They agreed, which meant it took two hours instead of one.
They finally made it into a large Uber and traveled uptown to West Seventy-third.
They arrived at a four-story building built in what appeared to Kes in the early twentieth century. The inside was decorated in art-nouveau style.
They were met in the lobby by a ruggedly handsome guy who had Kim and Lilith nodding before he asked anything. He brought them to the beautiful elevator built outside the walls in a cage-like design. Its steel gates were intricately woven in soft, curved lines.
When they reached the third floor, the handsome escort asked that her friends wait outside a set of thick, polished wooded doors. Jack, of course, insisted on going in with her, but hunky guy promised he could go inside in a moment or two.
“She is going to be asked a few personal questions. She might not answer truthfully if you are there. What has been left for her is very valuable. We need to guarantee that we are giving it to the correct person. You understand. Have a seat. There is no cell service in the building. If you would like to make a call, please leave the building.”
Kes thought this guy wouldn’t be out chopping down trees, but surprisingly in a courthouse somewhere deciding someone’s fate.
He leaned forward and opened the door then stepped inside after her.
The office was nice. Too nice for Kes in her slim jeans, graphic T and Adidas sneakers.
She wore barely any make-up and her dark, chestnut hair was loose and wind tossed past her shoulders. She patted it. She couldn’t believe she didn’t bring a scrunchie.
He led her to a large Victorian-styled chair behind a beautiful wood inlaid desk, its surface as smooth as a lake on a windless day. There was nothing on it. Not a calendar, not a pen, paper, dust. Nothing. The walls were papered with a beautiful burgundy design with gold accents. The lighting was soft, golden. Like candlelight.
She sat and looked at Mr. Rugged. Why hadn’t he introduced himself? “I didn’t get your name.”
He looked down at her and his smile softened. “You have extraordinary eyes.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “You were about to tell me your name.”
“My friends call me Luke.”
She arched a dark brow keeping her smile intact. “Are we friends now?”
“Ah, Ms. Lancaster,” another man greeted as he entered through a side door. “I’m Mr. Green. We spoke on the phone. Let us get down to business, shall we?” He pulled out a chair and sat on the other side of the desk.
He was older than Luke by ten, maybe fifteen years. Big and broad-shouldered in his tailored suit. His hair was cut somewhat short and though he was well groomed, there was something tousled and wild about him.
Right now though, he was all business.
“Yes, let’s,” she said and offered him a fresh smile.
He didn’t smile back but lifted a briefcase onto the table. Had he come in with the briefcase? He opened it and took out a small stack of papers and a small wood box expertly carved with deer and a stag in a forest. That was all she could see of it. She wondered if it was old.
No. Rest. No history today.
“You are…” He buried his nose into one of the papers. “A historian.”
“That’s right. Umm, Mr. Green, why do you know what I do for a living?”
“It is my duty to make certain you are the correct Kestrel Lancaster. Now,” he said as he shuffled more papers. “Is your father Charles A. Lancaster?”
She nodded.
“Grandfather Edward L. Lancaster? Great-grandfather Nelson—
Kes held up her hand. “Yes. Yes. Nelson P. Lancaster. I’ve looked them up.”
“Ah, well, then, given your passion for research and history, perhaps you are familiar with your Aunt Eleanor Pendridge, the Duchess of Glastonbury.”
What did he say? Kes sat forward in her chair. Duchess? Of Glastonbury? There was a duchess in her family, and she didn’t know? “No. I…I don’t know of her.” She narrowed her eyes suddenly. “Is this a joke by someone at the Historical Society?”