Zusatztext Praise for A Dangerous Collaboration Deliciously gothic.A brooding castle! rain-lashed windows! hidden passages! and a séance all contribute to a delightfully creepy tale with twists that would make Daphne du Maurier proud." Publishers Weekly Lively and adventurousPositively excellent! oras Veronica would say'Excelsior!' Booklist (Starred Review) Praise for the Veronica Speedwell Mysteries A ruthlessly intelligent heroine.NPR I love this series! Veronica Speedwell is utterly unique.Amanda Quick! New York Times bestselling author of The Other Lady Vanishes Veronica Speedwell is sure to join the greats of mystery fiction.Alan Bradley! New York Times bestselling author of the Flavia de Luce series A treat. One of the few writers who can make history feel immediate and exciting without losing a grasp of the period.Rhys Bowen! New York Times bestselling author of the Royal Spyness series Veronica Speedwell...triumphs over adversity and danger with wit! charm! and uncanny determination.Robyn Carr! #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Virgin River series A fine combination of detective story and character study...sure to interest mystery lovers and Anglophiles alike. The Historical Novels Review A smart! plucky! way-ahead-of-her time heroine. Fort Worth Star-Telegram Veronica Speedwell might just be one of the most endearing heroines in mysteries! period....She's smart! dashing! and entirely capable....Her sense of humor and chemistry with Stoker! her counterpart! just make this series even better.Bustle Wickedly clever and devilishly amusing...Veronica Speedwell is a joy.Susan Elia MacNeal! New York Times bestselling author of the Maggie Hope series Informationen zum Autor Deanna Raybourn Klappentext A bride mysteriously disappears on her wedding day in the newest Veronica Speedwell adventure by the New York Times bestselling author of the Lady Julia Grey series. Lured by the promise of a rare and elusive butterfly, the intrepid Veronica Speedwell is persuaded by Lord Templeton-Vane, the brother of her colleague Stoker, to pose as his fiancée at a house party on a Cornish isle owned by his oldest friend, Malcolm Romilly. But Veronica soon learns that one question hangs over the party: What happened to Rosamund? Three years ago, Malcolm Romilly's bride vanished on their wedding day, and no trace of her has ever been found. Now those who were closest to her have gathered, each a possible suspect in her disappearance. From the poison garden kept by Malcolm's sister to the high towers of the family castle, the island's atmosphere is full of shadows, and danger lurks around every corner. Determined to discover Rosamund's fate, Veronica and Stoker match wits with a murderer who has already struck once and will not hesitate to kill again.This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof Copyright © 2018 Deanna Raybourn Chapter One London, March 1888 What the devil do you mean you're leaving? Stoker demanded. He surveyed the half-packed carpetbag on my bed as I folded in a spare shirtwaist and Magalhães's Guide to Portuguese Lepidoptery. It was a weightier volume than one might expect, featuring an appendix devoted to the butterflies of Madeira and certain flamboyant moths found only in the Azores. Precisely what I said. I am packing. When I have packed, I will leave this place and board a train for the coast. There I will leave the train and get onto a boat and when it stops at Madeira, I will have arrived. My tone was frankly waspish. I had dreaded telling Stoker of my plans, expecting some sort of mild explosion at the notion that I had at last secured an expedition, ...

Autorentext

Deanna Raybourn

Klappentext

A bride mysteriously disappears on her wedding day in the newest Veronica Speedwell adventure by the New York Times bestselling author of the Lady Julia Grey series.

Lured by the promise of a rare and elusive butterfly, the intrepid Veronica Speedwell is persuaded by Lord Templeton-Vane, the brother of her colleague Stoker, to pose as his fiancée at a house party on a Cornish isle owned by his oldest friend, Malcolm Romilly.

But Veronica soon learns that one question hangs over the party: What happened to Rosamund? Three years ago, Malcolm Romilly's bride vanished on their wedding day, and no trace of her has ever been found. Now those who were closest to her have gathered, each a possible suspect in her disappearance.

From the poison garden kept by Malcolm's sister to the high towers of the family castle, the island's atmosphere is full of shadows, and danger lurks around every corner.

Determined to discover Rosamund's fate, Veronica and Stoker match wits with a murderer who has already struck once and will not hesitate to kill again.…

Leseprobe
This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof

Copyright © 2018 Deanna Raybourn

 

Chapter One

London, March 1888

“What the devil do you mean you’re leaving?” Stoker demanded. He surveyed the half-packed carpetbag on my bed as I folded in a spare shirtwaist and Magalhães’s Guide to Portuguese Lepidoptery. It was a weightier volume than one might expect, featuring an appendix devoted to the butterflies of Madeira and certain flamboyant moths found only in the Azores.

“Precisely what I said. I am packing. When I have packed, I will leave this place and board a train for the coast. There I will leave the train and get onto a boat and when it stops at Madeira, I will have arrived.” My tone was frankly waspish. I had dreaded telling Stoker of my plans, expecting some sort of mild explosion at the notion that I had at last secured an expedition, however minor, to which he was not invited. Instead, he had adopted an attitude of Arctic hauteur. I blamed his aristocratic upbringing for that. And his nose. It is very easy to look down on someone with a nose that would have done a Roman emperor justice. But I could not entirely blame him. As natural historians, we had balked at our enforced stay in London, each of us longing for the open seas, skies that stretched to forever, horizons that beckoned us with spice-scented winds. Instead, we had found ourselves employed by the Earl of Rosemorran to catalog his family’s extensive collections—interesting and modestly profitable work that stunted the soul if endured for too long. One could count only so many stuffed marmosets before the spirit rebelled. The notion that I was to escape our genial confinement whilst he labored on would have tested the noblest character, and Stoker, like me, bore a healthy streak of self-interest.

“At Madeira?” he asked.

“At Madeira,” I replied firmly.

He folded his arms over the breadth of his chest. “And might one inquire as to the expected duration of this expedition?”

“One might, but one would be disappointed with the reply. I have not yet formulated my plans, but I expect to be away for some months. Perhaps until the autumn.”

“Until the autumn,” he said, drawing out the words slowly.

“Yes. Look for me in the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,” I instructed with a feeble attempt at a smile. But even a nod to his beloved Keats did not soften his austere expression.

“And you mean to go alone.”

“Not at all,” I told him, as I tucked a large pot of cold cream of roses into my bag. “Lady Cordelia and I shall travel together.”

He gave a snort of laughter that was distinctly lacking in amusement. “Lady Cordelia. You know her only experience with shipboard life is the Channel steamer, do you not? Her notion of rough travel is not taking the second footman. And I do not even like to think of what Sidonie will have to say on the matter.”

I winced at the mention of Lady Cordelia’s snippy French lady’s maid. “She will…