The Westons lived in a charming four-story Georgian townhouse in Portman Square, made no less charming by the pewter gray clouds boiling overhead, spitting out a steady downpour of rain. It was eleven A.M., but the foul weather had darkened the city into a premature twilight.
Kendra yanked up the hood of her green velvet cloak to protect herself from the rain, even though the Duke carried an umbrella. They dashed down the path to the front steps and up the short flight of stairs. The Westons’ butler was holding open the door for them, as the coachman who’d delivered the Duke’s calling card had alerted him of their arrival, but despite the umbrella, the hooded cloak, and the open door, both Kendra and the Duke were damp by the time they were inside the foyer.
The butler pushed the door shut and turned to face them. “His Lordship is expecting you, Your Grace. May I take your hat, coat, and umbrella, sir? Your cloak, Miss? I shall put them by the fire to dry.”
As they divested themselves of their outerwear so the butler could hand them off to a nearby footman, Kendra glanced around. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the gloomy interior. No one had lit the chandelier or wall sconces, relying on the fan window over the front door for light. Given the dreary day, the hall remained heavily shadowed.
And freezing, Kendra thought. The thin blue-and-white sprigged muslin walking dress that Miss Cooper had selected for her, even with its long sleeves and modest neckline, did little to shield her from the chill.
They followed the butler down the narrow hall and up the stairs, then turned right at the landing. The manservant gave the door at the end of the corridor a brief rap with his knuckles before entering.
“The Duke of Aldridge and Miss Donovan,” he intoned, and then departed, shutting the door on his way out.
Lord Weston was standing, his hands clasped behind his back, gazing into the flames in the hearth. The room was lit by a few wall sconces, and the gray daylight that streamed through the tall, skinny windows. The fire added a little warmth, but not much. At their entrance, Weston pivoted to greet them. Kendra doubted that he was happy to see them, but he kept his emotions in check behind a mask of cool politeness.
“Good day, sir, Miss Donovan. Please have a seat.” He gestured to the wingback chairs in front of the large desk, then moved behind the desk and sat down. It was a position of distance and dominance, an attempt to gain the upper hand. Kendra had every intention of shaking that up, though the Duke began the interview on a cordial note.
“Thank you for seeing us,” Aldridge said as they settled into the chairs. Weston regarded them solemnly. For a few seconds, the only noise was the popping of logs in the fireplace, the ticking of the wooden bracket clock on a corner table, and the soft tapping of the rain against the window. Then the Earl sighed.
“I could hardly refuse you, Your Grace,” he said, as he picked up the silver penknife on his desk and began to fiddle with it. “I really don’t know what more I can tell you, though.”
“Let’s begin with you telling us about Lady Dover, since you were in a position to really know her,” Kendra said. “What was she like?”
“I don’t like to gossip, even if the person is dead.”
“This isn’t gossip, sir. We’re trying to understand who would have cause to kill her—if it wasn’t you. Help me get an accurate picture of the kind of woman she was.”
Weston’s mouth tightened. “You are very blunt, Miss Donovan.”
“If I need to be.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said slowly, “She was beautiful, of course. Intelligent. Well-read. Witty.” His eyes darkened, and Kendra thought she saw genuine sorrow there, but it was gone in a moment. “I can’t imagine what kind of monster could do . . . do what was done to her.”
He swallowed hard and looked away.
“It was terrible,” Kendra agreed. She waited, but when he didn’t elaborate, she asked, “Exactly how long did you know Lady Dover?”
“Years. I met Cordelia for the first time when Dover—the late Earl—brought her home as his bride.”
“You began an affair?” Kendra asked.
“No! Not then.” Weston shifted uncomfortably. “There may have been a flirtation. She was a vivacious woman. Our acquaintance became . . . intimate only last February.”
“So seven months ago,” Aldridge murmured.
Kendra asked Weston, “Did you know that she was seeing other men while she was with you?”
The Earl pressed his lips together and shot the Duke a knowing glance. “I was aware that Cordelia had an intimate connection with your nephew, Your Grace. That is the reason you are investigating the murder, is it not?”
“I have involved myself in the investigation because I find murder abhorrent,” the Duke replied carefully. “There is no place for it in a civilized society. I imagine you’d want Lady Dover’s killer caught as well.”
Weston’s gaze flickered, but he answered readily enough, “Of course.”
Kendra repeated, “Did it bother you that she was dating other men?”
“Dating?” That earned a quizzical frown. “I don’t comprehend.”
“Romantically involved with,” she clarified.
“I could scarcely make demands of the widow.”
“Did she begin to make demands of you?”
“No.”
“Really? Not even asking if she could wear jewelry more appropriately worn by your wife?”
Weston’s brown eyes sparked with anger, then he lowered his eyes to the penknife he was twisting in his fingers. “That was . . . different.”
“Did she want more of a commitment from you? Maybe marriage?”
He kept his gaze on the penknife. “That would have been impossible. I already have a wife and a family.”
“It’s amazing how the impossible becomes possible, if you want something enough. Did your wife know about your affair with Lady Dover—before the theater incident, that is?”
“I certainly never discussed it with her.” He lifted his gaze to meet Kendra’s and gave a dismissive shrug. “Lady Weston and I have a marriage typical of our social sphere, Miss Donovan. Once our nursery was set, we were free to indulge in our amusements elsewhere.”
Kendra had to think about that. “You mean you have an open marriage?”
“I’m not familiar with the term, but Lady Weston and I have never lived in each other’s pockets.”
Aldridge shifted in his seat. “As you say, sir, your arrangement with your wife is often typical of the Ton. However, the rule is discretion. Lady Dover broke that by wearing your family’s jewels to the theater, humiliating your wife and your family. I can’t imagine that you weren’t enraged by your mistress’s behavior.”