Once upon a time a young couple met and fell in love. You probably know that story, and how it ended (hint: badly). Only here's the thing: That's not how it ended at all.

Romeo and Juliet are alive and well and the parents of seven kids. I'm the oldest, with the emphasis on ‘old'—a certified spinster at twenty, and happy to stay that way. It's not easy to keep your taste for romance with parents like mine. Picture it—constant monologues, passionate declarations, fighting, making up, making out . . . it's exhausting.

Each time they've presented me with a betrothal, I've set out to find the groom-to-be a more suitable bride. After all, someone sensible needs to stay home and manage this household. But their latest match, Duke Stephano, isn't so easy to palm off on anyone else. The debaucher has had three previous wives—all of whom met unfortunate ends. Conscience forbids me from consigning another woman to that fate. As it turns out, I don't have to . . .

At our betrothal ball—where, quite by accident, I meet a beautiful young man who makes me wonder if perhaps there is something to love at first sight—I stumble upon Duke Stephano with a dagger in his chest. But who killed him? His late wives' families, his relatives, his mistress, his servants—half of Verona had motive. And when everyone around the Duke begins dying, disappearing, or descending into madness, I know I must uncover the killer . . . before death lies on me like an untimely frost.

To the owner of the Distinguished Academy of Governesses

Dear Madame Owner, I am looking for an experienced companion for my sweet, elderly, slightly dotty aunt, and that companion must be:

1. Tall, blonde and twenty-seven years of age.

2. Desirous of living in an ancient castle in an isolated area of Lancashire.

3. Not nervous about any sinister rumors about me.

4. You.

Sincerely, the newly titled Marquess of Raeburn

From the owner of the Distinguished Academy of Governesses

My dear, mysterious Lord Raeburn, Coincidentally, I fulfill all your requisites. However, as condition to accepting this position, I insist on the following:

1. That no interest be shown in my past.

2. That I have the free time to explore Lancashire for reasons that I will not divulge.

3. That you not bother to deny your culpability in the disappearance of your wife.

4. That we will not indulge in familiarity that will surely lead to another disastrous, passionate interlude between us.

Sincerely, Hannah Setterington

Read an Excerpt:

Mrs. Trenchard curtsied and announced, Miss Hannah Setterington, my lord.

For one moment he stood stiffly, a lonely figure waiting for　something. Then in a low, deep voice he commanded, Leave us.

Hannahs breath caught.

That voice. That tone.

Her heart gave a thud. Then another. Then another, marking each second, each excitement, each fear.

From the back he looked like　and the reflection in the glass seemed to be familiar.

But she knew how wrong she could be. When he dwelt in her thoughts, all men looked like him.

And yet　and yet

Vaguely, she heard the door shut. Slowly, he turned to face her.

And the foreboding which had haunted her for nine years became reality.

She had heard rumors this man had killed his wife. She knew he had not. Because she was his wife.