“In college, I took a course on women in the Enlightenment period. She was one of the women we studied.”
“She died nearly forty years ago. I find it fascinating that her memory and her work continue to influence society so far into the future. Then again, I continue to be influenced by the likes of John Locke and Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Aristotle and Plato,” he mused, his blue-gray eyes taking on a faraway gleam. “We must live in the present, even as we attempt to build something that will last into the future. However, we can never be certain of our legacy, if it’s strong enough to be sustained or if it will simply fade away, a memory forgotten.” He brought his gaze back to her. “You know, though.”
Kendra tensed, uncertain what to say, so she said nothing.
“You were in Aldridge Castle when you went through your wormhole,” the Duke continued. “’Tis good to know that my home still stands in the future. So many Norman strongholds survive only as ruins. I know you prefer not to have these discussions, but if I may ask . . . is it well cared for?”
“It’s magnificent,” she whispered, and her throat felt oddly tight. Beneath her fingertips, through several layers of greatcoat, coat and shirt, the Duke’s arm felt solid. Real. Alive. Yet the first time that she’d walked through the doors of Aldridge Castle, the Duke of Aldridge or, at least, this particular Duke had been buried for centuries in his family crypt, his flesh having decayed into dust, leaving only moldering bones.
If she managed to return to her own timeline, this man walking beside her, so vital and strong—and Alec and Rebecca, too—would be long dead. The thought left an ache in her heart. She didn’t belong here, she knew that, but she couldn’t bear to think of these people rotting in their graves in the twenty-first century.
“You worry too much, Miss Donovan,” the Duke said quietly.
Kendra realized that the Duke’s intelligent blue gaze was fixed on her, a funny smile curving his mouth. “None of us are immortal, my dear. But ideas, inventions, discoveries, even buildings can all be a form of immortality. Not everyone is in the position of leaving a legacy, or is aware of the responsibility such a legacy requires. Aldridge Castle is part of my heritage and it is heartening to know that it endures.”
Yet he didn’t ask who cared for the castle. Maybe there were some things that the Duke didn’t want to know either.
They stepped back from the curb to avoid a spray of dirty water when the wheels of a wagon loaded with wooden barrels hit a puddle. It broke the musing mood of their talk, so Kendra returned to her earlier point as they resumed walking. “Weston may have loved Lady Dover, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t kill her in a rage.”
“But her face . . .”
“The mutilation was more calculated. If Weston is our killer, maybe he did it to throw everyone off, because it is hard to imagine a man carving up the face of the woman he loved. It fits with the hesitation marks on the other side of her face—the unsub obviously had to work himself up to the gruesome injury.”
She frowned as she recalled their conversation with the Earl. “I can’t help but think about what he said: ‘I can’t imagine what kind of monster could do what was done to her.’ It was almost like he knew the details.”
“He could have heard about the disfigurement. Gossip flows through this city like the River Thames. I’d say his horror is understandable, especially given their intimate relationship.”
“Maybe.” But Kendra couldn’t help but feel there was something more. The look of revulsion that had blazed in Weston’s eyes had seemed too strong for someone who had simply heard about the mutilation secondhand. “He became pretty defensive when I mentioned his son.”
“Also an understandable reaction. In fact, I think it would have been unnatural for a father not to leap to his son’s defense if he felt suspicion of murder was being cast upon him. I’ve found myself defending Alec in much the same manner.”
“There’s something else—Weston didn’t deny that Lady Dover was pressuring him for a commitment.”
“He did deny it. He said—” Aldridge frowned as he recalled the conversation. “He said that he was already married . . . ah, I see your point. He didn’t say no, precisely.”
“No, he didn’t. So let’s assume that evasive answer means we’re on the right track and Lady Dover was pressuring him to divorce his wife and marry her. I think Rebecca was right: wearing the Weston necklace publicly was Lady Dover’s declaration of war.”
“I’m not sure it would have accomplished her objective. The only thing it did was expose their affair and humiliate the entire Weston family.”
“You need to turn up the heat if you want a pot of water to boil.”
Aldridge smiled. “That is a unique way of phrasing it.”
They stopped as they reached the end of the lane. Ahead of them was Grosvenor Square. Kendra could see Lady Dover’s townhouse.
“Ten minutes—and we were strolling,” she said. “Someone walking fast could’ve made it in five. Five minutes to get here; ten, maybe fifteen to stab and mutilate Lady Dover; another five to return to Lady Frances’s ball . . .”
Kendra could picture it in her head: the killer slipping through the darkness, knocking on Lady Dover’s door. Pleasantries exchanged. Then she’d invited the killer up to her drawing room.
Her gaze refocused, meeting the Duke’s. “Half an hour. That was all the unsub needed. He could have killed Lady Dover in less time than it takes for one dance.”
24
Good—you’ve returned, Miss Donovan. No, don’t take off your cloak,” Lady Atwood ordered as soon as Kendra and the Duke stepped into the foyer. The long skirt of the older woman’s navy blue pelisse billowed out as she swept down the stairs. She was tying the ribbons of her bonnet below her chin, and her eyes zeroed in on Kendra. “We must leave for our appointment with Madame Gaudet. We are already late.”
The dress designer, Kendra remembered. So much for her intention to update the slate board and organize her notes. Most likely recognizing her irritation, the Duke gave her a reassuring pat on the arm.
“Cheer up, my dear. I’m told it doesn’t hurt a bit.”
“Well, really.” The Countess eyed them both with exasperation. “It’s not as though I’m dragging the creature off to the workhouse.”
“Miss Donovan, good day!” At the top of the stairs, Rebecca came into view, followed by Alec. “I’d come for a visit, and Lady Atwood has graciously invited me along to Madame Gaudet’s establishment.”
She picked up her skirts and practically flew down the stairs, earning an admonishing frown from Lady Atwood.
“Ladies do not race down staircases.”