“Did you have your eye on him the whole time?” Kendra asked.
“Well, no, of course not—”
“What about Lord Weston?”
“No.”
“And Lady Louisa?”
Again his eyes widened in disbelief. “Good God, you can’t be serious? Lady Louisa is the most timid of creatures.”
“Sometimes it’s the quiet ones who most surprise us.” How often had she heard that during her own investigations? But he was such a nice young man, so quiet . . .
Roberts shook his head. “The very notion is preposterous.”
“She tends to be in the background. You wouldn’t have noticed if she snuck out of your ball for half an hour or so.”
“No, but . . . No, I cannot imagine it. ’Tis stupid to even consider such a thing.”
Kendra regarded him closely. “What about your wife? Did you keep her in your line of sight that evening?”
His eyes flashed. “Devil take it, that is as laughable as Lady Louisa! She was hosting the ball. Everyone had her in her line of sight! Now, I’m done with these ridiculous questions. Bring me back to my club, or let me out and I shall summon a hackney.”
“We’ll bring you back,” Alec said, and knocked again on the ceiling’s trap.
Kendra kept her gaze locked on Roberts. “You don’t think Lady Frances has it in her to kill a possible rival?” she asked softly.
Something flickered in his eyes.
“This is an outlandish discussion and I shall have no further part on it.”
Roberts settled back in the seat and stared out the window at the passing buildings as the carriage drove around the square to loop back to White’s. He refused to say anything more during the remainder of the journey.
But Kendra barely noticed the oppressive silence. She was busy wondering if what she’d seen in his eyes was fear, or if it had just been her imagination.
46
Kendra wasn’t entirely sure Lady Weston’s maid, Miss Aubert, would meet with her, but she dispatched the note anyway. She was pleasantly surprised when she received an acceptance note, along with a time and a place to meet. That required her to send the poor footman back to the Westons’ with a note of agreement. Not as easy as making an appointment via cell phone, but it did the job.
Of course, Alec insisted on accompanying her. And to protect her reputation against being seen alone with a gentleman, Molly was enlisted to come along as her maid and to act as a chaperone. This only made Kendra sigh. Never before had she had to have an entourage when interviewing people.
Miss Aubert selected the lake at St. James Park as the place to meet. The day had grown increasingly cold and blustery, the wind strong enough to whip the lake into frothy whitecaps. The weather kept attendance in the park to only a scattering of people. Two men Kendra now recognized as merchants by their style of dress walked along a footpath, winding their way beneath fluttering leaves of black mulberry trees and scarlet oaks. A handful of ragged children played along the sloping hillside, their whoops and hollers carried away by the blowing wind, their antics watched by an old woman wrapped in a black shawl.
There was only a single figure standing in front of the lake, but Kendra thought she would have recognized Miss Aubert even if the park had been filled with people. She’d never met the woman, but she was coming to recognize the look of a lady’s maid—subdued hairstyle and dark conservative clothing, so as to avoid overshadowing the mistress of the house, while still projecting an aura of competence.
Kendra looked pointedly at Alec. Molly was trailing at a discreet distance behind them, like any good lady’s maid. “Miss Aubert might be more comfortable talking to me alone.”
Alec said, “You may conduct the interview alone, Miss Donovan, but you shall be in my line of sight.”
“I doubt Miss Aubert is going to attack me.”
He gave her a crooked smile. “I have learned to expect the unusual where you are concerned.” He lifted his hand to capture a tendril of hair that had escaped the tight coil that Molly had styled Kendra’s hair into, and held her gaze as he tucked it behind her ear. “I will wait for you over there.”
Kendra expelled a low breath when he jammed his hands into his greatcoat pockets and sauntered off to the side, ostensibly to watch the ducks. Yet he positioned himself to keep his eye on her.
She shook her head, her feelings, as always, ambivalent when it came to the Marquis. He wanted to protect her, not because she was a member of the team, a valuable colleague, but because he cared for her on a personal level. Because he loved her. She’d been in exactly two relationships—a shockingly low number for someone in their mid-twenties in the twenty-first century, she knew—but love had never been on the table. And eventually, both relationships had fallen under the grinding heel of her career, ending in a flurry of canceled dinner reservations and recriminations as she raced to the airport to fly to her next case.
She’d never had anyone love her before and she didn’t know how to handle it. She especially didn’t know how to handle her own baffling feelings.
She became aware that Miss Aubert had turned away from viewing the choppy water, and was now regarding her, waiting.
Kendra stifled another sigh. This was another reason why she’d never wanted to open herself up to love—it made you stupid. When she should have had her entire attention focused on Miss Aubert, she’d been standing with her head in the clouds, thinking about Alec.
Striding forward, Kendra said, “Miss Aubert? I’m Kendra Donovan.”
Miss Aubert was wearing a long, dark navy pelisse that was briefly flipped open by the wind. Hands, encased in kid gloves, jerked the garment closed. Her dark blond hair, nearly hidden beneath an unadorned bonnet that matched her coat, was neatly plaited, framing a face that could best be described as elegant rather than pretty. She was probably thirty. The gray eyes that met Kendra’s held an intelligent gleam.
“Thank you for seeing me.” Kendra offered a smile.
The maid nodded. “This is about Lady Dover’s murder?”
Kendra detected a slight French accent, which sounded genuine. There were a lot of fake French lady’s maids in London, but apparently Lady Weston had hired the real thing.
“It is. How long have you worked for Lady Weston?”
“Five years.”
“And how is Lady Weston to work for? Is she demanding? Difficult? Kind? Generous?”
“She is neither difficult nor particularly kind.”
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“It’s an honest one.”
“Fair enough. I take it that you two aren’t especially close?”
“She is my mistress, not my mother.” The woman gave a ghost of a smile. “Still, I do not wish to gossip about Lady Weston.”