Sedwick glanced at his wife in surprise. Kendra couldn’t be sure whether he was taken aback by Lady Isabella’s discourtesy, or the fact that he still had half a glazed tartlet on his plate.
“This will only take a moment of your time,” Kendra said.
“Certainly,” Sedwick replied. He appeared a little less . . . damp than he had at the Digby Ball, Kendra thought, but his practiced, politician smile remained the same. “How can we be of assistance?”
“I am aware that you attended Lady Frances’s ball, but could you tell me when you arrived and when you left that evening?”
Sedwick lifted his eyebrows. “Why is that important?”
“It was the night of Lady Dover’s murder,” Kendra reminded him.
Lady Isabella put her bowl and spoon down on a nearby shelf with a rattle. “Please do keep your voice down, Miss Donovan,” she hissed, and her gaze flicked to the other small groups clustered in the morning room, sampling desserts. Nobody seemed to be paying them any attention, but that didn’t stop Lady Isabella from leveling a glare at Kendra. “You can’t possibly mean to quiz us here in the middle of Mrs. Benson’s ball.”
“My dear, calm yourself,” her husband admonished lightly. “Lord Sutcliffe is the Duke of Aldridge’s nephew. Certainly we shall speak to you.” Sedwick dumped his plate with the half-eaten tartlet next to his wife’s bowl, and then he looked at Kendra and Alec with a smile. “Perhaps we ought to step outside for this discussion?”
Kendra and Alec followed them to the French doors that led out to a wide veranda. The night was cool enough to keep everyone else indoors, with the exception of what appeared to be an amorous couple in one of the darker spots. At their arrival, the two broke apart and, with a furtive glance thrown in their direction, hurried back into the mansion.
Kendra clenched her hands against the chill. The paper-thin gown she wore offered no protection against the night’s temperature. Lady Isabella wore a similar evening dress, in dark mauve silk beneath an organza overskirt, which matched the amethysts in her hair. But she didn’t seem to be affected by the outside temperature.
Maybe her anger is keeping her warm, Kendra reflected wryly. In the faint glow from the candles burning inside the ballroom, Kendra had no trouble reading the hostility in the other woman’s gaze.
In contrast to his wife’s vehemence, Sedwick appeared relaxed. But Kendra wondered if the pose was genuine. He was a politician, after all. They all knew how to project the image they wanted to project, and to lie with ease.
“Now . . .” Sedwick said with a smile. “What is this matter of Lady Dover’s murder?”
Lady Isabella looked at her husband. “I told you, Mr. Sedwick. Miss Donovan has a rather unnatural curiosity regarding the woman’s death.”
Kendra ignored that. “When did you arrive at Lady Frances’s ball?”
“’Tis of no concern—”
Sedwick laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “My dear, we have nothing to hide.” He turned back to regard Kendra. “Lady Frances’s event was important, but we did have a prior commitment. My wife and I were required to put in an appearance at Carlton House—a royal summons from the Prince, as it were.”
As he talked, Sedwick reached into his coat and brought out a lacquered cherrywood snuffbox and used his fingernail to flick open the lid. Kendra was close enough to catch the scent of spearmint. He took a small pinch of the tobacco flakes between his index finger and thumb, placing the snuff into each nostril. He gave a delicate sniff, then snapped the snuffbox closed. “We did not arrive at Lady Frances’s until well past ten o’clock. Is that not correct, Lady Isabella?”
“That is correct, Mr. Sedwick,” his wife said stiffly.
“Can you be more specific than well past?” asked Kendra.
“Closer to eleven, I believe,” Sedwick supplied.
“I see. And your presence at Carlton House can be corroborated by others in attendance?” Kendra felt foolish asking, because she knew that Carlton House was the Prince Regent’s private residence. But she had to know.
Sedwick regarded her with amusement. “By all means, quiz Prinny. He shall verify my account.”
Alec said, “Lord Shipley is an acquaintance of mine who often dines at Carlton House. Was he in attendance?”
“I believe he was, my lord.”
“Then I shall ask him.”
“Please, do.”
Kendra asked, “When did you arrive at Carlton House, and when did you leave?”
“Half past seven. We departed a little after ten.”
“It took you almost an hour to get to Lady Frances’s ball?” Kendra frowned.
“The traffic was ungodly. Again, that can be easily verified. Ask my driver.”
He sounded sincere, but Kendra still felt obligated to ask the next question. “What about yesterday morning, between nine and one?”
Sedwick frowned. “What happened yesterday morning?”
Kendra thought he appeared genuinely puzzled. Lady Isabella, on the other hand, was staring into the pitch-dark backyard, her profile haughty and distant.
“Another murder,” Kendra said softly.
“Good God. London’s criminal element grows more bold. Parliament really does need to put more laws into place. I believe it’s the émigré population—I shall bring up the subject with Lord Sidmouth.”
“Can you tell me where you were yesterday morning?” Kendra repeated.
Sedwick looked at her for a moment, then gave a slight shrug. “Naturally, my wife and I attended church services at St. Paul’s. Then I was called to Whitehall to assist Lord Sidmouth in a delicate matter of state.” His thin frame puffed up a bit, obviously proud of his position. “I spent most of the day in the office. Lord Sidmouth himself can verify my presence, as well as several clerks and assistants.”
Kendra shifted her gaze to his wife. “And what did you do after church services, Lady Isabella?”
Lady Isabella glared at her. “I spent those hours at home. And I find your suspicion against my family insulting, Miss Donovan.”
“I find murder insulting.”
Sedwick lifted a placating hand. “Miss Donovan, you must concede that your inquiries are putting us in an uncomfortable position.”
“Being under suspicion for murder is uncomfortable,” murmured Alec. The light from the ballroom limned his chiseled features and played across the fading bruises. “Still, the truth must be sought.”
Lady Isabella tilted her chin toward him, a challenge. “Is it the truth you are seeking, my lord? Or do you wish to divert attention from your own association with Lady Dover? Everyone in town knows that she was your mistress.”
Alec’s gaze was cool. “Not, I think, after the theater incident.”
The statement was so quietly said that it took a moment to register. Then Lady Isabella inhaled sharply. For once, she seemed at loss for words.