Series: Thorndike and Swann Regency Mysteries

Genre: Historical Mystery, Historical Romance, Inspirational Fiction

Publisher: ‎Kregel Publications (September 20, 2022)

A Bow Street Runner and a debutante in London Society use their skills to find the killer of a wealthy businessman, but the killer’s secrets aren’t the only ones they will uncover.

Caught in the explosion of the Hammersmith Mill in London, Bow Street runner Daniel Swann rushes to help any survivors only to find the mill's owner dead of an apparent gunshot--but no sign of the killer.

Even though the owner's daughter, Agatha Montgomery, mourns his death, she may be the only one. It seems there are more than a few people with motive for murder. But Daniel can't take this investigation slow and steady. Instead, he must dig through all the suspects as quickly as he can because the clock is ticking until his mysterious patronage--and his job as a runner--comes to an abrupt and painful end. It seems to Daniel that, like his earthly father, his heavenly Father has abandoned him.Lady Juliette Thorndike is Agatha's bosom friend and has the inside knowledge of the wealthy London ton to be invaluable to Daniel. She should be in a perfect position to help with the case. But when her trusted instructor in the art of spy craft orders her to stay out of the investigation, Lady Juliette obeys. That is, until circumstances intervene, and she drops right into the middle of the deadly pursuit.

When a dreadful accident ends in another death on the mill floor, Daniel discovers a connection to his murder case--and to his own secret past. Now he and Juliette are in a race to find the killer before his time runs out.

Excerpt

Thorndike House

London March 1, 1816

The problem with concealing a weapon beneath a day dress at a social gathering became all too apparent to Lady Juliette Thorndike the moment she sat beside the Dowager Duchess of Haverly. Juliette had only worn the pistol because, following her abduction last month, Uncle Bertie had insisted she never again go anywhere unarmed. Though she couldn’t think of a single reason she would need a weapon at a small party hosted in her parents’ home, she had decided to humor him. And now here she was, less than a half hour into that party, and the strap holding the pistol against her thigh had shifted and loosened, the gun parting company with her leg.

At least she hadn’t been standing when the defection occurred, but now what?

A flutter of panic arrested her breathing. She imagined herself rising, the gun clattering to the floor, and the entire guest list for the Venetian breakfast gasping in horror. The dowager would first stare and then glare, and Uncle Bertie would roll his eyes and issue a statement forthwith that she was an embarrassment and completely untrainable. As her primary instructor in the art of spy craft—as well as the possessor of a dry, sharp wit—he would not let such a faux pas pass without censure.

Not to mention what her parents might say. The Earl and Countess of Thorndike had tailored the guest list especially to bring certain people into countenance with one another, to gauge reactions and elicit information without the subjects being aware they were under study by several agents of the Crown. If Juliette caused a ruction, today’s mission would be disrupted.

Juliette gripped her fingers in her lap. She couldn’t exactly hike her skirts and apprehend the fugitive weapon. How was she to rectify the situation?

“It’s a lovely party. Though with your mother as hostess, I would expect no less.” The dowager sipped her tea. “Do you think Duke Heinrich von Lowe will remain in England for the rest of the Season? It has been pleasant having him at these social functions. He lends such a continental flair to the gatherings.”

Juliette nodded, barely taking in the dowager’s words while inching her hand alongside her leg, hoping to pin the pistol with her palm. At least the firearm was encased in a holster. Her only prayer was that she wouldn’t accidentally fire the gun, piercing either herself or the velvet upholstery of her mother’s settee. But the satin of her dress worked against her, sliding and slipping, failing to give purchase.

Twenty-five guests filled the drawing room of her parents’ London townhouse, nibbling hors d’oeuvres and chatting. Midday sun slanted through the tall windows, and on one of the sofas, Juliette’s mother held court with the guest of honor, Duke Heinrich von Lowe of Brandenburg. Her mother was exquisite, her black hair coiffed in the latest style and her dress as fashionable as tomorrow. Crystals glittered along the neckline of her blue gown, catching the light and winking. She leaned in to hear something the duke said and then she laughed, causing

heads to turn.

The duke’s military dress, complete with sash and medals, made him noticeable in the group, as did his carefully parted blond hair. Juliette had met him only last month at her debut ball, but they had attended several functions together, and she had found him courteous and interesting. He was a favorite of hostesses throughout the ton and had accepted many invitations.

His gaze met hers, and he inclined his head. He’d paid considerable attention to her recently, and the look in his eyes now was intent and ardent. Her throat closed a fraction, and she looked away. His interest flattered but she didn’t take it seriously. They barely knew each other, and rumor had it he would return to Germany soon. And hadn’t she promised herself that during this, her first Season out in London society, she would not succumb to the attentions of any man? She wished only to reacquaint herself with her parents and find her way in her post-boarding-school life.

Not to mention assimilating everything she’d learned about her family and her history over the last few weeks and embarking on this new journey as a fledgling agent for the Crown.

Praying her face did not give away her discomfiture—both at the duke’s interest and at the fact she still had not secured the infernal pistol—she walked her fingers along her leg. To her horror, she brushed the butt of the gun, inching it toward the edge of the settee. She stiffened, yanking her hand back for fear of sending it over.

But might that be the best course of action? The settee rested atop a thick Axminster carpet. If she could ease the gun over the edge, per- haps she could cough to cover the thump it would make and then kick it under the sofa to retrieve later.

The dowager prattled on, oblivious to Juliette’s plight. “I am ready for this chilly weather to break. I’m anticipating a trip to the sea- shore to visit my daughter, the Countess of Rothwell, this spring, and I hate to travel in the cold. It’s bad enough coming down from Oxfordshire for the Season in the dead of winter, but to have the frost linger this far into the spring is unbearable.”

Chapter 1, pages 9 - 11

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About the Author

Erica Vetsch is a New York Times best-selling author and ACFW Carol Award winner and has been a Romantic Times top pick for her previous books. She loves Jesus, history, romance, and watching sports. This transplanted Kansan now makes her home in Rochester, Minnesota.