A Twist in Time (Kendra Donovan #2)

“She believes my father murdered her, doesn’t she?” Lady Louisa asked suddenly.

“Miss Donovan is considering many suspects,” Rebecca said, lifting her gaze from the submerged flower. She didn’t know what else to say. It was clear to her that the other woman was miserable, but she felt helpless to soothe her pain.

“Why did he do it?”

Rebecca’s breath caught, and she wondered if Lady Louisa was about to incriminate her father. “Do what?” she asked, pleased that her voice was steady.

Lady Louisa’s head snapped around and she fixed her gaze on Rebecca. “Why did he have to have an affair with her? I realize that gentlemen often take mistresses. But why did he choose her? She was utterly vicious.”

Rebecca saw the pain shimmering in Lady Louisa’s eyes and could imagine just how vicious Lady Dover had been to this plain, awkward woman, who would most likely end her days as a spinster. Rebecca faced a similar future, but not with the same despair. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, feeling completely inadequate.

Lady Louisa pressed the palms of her hands to her hot face and shook her head. “We were happy until she destroyed my family.”

Lord Weston had something to do with the destruction of his family, as well, Rebecca thought, but kept quiet.

“I can feel everyone’s stares when we go out,” Lady Louisa whispered. They were silent for a moment, then Lady Louisa gave a bitter laugh. “Dear heaven, I’m turning positively maudlin. I do apologize, Lady Rebecca. This excursion was meant to be pleasant.”

And for you to pry into Kendra’s investigation, Rebecca thought, but she forced a smile. “I am quite enjoying myself. But perhaps we should return to the heath. Your groom may be getting worried.”

Lady Louisa waved that away. “Oh, he knows where we are. I always come here when I exercise Caspian. Though you are right; we should return. We still have a half-hour ride back to London.”

They slung their long trains over their arms and walked down the embankment toward the horses. At the bottom, Lady Louisa turned to look at Rebecca. “You are Miss Donovan’s friend. Can you not persuade her that nothing can be served by her investigation into Lady Dover’s death?”

“My lady, you are forgetting that Lord Sutcliffe is under suspicion for the murder. The House of Lords will be convening soon to discuss the matter.”

“He will not be charged. He is a marquis and the Duke of Aldridge’s heir.”

Rebecca thought about the crime lord named Bear. “There are extenuating factors. But that is not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“Justice, of course. Miss Donovan is not alone in her desire to bring the murderer to justice.” She hesitated, her gaze on the other woman’s. “If you know who killed Lady Dover—”

“I do not!” Lady Louisa spun away, but not before Rebecca saw the fear that leaped into her eyes.

“Your father—”

“Is innocent!” she snapped.

“Or your brother.”

“Arthur? The very notion is absurd.”

Lady Lousia was untying Caspian’s reins when her groom emerged from the forest on his aging dappled gray.

“Lady Louisa, ye shouldn’t run away from me.” He raised an admonishing finger. “Beth here is old. Ye know she can’t keep up with your stallion.”

He dismounted and hurried over to them, lacing his fingers together to create a mounting block for them to get back on their horses. Rebecca hooked her leg over the pommel and rearranged her skirts to drape across the saddle in a ladylike manner. Lady Louisa was already trotting toward the forest. Picking up her reins, Rebecca made to follow, but she hesitated, her gaze traveling over the glen with its tumbling ruin and the waters of the Thames as a picturesque backdrop. This would be a lovely place for a family to picnic—in happier times.

She remembered the fear that had flashed in Lady Louisa’s eyes when she’d asked if she knew who had killed Lady Dover. It had been an adamant denial. And, Rebecca thought, almost certainly a lie.





48




They were at yet another ball that Wednesday night, this one hosted by Lord and Lady Ogilvy, who were close friends of Lady Atwood. That meant the evening was mandatory, at least for the Duke. Kendra had a feeling that the Countess would have preferred if she’d stayed home with a good book. But since there was a chance that Viscount Dawson would be in attendance, Kendra had dressed in an emerald silk evening gown and accompanied them to the mansion at Hanover Square. Rebecca had arrived with her parents ten minutes ago and Alec five minutes later, and Kendra stood with them in one corner of the ballroom.

So far Dawson was a no-show, along with the rest of his family. She wondered if there was any significance in their absence.

“I think she is sad,” Rebecca said, telling Kendra about her afternoon with Lady Louisa. “She brought me to an old ruin in Putney, where her family once picnicked. She said that they were happy once. It was really quite awful.”

Kendra regarded Lady Rebecca, then asked, “Did she say anything about Lady Dover?”

“She didn’t say anything that we didn’t already know.” Rebecca shrugged. “She despised the woman. It’s certainly understandable that she wished her dead.”

Their conversation about murder should have struck an odd note against the merriment surrounding them, with the orchestra playing a lively piece and couples dancing. But as they often discussed such a grim topic in assorted ballrooms, it now seemed normal.

“She actually said that she wished her dead?” Kendra pressed.

Rebecca frowned. “No, of course not—at least, not in so many words. She blamed Lady Dover for her father’s affair, but I sensed that her loathing may have been more personal. Lady Dover was not kind to her own sex.”

“Cordelia was hardly alone in such behavior, ” Alec said in a low voice.

Kendra suspected Alec was right. She allowed her gaze to travel over the glittery assembly, lingering on a trio of young women across the room. Debutantes, by the look of them, wearing simple flowing white dresses, their hair pulled up and decorated with matching ribbons, as well as daisies, pearls, or diamonds. They may be innocent maids, cultivating their virginal look with their appearance—and how that would change in her era, Kendra thought, where virginity had become almost an anathema among young girls in western cultures—but they operated their fans like seasoned courtesans, using them to flirt with the young bucks standing across from them. The games people play.

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