Kendra frowned. “But isn’t that the same thing as the cut indirect? Pretending not to see someone?”
“Oh, goodness, no. The cut indirect is when you keep your eyes on the same level as the offending party, but you pretend you do not see them. Much more offensive. The cut sublime is when you raise your eyes to the heavens.” She demonstrated by flicking her gaze melodramatically toward the ceiling. She lowered her eyes back to Kendra. “Do you comprehend the difference, my dear? There is also the cut infernal, where you lower your gaze to the floor. It’s much more effective with gentleman than ladies, though, since they can pretend to brush a smudge from their boots. Quite impossible for a lady to do with any decorum.”
Kendra stared at the other woman, and again thought how ridiculous humans could be at times.
Lady St. James said, “I had heard that Lady Frances gave Lady Dover the cut direct. I did not witness the insult myself, mind you. Still, I have no reason to doubt it. And I was told that Lady Dover was livid. Absolutely livid.”
“Was this after the theater incident?” asked Kendra.
“I’m not entirely certain, but I believe so. It certainly would make sense, would it not?”
Lady Atwood murmured, “Indeed, it would.”
They were silent for a moment. Then Kendra asked, “Was Lord Dover more angry than usual with his stepmother? Did something happen to cause even more friction between them?”
“No, not that I am aware . . . except, Lord Dover was at the theater on the night of the incident as well. And he has a reputation for being a prig. I can imagine that he was displeased by his stepmother’s shameful behavior.”
And he’d recently had a violent quarrel with Lady Dover—loud enough to draw the attention of her staff. This was interesting news.
“Had Lady Dover been involved with anyone else, besides Lord Weston?” Kendra asked.
“Oh, the woman always had young swains dancing attendance on her. Young Henry Dutton—Lord Ellery’s son—made a cake of himself by asking her to dance two sets at the Hamilton Ball. Can you imagine? I will credit Lady Dover for very properly declining the second one.” She pursed her lips as she considered the matter. “But as far as more serious dalliances go, the only men linked to her recently were Lord Weston and . . . well, Lord Sutcliffe, of course.”
“My nephew did not murder the creature,” Lady Atwood said stiffly.
“No, of course, not. Such a thing is too preposterous to even consider,” Lady St. James assured her hurriedly.
But Kendra noticed how their hostess’s gaze slid away. She might not know about the different ways someone could ignore a person in this society, but she understood that reaction. In the minds of the Ton, Alec had already been convicted.
16
Cordelia and Weston? Are you certain?” Alec asked.
With the exception of Sam, they’d assembled in the Duke’s study—Aldridge behind his desk, Rebecca sitting on the sofa, and Alec sprawled in one of the chairs. Kendra had taken up a position before the slate board, and now eyed the Marquis with some concern. Earlier, the doctor had diagnosed him with bruised ribs, advising bed rest and offering him laudanum to ease his discomfort. Alec had refused both, and now his hand was wrapped around his own medicinal treatment: a glass of brandy.
Still, Kendra thought Alec’s olive complexion had a sickly gray tinge to it. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
He lifted his glass in a sardonic gesture. “I’m quite well, thank you.”
Rebecca brought the conversation back to the investigation. “I’d say the theater incident all but confirms the two were involved, Sutcliffe,” she said. “Lady Dover’s decision to wear the Weston jewels in public was tantamount to declaring war.”
Alec inclined his head. “It was outrageous, even for Cordelia.”
“Outrageous, and mayhap a clever stratagem to bring Lord Weston to heel.”
Alec shot her an irritated look. “Becca, you make her sound as though she were Wellington campaigning to defeat Napoleon.”
Rebecca returned his gaze with a pitying one of her own. “Men have little comprehension in such matters. I may be unwed, but I know that a woman on the hunt for a husband could out-strategize even Wellington.”
“And yet that is the crux of the matter, my dear,” the Duke pointed out mildly. “Lord Weston is already married. Lady Dover couldn’t honestly believe he’d divorce his wife and marry her?”
“How difficult would that be?” Kendra asked. She liked to think she wasn’t cynical enough to believe that people in the twenty-first century entered into marriage lightly or callously. However, if it didn’t work out then, there was little social stigma to prevent divorce. This century’s societal mores were different; she just wasn’t entirely sure how different.
“It would create an enormous scandal,” Aldridge said. “And it would be expensive. Lord Weston would have to sue the church and take the matter into court—and that would be before petitioning Parliament. I’m not certain what grounds Weston would even have to pursue such a course of action. He’d have to prove that his wife had committed adultery. Better to simply petition for legal separation.”
“Not better for the wife.” Rebecca’s eyes narrowed. “A wife who’s no longer living legally under the same roof as her husband is ostracized from society, while a man continues to be invited to soirees and balls. His life continues. Hers is finished.”
Aldridge acknowledged the hypocrisy with a nod. “True. However, Lady Dover wouldn’t fare much better than Lady Weston. Why would she even attempt such a thing? She would have to be mad.”
“Cordelia was not mad. She obviously thought she could bring Weston up to scratch. Such things do happen.” Alec looked at his uncle. “Only consider Lord Bentinck and Lady Abdy.”
The Duke frowned. “Caro informed me of their conduct.” He caught Kendra’s eye and explained, “Lord Charles Bentinck ran off earlier this month with Lady Anne Wellesley. They are married—unfortunately, not to each other.”
“There is talk that Lady Abdy is with child,” Alec said quietly. Kendra watched his green eyes become flat and faraway, and knew he was thinking about Lady Dover and her unborn child.
“’Tis still shocking, and requires a great amount of audacity,” said Aldridge.
“I’d say that fits Lady Dover’s personality.” Kendra shifted her gaze to the slate board, under the Victimology column. “Think about it. She invented a new background for herself and pulled herself out of Cheapside, didn’t she?”
“God, Cheapside.” Alec’s mouth twisted. “One would hope so.”
“And it takes a lot of . . .” Kendra wanted to say balls, but knew that wasn’t the right word for this time period. “. . . audacity to wear jewelry in public that belongs to the woman whose husband you’re sleeping with.”