Mr. Boothe’s reaction could only be described as shock laced with horror. “One does notspeakto the Queen, my lady. A protocol must be followed. One first must request an audience and—”
“Her Majesty is asking formyhelp in this matter,” Kendra reminded him.
Mr. Boothe waved his hand as if that detail was irrelevant. Probably because it was, Kendra mused. Queen Charlotte wasn’t issuing a request; this was an order.
“The Queen has no information to share,” he told her. “And even if she did, she cannot grant you an audience at this time. The King . . .” Mr. Boothe’s mouth compressed into a thin, pained line, and he shook his head. “She is currently traveling to Windsor Castle to visit His Majesty.”
His Majesty, King George III, who was currently incarcerated in the ancient fortress due to his madness. Kendra remembered that from the history books, although the King’s illness was hardly a secret in this time. Five years ago, he’d been forced to hand over power to his profligate son, Prince George, making him the Prince Regent and ushering in the period known, fittingly, as the Regency.
“I have a royal coach at my disposal,” Mr. Boothe informed them. “If we leave immediately, we ought to be in London by midafternoon.”
Kendra said, “I’ll be bringing my own team to help with the investigation.”
Mr. Boothe blinked at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’ve worked with Dr. Munroe and Mr. Kelly on previous investigations. Dr. Munroe operates an anatomy school in London. I’d like him to examine the body. Mr. Kelly is a Bow Street Runner.”
This was another thing that had changed, Kendra mused. In the twenty-first century, she’d been part of task forces and teams. But she’d always been a loner, the person who worked through holidays and happy hours. But here . . . here she was outside her jurisdiction.Wayoutside. She needed a team who could both help her navigate the labyrinth of rules and be openminded enough to accept her ideas and theories. Sam Kelly and Dr. Munroe had overcome whatever reservations they’d had about her, and treated her, for the most part, as an equal.
Ironically, she hadn’t been so openminded herself, viewing both men as inferior because she had more than two centuries of knowledge on them. A common, modern-day mistake. By her standards, the era’s technology was archaic and police procedure rudimentary at best, but she had soon realized that many of the people she met were still enormous assets.
“This is most unusual.” Mr. Boothe frowned. “Bow Street was already involved, and Dr. Thornton—”
“Has determined that there was no crime,” Kendra interjected.
“Lady Sutcliffe’s request isn’t as unusual as you asking a marchioness to investigate a possible crime, Mr. Boothe,” the Duke put in with a faint smile. “I can vouch for both men, sir. And their discretion—which, I presume, is really your concern. Fortuitously, they are here at Aldridge Castle.”
“I trust you to know what is best, Your Grace. I’ve left my card with your majordomo.” His gaze moved to Kendra. “You will keep me informed, my lady.” He gave a quick bow and swept out of the door.
The Duke exchanged looks with Kendra and Alec. “I shall have the carriage brought around immediately,” he said, and also left the room.
Once they were alone, Kendra said to Alec, “I’m sorry. I know this is the last thing you wanted.”
Alec huffed out a laugh. “I knew our life would be unconventional, madam-wife.” He reached over to clasp her hand, lifting it to touch the simple gold ring that now adorned her finger. He smiled into her eyes. “I have what I want—you.”
Kendra surprised him—and herself—by grabbing his coat lapels and yanking him in for a deep kiss. She gave a breathless laugh when she released him, smoothing out the creases she’d made on his coat. “I guess we both got what we wanted.” She grinned. “Now, we’d better get moving. Even I know that when a queen wants answers, it’s best not to keep her waiting.”
Chapter 4
A bride and groom leaving their own wedding breakfast early was simply not done. But the news that Lady Westford was dead sent shockwaves through half the wedding party. Kendra wasn’t surprised when Lady Atwood still managed to glare at her, muttering darkly that all her fears were coming true. Thankfully, the lady was slightly mollified when the Duke revealed that Queen Charlotte herself had requested that Kendra look into Lady Westford’s death.
She left them to speculate as she pulled Dr. Munroe, Sam, and Muldoon into the Gold Salon. Once there, Muldoon didn’t waste time, asking bluntly, “How was she murdered?”
The reporter was tall and lanky, with reddish-gold hair, a prominent chin and cerulean blue eyes that surveyed the world with a sly, irreverent sense of humor. He was also a tenacious journalist—a skill she’d found useful in past investigations.
“I didn’t say Lady Westford was murdered,” she replied.
He gave her a cheeky grin. “You didn’t say that she wasn’t either. It’syou, my lady. You’ve gained a bit of a reputation regarding your interest in unnatural deaths.”
Kendra could hardly argue the point. It was, after all, the reason the Queen asked her to investigate, and why Lady Atwood continued to look at her as if she’d just drunk a glass of spoiled milk.
She said, “I’ve been asked to review Lady Westford’s death, which was ruled an accident.”
Muldoon’s eyes sharpened. “Her Majesty disagrees, does she?”
“Let’s just say she wants a second opinion.”
“Who conducted the postmortem?” asked Munroe.
