“I need to talk to both of them,” Kendra said.
“That will require some finesse, Miss Donovan. You can hardly quiz Lord Weston—or Lady Weston, for that matter—in the middle of the dance floor. And this particular set takes nearly half an hour to complete.”
“Half an hour? For one dance?”
Rebecca merely smiled. “Come along, Miss Donovan. If I’m not mistaken, Lord Weston’s eldest daughter, Lady Isabella, is standing near the painting of King George. I have a brief acquaintance with her, so we do not require an introduction.”
They wound their way through knots of people. The Duke and Lady Atwood were in the same set as the Westons. Kendra glimpsed Lady St. James on the other side of the room, seated in the middle of a clique of women. She was wearing a mustard-colored evening gown, as frilly and flouncy as the gown she’d worn earlier. She’d exchanged her lace cap for a silk yellow turban with a large white ostrich feather that bounced back and forth as she undoubtedly told her seatmates about their visit the previous afternoon, Kendra thought.
Finally, they came to a halt in front of two women. Rebecca smiled at the taller of the two, who was wearing a deep crimson gown. She was attractive with sharp features and dark brown hair styled in the familiar topknot, held in place by a diamond comb. More diamonds circled her throat. Her eyes were hazel and cool as they regarded Rebecca.
“Lady Isabella. Pray, forgive my boldness, but I wanted to renew our acquaintance.” Rebecca gave a small curtsy. “We met last fall at Mrs. Ashworth’s salon. I am Lady Rebecca. My father is Lord Blackburn?”
Lady Isabella’s eyes didn’t warm, but her thin lips curved in a practiced smile and she offered her own curtsy. “Of course, I remember, my lady. How do you do? This is my sister, Lady Louisa.” She indicated the woman standing next to her, who wore a gauzy gown in pale pink.
Like Isabella, Louisa had dark brown hair and hazel eyes. Unfortunately, that’s where their resemblance ended. Loose side curls framed a pale, plain face dominated by a beak-like nose and receding chin.
“Good evening, Lady Louisa,” Rebecca said. “And may I introduce Miss Donovan. She is from America . . . and she is the ward of the Duke of Aldridge.”
Both pairs of hazel eyes swung around to inspect Kendra like she was an exotic animal at a petting zoo.
“An American,” Lady Isabella said. “How very interesting. How long have you been in England, Miss Donovan?”
Despite her misgivings, Kendra gave an abbreviated version of the cover story that the Duke had invented. Lady Isabella and Lady Louisa accepted it without even blinking.
“You are fortunate to have the Duke of Aldridge as your benefactor,” Lady Isabella said.
Lady Louisa asked, “Will you never return to America then?”
I wish I knew the answer to that, Kendra thought. “I’m here for now.”
“My husband, Mr. Sedwick, is interested in foreign affairs.” Lady Isabella gave them a smile that veered toward smug. “He works for Lord Sidmouth, the Home Secretary.”
Rebecca didn’t appear impressed. “Tell me, is our former prime minister still rabidly against Catholic emancipation?”
Lady Isabella raised her eyebrows, surprised. “Certainly. Lady Rebecca, surely you cannot side with the position of the younger Mr. Pitt, who would actually allow the papists to hold positions of power? Their allegiance will always be to the pope, not the crown. Mr. Sedwick says that if we ever were to allow Catholics to own land or to have a voice in government, we would find ourselves in middle of a civil war.” She gave a shiver. “Only look at what Ireland has endured with their rebellion.”
“I’m inclined to look at what the Irish have been forced to endure because of British rule.”
“Surely you jest? Mr. Sedwick says that the Irish do not have the fortitude to govern themselves. You cannot deny that they are a drunken, crude lot. Mr. Sedwick says that we are being good Christians by guiding them with a firm hand.”
“Whatever would they do without us?”
“Yes, indeed.” Lady Isabella didn’t seem to hear the sarcasm in Rebecca’s voice. “Now, enough talk of such matters. Politics, as Mr. Sedwick says, is a man’s concern. Women simply do not have the head for it.” She turned to Kendra. “What brings His Grace to London even before the season begins?”
“Lady Dover’s murder.”
There were a million more diplomatic ways to broach the subject, but Kendra wanted to shake them up and observe their reaction. The sisters stared at her in shock, and something else, something that Kendra thought might be fear.
Lady Louisa put a hand to her throat, her eyes like saucers. “Whatever do you mean, Miss Donovan? Why would His Grace come to London for such a thing?”
Rebecca had appeared nonplussed by her blunt introduction to the subject as well. But she took her cue from Kendra, and said, “You must have heard that the Duke’s nephew, the Marquis of Sutcliffe, has come under suspicion for Lady Dover’s terrible death. ’Tis ridiculous, of course. The Duke and Miss Donovan shall find the fiend who truly committed this monstrous act.”
Lady Isabella stared at Rebecca. “The Duke of Aldridge is a gentleman, my lady. A peer of the realm.” Her diamond comb twinkled like stars as she shook her head in denial. “He would hardly soil his hands in something so vulgar as murder. And Miss Donovan . . . pray, take no offense, Miss Donovan, but you are a woman.”
Kendra recognized the militant light that flared in Rebecca’s eyes. “I think women are vastly underestimated in the world,” Rebecca said hotly. “Only look at the aeronaut Sophie Blanchard. Until she took to the skies, everyone thought women had no place air ballooning.” Her upper-class accent had become sharp enough to cut glass, a good indicator, Kendra had learned, of her irritation.
“Miss Donovan is a woman who happens to have an expertise in criminal investigation,” she continued. “In fact, her deductive reasoning is quite singular. Only last month, Miss Donovan was responsible for solving several ghastly murders around Aldridge Castle. ’Tis why the Duke brought her to London with him.”
The statement didn’t have the expected reaction. Lady Isabella laughed. “You are telling a Banbury tale, Your Ladyship!”
“I can assure you I am not,” Rebecca replied, insulted. “You must have heard about the villain murdering Unfortunate Women near Aldridge Village. It was Miss Donovan’s investigation that uncovered the monster. She has a peculiar talent for solving crime. I have no doubt that she will find Lady Dover’s murderer as well.”
Once again the sisters regarded Kendra like she had 666 carved into her forehead.