By Tasha Alexander
London's social season is in complete swing, and Victorian aristocracy cannot cease whispering a few sure gentleman who claims to be the direct descendant of Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette. yet he is not the single subject of wagging tongues. Drawing rooms, boudoirs, and ballrooms are abuzz with the newest information of an audacious cat burglar who has been systematically stealing worthwhile goods that after belonged to the ill-fated queen. mild gossip turns critical whilst the landlord of 1 of the pilfered treasures is located murdered, and the mysterious thief develops a twisted obsession with girl Emily Ashton. it is going to take all of Emily's wit and perseverance to unmask her stalker and ferret out the assassin, whereas confronted with a brewing scandal that threatens either her recognition and her romance along with her overdue husband's ally, the rushing Colin Hargreaves.
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Additional info for A Poisoned Season
They attributed his death to Marie Antoinette’s curse and warned the citizens of London to take heed, suggesting that those whose property was stolen were lucky to have escaped with their lives. 4 A fter penning a hasty reply to Mrs. Francis, I changed into a well-cut riding habit and made my way to Rotten Row, need- ing desperately to clear my head. It was late in the afternoon, so most people were parading in their carriages, but I wanted my horse. The exercise was refreshing but did little to rid me of the searing feeling that I was responsible for having brought Mr.
With that, he kissed my hand, lingering over it deliciously, and left, turning to smile at me one more time before he closed the door. Not two minutes later, my maid appeared, asking me if I still wanted a bath. “Yes, Meg. Cold. ” T hree days later I received a note from Mrs. Francis. Her house had been burgled again. This time, the only thing taken was her husband’s silver snuffbox. The newspapers had been filled with stories about Mr. Francis’s death from the moment they learned of it, and each of them had mentioned that he died clutching the object.
I’d been given it in Paris last year after trapping the man who had murdered Philip. “But I understand that you’ve made many significant donations yourself,” Mr. Francis said. ” “Peut-être Monsieur Bingham is attached to this dish you are trying to get from him,” Cécile said. “No, he’s keeping it for himself simply out of spite. ” My gaze fell on Mr. Francis, and I felt compelled once again to return to the topic of the thefts, despite a worry that I was being too forward. “I really must P O I S O N E D S E A S O N s A 19 implore you to report the loss of your diamond to the police.