Dressed for Death Read online

  Drew and Madeline found themselves situated in a room with an enormous four-poster hung with airy white linen bed curtains, a match to the ones that fluttered at the high windows. The room itself was rather heavy, paneled and floored in oak and softened with a Persian rug in creams and tans.

  “Oh, it’s a lovely room,” Madeline said. “Nice and sunny like ours at home.”

  “Splendid.” Drew scanned the titles on the well-stocked shelf built into the window seat. “I’m glad we have this.”

  “I’m glad we have this,” she replied, peeping into the adjoining bathroom. “How many people do you think will be here this week?”

  “Thirty or forty, I expect.” He came over to her, wrapping his arms around her from behind and nuzzling her neck. “I didn’t think you’d want to spend our anniversary with a whole crowd of people.”

  She turned to face him, her periwinkle eyes sparkling. “Well, as you said, it’s not a proper anniversary.”

  “So long as we’re properly husband and wife,” he said, touching his lips to hers, “I don’t care about the anniversary.”

  “I am glad we came, though. It’s going to be such fun. I didn’t expect Mr. Cummins to be so strict, though. Not really.”

  “It was printed right on the invitation. ‘Regency dress required at all times.’”

  “Funny that your friend’s fiancée wasn’t dressed yet,” she mused. “What do you suppose she wanted to talk to him about?”

  “Something that’s none of our business, I’m certain.” He tapped her nose with one finger. “And we aren’t going to make it our business.”

  She pulled away from him with a laugh. “I’m not the one who finds sinister plots at every turn.”

  “I’m well aware of the sinister plot you have in mind for this week. Step carefully, my girl, or you’ll very likely spoil something that’s progressing quite nicely all on its own.”

  “You’ve seen it, too.” She threw herself against him again, arms around his neck. “Nick and Carrie are perfect together, don’t you think?”

  He smiled into her eyes. “Darcy come to woo Miss Elizabeth Bennet, eh? Well, she will probably have at least one opportunity to fling herself into Nick’s arms and burst into tears on his chest.”

  “I hope so, as long as it’s not because of anything too bad. But they’re more like Jane and Mr. Bingley, I’d say. Everything sweet and uncomplicated and both of them easy to get along with. He’d never be the brooding Mr. Darcy type. Not like you.”

  He laughed. “Me? I don’t brood. I don’t stand about at parties and look cross, and I certainly wasn’t as slow as he was to realize the very great pleasure which a pair of fine eyes in the face of a pretty woman can bestow. Of course, he hadn’t the glorious inspiration I have.”

  “Carrie’s right,” she said, just a hint of a blush coming into her cheeks. “You are a flatterer.”

  “Oh no. The truth is never flattery. Didn’t you hear Nick earlier? He got that one from me, you know.”

  She feathered her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. “I believe, sir, that you are one of those fellows who, when he is alone, amuses himself with making up compliments he might spring upon unwitting young ladies who would suppose them extemporaneous.”

  “Well, you truly must make up your mind, darling. Am I meant to be Mr. Collins or Mr. Darcy? Shall I flatter or shall I brood?”

  She pursed her lips, her blue eyes twinkling. “I think you shall flatter me outrageously when I am with you and brood when I am not.”

  He considered for a moment and then nodded. “Fair enough.”

  Without warning he dipped her backward, making her squeal.

  “My dear Mrs. Farthering,” he breathed, his eyes fixed on hers, “you must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you.”

  She giggled, though her breath was a little bit faster than usual. “You, sir, are a plagiarist.”

  He brought his lips close to hers and then, with a grin, gave her a smacking kiss and set her upright again. “The truth is never plagiarism. And it is true, even if that Darcy chappie said it first.”

  She sighed and put her still-gloved hand to his cheek. “No wonder Miss Bennet wasn’t able to resist him for long. I hope Nick is as familiar with Austen’s works as you are.”

  “Oh, very nice. All the while I’m kissing you, you’re thinking of Nick.”

  “I was just thinking how it might help him with Carrie. Besides, it wasn’t a proper kiss anyway.”

  “Not a proper kiss? I see.”

  He gave her a smoldering glance, eyes focused on her lips that turned up a little at the corners, and kissed her most thoroughly.

  “Better?” he murmured against her ear as she melted against him.

  “Scoundrel,” she breathed. “You know it’s almost teatime and we’ll be expected.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  With the tiniest hint of a smirk he stepped back from her and adjusted his cravat. Then he offered her his arm and escorted her downstairs.

  They found most of the guests already gathered in the library, a spacious room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and tall windows that let the June sunshine pour through.

  Madeline paused as they stepped inside. “It’s like going back a hundred years. Isn’t it pretty?”

  “Apart from the girl reading that contraband edition of Silver Screen, very charming.”

  The room itself dated well before the Regency, and to see it filled with men in cravats and top boots and ladies in silk slippers and French muslin dresses was quite an experience. There were about twenty people here already. A few were mutual friends of Drew’s family and the Cumminses, but most were strangers to Drew himself. Their host was quick to remedy that, situating himself between Drew and Madeline, linking arms with them both, and introducing them here and there. Then his eyes lit.

  “You two simply must meet Monsieur Laurent. Rémy!”

  Cummins dragged them both to an S-curve love seat elegantly placed in the library’s bow-window area. Just as elegantly placed was its occupant, a man of stylish middle age who lounged with a black-lacquer cigarette holder in one hand and a graceful curl of smoke dissipating over his pomaded head, watching his fellow guests with faint amusement.

  Seeing Madeline, Laurent tapped his cigarette against the ashtray on the little table at the end of the love seat and rose. “Ah, Sterling, do introduce me to your charming friends.” He smiled slyly, adding in a low purr, “C’est une femme exquis que j’aimerais mieux connaître.”

  “My wife is exquisite indeed,” Drew said with a cool smile, “et je ne m’inquiète jamais des individus qu’elle choisit pour lui tenir compagnie, à condition que ce soit véritablement elle qui les choisisse.”

  “Ah, yes, of course. A lady should always be allowed to choose the company she keeps.” Laurent’s lips twitched under his thin salt-and-pepper mustache. “Monsieur speaks French like a Frenchman.”

  Drew inclined his head slightly. “You are too kind. And, in any language, I see my wife is given the respect she deserves.”

  “An admirable trait. J’espère que ce n’est pas contagieux.”

  Cummins chuckled. “I really must learn that talk, Rémy. I always feel I’m missing out on the best bits of the conversation.”

  Madeline pursed her lips. “So do I.”

  “Your husband and I were just discussing your dazzling loveliness and his good fortune in having met you before I did,” he said, the elaborate lace of his sleeve falling just so as he made a courtly bow and kissed her hand. “Madame, I am enchanted.”

  “This is Mr. and Mrs. Farthering,” Cummins said. “They hail from Farthering St. John near Winchester. Drew and Madeline, this is Rémy Laurent. If my collection of wines is the finest in Hampshire, it is solely due to his good counsel and even better contacts on the Continent.”

  “My family have been in the wine trade for nearly three hundred years,” Laurent said, “and Sterling and I have known each other
for nearly that long. Since his son was just born, eh?”

  “About then, yes.” Cummins cleared his throat, looking around the room, and then waved at a fidgeting rotund man unmistakably dressed as the Prince Regent. “Oh, there’s old Ploughwright. Looks as though his wife managed to get him into that rig after all. Excuse me, will you? Ploughwright!”

  He strode away, hands extended to his long-suffering friend, and Laurent smirked.

  “You English. How you love the . . . disguises? No, the costumes. I have done business in your country these twenty-five years now and still sometimes the good English does not come to me.”

  Madeline gestured to the roomful of people in Regency dress. “Do you also enjoy disguises?”

  “Ah, madame, such pretenses are not for me.” Laurent ruffled his starched cravat with one hand. “I wear this because my friend he asks, but for me?” He shrugged. “I take a sip of claret and all the world knows whether or not it is a good year, and I need not speak a word. I see a beautiful woman?” He gave her a sly smile. “I cannot help that the husband grows angry when I am politeness itself.”

  “You are misunderstood then.” Her expression was all gentle sweetness. “I am certain we will have no misunderstandings between us, seeing each other as clearly as we do.”

  The Frenchman bowed in resignation. “Madame is most eloquent. I have often thought—” He broke off with a smile. “Do excuse me, both of you. My fool of a valet seems intent on interrupting. Yes, Adkins?”

  He waved over a stocky young man with a sullen face, who had been lurking near the door.

  “Beg pardon, sir,” Adkins said in a broad northern accent, “but I’m told it’s urgent you come to the telephone. Business, sir.”

  “Ah.” Laurent bowed once more to Madeline. “It seems I am not to have even a holiday to myself. Quel dommage, madame, but I am certain we shall meet again.” With a subtle smile he slipped out of the room, his valet scurrying behind him.

  “I see Dad has introduced you to his pet wine expert,” Tal said, coming up to Drew and Madeline. “Have you met everybody else?”

  Drew looked around the room. “Not strictly everybody. I suppose we’ll get to know them all over the course of the week. As Miss Austen says in Emma, ‘One cannot have too large a party.’”

  “My Alice tends rather to agree with her Mrs. Elton. ‘There is nothing like staying home for real comfort.’”

  Madeline scanned the room. “Drew and I were talking about Pride and Prejudice earlier. Is that Mr. Collins there?”

  A stolid-looking young man somewhere between the age of twenty-five and thirty sat on the end of a sofa, talking to an elderly lady wearing a turban of orange and violet silk with an egg-sized ruby in front. The man himself wore a suit of somber black and a very plain white cravat, and on his lap was a broad-brimmed black hat.

  Tal grinned. “That’s our vicar, Philip Broadhurst, and his mother. Come meet them.”

  The vicar stood as Tal introduced him and bowed, hat over his heart. “Very good to meet you both. Tal has mentioned you before, Mr. Farthering. I wondered if you were the same Farthering we’ve read about in the papers the past few months.”

  “I fear so,” Drew admitted, shaking the man’s hand. “But I assure you their accounts are often highly romanticized.”

  “Here in Armitage Landing,” the vicar said, his fondness for the place obvious, “it’s unlikely you’ll have to deduce much more than which cards to play at loo.” He bowed to Madeline. “Best wishes, Mrs. Farthering, on your marriage. I pray it will be a blessed one.”

  Mrs. Broadhurst patted the sofa beside her. “Come sit down, my dear, and tell me about yourself. You are newly married?”

  Madeline did as she was bidden. “A little more than six months now. I suppose that makes us newlyweds still.”

  The older lady’s eyes were kind. “I was married to Philip’s father for thirty-two years, and all that time he kept surprising me with things I didn’t know about him yet. I never had a chance to get bored.”

  There was a mischievous twinkle in Madeline’s eye. “My husband is always looking for crimes to solve. I think after another year or so, I’ll be glad not to be surprised.”

  Drew cleared his throat. “Will you both be staying the week, Mr. Broadhurst?”

  “Call me Philip,” the vicar replied. “Anyway, I realize we’re supposed to be back in Regency days and all that, but we’re not so formal here most of the time.”

  Drew smiled, liking him already. “Philip then. Do call me Drew. I suppose your wife is about somewhere?”

  “Actually, I haven’t got one.”

  His mother lifted her eyes to the heavens but said nothing.

  Broadhurst lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “I fear Mother agrees with that truth universally acknowledged. But since I have no fortune—good, bad, or indifferent—I fail to see how it applies to me.” He shook his head when his mother sighed. “I tell you, Mother, I will know the right girl when I meet her.” He turned again to Drew. “Be glad you’re already married.”

  Drew chuckled. “But where is your bride-to-be, Tal? Madeline and I would love to get to know her better.”

  “I suppose I ought to send out a search party,” Tal said with a sigh. “I don’t know what’s got into the girl. She’s not usually like this. Of course, she’s been helping Mother with all the arrangements for the party, so they’re both a bit out of sorts.”

  “And what all is planned for the week?”

  “Oh, they’ve got it all set out. Every day we’re to do something from the Regency period. Dinner and cards most evenings, though we’re on our honor to play nothing but faro, whist, loo, macao and rouge-et-noir. That’s all we have on for tonight, so everyone should have a chance to get settled in and meet everyone else. Tomorrow night, Mother’s arranged for charades or a pantomime of some sort, and if the weather stays fine we’re to cruise up to Beaulieu on Wednesday on Monsieur Laurent’s yacht.”

  “Oooh,” Madeline said. “That sounds lovely.”

  “The river’s the private property of Lord Montagu,” Tal said, “but we’ll try not to do it any permanent damage. There’s the Palace House and the Abbey Church to see, too. We rather thought our American contingent would enjoy visiting our modest local sights.”

  “Ah, excellent,” Drew said. “Should be fun.”

  “And there’s to be riding and a picnic on Thursday,” Tal added. “A small troupe of actors is to come perform on Friday evening—can’t remember the name of the play—and on Saturday we’ll end with a grand ball. And if you’re not thoroughly sick of playing dress-up by Sunday morning, that’s your own lookout.”

  Madeline smiled up at him. “It all sounds delicious. This is my anniversary present,” she said to Mrs. Broadhurst, “so my husband isn’t allowed to complain about the clothes or the dancing.”

  “Oh, about that.” Tal glanced at Drew and coughed. “About the dancing.”

  Drew noticed that Madeline was taking great care not to look his way. “Yes?”

  Tal shrugged a bit. “Well, I’m afraid Mother has arranged for all of us to have—”

  “I’m not taking dancing lessons!”

  Two

  Everyone turned to see Will Holland storm into the library with Nick and Carrie right behind him.

  “Billy,” Carrie hissed, “behave yourself.”

  He stopped in his tracks, turned lobster red and made a brief bow to the room. “I beg your pardon.”

  Seeing Drew and Madeline, Nick took Carrie’s arm and then Will’s and towed them over to the group.

  “Let me introduce you all,” Tal said.

  Once everyone had acknowledged everyone else, Drew turned back to Tal, not liking the way he was trying not to laugh. Surely Carrie’s brother had been talking about something else.

  “What were you saying your mother had arranged for us?”

  “Did you tell them, Tibby?” Mrs. Cummins hurried up to them, the lace on her mobcap fluttering aft
er her. “Won’t it be just delightful?”

  “I was telling them about it, Mother, but perhaps you would rather.”

  She took Drew’s arm, looking girlish and rosy with excitement. “Would you believe it? I’ve had the great good fortune to be able to engage Mr. Pomfret to teach us all to dance. He’s to come every morning from ten until noon to instruct us. Then all the guests who come just for the ball on Saturday will be quite amazed to see us performing the most authentic dances of the Regency era. Won’t it be lovely?”

  Drew glared at Madeline, but she was still sitting with her head modestly lowered, smirking no doubt.

  “Charming,” he told Mrs. Cummins, then softened his expression at the hopefulness in hers. “It will be great fun, won’t it, Nick?”

  “Rather!” Nick smiled at Carrie, who was beaming up at him, positively no help at all.

  Will fidgeted and frowned. “Do I have to?”

  “No, young man,” said their hostess, “not if you don’t—”

  “Billy Holland, yes, you do!” Carrie gave her brother a withering look and then turned to Mrs. Cummins. “Excuse me, ma’am, I didn’t mean to be rude, interrupting like that, but I know you’re not likely to have partners enough for all the ladies who want to learn these dances, and Billy can at least be polite and oblige you in such a little thing. You’ve been so nice to let him come and stay when he didn’t even have a proper invitation.”

  “It’s no trouble at all, my dear.” She gave Will the warm, motherly smile Drew remembered from his own youth. “You may find you enjoy the lessons, young man. I have it on very good authority that young ladies are always very fond of nice young men who don’t tread on their toes. You’ll join our little troupe in the morning, won’t you?”

  He nodded meekly.

  “Wonderful. You know what they say. ‘To be fond of dancing is a certain step toward falling in love.’” She didn’t seem to notice the boy’s painful blush. “Now, do any of you need anything? Are your rooms to your liking?”

  They all assured her they were.