25
By the time the Duke’s carriage rolled to a stop outside of No. 29 Grosvenor Square, the sky had darkened into murky twilight, with clouds and fog beginning to drift in, along with a hint of rain. The oil lamps were already lit outside the square’s residences, but unlike the gas lamps that were being installed throughout London, the light was so meager that it could do little more than highlight the brass knocker on the door.
The square seemed unnaturally quiet. Kendra attributed that to the lack of construction noise at the Yarborough mansion. The mason workers had gone home for the evening.
“Molly, go on ahead,” she told her maid. When Molly frowned, she added drily, “I promise you that his lordship won’t molest me out here on the street.”
“Aye, miss.” Molly blushed, hesitating for a brief moment before scurrying off.
Alec captured one of Kendra’s gloved hands, leaning down to brush his lips tantalizingly against her ear. “Are you so certain about that, Miss Donovan?”
Kendra laughed, even though her stomach fluttered. “You’re coming in for dinner, right?”
“If I dare show up to the dinner table in these clothes, my aunt will box my ears. I’ll go home first and change into evening dress. But first I’ll walk you to the door.”
“I’m a big girl. I can walk myself.” But she squeezed his hand before letting go. “Hurry back.”
“Because you miss me or because you need a shield against my aunt?”
“What do you think?” she said, almost feeling giddy as they looked at each other. Christ, she was flirting. At least, she thought she was flirting. She’d never flirted before she’d ended up in the 19th century.
Before she made a complete fool of herself, she picked up her skirts and hurried up the path. She paused halfway and turned around to wave. Alec tipped his hat, then disappeared into the cab of the carriage.
Kendra glanced at Benjamin, who was frowning down at her from his perch. Definitely a mood killer.
She stayed where she was, watching as Benjamin snapped the lines. The clip-clop of hooves and rumble of wagon wheels broke the silence of the square as the carriage moved away. Kendra counted under her breath as she stood and waited. It took twenty seconds, but the man finally materialized out of the shadows.
“How long have you been lurking around?” she asked, turning to face Albion Miller.
“Long enough to see you turnin’ it up sweet with his lordship.” His lips twisted into a sneer, apparently a habitual expression for the man. “Heard you’ve been askin’ around for me.”
Because he was a bully, he edged closer, deliberately invading her personal space, ready to exploit any sign of weakness. And because Kendra knew what he was doing, she maintained her position. Although her hand dipped into her reticule to close over the muff pistol.
She got right to the point. “How well did you know Jeremy Pascoe?”
“I hardly knew him at all. I had no reason ter kill him. That’s what you’re really askin’, ain’t it?”
She tilted her head. “Since you’re so accommodating, you wouldn’t mind telling me where you were on Saturday after three, and all day Sunday?”
“Well, here now, if we’re talkin’ accommodating…” He stepped even closer, brushing a beefy hand against her arm. His stale breath fanned her cheek. “What are you offerin’ me in return?”
Kendra’s fingers tightened on the muff pistol for a fraction of a second. Albion was bigger than she was, but she’d taken down bigger opponents. Krav Maga had been part of her defensive training. The technique wasn’t subtle, but it was brutally effective. A simple palm strike would probably be sufficient. Albion was a street brawler, not a strategist.
“Just answer the question,” she snapped. “If you have nothing to hide, it shouldn’t be that difficult.”
Surprise flickered across his face. He had expected her to cower. Still, bullies like Albion didn’t back away until they were given a reason.
“Don’t take that tone with me, missy,” he said, and took firm hold of her arm.
Kendra pressed her lips together to keep from crying out.
“You’re no better than Horatia, puttin’ on airs. Both of you thinkin’ that you’re better than you are. I saw you with your lord. Too cozy by half!”
Kendra twisted her arm out of his grasp and shoved him back a step. “What did you threaten Mrs. Gavenston with at the Tower?”
“Who says I was threatenin’ her? Did Horatia tell you that?”
“No, she didn’t. In fact, she dismissed you. Said that you weren’t anything to be concerned about,” Kendra goaded and watched his face turn purple. If he didn’t collapse from a stroke, Albion might actually say something interesting.
“Did she? Did she indeed? Well, let’s see if she would be happy to have her reputation in tatters. She acts like the grand lady of the manor, when she’s nothin’ more than a trollop.” He thrust a thick finger out at Kendra, jabbing the air in an angry beat. “Wait and see what those fine gentlemen from the British East India Company think about dealin’ with the likes of her!”
Kendra said nothing.
Albion sneered and went on, “What would her daughters think, eh? Hester so proper and ladylike. And the youngest marrying that lord’s son.” It was dark, but Kendra recognized the gleeful malice that lit the small eyes. “I know that Mr. Fletcher has been sniffin’ around, hoping to buy the brewery. He might be interested to hear what I have to say!”
For the first time, Kendra became alarmed. Whatever the situation between Mrs. Gavenston and Albion Miller, it had existed for a long time. She’d wanted her bad cop routine to push the man, but she didn’t want to push him over the edge into destroying Mrs. Gavenston.
“Okay.” She held up a hand. Albion Miller was, she reminded herself, a man who exploited weaknesses. She kept her voice cold and disinterested. “Sure, you can do that. Of course, you’ll lose your leverage with Mrs. Gavenston. How much money has she paid you over the years?”
“Are you all right, miss?”
Surprised, Kendra glanced at the man who’d emerged from the Yarborough construction site. He was little more than a shadow, but she recognized the Scottish mason worker. He was giving Albion a hard look.
“I’m fine, thanks,” she assured him, stifling her irritation at the interruption.
Albion maintained his pugnacious front but seemed to size up the Scotsman as his real threat and began to back away.
Damn it. “You never told me where you were Saturday and Sunday,” she called out as Albion turned and scurried away into the street.
He paused briefly, glancing back. Even with the distance and the dark, Kendra saw the taunt in his eyes. “Nay, I didn’t, did I?”
Kendra scowled after him.
“Do you want me ter walk you ter your door?” her would-be rescuer asked.
She sighed, some of her irritation sliding into amusement. Everyone wanted to walk her to the door. “I think I can make it on my own, but thanks.” She started down the path, aware that the mason worker’s eyes followed her all the way.
* * *
At dinner that evening Kendra couldn’t have felt more like an outsider than if she had taken her plate to dine in the stables. As she watched across the table gleaming with silver and lit candelabras, Lady Atwood threw her head back and laughed—laughed—while Carlotta recounted a story to Alec about meeting one of the countess’s acquaintances on their ride through the park that afternoon. Well-bred ladies did not laugh out loud. Goddamn it, that was one of the rules. Last night, the countess had expressed the same hardnosed suspicion about Carlotta that she’d always had for Kendra. Last night, they’d been on the same damn page.
Apparently, Lady Atwood and Carlotta had bonded over fabrics and fittings at the dressmaker and a spin through Hyde Park. Now they were laughing and chatting like old pals. Kendra had been here almost a year and had yet to achieve that kind of rapport with Lady Atwood.
Not that she actually
wanted to be pals with the woman. But it would be nice if the countess wouldn’t look at her like she’d found an insect swimming in her soup.
How did Carlotta do it? Kendra wondered. She was beautiful, of course. That didn’t hurt. It was called the halo effect. People were predisposed to like attractive people. But there was more to it than Carlotta being pleasing to the eye. She was, Kendra supposed, personable. Carlotta took delight in the latest fashions; she enjoyed gossiping about the foibles of the Beau Monde. The only interest Kendra had in fashion was to realize how much she missed the comfort and freedom that jeans had offered her in the 21st century. The only gossip that she’d cared about revolved around murder investigations.
And Kendra knew that she had never been personable. You couldn’t be a fourteen-year-old freshman in college without feeling awkward. The only points of interest that she’d shared with her fellow college students had been academia. She’d never had Carlotta’s skill at whipping up conversation out of thin air.
And it was a skill. As Kendra sipped her Beaujolais and sliced into the ham glazed with wild honey and cooked to succulent perfection by the Duke’s temperamental chef, Monsieur Anton, she had to admire how cleverly Carlotta played her audience. Was she the only one who noticed how the other woman complimented Lady Atwood’s taste on selecting her gowns at the modiste while demurring her own sense of style? How Carlotta enthused about the Duke’s interest in the natural philosophies with admiration shining in her dark eyes?
Kendra tried to use that to her advantage when she quizzed Carlotta about her own thoughts on natural philosophies. The daughter of people as brilliant as the Duke and his wife should have been naturally predisposed to having some kind of idea about science, right? That’s what her own parents had counted on when they’d decided to have a child. But the questions only gave Carlotta the opportunity to play the victim. With eyes downcast, she quietly apologized, explaining that she hadn’t been allowed to pursue such interests.
“Carlotta’s childhood played out in a war-torn country, not as a daughter of privilege,” the Duke reminded Kendra. “Her focus was on survival, not something as high-minded as scientific thought.”
It was a subtle rebuke that left Kendra feeling like a complete asshole. Worse, her clumsy attempt to show them that Carlotta was not an intellectual equal had made her look like an asshole, while putting Carlotta in an even more sympathetic light.
Damn, damn, and double damn.
Kendra fell silent after that, an outsider in this family unit. Like a sorceress in the dark arts, Carlotta continued to weave a spell of enchantment. Hell, even Alec smiled when Carlotta told of meeting a certain nobleman known for his penchant for powdered wigs and corsets during their ride around Hyde Park’s Ring.
Throughout the meal, she was aware of Carlotta glancing at her from the corner of her eye. She thought the other woman’s dark eyes held smug laughter, but she might have been projecting her own feelings of inadequacy. If this is war, I’m losing.
“Remember, tomorrow evening we will be attending the Merriweather ball,” Lady Atwood reminded everyone. “We shall be leaving at eight o’clock. And we have the masquerade ball at Vauxhall on Saturday. Carlotta and I shall be shopping for our costumes tomorrow.”
“In the afternoon, as I will be accompanying His Grace to the Royal Society in the morning,” Carlotta put in, smiling at the Duke.
Kendra stiffened. For someone who had never thought about science, Carlotta had apparently developed a fascination for natural philosophy.
“I thought Carlotta would find it interesting,” the Duke said. “Friedrich Bessel is scheduled to speak. He’s the director of the Königsberg Observatory. Brilliant young man.” He hesitated, his eyes brightening as he looked to Kendra. “Have you heard of him, my dear… in your America?”
Your America was the Duke’s code word for the future. She was always careful not to reveal too much. She’d grown up with Chaos Theory as a cautionary tale, where one tiny seed of information could twist the natural timeline in unexpected, possibly disastrous ways. Still…
“As you say, he was… is a brilliant man. I’m certain he’ll come up with many great contributions to science.” She allowed herself a small smile. This was an area that Carlotta couldn’t encroach upon, she thought, as she exchanged a look with the Duke.
Carlotta may be more personable than me; she may know how to engage her audience and hold court with polite conversation But I have the future to capture the Duke’s interest.
For the first time, though, she wondered if it would be enough.
* * *
Kendra had two half-siblings that she’d never met. She’d grown up as an only child, so she’d never been involved in the typical familial dynamics, including sibling rivalry. As she prowled the drawing room where everyone had gathered after dinner, she wondered if that was what she was feeling now. As ridiculous as it sounded, Kendra had to admit to herself that her dislike for Carlotta could have just as much to do with jealousy as it did suspicion.
Which made her feel stupid. She was too old to think this way, feel this way. It was so… illogical.
She sipped her cognac, her gaze traveling to the claw-footed table where Lady Atwood and Alec were engaged in a game of backgammon, then moving on to Carlotta and the Duke, who were sitting at the pianoforte. Carlotta played and sang—she had a beautiful voice, damn it—while the Duke turned the pages of the music book. They made a cozy picture. Kendra eyed the paintings on the wall of Arabella and Charlotte. She couldn’t deny the resemblance between the child and the woman. Or the mother and the woman.
Which is what Carlotta was counting on, she was sure. Because it was all an act. She was an imposter whose goal was… what? If it had been Carlotta at the study door, then she knew that they’d sent Bow Street Runners to Spain. It was a sizeable country and could take years to dig out her real identity. But eventually the truth would come out. Even if she convinced the Duke that she was his daughter and he publicly acknowledged her, he could just as easily disavow her when the truth came to light.
Of course, a hell of a lot could happen in the meantime. Carlotta could use her position as the Duke’s daughter to contract an advantageous marriage. Then there was jewelry. The Rutherford family jewels were entailed to the Duchess of Aldridge, she supposed, like the castle and estate were entailed to whoever held the title of Duke of Aldridge. But there was probably more easily pawned jewelry in the family vault. Or maybe new pieces that, with time, Carlotta could cajole the Duke to purchase for her. Kendra didn’t need to stretch her imagination too far to see how much damage the other woman could do before she was exposed.
Kendra sighed. It was pointless to speculate. She should be doing something more worthwhile. Like going to the study, where she could focus on the investigation into Jeremy Pascoe’s death.
She was trying to figure out a polite way to leave when Carlotta got up from the pianoforte. Retrieving her wineglass, she glided toward Kendra. Behind her, the Duke stood up as well. But instead of following Carlotta, he walked over to observe the backgammon game that his sister and Alec were playing.
“Will you be accompanying her ladyship and me to find our costumes for Saturday night’s ball?” Carlotta asked, her dark eyes on Kendra as she joined her near the window.
“No.”
Carlotta smiled faintly. “I am aware that you do not trust me, Miss Donovan.”
Kendra got the impression that she was waiting for her to deny it. When Kendra said nothing, she gave a small laugh.
“You do not make this easy for me,” Carlotta said. “I would not wish us to be enemies.”
“We’re not enemies.” Exactly.
Carlotta shot her a shrewd sideways glance. “You dislike me.”
“I don’t know you.” Kendra rocked back on her heels and surveyed the other woman through narrowed eyes. “I only know what you claim to be.”
“And you don’t believe me.” Regret crossed Carlotta’s beautiful face.
She looked over at the Duke. “I would never wish harm on His Grace,” she said softly. “He is a good man. A truly good man.”
Kendra heard the wonder in the other woman’s voice. She actually sounded sincere. “You seem surprised.”
Carlotta sipped her wine thoughtfully. “Not many men who are in the Duke’s position, who have his kind of power and wealth, are good men,” she said slowly. “So, you are correct, Miss Donovan. I have been surprised by his kindness and generosity.”
“I can see that you appreciate his generosity,” Kendra said, allowing her gaze to slide over the striking scarlet gown Carlotta was wearing. In truth, she probably would have assumed the evening gown was Carlotta’s, if Molly hadn’t told her—via Lady Atwood’s maid, Miss Beckett—that the dress had been purchased that afternoon for a considerable sum.
Carlotta’s lush lips thinned. “I did not ask for a new wardrobe.”
“No, you didn’t ask. But I doubt you resisted either. In fact, I think you’re a very good actress, Mrs. Garcia Desoto. Your timing is impeccable. You say just the right thing in just the right way at just the right time.”
Carlotta’s face paled. “You must really despise me.”
“I despise those who try to take advantage of good people. If you’re not who you say you are, I would advise you to run, Carlotta. Run before you do more damage. You say you don’t want to hurt the Duke. What do you think it will do to him when the truth comes out and he learns that you’re not his daughter, but some imposter using his dead daughter’s identity?”
“How can you be so certain I am not Charlotte?” She tilted her chin up in challenge.
Kendra made a point of looking into Carlotta’s eyes. “I’ll find out the truth, you know.”
“The truth.” Carlotta’s eyes went flat as she studied Kendra. “And what is the truth with you, Miss Donovan? You accuse me of taking advantage of His Grace’s generosity, but who are you to speak? I know all about you too.”
Kendra said nothing. They had been keeping their voices low so as not to be heard across the room, but Carlotta nearly hissed the last sentence.
Shadows in Time Page 22