After Miss Marat had been dismissed, Rebecca and Kendra remained in the drawing room. “This new information definitely eliminates Lord Dover,” said Rebecca. “He would have no reason to steal the necklace.”
Kendra had already all but eliminated the man, but it still gave her a sense of satisfaction to wet a rag and erase his name completely from the slate board. She looked at Rebecca, and grinned. “And now there are eight.”
“Seven, if you eliminate Lady Frances.”
Kendra shook her head. “For now, she stays. Roberts and Sedwick drop down the list, for the reasons I’ve stated. Unless something pops with their finances, there’s no reason for them to have taken the necklace. I want to take another run at Dawson over his whereabouts yesterday when Miss Cooper was murdered, and press Lady Isabella and Lady Louisa about what they were doing yesterday.”
“I cannot imagine either one of those women killing Lady Dover. Or murdering Miss Cooper in the middle of Piccadilly. How would they manage it with their maids within walking distance?”
“The same way that I managed to go there without a maid. I wore a maid’s uniform and blended in. It was actually surprisingly easy.” And freeing, she thought, but kept that to herself. “I’d say all the women involved have the intelligence to know to don such a disguise.”
“I suppose,” Rebecca agreed grudgingly. “Still, it’s hard to credit.”
Kendra eyed the other woman. “Why? Each one has motive, and possibly opportunity. Even Lady Weston. The night of Lady Dover’s murder, she was supposedly in her bedchamber in an opium-induced coma with a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door.”
Rebecca frowned. “I had not heard about the sign.”
“I’m speaking figuratively. My point is, she was left alone to sleep. But what was she really doing?”
“Do you honestly think she was sneaking out of her residence to murder her husband’s mistress?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Kendra said with a shrug. “I know of an Italian matron who drugged and chopped up three women, then used their bodies to make teacakes and soap, which she served to her neighbors and ate herself.”
Rebecca’s eyes widened in revulsion. “That can’t be true!”
“Oh, it is.” Leonarda Cianciulli—otherwise known as the Soap-Maker of Correggio. The woman would commit her hideous crime in the early 1940s, but Kendra could hardly tell Rebecca that. “Never underestimate the ingenuity of a woman.”
Rebecca gave a shudder. “I never do—but that isn’t ingenuity. That’s madness.”
“Sometimes, it’s one and the same.”
39
Based on the number of balls, soirees, and galas held every night in London, Kendra could only conclude that the city’s upper class had an anathema to staying home in the evening. At least the social whirlwind gave her the opportunity to continue to interview the Weston family. They couldn’t toss her out on her ass in the middle of a ball. She didn’t think so, anyway.
Tonight, they were attending an event at the home of the Benson family, who were considered both commoners and landed gentry in the British class system. Mr. Benson, Rebecca informed Kendra, boasted a bloodline that could be traced back to Robert I, Duke of Normandy—although it was a branch of the Duke’s family begun with one of his mistresses, not his wife. Apparently, a couple of centuries had the power to wash away the stain of illegitimacy, considering the number of London elite circulating through the Benson home.
Kendra wanted to interview Lady Isabella and her husband, Mr. Sedwick, both of whom she had yet to press about their whereabouts. However, the couple was on the dance floor, engaged in a quadrille.
Her gaze fell on Lady Louisa, who was once again blending into the curtains framing the large arching windows at the back of the ballroom, a perpetual wallflower. Her dark hair had been swept up into a sophisticated updo with two deep sapphire blue feathers tucked into the top knot. The hue matched the elegant gown she wore. The square neckline revealed a modest décolletage and filmy blue oversleeves allowed a glimpse of pale arms beneath the scrunched cap sleeves. The skirt, which dropped from an empire waist, had four decorative ruffles tiered along the hemline. She was elegant. And unnoticed.
Lady Louisa’s eyes were fixed on the dancers. The longing expression on her plain face was almost painful to see, and again Kendra felt a twinge of sympathy. She knew what it was like to always be the outsider, the freak. For her, it had been her unconventional background that had set her apart from her peers. For Lady Louisa, it was her marital status—her lack of a husband made her an oddity.
Kendra slowly became aware of the stares and whispers behind fans as she entered the ballroom. At first she thought she was the focus of their attention—her life had always been under some kind of microscope—but then she realized that their attention was actually on Alec. In little over a week, the House of Lords would request his presence to stand before them, but the gossip had already begun.
“Perhaps I should distance myself from you,” he murmured, his gaze meeting hers before turning to the Duke and Rebecca. “I would not wish to cause you any embarrassment, Your Grace.”
“Don’t be stupid, Sutcliffe,” Rebecca said, but kept her voice low. “I expect you to take me out on the dance floor before the evening is over.”
He grinned. “It would be a pleasure, my lady.” He then cocked a brow at Kendra. “And what of you, Miss Donovan? Shall I put my name on your dance card?”
“Then I would be causing you embarrassment,” she said with a smile. “Lady Louisa looks like she could use some company.”
They threaded their way through the clusters of people to approach Lady Louisa. Her gaze washed over them, moved on, then jerked back. Color seeped from her plain face and she tossed a wild glance about the room, as if seeking an escape route. But then it was too late to politely run away. Rebecca called out a greeting that left Lady Louisa with little choice but to respond, unless she was prepared to give them the cut direct.
“Lady Louisa, good evening. You know Miss Donovan, of course. May I introduce His Grace, the Duke of Aldridge, and Lord Sutcliffe?”
Lady Louisa gave a nervous curtsy. “Your Grace, my lord . . .” Her expression turned guarded. “Miss Donovan.”
The Duke smiled at her. “’Tis a crush. The Bensons ought to be pleased.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Alec, why don’t we go and find refreshments for the ladies? What shall we bring you?”
Kendra caught the Duke’s eye and silently applauded his tactic. The introverted Lady Louisa might talk more freely without male attention.
“Lady Louisa, do you have a preference?” asked Alec with a devastating smile in her direction.
She blushed and fluttered her fan. If it had been anyone else, Kendra would have suspected the action was an attempt to be coquettish. But for Lady Louisa, it looked like a genuine effort to cool her flushed cheeks. Alec might be under suspicion for murder, but he was still the best-looking guy in the room.