Books by Dianne Freeman
A LADY’S GUIDE TO ETIQUETTE AND MURDER
A LADY’S GUIDE TO GOSSIP AND MURDER
A LADY’S GUIDE TO MISCHIEF AND MURDER
Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation
A Lady’s Guide to Mischief and Murder
Dianne Freeman
KENSINGTON BOOKS
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by Title Page Copyright Page Dedication Acknowledgments Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23
KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2020 by Dianne Freeman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2020931319
Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-4967-1693-4
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: August 2020
ISBN-13: 978-1-4967-1695-8 (ebook)
ISBN-10: 1-4967-1695-7 (ebook)
For my mom and dad, Lottie and Hank Halicki. Love and miss you!
Acknowledgments
Heartfelt thanks to the following people for helping to make this book a reality: To my writer friends; Mary Keliikoa, Heather Redmond, Bea Conti, and Clarissa Harwood, who, as beta readers and CPs, assist in untangling twisted plot threads, keep me from making historical errors, and push me to write better.
Many thanks to Christine Hounshell and Mark Fleszar for their technical support in medicine and sports. To J.W.—you know what you did. And to Bud Elonzae, you old romantic you!
There would be no book without my agent, Melissa Edwards, my editor, John Scognamiglio, and the team at Kensington Books, especially Larissa Ackerman, Robin Cook, and Pearl Saban. You are all amazing.
I owe a special debt of gratitude to the librarians and booksellers who have championed the Countess of Harleigh series, and to the readers who have enjoyed it.
Lastly, thanks to my husband, Dan, who lets me read full manuscripts out loud to him, provides endless love and support, and tells everyone he meets about my books!
Chapter 1
October 1899
Why does it always happen that just when I begin to feel life simply couldn’t get any better, fate drops a disaster into my path to prove me right?
While I have no idea how common this phenomenon may be among people in general, it happens to me with rather exasperating frequency. For example, a little over ten years ago, when I was merely Miss Frances Price, I married the man of my mother’s dreams and became Frances, Countess of Harleigh. A joyous occasion. I’d done my family proud. My husband was dashing and handsome. I learned too late he was also feckless and philandering. After making me miserable for nine years, he had the audacity to die in the bed of his lover. Once I’d emerged from mourning, I found myself similarly buoyant and optimistic. That period also ended in death, or more precisely, murder.
This cycle of highs and lows weighed on my mind because my life, at the moment, was purely idyllic and I couldn’t help but wonder if disaster loomed right around the corner. Regardless, I carried on as usual, taking breakfast in the nursery with my eight-year-old daughter, Rose, while we made plans for an upcoming visit to the country. When the time came for her lessons, I slipped downstairs to my library, where Mrs. Thompson, my housekeeper, had left a pot of coffee next to the morning mail on my desk, and waxwings trilled outside the window looking out over the garden. While enjoying my first sip, I learned that was the moment fate would drop the other shoe.
Aunt Hetty and my sister, Lily, slipped into the room, both looking far too distressed for such a fine morning. Lily was soon to be married, and she’d been floating through the past two months as the happiest of brides-to-be. But with her blue eyes red-rimmed and watery, her complexion blotchy, and her golden hair spilling from its coiffure, she looked rather like a ghoulish version of her usual, sunny self.
The first twinges of apprehension tickled the back of my neck like icy fingers. “Dearest, is something amiss?”
She
