Four Funerals and Maybe a Wedding

In the days leading up to her wedding to Darcy O’Mara, Lady Georgiana Rannoch takes on the responsibilities of a grand estate, but proving she can run a household just may be the death of her... If only Darcy and I had eloped! What I thought would be a simple wedding has been transformed into a grand affair, thanks to the attendance of the queen, who has offered up the princesses as bridesmaids. Silly me! I thought that withdrawing from the royal line of succession would simplify my life. But before Darcy and I tie the knot in front of queen and country, we have to find a place to live as man and wife. House hunting turns out to be a pretty grim affair. Just as we start to lose hope, my globe-trotting godfather offers us his fully staffed country estate. Mistress of Eynsleigh I shall be! With Darcy off in parts unknown, I head to Eynsleigh alone, only to have my hopes dashed. The grounds are in disarray, and the small staff is suspiciously incompetent. Not to mention the gas tap leak in my bedroom, which I can only imagine was an attempt on my life. Something rotten is afoot--and bringing the place up to snuff may put me six feet under before I even get a chance to walk down the aisle...

**Praise for Four Funerals and Maybe a Wedding

**"Lady Georgiana Rannoch is firmly cemented as one of the great fictional sleuths of our time. This is historical mystery at its finest!"—New York Times bestselling author Chanel Cleeton
**
**“Four Funerals and Maybe a Wedding, is certain to please new readers and long-time fans of the series alike. The road to matrimony may not run smoothly for Georgie and her darling Darcy, but readers are most definitely in for a rip-roaring good time.”—National bestselling author Anna Lee Huber
 
"Rhys Bowen leads us on a perilous journey fraught with twists and turns against the backdrop of the Sussex coastline. Full of fascinating characters in a compelling setting, she keeps you spellbound to the very end."—New York Times bestselling author Charles Todd 

“Those who cannot get enough of royal weddings will be charmed, as will Anglophiles, and anyone who loves a solid mystery.”—Library Journal (starred review)
 
“Another stiff-upper-lip novel full of charm, romance, and a smidgen of mystery that's altogether delightful.”—Kirkus Reviews**

Praise for the Royal Spyness Mysteries**
 
“Wonderful characters...A delight.”—#1 New York Times bestselling author Charlaine Harris
 
“An insightful blend of old-fashioned whodunnit, clever satire and drawing room comedy of errors.”—New York Times bestselling author Jacqueline Winspear
 
“Brilliant...This is so much more than a murder mystery. It’s part love story, part social commentary, part fun and part downright terrifying. And completely riveting.”—#1 New York Times bestselling author Louise Penny
 
“The perfect fix between seasons for Downton Abbey addicts.”—New York Times bestselling author Deborah Crombie
 
“Fans of P.G. Wodehouse looking for laughs mingled with some amateur sleuthing will be quite pleased.”—Publishers Weekly (starred review)
 
“Georgie’s high spirits and the author’s frothy prose are utterly captivating.”—The Denver Post
 
“A smashing romp.”—Booklist (starred review)

Autorentext

Rhys Bowen, a New York Times bestselling author, has been nominated for every major award in mystery writing, including the Edgar®, and has won many, including both the Agatha and Anthony awards. She is also the author of the Molly Murphy Mysteries, set in turn-of-the-century New York, and the Constable Evans Mysteries, set in Wales as well as two internationally bestselling stand alone novels. She was born in England and now divides her time between Northern California and Arizona.

Leseprobe
This excerpt is from an advance uncorrected copy proof

Copyright © 2018 Rhys Bowen

Chapter 1

Wednesday, June 12, 1935

16 Eaton Square, London, S.W.1

Things are actually going smoothly for once. I can’t believe it. Here I am, staying at the house of Polish princess Zamanska (known to her friends as Zou Zou) while Darcy is away and I prepare for my wedding. I didn’t think I’d ever write those words, certainly not about someone as wonderful as Darcy. It seems only yesterday that I fled from Castle Rannoch and arrived alone in London, penniless and without a friend in the world. But it’s actually going to happen in a few weeks’ time. Golly. Mrs. Darcy O’Mara. As Jane Bennet would say, “How shall I bear so much happiness?”

I was standing at my window on the top floor of Princess Zamanska’s lovely Georgian house on Eaton Square (which, in case you don’t know, is one of the poshest addresses in London). It was another glorious summer day. We had been blessed with a long dry spell, so unusual in English summers. In fact my whole spring so far had been a delight, ever since I returned from lending support to my friend Belinda in Italy. In May there had been the king’s Silver Jubilee, with a triumphant procession to St. Paul’s Cathedral, the king and queen riding in an open landau. I had been part of the congregation at St. Paul’s and it was a moving experience.

This afternoon I had been going through my clothes and seeing which ones might be good enough to take into my future life as Mrs. Darcy O’Mara. Yes, I know, I’m going to be an ordinary missus, rather a step down for a cousin to the king, but Darcy is actually an honorable, the son of a lord, and because I’m the daughter of a duke people will still have to address me as Lady Georgiana—unless they habitually forget like my maid, Queenie!

I stared at the items hanging in a rather grand French wardrobe and winced. Aging tweed skirt, a couple of white blouses, cotton frocks made for me by the gamekeeper’s wife at home in Scotland. Hardly haute couture! Actually it wasn’t as if we were going to live anywhere grand. Darcy’s father, Lord Kilhenny, had made it clear he wanted us to consider Kilhenny Castle our home, and that was very nice, but it wasn’t the sort of place you’d want to spend the whole year. (Too cold and dreary, like Castle Rannoch, for my taste!) Also there were times when Darcy needed to be in London for his work—which is rather hush-hush.

But occasionally we did move in quite grand circles, ranging from an invitation to Buckingham Palace to Princess Zou Zou’s international playboy set (which included my cousin the Prince of Wales and his lady friend from America). I was constantly reminded that my wardrobe was sadly lacking when compared to every other lady’s Paris models. Still there was hope on the horizon in that department too. My mother, the former duchess and now about to marry a very rich German, had promised that she would come to London and we’d shop for a trousseau. She was very grateful to me for saving her from an embarrassing situation in Italy. I didn’t dare count on this, as my mother was the most fickle of creatures and I hadn’t been able to count on her since she bolted from my father and me when I was only two. Still, this time I really had saved her bacon, so she jolly well should be grateful enough to pay for some decent clothes for me!

I decided that if Mummy came through, I might abandon most of my schoolgirlish and boring wardrobe and become a new and fashionable woman. I’d certainly turned some heads in a borrowed backless dress in Italy. Svelte and sexy, that’s what I would become. My picture in the Tatler: La…