She reached for the cloth and the lump of lavender-scented soap that the tweeny had left on the stool next to the tub, and focused on lathering her arm. She was aware of Molly regarding her closely, and expelled a relieved breath when the maid finally left.
By the time Molly returned with a tray, Kendra had finished bathing and was pulling on her chemise. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the pot and, surveying the plate of eggs and plump sausage, broiled tomato, and sautéed mushrooms, she realized that she really was starving. She slipped into her robe and tried not to think about the last time she’d worn it—or what had happened when it had come off—and dug into breakfast like she hadn’t eaten for a week.
She was finishing the last bit of eggs when there was a knock at the door. Molly went to answer it, only opening it a crack so Kendra couldn’t see who was on the other side. There was a quick murmur, then Molly closed the door and spun around, excitement making her eyes sparkle.
“Yer clothes from the Countess’s Frenchie mantua-maker has come, Miss! They’ll be bringing the boxes in a bit. Do ye want ter wait ter see w’ot’s there before ye dress?”
“Ah, sure,” Kendra said, but more so to avoid disappointing the tweeny. She pushed herself to her feet and replenished her coffee cup, and another knock a short time later sent Molly racing back to the door. Three footman came in, loaded down with boxes that they set carefully on the bed. Molly was already ripping off the lids, pulling out gowns, and oohing and ahhing when the servants marched out.
“Would ye look ’ere! ’Tis lovely, this is!” She held up an ivory gown decorated with intricate beadwork on the high bodice.
Kendra had to smile at the girl’s enthusiasm, and wondered what the tweeny would think if she had the chance to go to any one of the shopping malls that dotted the landscape near where she lived in Virginia. She was only fifteen, Kendra reminded herself. She’d probably be like any twenty-first-century teenage girl who found utopia scouring the clothing racks and trying on new fashions.
“Miss, look ’ere. Ye’d look beautiful in this gown.”
She brought out a sea green, sequin-embroidered evening dress. When Molly whirled around with it clutched to her breast, the skirt flared out in a dazzling display. “Oi could do up yer hair with those green sparklers, Miss. Ooh, Oi ’ope ye’re going ter another ball soon!”
“This is London—there’s always another ball, Molly. Tonight there’s the musical recital . . .” Kendra stopped abruptly, and felt like she’d just run headlong into a brick wall. Now she knew what had been bothering her. Holy crap . . .
“Miss?” Molly eyed her with concern. “Are ye all right? Ye’re lookin’ peculiar again.”
“I just realized . . . my God, I’ve been so stupid. It was right there in front of my eyes. Lady Dover . . .”
Molly’s eyes widened. She gave a gasp. “Ye know the fiend that killed ’er?”
“Almost. I know who didn’t kill her.”
51
The theory was taking shape in Kendra’s mind, but she didn’t want to talk about it yet. She wanted to review her notes in the study first.
She was actually opening the door to do that when Molly reminded her that she was still in her robe. Biting back an impatient oath, Kendra closed the door and moved back into the bedchamber. She managed not to snap at Molly when she was slow in selecting a gown, finally settling on the glazed cambric morning dress in a dusky lilac hue, designed with a modest square neckline and long sleeves that were trimmed at the wrist with a narrow band of lace. She even kept her toe-tapping to a minimum when the tweeny pinned her hair in a coil and added a few complimentary ribbons.
As soon as Molly had finished and stepped back, Kendra shot to her feet and was out the door, racing down the hall. The footman and maid who were talking near the stairs stopped to stare, wide-eyed, as she bolted past them. She didn’t care.
She yanked open the door to the study, only then coming to a stop when she saw that the Duke was behind his desk, his head bent, his brow furrowed, reading a letter. Alec was sprawled in a chair, still wearing riding clothes, his nose buried in the Times. At her entrance, they both looked up. Kendra couldn’t stop her gaze from going to Alec, who pushed himself to his feet.
The Duke rose, as well, holding the letter aloft with obvious interest. “Miss Donovan, good day. I am reading the most remarkable letter by a fellow philosopher—or, as you like to say, scientist.” The word was still new enough to the Duke that he pronounced each syllable. giving it an almost exotic sound. “Monsieur Niépce appears to be experimenting with an advanced form of lithography. His results have been sporadic, but he believes he is close to inventing a process that may record a scene like a painting. He calls it heliography.”
This gave Kendra pause. “Niépce. You mean Joseph Nicéphore Niépce? The French inventor?”
“Before the war, we corresponded frequently. Unfortunately, the war—and the fact that Monsieur Niépce was an officer in Napoleon’s army for a time—made that quite difficult.” Aldridge smiled. “You know of Niépce, then? Am I correct in assuming that he is the inventor of your moving pictures?”
“I think you could say he contributed to the eventual development of movies,” Kendra said slowly, and once again her head swam with the knowledge that the Duke was actually writing letters to the man who would create the world’s first photograph. Not for a while, though—whatever he was experimenting with now, it would take at least another decade before he achieved success and shared it with the world.
Aldridge looked at her with the kind of bright curiosity that always made her feel a little twitchy. Because I know he’s going to push for information that I shouldn’t tell anyone, she thought.
“Monsieur Niépce is becoming discouraged over his lack of success,” he said. “Can I not write anything that may give him hope?”
“Tell him that you have faith in him, and you are confident that one day he will have great success.” Kendra thought of what she’d read about the Frenchman, and decided to keep to herself that the man would eventually die penniless.
She drew in a deep breath and got back on track. “That’s not why I came in here, anyway. Look, I realized—”
She broke off, annoyed, when the door swung open. Harding came into the room, followed closely by Sam. “Mr. Kelly,” the butler announced, then frowned at the Bow Street Runner as he departed, clearly displeased that Sam hadn’t waited in the hall until he could be announced.
There was something in Sam’s face that made the Duke eye him intently. “Mr. Kelly, is something amiss?”
“Aye—I mean, nay . . .” His golden eyes gleamed as his gaze washed over each one of them. “We found the necklace.”
Alec raised his eyebrows. “The Weston family necklace?”
“Aye, I just got word. A pawnbroker has it. I thought you’d like ter go and see him.”
“Miss Donovan?” The Duke glanced at her. “Did you have something to say?”
Kendra hesitated, then decided, “It can keep. Let’s go talk to the pawnbroker.”