“Are you saying this criminal and Lady Dover were involved?”
“They had a history. He still loves her, I think. And he believes Alec murdered her. He wants justice.”
“What utter rot! Sutcliffe would never harm a woman.” Rebecca gave her one of her piercing stares. “That is why you are here, is it not? To find the person who really murdered the woman?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca gave her a smug look. “I suspected as much.” She glanced around, and though the foyer was currently deserted, she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “The Countess told us that you are now the Duke’s ward. ’Tis a clever strategy to protect your reputation.”
“I think Lady Atwood is more concerned about the Duke’s reputation.”
Rebecca grinned at Kendra’s dry tone and then reached over to link her arm through Kendra’s and steer her toward the stairs. “You know, Miss Donovan, after your refusal to continue as my companion, I assumed you would sail back to America.”
“My plan was to return home,” Kendra admitted. “It didn’t work out.”
“I, for one, am happy you remained.” Rebecca glanced at Kendra from the corner of her eye as they began ascending the stairs. “Duke said that Sam Kelly and Dr. Munroe are also investigating. Do you not find that interesting?”
“Interesting is one word for it.”
“Rota Fortunae. It would appear the goddess Fortuna has spun her wheel and fated us to be together again.”
Kendra didn’t say anything. Having that particular deity controlling her fate wasn’t exactly comforting. The goddess was often depicted blindfolded as she spun the wheel of fortune.
Fortuna was also considered quite insane.
15
Two and a half hours later, Kendra reflected that a crazy goddess was as good as any other explanation for her current situation, standing half-naked in her bedchamber while Rebecca sat on the bed, watching Miss Cooper help her into a mint-green afternoon dress.
“Lady Atwood was most distressed when you left the residence without a chaperone,” said the maid, managing to sound both injured and critical. Consequently, Kendra felt both guilty and irritated. “’Tis my duty to accompany you when you go outside, Miss Donovan,” Miss Cooper reminded her, as she began buttoning up the gown.
Kendra clenched her jaw. Then, deliberately, she relaxed it. “I’m not a child.” So says the woman who needs to be dressed.
“No, you are the Duke of Aldridge’s ward, and you must behave accordingly,” admonished the lady’s maid. “Lady Atwood employed me to assist you in that endeavor. A lady’s reputation is not something to be taken lightly, Miss Donovan. You must never leave the premises again without a proper chaperone.”
“I didn’t go out for a stroll, you know. I saw someone watching the house.”
“If you were alarmed, you ought to have sent word to Mr. Harding.”
“And what exactly would the butler have done about it?” Kendra didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm.
Miss Cooper seemed to consider the question seriously. “Why, Mr. Harding would then have shared your concerns with His Grace.”
“I am certain Miss Donovan will be more careful in the future, Miss Cooper,” Rebecca interceded, apparently recognizing the battle light in the American’s dark eyes. She’d persuaded her mother to let her accompany Kendra and Lady Atwood on their morning call to Lady St. James. Now, she smiled brightly, ignoring the scowl on Kendra’s face. “You look charming, Miss Donovan.”
Miss Cooper said, “I must redress her hair. I do wish you would reconsider a hairpiece, Miss Donovan.”
“No,” Kendra replied staunchly to the hairpiece. But she allowed the maid to steer her to the velvet-tufted stool in front of the vanity table. She caught Rebecca’s amused gaze in the mirror as the maid plucked the hairpins from the coil. Even though she couldn’t say she liked the woman, Kendra had to admire how Miss Cooper wielded a brush and comb. It took less than a minute for the maid to conquer the silky strands and then recoil them into a tight chignon.
Miss Cooper surveyed the hairstyle critically. “Mayhap a few ribbons . . . no, the rosettes, I think.”
Kendra suppressed an impatient sigh. In the twenty-first century, before she’d been wounded, she’d always worn her hair long, pulled back into a ponytail, and had cycled through a wardrobe that was more functional than fashionable. She wasn’t used to this level of absorption in her appearance, where every detail was scrutinized.
She leaned forward, scooping a handful of rosettes out of the open silver container on the vanity. But when she tried to hand them to Miss Cooper, she was waved away.
“Those are red, Miss Donovan,” she chided gently. “I shall need the green ones. The lighter green to match your gown.” She didn’t wait, but reached across Kendra to select the adornments herself. Another couple of minutes of fiddling, and finally the maid stepped back. “There, Miss Donovan,” she pronounced, clearly satisfied with the results. “I shall retrieve your cloak.”
Kendra waited until Miss Cooper fetched the velvet, green-hooded cloak. It was a relief to finally be able to escape the maid’s censorious stare.
“You really shouldn’t be too cross with her, you know,” Rebecca whispered when they were walking down the hall. “She has your best interests at heart.”
“I think she has Lady Atwood’s best interests at heart.”
“Well, yes. Can you blame her? The Countess hired her, and Miss Cooper’s position in this household is incumbent upon making certain you are above reproach with your dress and how you comport yourself.”
Kendra wanted to point out to Rebecca that she wasn’t ten years old, that she’d been taking care of herself for a very long time. But that would only open the door to more questions about her family and background.
She expelled a breath, some of her resentment against the maid beginning to fade. Unfortunately that left the guilt. It wasn’t Miss Cooper’s fault that the rules governing a woman’s behavior in this era were irrational and archaic.
Oh, God.
Her stomach flipped as she considered a future filled with such rules and restriction. She hadn’t really been free in her own timeline either—hell, she’d worked for the FBI. You couldn’t set foot in that bureaucracy without getting tangled up in red tape. But at least she hadn’t needed permission to walk down the street by herself.
How can I live like this? she wondered. How can I live in a constant state of being treated like a child?
Then came the equally bleak thought: Do I have a choice?