A Pressing Engagement (A Lady Darby Mystery)

by Anna Lee Huber

  Praise for the Lady Darby Mysteries

  “Riveting . . . Huber deftly weaves together an original premise, an enigmatic heroine, and a compelling Highland setting for a book you won’t want to put down.”

  —Deanna Raybourn, New York Times bestselling author

  “[A] history mystery in fine Victorian style!”

  —Julia Spencer-Fleming, New York Times bestselling author

  “[A] fascinating heroine . . . A thoroughly enjoyable read!”

  —Victoria Thompson, national bestselling author

  “Huber deftly evokes both [Sebastian and Kiera’s] attraction and the period’s flavor.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Reads like a cross between a gothic novel and a mystery with a decidedly unusual heroine.”

  — Kirkus Reviews

  “[Huber] designs her heroine as a woman who straddles the line between eighteenth-century behavior and twenty-first-century independence.”

  —New York Journal of Books

  “[A] must read . . . One of those rare books that will both shock and please readers.”

  —Fresh Fiction

  “One of the best historical mysteries that I have read this year.”

  —Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

  “This series continues to remain compelling and fresh, a definite must read.”

  —Reader to Reader

  Berkley Prime Crime titles by Anna Lee Huber

  The Anatomist’s Wife

  Mortal Arts

  A Grave Matter

  A Study in Death

  A Pressing Engagement

  (InterMix Novella)

  A Pressing Engagement

  Anna Lee Huber

  INTERMIX BOOKS, NEW YORK

  An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

  A PRESSING ENGAGEMENT

  An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2016 by Anna Lee Huber.

  Excerpt from As Death Draws Near copyright © 2016 by Anna Lee Huber.

  Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

  INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

  For more information about The Berkley Publishing Group, visit penguin.com.

  eBook ISBN: 978-1-101-98685-1

  PUBLISHING HISTORY

  InterMix eBook edition / May 2016

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Version_1

  Contents

  Praise for the Lady Darby Mysteries

  Berkley Prime Crime Titles by Anna Lee Huber

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Excerpt from As Death Draws Near

  About the Author

  For all of my faithful readers who have cheered Lady Darby on, sighed over Gage, chuckled at Earl Grey, begged for more of Bonnie Brock, and showered me with their love. This one’s for you.

  Chapter 1

  April 15, 1831—9:00 A.M.

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  “Kiera, stop fidgeting.”

  I locked my knees and bit my lip, stifling the urge to squabble with my sister as if we were still children. Especially when the truth was, she was right. I was fidgeting. But how could anyone expect me to stand still? This was perhaps the dozenth fitting in as many days, to fix yet another inconsequential detail on my gown. Though it was true, this wasn’t just any dress, and Alana only wanted to make it perfect for me; that awareness led me back to the thoughts that had made me start fidgeting in the first place.

  Tomorrow was my wedding day.

  I had not expected to feel so anxious, and yet I could barely stand still. I lifted my hand to nibble on my thumbnail, but then lowered it again upon seeing my sister’s stern glare. She leaned in to confer with the modiste about some minor flaw in the winding braid running the length of the skirt in panels, and I stifled a not so elegant sigh. Looking up, I caught a glimpse of my lady’s maid in the mirror above my dressing table. Bree was watching my face, and from the twinkle of suppressed amusement in her eyes, it was clear she’d recognized my agitation and read my not-so-charitable thoughts toward my sister.

  Alana circled around me again, finally stopping in front of me and allowing her gaze to drift up to look me in the eye. “What do you think, dearest?”

  I arched a single eyebrow. “I think it’s lovely. Just as I said the past three times you asked me.”

  Alana’s brow creased momentarily and then smoothed out. “Yes, well, it’s difficult for you to see the back.”

  It was hard to argue with that, except that half the alterations she had insisted upon had been made to the front of the gown. What she didn’t say, but I knew to be true no matter my current irritation, was that her knowledge of fashion was far superior to mine, and it behooved me to bow to her wishes in that regard. The gown she had chosen was exquisite, even the champagne silk that I had argued so vehemently against. I had wanted to wear blue, but Alana had pointed out I’d worn blue to my first wedding to the late Sir Anthony Darby, and that marriage had not turned out well.

  So I had acquiesced, and the result was this champagne silk, which made my skin glow as if lit from within. Every time I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, my heart pressed hard against my rib cage and nerves began to tumble about in my stomach. Matching braids adorned the skirt as well as the bodice in a vee from the top of each shoulder to the waist, while the sleeves were softly gathered into two flounces, ending just below the elbow with ribbon and crepe. I had worried the three flowers marching down the center of the skirt at even integrals would be too much, but I could see now they added just the right amount of extra ornamentation.

  Alana thanked the modiste for coming, though the woman undoubtedly had other things to do besides oversee the adjustment of my gown one more time. However, the modiste only smiled as she and her seamstress were escorted out, knowing better than to risk displeasing the Countess of Cromarty and losing her business.

  I flipped my hand at Bree, urging her to unlace me from the gown before Alana changed her mind. She turned to watch as I slowly lifted the gown away from my frame and stepped out of it. Once I passed it to Bree, I exhaled in relief.

  “Are you well, Kiera?”

  I glanced up at my sister. “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” Rather than wait for Bree’s help while she carefully hung the wedding gown, I snatched up my Pomona green morning dress from where it was draped over the bed and began to pull it on.

  The frown that had marred Alana’s brow returned. “You don’t seem particularly happy.”

  I scowled. “Because I didn’t en
joy my twelfth dress fitting?”

  “Yes.”

  I stilled at the intensity of her voice.

  “If I’m not mistaken, you couldn’t wait to be out of that dress. And you’ve been avoiding discussion of almost every other topic pertaining to the wedding.”

  Uncomfortable with the truth of her words, I turned away to fasten the buttons up the front of my dress. “I’m nervous. I don’t like being on display.”

  “You won’t be on display,” she argued. “That’s why you and Gage insisted upon this rushed affair rather than waiting until August to be wed in St. George’s as we’d planned.”

  No, as she’d planned. I’d never wanted an elaborate ceremony, and I was quite certain Gage had not voiced his opinion to my sister.

  Finished hanging my wedding gown, Bree waved my fumbling hands aside and began to do the buttons of my morning dress up for me.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Alana. “Are you still upset because you think people will believe I’m in the family way?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “The rumor has already begun circulating about Edinburgh,” she informed me. “But, no. I’m upset that you’re not more excited about the details of this most important day.” She tilted her head. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “No,” I stated firmly.

  I wasn’t. I wanted to marry Gage. Wanted it more than anything.

  But I wanted it to be over and done with. The gowns, flowers, seating arrangements at the wedding breakfast—none of these dizzying details mattered to me. In fact, they only seemed to complicate something that should have been simple, particularly when my sister continued to add to the lists of things to do and people to invite. As it now stood, I didn’t know how everyone was going to fit in her town house dining room for the breakfast.

  Bree finished and swiveled me about to brush down my skirts and check my hair.

  Alana took the opportunity to scrutinize my face. “You’re certain?”

  “Yes,” I replied in exasperation, crossing to my sister once Bree had released me. I grasped her arms. “I love Gage. You know that. I’m very happy to become his wife.”

  Her lips pursed as if she didn’t believe me. Not completely. But she nodded.

  I grabbed her elbow and pulled her toward the door. “Now, go on up to the nursery. Didn’t you say you needed to feed wee Jamie?” Somehow I had expected my two-week-old nephew to distract my sister from unnecessarily complicating what was to be a modest ceremony, but thus far it had done nothing to slow her down. After a difficult and dangerous delivery, she was supposed to go easy, but from the moment the physician had allowed her out of bed a week ago she’d been rushing to and fro. It had been challenging enough to keep her bedridden that long. Thankfully, she had the servants to do the heavy lifting and manual labor, otherwise I would have postponed the wedding, regardless of my and Gage’s wishes.

  She glanced at the watch pinned to her bodice. “In a few minutes. First I need to check on some deliveries.” She linked her arm with mine as we descended the stairs. “Mrs. Murray was able to find some rhubarb to bake into a custard tart.” Her voice grew more excited. “And I located some Veuve Clicquot for the wedding breakfast.”

  “Champagne?” I asked, hoping she heard the hesitant note in my voice ring as surprise rather than doubt.

  “Yes. My friend Louisa Cowper served it at her wedding breakfast, and I was always so envious. So I knew I simply had to find some for you.”

  I could tell my sister relished this triumph, even though it mattered little to me, so I merely smiled. Alana was in her element, organizing and planning, arranging everything just so. It seemed to make her come alive. She looked back at me grinning brightly as we halted outside the drawing room door.

  Her gaze flicked over my shoulder. “I see Gage is here, as well as another guest, so I will leave you to them while I slip downstairs and then up to the nursery. Please make my excuses.”

  My heart skipped at the sight of Gage seated across the room, listening to something the other man was saying. It still amazed me at times that I was about to marry him. We had both come so very far from who we’d been only a year ago. I remembered how at first I’d thought him to be a pompous, dim-witted, interfering rogue. I grinned. How wrong I’d been.

  Gage’s pale blue eyes suddenly lifted, catching me watching him. Where before I would have tried to hide my regard, now I didn’t. He knew I found him attractive. There was no use pretending.

  A golden lock of his hair curled rakishly over his forehead as he rose to his feet. His eyes gleamed with the mixture of amusement and affection I’d become accustomed to seeing, as if he was forever sharing a private jest with me and me alone. My gaze shifted to his right as the man he’d been talking to swiveled to give me my first glimpse of his face.

  “Jock!” I exclaimed with delight. “When did you arrive in town?”

  My impish cousin stood to kiss my cheek in greeting. “Just yesterday. Ye dinna think I’d miss out on the chance to see ye wed this rascal, noo, do ye?”

  “Even so, it could not have been an easy journey on the muddy spring roads.” I settled down on the ivory brocade settee next to Gage.

  “Any trouble it might’ve been ’twill be worth it.”

  The sudden regard in Jock’s eyes was so unexpected that it actually made a lump form in my throat. I pressed a hand to my chest, having trouble finding my words.

  Fortunately, Jock was not waiting for a reply. “Even Aunt Sarah says so, and ye ken how much she hates to travel.”

  I blinked in shock. “Aunt Sarah also came?”

  “Aye. And Uncle Andrew, along wi’ cousin Drew . . .” he lifted his eyes in thought and began ticking off several of our family members on his fingers “. . . Rye, Uncle Owen, and Aunt Natalie. Oh, and Gilly.”

  I glanced at Gage, momentarily speechless again.

  “The others are restin’ and asked me to convey their regards. They’ll see ye at dinner tonight, but I wanted to bring ye something.” He reached behind him to hand me a flat, rectangular box wrapped in gold paper.

  I took it gingerly, having learned long ago not to trust my cousin’s gifts. “What is it?”

  He smiled at my obvious trepidation. “It’s an early wedding present.” When I still didn’t move, he laughed. “Open it.”

  Gage was looking between us in confusion, so I explained. “I’m not going to lift this lid to find it’s filled with crickets, or a dead fish, or some other disgusting thing, am I?”

  “What am I? Ten? O’ course not.” But his mischievous grin did not reassure me.

  “Allow me,” Gage offered, taking the box from my hands.

  I watched as he opened the lid and pushed back a layer of tissue paper to peer inside, ready to jump to my feet if necessary. When nothing sprang out at us, Gage tipped the package so I could see for myself. It was a necklace. More accurately, a torc, like those worn by members of ancient Celtic royalty and nobility. Its gold had dulled with age, but it still shone in the morning sunlight streaming through the windows behind us. Comprised of twisted gold ribbons, it was typical of Scottish design. Or so I’d read after doing some research when another such torc had been implicated in an inquiry Gage and I had conducted several months prior.

  “Didn’t Celtic queens wear those?” Jock asked, lounging back against the cushions in his chair with a pleased smirk. “Seemed only fitting ye should wear something like it on yer special day, Kiera. Can’t think o’ anyone it’d suit more.”

  I lifted the torc from the box to view it more closely. “Where did you find this?”

  “Some curiosity shop off Canongate. They had all sorts o’ interesting trinkets. Even a set o’ tin soldiers, like I played wi’ as a lad.”

  But I was no longer listening, for something engraved into the rounded knobs at each end of the torc, where the necklace would rest against
the front of the neck, had caught my eye. A series of swirls were etched into the metal there, winding into a center point at the very tip. It was a rather distinctive feature that at the same time seemed all too familiar.

  “May I?” Gage asked, reaching for the torc, and I guessed he’d also noticed the design. I didn’t speak as he tilted the necklace from side to side to examine it.

  “Striking, isn’t it?” Jock murmured.

  “Yes,” Gage replied solemnly. “But I’m sorry to say this may have been stolen.”

  Jock laughed. “I ken I’m a bit o’ a scamp, but I doubt my cousin would call me a thief.”

  “Not by you,” I replied, taking the torc back from Gage.

  My cousin’s mirth slowly faded. “Yer serious.”

  I looked up to find him glancing between us in bafflement.

  “But how could ye possibly ken such a thing?”

  We both waited for him to come to the inevitable conclusion.

  He sank back in his chair. “Because you’ve already been conductin’ an inquiry into it.”

  “Not exactly,” I admitted. “But we are aware of a torc, which is described as being remarkably similar to this particular piece, that has gone missing.” I studied the necklace again. “In fact, I have a hard time believing it’s not the very same.”

  I wondered if Gage still possessed the description and crude drawing Mr. Collingwood had sent us after our interview with the odious man in January. We had gone to interrogate him as a suspect in another investigation and had looked into the whereabouts of the torc to discover if it had any bearings on that other inquiry. He’d claimed his aunt had donated the artifact to the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland over fifteen years, but the society had no record of ever receiving it. Several weeks later when Mr. Collingwood actually had the nerve to demand we look into the matter further for him, we’d refused his “request” to locate the artifact, having far more interesting and agreeable clients to assist, figuring the torc was better off wherever it had disappeared to than in Mr. Collingwood’s hands. But now that it quite probably was resting in my palms, it was impossible to ignore.