“That’s true. But gossip travels—even to the countryside.” Lady Blackburn’s lips quirked. “And I’ve attended a few of the same salons as Lady Westford.”
“I’m curious, my lady, are you a patroness for St. George’s Hospital?”
“Not a patroness, no. But I am involved in helping hospitals that serve the community—St. George’s is one. Unfortunately, the hospital is in a sad state these days. I’m of the mind that it can be repaired, but Lady Westford believed we should be raising funds to tear it down and build anew.” She hesitated. “I believe St. George’s was where Lady Westford met Mr. Goldsten.”
“What do you know of Mr. Goldsten?”
“I’m acquainted with most of the medical staff at St. George’s. Mr. Goldsten always struck me as someone dedicated to the art of healing. A very serious-minded individual. Ambitious.”
Kendra picked up on the last word. “Ambitious?”
“He not only works at St. George’s, but he opened his own surgery in Blackfriars.” She tilted her head, leveling a shrewd look at Kendra. “Surely you can’t think he had anything to do with what happened to Lady Westford?”
“I don’t think anything at this point.” Nothing that she felt comfortable sharing, anyway. Kendra caught the Duke’s eye. “Would you walk with me, Your Grace?”
He smiled, offering her his elbow. “It would be my pleasure, my dear.”
Alec stretched a hand to Rebecca. “Becca, would you care to dance?”
Lord and Lady Blackburn followed Alec and their daughter to the dance floor, although Kendra was aware of the thoughtful glance Lady Blackburn tossed at her over her shoulder.
“I assume you want to quiz me about my day,” the Duke said as they began their stroll along the perimeter. Casually, he took Kendra’s empty champagne flute, exchanged it for two full ones, then maneuvered her into an alcove so they wouldn’t have to fight their fellow attendees milling around them.
“Did you learn anything interesting?
“A lot of gossip, mostly benign. There was one tidbit, though.” He took a swallow of champagne. “Apparently Lord Westford was enraged when he learned about his wife’s latest paramour.”
“I thought their open marriage was acceptable to both of them.”
“It was . . . until Lady Westford became involved with Mr. Goldsten.”
“Ah.” She wasn’t surprised by the antisemitism in this age. God knew, she’d seen enough of it in her own timeline. Would it ever end?
“He was in his cups and complaining that she was making a mockery of their bloodline by taking up with a Jew.” The Duke paused to draw in a deep breath, his gaze meeting hers. “He was furious. He said that he could kill her.”
“Those were his exact words—he could kill her?”
“Yes. It’s not particularly pleasant, but itisa figure of speech.”
“And yet his wife is dead,” Kendra murmured, her gaze straying to the dance floor. She could see Rebecca beaming at Alec as she drew herself up into a graceful plié before swaying sideways to the music.
“The incident happened several months ago, when the affair came to light,” the Duke went on. “He was foxed and spoke in anger. If he was serious, surely he wouldn’t have waited so long to do something about it.”
Kendra shrugged. “We know that he didn’t commit the actual murder. Maybe it took him that long to find someone to do it.”
“My acquaintance with Lord Westford is limited, but I still cannot believe it of him.”
Kendra scanned the ballroom again. “Is he here tonight?” Every rich person in London seemed to be crammed into the mansion.
“Lord Westford? No, he’s in mourning.”
“Yeah, well, he’s not grieving at home. Alec said he couldn’t locate him today. He took his family—hisotherfamily—to the country.”
The Duke frowned, but said nothing.
She flicked him a look. “By the way, I’ve sent messages for a briefing tomorrow morning. I’ve come up with another theory that I want to run by everyone. It’ll expand our suspect list.”
“Interesting. I shall be there.”
