Chapter 1

Sir James Branstoke slowly laid the letter he’d just received onto his desk. He unconsciously pinched his lower lip with his thumb and forefinger as he considered the letter’s contents. It was from Mrs. Lilias Montgomery. He remembered her from when he and his wife, Cecilia, were searching for young Christopher Sedgewick. She’d provided key information that led them to rescue the kidnapped child, the Earl of Soothcoor’s nephew.

The short, obviously dashed-off letter, heavy with evidence of tear-blurred words, stated the Earl of Soothcoor sat in a gaol in Lincolnshire, charged with murder.

Murder? Soothcoor?

His brow furrowed. Soothcoor was being held over for the next county assizes. In the meantime, Soothcoor had directed her to contact them for help. Wise man.

She begged for James and Cecilia to prove Soothcoor’s innocence before he must appear before a judge. She felt too shattered to explain the circumstances in a letter. When they came to London, she would explain everything.

He didn’t like the idea of hieing off to London right now; however, Soothcoor was a good friend—and more than that—a good man. Of course, he would assist. That went without saying. But his concern was for his wife.

She’d succumbed to the influenza that had swept through their village last month with brute force. She’d been so sick for a time that the doctor warned she might lose their unborn child. By some miracle, she had not, though the illness lasted days, then weeks. It—along with its lingering cough—drained her strength and vitality away.

He frowned as he considered Cecilia’s condition. She needed to regain her strength—for herself and for their child. Her cough lingered, depleting her energy. Worse, he thought, it sapped her of strength. That was not the Cecilia he loved, admired, and respected. She remained caught in the aftermath of her long illness. Could this news rouse her from the illness’s lethargy?

Either way, she needed to know, and the sooner, the better.

He picked up the letter, rose from his seat, and left the library to find Cecilia.

“Daniel!” he called to the footman on duty in the hall as he came clattering swiftly down the marble stairs to the ground floor. “Might you know where to find Lady Branstoke?” he asked as he strode toward the footman stationed by the front door.

The footman sharply straightened. “Yes, sir, she is with Cook, taking baking lessons.”

“Baking Lessons?” James repeated.

“Yes, sir,” said the footman. “Do you wish me to advise her you wish to see her?”

“No, I’ll go to the kitchen.” His heart lifted at the news of his wife’s activity. “I want to see what she is learning. This should be interesting.”

He turned toward the back of the house and went through a door under the staircase that led to a ground-floor servants’ wing of domestic-activity rooms. That Cecilia was doing something gave him hope for her continued recovery. Perhaps this letter—dire though it might be—would be the nostrum for her return to health and energy. He missed his wife’s mischievous smiles, her tinkling laughter, and the way her dark blue eyes could shine when she was happy. Tiny in stature though she might be, she could be a determined woman when she had the bit between her teeth and off to solve a problem or take someone to task. Including him! He missed those moments—though they might sometimes rankle.

He stopped at the entrance to the warm kitchen; the fragrance of baking filled the room—yeast, cinnamon, vanilla, and almond smells made his mouth water. Cecilia, wearing an apron meant for a larger woman, stood before a long worktable, slowly rolling out dough—or attempting to, judging by the irregular shape of the dough. Some of her fine, white-blonde hair had escaped its pins and framed her face in tangled wisps. Flour streaked her cheek and nose.

He let out a snort of laughter as she tried to push wayward hair strands away from her eyes, only to succeed in increasing the amount of flour on her face. How he loved this woman, he thought as he stared at her.

Her head flew up at his laugh. “James!” she cried out. She ran toward him to hug him, but he caught her arms and held her away.

“You have enough flour on your person for a cake, but no need to share,” he told her.

She looked down at herself. “Oh! I guess I do. I hadn’t realized,” she said, stepping back.

“Lady Branstoke be an enthusiastic baker,” Cook said, coming up to them. She handed Cecilia a towel.

Cecilia wiped what flour she could from herself.

“Don’t forget your face,” James suggested.

“My face?!” Cecilia exclaimed, her beautiful blue eyes wide.

“Let me ‘elp ye,” Cook said, taking the towel to gently wipe the flour off Cecilia’s face. “Now to get you out of that apron so Sir James might speak with ye,” she said, pulling the apron strings and helping Cecilia to lift it off from around herself and over her head.

“But my shortbread biscuits!” Cecilia protested. “I wanted to have those with tea today.”

“Hannah can finish ’em for ye,” Cook advised, and on her words, a young scullery maid ran over to the table where Cecilia had been rolling dough and took up the task.

Cecilia looked over at the maid. “Oh, all right,” she said doubtfully, her shoulders slumping. She held her hand against her face as she coughed slightly.

James took her arm. “Come with me. We have a letter from Mrs. Montgomery.”

“The woman who helped us find Soothcoor’s nephew when he’d been kidnapped?” Cecilia asked, looking back at the kitchen worktable one last time.

“She asks for our help,” James explained as he led her back to the main part of the house.

“Help?” Cecilia repeated, looking up at him.

He saw interest flicker in her eyes and part of him relaxed. “Let’s go to the morning room and I’ll let you read it for yourself.”

“It’s serious?” Cecilia asked between coughs. She pulled a handkerchief out from where she’d tucked it in her sleeve. Grains of flour came with it.

James nodded. “Very.”

He led her to the sofa before the fireplace and handed her the letter. He sat down next to her as she read the note from Mrs. Montgomery.

“What!…”Her left hand flew to her chest. “Impossible!…No! No! No!” she cried out as she read the letter. She looked up at James, shaking the letter she held in her other hand. “James, we must be off to London immediately!” She bounded off the couch. “I’ll get Sarah to start packing!” Her enthusiasm set off a stronger coughing fit. She held her handkerchief to her face.

James grabbed her wrist before she could go running off. He repressed a smile at her enthusiasm yet worried for the continued strength of her cough. “Wait. We should discuss this first. And plan.”

“But Soothcoor!” Cecilia protested, trying to pull away.

“Yes,” James conceded. “He needs our help, but he is not in any immediate danger. Sit, please,” he said, encouraging her to resume her seat next to him.

She did as he asked, wringing the handkerchief between her hands.

Inwardly, James felt excitement at Cecilia’s reaction to this turn of events. This could be the event she needed to shake her out of the illness fatigue that plagued her, along with the lingering cough—so long as they could successfully rescue Soothcoor from this murder charge. He wondered who had been murdered, why, and why would Soothcoor be a suspect? Of all people to be a murder suspect, Soothcoor would be the last person he would consider.

“I can wish Mrs. Montgomery had provided more details in her letter, but by the tear stains, it appears she was highly distraught,” he said.

“I believe she is the lost love we all surmised caused Soothcoor’s confirmed bachelor status,” Cecilia said.

“Truly?” James asked. “What led you to that belief?”

“Their careful formality with each other after we rescued Krishan,” she explained, using the child’s Indian nickname. She raised her handkerchief to her face and gently blew her nose.

“Hmm…I hadn’t noted it at the time. Thinking back, you might be correct, my dear. She does state that Soothcoor is in a gaol in Lincolnshire. That is likely near where the murder occurred. In that case, we need to plan for an extended journey.”

“The new fast, light carriage for us and the traveling carriage for Sarah, William, and the luggage?”

James nodded. “We’ll send them—and a couple of outriders ahead to secure spare horses, meals, and lodgings—to an inn near the gaol, while we stop in London to meet with Mrs. Montgomery.”

“You don’t believe we shall need to begin our investigation in London and be there a few days?” she asked.

James shook his head. “No, not if the murder occurred elsewhere. We may need to return to London for another part of the investigation, but certainly not for the murder itself. We’ll take Romley as our coachman and John Coachman for the traveling carriage.”

Cecilia nodded. “Yes, Mr. Romley has proved himself a useful man in our other investigations. I’ll get the household organized. Will you write to Mrs. Montgomery and inform her we will be to see her tomorrow morning?”

“Yes…And Cecilia, how are you doing?”

She cleared her throat and smiled faintly. “I believe an investigation will be more beneficial as an activity to speed my recovery than learning to bake proved to be.”

He leaned forward to kiss her. “That’s my dear delight,” he said. He rose and helped her to her feet. “Let the adventure begin,” he finished.

Cecilia smiled. A true smile, the first James had seen in weeks. He smiled back, a weight lifting from his chest.