Rebecca smiled. “I see you are an admirer of Franz Joseph Gall, Your Grace.” She glanced at Kendra, and explained, “Mr. Gall is an advocate of cranioscopy.”
“I believe they are now calling it phrenology,” corrected Lady St. James.
The Dowager Duchess thumped her cane for their attention. “Cranioscopy or phrenology—whatever it is called, it is an infallible measurement to determine one’s character. I have begun to study the science extensively and Sutcliffe here has a very well-shaped head with no overdeveloped bumps that would indicate a murderous nature.”
Kendra stared at the old woman. She didn’t look gullible. But then the pseudoscience was just gaining in popularity. Even Thomas Edison would become a believer before phrenology would eventually be debunked.
Alec said, “I don’t suppose you could speak on my behalf at the House of Lords, madam?”
The Dowager Duchess gave a sharp smile. “I may just do that, boy. Someone has to bring those popinjays into the future. You can’t stop progress.”
Kendra bit her tongue. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard some crazy theories in her own time. She thought Rebecca looked ready to respond to the old woman’s words, but a buzzing noise distracted her. Kendra recognized the sound as gasps and an electrified murmuring from the crowd around them.
She turned to look at what might be causing the commotion when Lady St. James breathed, “Dear heaven. Can it be . . . ?”
“The waltz,” the Dowager Duchess intoned. “Lady Ogilvy is allowing the waltz. Clever puss. This was a deadly dull affair; now it will be the most talked about ball tomorrow morning. Come, Anne, I need to see this. Good evening.” The old woman gave them a distracted nod and grasped Lady St. James’s arm for support as they pushed themselves through the circling eddies of people, getting a better position to watch the scandalous dance.
Rebecca gave a laugh. “Not everyone will be happy about this development.”
“Lady Atwood won’t,” agreed Kendra.
“I think the Countess may change her mind when she only considers what this means.” Rebecca looked at Alec. “You will no longer be the topic in London most gossiped about, Sutcliffe. That is a form of progress, too, is it not, Miss Donovan?”
But Kendra wasn’t listening. Her gaze traveled over the ballroom and the dancers that had begun twirling around the floor, colorful skirts belling against pantaloons. The odd sensation was back again, a quiet dread knotting her stomach, telling her she was overlooking something important, a piece to the puzzle that could change everything.
49
Kendra couldn’t sleep. She stared up at the canopy over her bed, the silk just a gleam in the heavy shadows that had invaded the bedchamber. It was sometime after two A.M. and the fire in the hearth was more cold ash than burning embers. She tried rolling onto her side. When that didn’t do anything, she switched positions. She was exhausted. And yet her mind continued to race in a series of disjointed thoughts.
After another ten minutes, she gave up. She fought her way out of the blankets twisted around her legs and put on the velvet robe that Molly left draped across a chair every night. Tying the sash, she found the slippers under the chair and was grateful for their small bit of warmth when she pushed her feet into them. Back in her Virginia apartment, she’d never worn slippers. If she got up in the middle of the night to sift through files, she’d pad around barefoot. But then, even in the dead of winter, her apartment had central heating. She didn’t exactly know when that would be invented, and until it was, fires from coal and wood just didn’t cut it.
Moving back to the bedside table, she found the box containing the flint. It took her about seven minutes to light the candle, which actually wasn’t too bad for a woman who’d grown up with light switches and remotes (or so she told herself). She took the candle with its feeble light toward the door. In the hallway, she hesitated, the floorboards creaking under her weight, sounding unnaturally loud in the silence of the house. One candle flame barely penetrated the inky darkness of the hallway.
She continued down the corridor and eased open the door to the study. Inside, she spent the next several minutes lighting the brace of candles on the table and desk. The footmen had shuttered the windows, but she could still hear the windowpanes rattling with the wind. She considered building a fire, but she didn’t think she was up for that. Instead, she crossed the room to where the decanters were and yanked the stopper from the brandy. She splashed a small amount of alcohol into the glass, replaced the stopper, and lifted the glass to her lips.
“Do you do this often—sneak in here in the dead of night to accost Duke’s spirits?”
She nearly dropped the glass as she spun around and put her hand over her pounding heart. “Jesus Christ. Alec. Do you want to give me a heart attack?”
“I apologize.”
He closed the door and advanced into the room with the easy stride of an athlete. Like her, he’d put on a robe, dark green patterned silk, over what appeared to be silky black trousers. Kendra had the oddest desire to rake her fingers through his tousled hair, much like the Dowager Duchess had done earlier that evening.
“What are you doing awake?” he asked. “Aside from drinking?”
“I’m not . . .” She stared at the glass in her hand. “It’s damn cold in here. I couldn’t shut off my mind, so I thought I’d look over my notes. Sometimes that helps. Something pops out; you see something from a fresh perspective.”
Alec went to the fireplace, squatting down to gather kindling from the box next to the grate. With quick efficiency that Kendra could only marvel at, he started a small fire that crackled and popped as the flames quickly devoured the kindling, then tossed a few logs on top. For a moment, Kendra thought he’d extinguished it, but then the flames caught the denser wood and the small fire was suddenly transformed into a blaze.
“You’re quite the Boy Scout,” she said, coming over to take advantage of the warmth.
He gave her a crooked smile, still squatting. “I’m not certain I should even ask.”
She smiled back, and again had to resist the urge to run her fingers through his hair. She knew from personal experience that it would be cool and silky to touch. Her smile faded as their eyes locked. For a long moment, the only sounds in the study were the fire and the rattle of windowpanes. Then Alec slowly rose and put one arm around her. He took the glass from her suddenly nerveless fingers and set it down on a nearby table.
“Alec . . .” She didn’t know what she was going to say, could barely hear the whisper above the hammering of her heart.
“We never had our waltz,” he murmured, drawing her nearer. “You said it is a dance that you are familiar with.”
With the first step, she stepped on his toes and let out a low, hoarse laugh. “I didn’t say I was any good at it.”