“Absolutely.” And why don’t you look pleased about that, Lady Isabella? she wondered. “Maybe we can talk then.”
After making their farewells, the Duke waited until they were descending the stairs to ask quietly, “What was that about?”
“I wanted to meet Lady Weston. Now we don’t need to be introduced, right? I can talk to her whenever I see her?”
“Yes, you no longer need a formal introduction.”
The butler met them at the bottom of the stairs. He handed them their dry outer garments, which now smelled faintly of smoke. Outside, the rain had stopped and the clouds overheard had thinned to a dove gray, but the wind had picked up. Shivering, Kendra raised her hood for protection against the wind.
Aldridge gave her a sideways look. “Why do I get the impression that you are hoping to make the Westons nervous, my dear?”
“Possibly because that was the idea. Nervous people tend to make mistakes.”
As they walked down the path to the street, Kendra got a prickly sensation between her shoulder blades. She held the hood of the green cloak in place as she turned to look behind her. The sky’s muted light bounced off the windowpanes of the Weston home, transforming them into mirrors. But she detected movement behind the reflective surface, and she thought she saw a pale glimmer, a face staring down at them. Then it was gone, but Kendra’s twitchy feeling remained.
Maybe I’ve already made someone nervous.
22
Kendra paused as the Duke helped her into the carriage following their meeting with Lord Weston. “Do you feel up for another visit?”
“Certainly.” The Duke eyed her questioningly. “Where do you wish to go?”
“I’d like to pay a call on Lady Frances. She did invite me.”
“Ah, so that is why you asked for her address from Lord Weston.” The Duke gave the instructions to his coachman, then climbed in after Kendra. “It’s not exactly a fashionable hour to make a morning call.”
“I’m not really interested in being fashionable.”
Aldridge smiled. “I assume Lady Frances is another person you hope to make nervous?”
“From what I observed last night, that might be difficult. She has nerves of steel.”
The wet day had kept most of the gentry indoors, but not the servants who continued to go about their business, scurrying across the wet cobblestone streets and darting into buildings. When the carriage turned onto Mount Street, the coachman had to stop to ask for the Roberts’ exact address from a young maid carrying a basket of vegetables. Then the carriage jerked forward again, and two minutes later, they once again dispatched the Duke’s calling card into one of the larger houses, its stucco exterior designed to look like gray brick. Five minutes later, they were escorted through the entrance foyer and up the sweeping stairs.
When they reached the top of the stairs, both Kendra and the Duke stumbled to a stop and stared around them in amazement.
“Holy crap,” Kendra whispered.
The butler paused, looking back at them when he realized they were no longer walking with him. “Is something amiss?”
Both Kendra and the Duke stood transfixed by the medieval weapons that covered almost every square inch of the white plaster walls. Kendra moved to one of the long, narrow wood-and-glass cases that lined the wall, displaying assorted knives and swords.
“This is quite a collection,” she murmured, and exchanged a significant glance with the Duke. “I see several stilettos.”
“Yes, Miss,” said the butler. “The Earl is quite a collector.”
Kendra studied the glass case closely. There was no lock, she noticed. The lid could be lifted easily. And on the night Lady Dover had been mortally attacked, nearly three hundred people had assembled here at Lady Frances’s ball . . .
She lifted her gaze to the Duke’s and gave him a significant look. They may have just found the original home of their murder weapon.
Lady Frances and her husband, the Honorable Cecil Roberts, were waiting for them in a large drawing room lined in delicate red silk wallpaper and filled with polished cherrywood furniture. A spinet and a harp—apparently Lady Louisa wasn’t the only Weston daughter who played—were tucked in a corner, near the arched windows that overlooked the back gardens. Lady Frances was seated in front of the fire on an amber paisley sofa, looking beautiful with her dark hair caught up in a bandeau decorated with daisies and wearing a long-sleeved coppery-brown day dress. At their entrance, she immediately stood and offered the Duke a graceful curtsy.
“Your Grace, this is an honor.” She gave him a dimpled smile before turning to Kendra. “Miss Donovan, I am so delighted you took me up on my invitation to call.” Still, she shot a pointed glance at the ormolu clock on the mantel.
“Your Grace, Miss Donovan.” Roberts smiled and bowed.
Lady Frances hadn’t been forced to marry a man who wore a corset and was at least five decades her senior. Her husband was handsome, with light reddish-brown hair, cut short and combed forward, with long sideburns. He stood tall and trim, which he showed to good advantage by wearing a fashionable blue coat over a silk blue-and-white-striped double-breasted waistcoat, paired with buff-colored pantaloons tucked into gleaming black Hessian boots. His cravat was elaborately tied and high enough to touch his chin. Catching his bright blue eyes, Kendra had a feeling that he, like his wife, wasn’t oblivious to his own appeal.
“Please, shall we be seated?” Lady Frances said, and returned to her former spot on the sofa.
As they were sitting, a maid wearing a traditional mop cap and apron wheeled in a tea cart, which she parked next to her mistress.
Lady Frances smiled. “I took the liberty of calling for tea. ’Tis such a dreary day.” She reached for the creamer, pouring a little into her teacup before she filled it with tea. “How do you take your tea, Miss Donovan?”
“Black, two sugars,” she replied, and waited for Lady Frances to pour. She glanced at Roberts. “You’ve got quite a collection in the hall.”
“Actually, my grandfather is the collector. He has a passion for the medieval times,” he explained. “I thought it quite bloodthirsty of him when I was a boy—and loved every ghoulish artifact.” He grinned. “I don’t share his passion to collect such ancient weaponry, but I would be pleased to show it to you, Miss Donovan, or you, Your Grace.”
“Your grandfather . . . I’d heard the Earl has retreated to his estates in the north,” Aldridge said.
“Ah, yes. Near Yorkshire. My grandfather claims the London air is not fit for man nor beast. Unfortunately, the air in the country doesn’t seem to have helped him much, either.”
“Your grandfather is ailing?”
Roberts shrugged. “He hasn’t been well since my grandmother expired. He gave me this house for my use, as my father and mother are content with their home in Hanover Square.”