Once the tea had been distributed, Kendra said, “I heard that a lot of people came to your ball on Monday night.”
“Yes,” Lady Frances said with a smile. “It seemed that all of London was in attendance.”
“All of your family members attended?” Kendra asked. “Even your mother?” She kept her gaze on the younger woman, deeply interested in what she’d say.
Lady Frances’s smile faltered. “Oh . . . well, no. My mother was indisposed that night.” She tilted her head and regarded Kendra. “What my sisters told me must be true. You are playing the Bow Street Runner.”
Lady Frances appeared amused. But Kendra sensed there was much more beneath the surface than the beautiful fa?ade would suggest.
“We are investigating Lady Dover’s murder,” Aldridge cut in, lifting his teacup to his lips and taking a swallow. He set the cup down on its saucer, then gazed calmly at Lady Frances. “You were acquainted with Lady Dover, correct?”
“Of course. We traveled the same circles as the Countess,” she said, unruffled. “But we were not, nor had ever been, friends.”
“You must have formed an impression,” Kendra pressed.
Lady Frances appeared to consider the matter as she took a sip of her tea. “I do not like to speak ill of the dead . . . but I considered the Countess ill-bred and dreadfully vain. She did her best to monopolize the attention of those around her.”
Kendra kept her gaze on the younger woman. “Men, you mean?”
“Yes. She had little use for her own sex. She preferred the company of men. Is that not so, love?” Lady Frances glanced at her husband from the corner of her eye.
“She was a flirt,” Roberts acknowledge carefully.
And did she flirt with you? It suddenly occurred to Kendra that while Lady Frances had managed to avoid marrying someone like Lord Ludlow, a good-looking, younger man might have a different set of problems.
“I heard that you gave Lady Dover the cut direct,” she said.
“It’s possible, I suppose.” Lady Frances moved her shoulders in a dainty shrug. “I had little use for the creature.”
“Were you at the theater the night when Lady Dover wore your family’s necklace?”
For the first time, Lady Frances’s composure cracked: she went rigid, her hazel eyes blazed, and then she dropped her gaze to her teacup, her eyelashes concealing her expression. “Yes, Mr. Roberts and I were in attendance. As I said, ill-bred.”
“Were you aware before the incident that your father was involved with her?”
Roberts frowned. “You cannot think that Lord Weston had anything to do with the Countess’s murder. ’Tis impossible. He was here the night of the ball.”
“He never left?” Kendra shifted her gaze to him. “You had him in your sights the whole evening?”
“Well, no, of course not. But you can hardly think the Earl would have committed murder between dance sets!”
Kendra said, “We’re looking into all leads right now. Do you know anyone else Lady Dover may have been involved with?”
Roberts looked aghast. “How would I know such a thing? I scarcely knew the woman!”
His adamant declaration struck Kendra as a little too forceful. She gave him a long look before offering an enigmatic shrug. Let him make of that what he would. “People talk.”
“She was involved with the Marquis of Sutcliffe,” Lady Frances supplied. Her smile was back, but this time it didn’t bring out her dimples or reach her eyes. “She was quite taken with him. I’d even heard that she hoped to become his Marchioness. Although in that, I can scarcely blame her. He’s a handsome devil. And your heir, is he not, Your Grace?”
“He is.”
Lady Frances let that hang in the air for a moment. Then she gave a light laugh. “Of course, there is the Dutton boy. He was besotted with her, even asked her to dance twice at the Hamilton Ball.”
“He’s a puppy,” Roberts said. “Lady Dover wouldn’t have offered him a second look.”
“Indeed?” Lady Frances shot her husband a veiled glance. “I don’t think she was too discriminating as to who she took to her bed, darling.” She turned back to Kendra. “Unfortunately, you will be forced to interview most of the male population in London if you want to find the fiend who murdered the poor wretch.”
Lady Frances gave a shudder that Kendra couldn’t determine genuine or fake. “Personally, I believe it was someone from the stews. I simply cannot credit that a gentleman would use a dagger against a lady. It’s too barbaric.”
Kendra put down her teacup and stared at the other woman. “How do you know that a knife was used, Lady Frances?”
Lady Frances smiled. “As you say . . . people talk.”
23
Lady Frances does not have a nervous disposition,” Aldridge murmured after they’d left the Roberts’ residence, walking down the winding flagstone path to the street. “Her comment about the dagger was interesting. It almost appeared as if she were baiting you, Miss Donovan.”
Kendra remembered how Lady Frances had teased her sister about becoming an ape leader. “I think baiting people is what Lady Frances does.” She paused to draw the cloak’s hood up again, glancing up at the sky. “It stopped raining. Why don’t we walk back to your place?”
Although Aldridge shot an uncertain look toward the heavens, he nodded. “You are conducting an experiment, to determine how long it will take us to walk to Lady Dover’s residence.”
“And I’m going to say that it’s pretty good odds that our killer stole one of those stilettos from the Roberts’ residence and used the party as a cover to murder Lady Dover.”
“That theory eliminates Lord Dover. He was at his club, then home.”
“I’m not eliminating him. I don’t like that he never mentioned arguing with his stepmother after the theater incident, and I want to do a follow-up interview to ask him about that. But he drops down on the list.”
The Duke told his coachman to drive home without them, then he offered his arm, which Kendra accepted. They strolled down the sidewalk together, in the direction of Grosvenor Square.
“I realize that Lord Weston is our most obvious perpetrator,” Aldridge began, “but I believe he genuinely cared for Lady Dover. ’Tis hard to conceive of him mutilating her face as the fiend did.”
“‘You know that when I hate you, it is because I love you to a point of passion that unhinges my soul,’” Kendra quoted softly. “Jeanne Julie éléonore de Lespinasse wrote that about one of her tragic love affairs. Maybe our killer felt the same unhinged passion for Lady Dover.”
Aldridge regarded her with genuine surprise. “You are familiar with the work of Mlle de Lespinasse?”