bow Street Runner.
Lord Dover gave a sniff. “If you can find him, I would assume so. I hardly made the acquaintance of a hackney driver!”
Kendra prodded, “But he brought you home?”
He shot her a bewildered look. “Of course. Where else would I go?”
Kendra ignored his question, asking instead, “Your staff will confirm that you returned at eleven?”
“I imagine so.” He seemed to have reached the end of his patience and abruptly pivoted away from Kendra and Sam to face the Duke. “Sir, I hope this unorthodox interrogation isn’t a way to divert suspicion away from your nephew.”
Aldridge stiffened. “Certainly not. This is about finding justice for your stepmother. I assume you do want justice?”
“In truth, I can’t say I care one way or the other. I realize this shocks you, Your Grace, but Cordelia’s behavior was brazen, an embarrassment to my family’s good name.” Lord Dover’s voice was as cold as his eyes. “We dealt with each other by going our separate ways, both during her marriage to my father and afterward. If I did not murder the wretched woman during the years my father took her as his bride, why the devil would I do so now?”
“Maybe because your stepmother was pregnant,” Kendra told him bluntly, and watched his reaction carefully. His eyes widened with what looked to be shock. It only lasted for a second, though. Then his face tightened in disgust.
“I did not know about her . . . condition.”
Kendra waited. When he didn’t elaborate, she asked, “Do you have any idea who the father could have been?”
Dover shot a pointed look at Aldridge. “I’d rather not speculate, but this does not bode well for your nephew, Your Grace.”
“Why’d you come here today, if you don’t mind me askin’?” Sam wondered, drawing Lord Dover’s attention back to him.
“Because this townhouse was my father’s and now it is mine. I shall need to take inventory.”
That announcement made Sam shift uncomfortably. He scratched the side of his nose and said, “Ah, as ter that . . . I’m sorry ter say a housebreaker got in last night. The rogues made off with the silver, jewelry, and a variety of personal items.”
“Damnation!” Lord Dover’s demeanor changed in an instant. He looked about him wildly, as though the thieves were still lurking in the shadowy corners of the foyer. Then he spun toward Sam, thrusting his walking stick forward to poke at the Runner’s chest. “What are you doing about it? The valuables stolen are family heirlooms! My family heirlooms. They must be returned!”
“You seem more concerned with thieves taking a few things than your stepmother’s murder,” Kendra commented sarcastically.
He whipped around to glare at her. “I told you, I did not kill Cordelia. I don’t believe any highborn gentleman is your killer, regardless of the rumors. You should look in the stews for your fiend.”
Kendra raised her eyebrows. “Why? Because the upper classes never commit crimes?”
Lord Dover’s eyes narrowed. “No. Because I believe Cordelia was part of the criminal underworld. And I think her sordid past finally caught up with her.”
Aldridge frowned. “That is a bold claim, sir.”
“I do not make it lightly, Your Grace. I told you, Cordelia was without pedigree. She claimed to have come from Cornwall, a daughter of a poor vicar—Cordelia Stewart. But I had her investigated after my father took her to wife. Not that he’d listen to a word against her.” Lord Dover’s thin lips twisted in a knot of bitterness. “Her tale was rubbish. No Cordelia Stewart ever lived in Cornwall. Cordelia Stewart never existed before my father made her a Countess.”
9
So . . . Lady Dover wasn’t Lady Dover,” Sam remarked slowly as they walked back to the Duke’s house.
The square was beginning to wake up around them. Two gentlemen on horseback trotted in the opposite direction down the street. As Kendra watched, one of the horses lifted its tail and dumped a pile of dung in its wake. That probably accounted for the vague stench of manure that seemed to permeate the city, despite an army of street sweepers—the two-legged kind—working nonstop to clean the feces left behind. In the second story of a nearby townhouse, she glimpsed the pale face of a footman as he folded back the wooden shutters from a tall, skinny window. A quicksilver movement out of the corner of her eye made her turn toward the dense green foliage of the park. A squirrel or a rabbit, maybe. Still, she couldn’t shake the sensation of being watched.
“No,” she finally said. “She was Lady Dover. We just don’t know who she was before she became Lady Dover.”
“Sounds damn fishy ter me, ter change your identity like that.”
Kendra caught the Duke’s eye. She knew they were both thinking about the background he’d fabricated for her yesterday morning. “Maybe she wanted a better life.”
The Bow Street Runner frowned. “Well, she got that. Not everybody would’ve been pleased ter see her go above her station, though. Maybe His Lordship is right. Maybe somebody from her past found out and killed her.”