Cozy Regency Mystery

Someone is snatching priceless jewels right off the necks of British aristocrats. With his intimate access to the parlors and bedrooms of Regency London, the Richmond Thief strikes again and again. The Bow Street Runners, the city's only detectives, seem powerless to stop him. Enter Althea, lady scientist. As the young widow of a country gentleman, Lady Althea Trent is introduced to the upper-class social scene as yet another pretty face. But her own scientific inquiries and an invitation to act as an agent of Bow Street propel her into the hunt for the Richmond Thief.

As much as Beatrice Hyde-Clare relished the challenge of figuring out who murdered a fellow guest during a house party in the Lake District, she certainly does not consider herself an amateur investigator. So when a London dandy falls dead at her feet in the entryway of a London Daily Gazette, she feels no compulsion to investigate. It was a newspaper office, after all, and reporters are already on the case as are the authorities.

I am the narrator of this book, which means I already carried every waltz, whisper, and corpse across the finish line, and now “they” have decided I should also stand in the foyer and beckon strangers inside. Splendid. Miss Clemency Harrow arrives at Ashbourne Hall on a Tuesday with a sensible spine, an insolvent father, and an engagement arranged as neatly as a place setting, right down to the Earl waiting at the bottom of the stairs like a man who has never trusted soup. Unfortunately, the house has opinions, the guests have secrets, and Mr Horace Pettigrew has come armed with moral ...

I am the narrator of this book, which means I have already hauled an entire viscount, several cups and saucers, and one academy’s worth of respectable hysteria into orderly sentences, and now they have decided I must sell it as well. Apparently my reward for keeping everyone from fainting into the evidence is marketing. At Madame Rochfort’s Academy for Select Young Ladies, morning chocolate is meant to calm nerves and encourage obedient embroidery, not drop a patron dead onto the salon carpet. Viscount Halverton arrives to be admired, praised, and quietly mined for subscriptions; he ...

I am the narrator of this book. I have already carried every footstep, every whispered aside, every inconvenient corpse, and now they have decided I should also persuade you to read it. This is what happens when one proves reliable. What I carried was a cozy Regency murder with a ghost who refuses to mind his own death. Bath’s Assembly Rooms are polished, candlelit, and brimming with manners, until the dancing master collapses mid-figure and immediately reappears floating above his own body, deeply offended and tethered to Miss Adelaide Finchwick, a woman whose greatest social crime is ...

Twelve sweet Regency Christmas romance stories to make you fall in love this holiday season. Christmas Mystery of the Heart Escaping her past, Lady Sarah Sayers seeks a simple life as a governess. Her world is turned upside down when she meets the Duke of Huntington. Together, they must solve a mystery, but will they also find love in this troubled time? A Duke for Christmas Isabella did not want to end up on Charles’ doorstep, but it might be exactly what both of them need… A clean, Regency romance to warm your heart Christmas Masquerade Ball A Christmas tale of mystery and love from ...

I am the narrator of this book, which means I have already hauled you through an entire country house full of ringing bells, bruised dignity, and people lying to my face about tea, and now they have decided I must also sell it. Apparently murder is not labour enough, I must do marketing too. Bramblewick belongs to a marquess who prefers not to notice how his own house runs, which is a charming hobby until the morning the stillroom key goes missing and the butler turns up dead beside a tray meant for His Lordship. Prudence Ashdown, head housekeeper, keeper of keys, and the only person here ...

House parties are all harmless flirtation until a guest turns up dead in the ornamental fountain and the household bell only rings for fire or death. Miss Eliza Fairburn comes to Foxglove Court for respectable employment, not village scandal: companion to Lady Ashcombe, watcher of tedious card parties, and firmly resolved not to be impressed by the Marquess of Rothley or his inconveniently blue eyes. Then his charming cousin is found with a broken neck in the fountain court, three years after a steward’s son “accidentally” fell from the west gallery, and everyone suddenly prefers the ...

I am the narrator of this book, which means I have already hauled you up a windy tower, kept several wealthy egos from falling into the evidence, and listened to a chronometer sulk in real time. Now they have decided I must also sell it, as if I have not done enough carrying. On a cliff-top observatory in Devon, Cassia Fenwick tries to do the only respectable thing available, namely: insist that numbers mean something. Unfortunately, the sky has manners and arrives on time, while humans immediately do the opposite. A comet appears, patrons crowd the stair, Dr Julius Crowthorne takes a ...

I am the narrator of this book. I carried every ink blot, every committee smile, and one extremely heavy marble torso without so much as a thank-you, and now they have decided I should sell it to you as well. Marvellous. I drop you into Mayfair, where a perfectly respectable townhouse has been dressed up as the centre of Greek learning, mostly so the ton can drink wine and mispronounce Athens with confidence. Miss Adelaide Pembroke arrives with a portfolio, a generous fee, and the sort of inconvenient eyesight that notices when a plinth has been wedged, unwedged, and wedged again. Then Sir ...

I am the narrator of this book, which means I have already carried a duke, an entire art institution, and one extremely punctual corpse from sentence to sentence without anyone so much as offering me a restorative sherry. And now they have decided I must also entice you into the mess. Splendid. A corpse behind a curtain, an unfinished Renfrew portrait, and a duke who treats paintings like evidence should have been more than enough excitement for one morning at the Royal Academy. Then Mr Edwin Larke, critic, creditor, and professional ruin of pleasant conversations, takes a pinch of snuff ...

I am the narrator of Murder, Marmalade, and Other Ballroom Disasters, which means I have already carried you through candlelight, gossip, and a man expiring on polished floorboards, and now they want me to sell it as well. Splendid. Nothing says “romance” like administrative labour. Here is what you are walking into: Bath’s Assembly Rooms, terrible music, and Miss Julia Amberley sitting very still at the edge of society because a certain Mr Jasper Fenton once spoke a few convenient sentences and left her to choke on the consequences. Then he has the decency to die at her feet in a ...

I am the narrator of this book, which means I have already hauled the novel through every dripping corridor, every self-important meeting, and every cup of coffee that tastes faintly of despair, and now “they” want me to sell it as well. Fine. I have carried heavier things than a blurb, usually other people’s egos. At Ainsworth Court, Lady Seraphina Vale, Countess of Ainsworth, is attempting the apparently scandalous feat of being a widow with a spine and a canal to build, when her map room decides to lock itself and her chief surveyor obligingly dies face-first in ink. Locked door, ...

An inherited estate. A hostile steward. A corpse in the forest—and a past that refuses to stay buried. Newly married and eager to begin their life together, Zoe and Quinton Coleville arrive at Cedarbrook, Quinton’s ancestral estate. But the welcome is anything but warm. Two days later, a body is found near the crumbling shell of the old manor house hidden deep in the woods. A shadowy figure seen in the West Wood only fuels the local legend of a Coleville ghost watching the estate, protecting its secrets, unable to rest. With their friends on the way to visit—and quickly drawn into the...

If there is one thing Verity Lark finds more unsettling than having to give a shooting lesson to the woman whom she has ridiculed in print for months, it is having to give the lesson on the very same morning her alter ego Mr. Twaddle-Thum publishes an apology for erroneously reporting a key detail of one of her favorite subject’s early murder investigations.

The third book in the Mr. Darcy & Miss Tilney Mystery series, which finds the amateur sleuths facing their most daunting challenge yet: preventing the murder of the imperious Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Someone is trying to kill Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Esteemed aunt of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy...

Twenty-six-year-old Beatrice Hyde-Clare is far too shy to investigate the suspicious death of a fellow guest in the Lake District. A spinster who lives on the sufferance of her relatives, she would certainly not presume to search the rooms of her host's son and his friend looking for evidence. Reared in the twin virtues of deference and docility, she would absolutely never think to question the imperious Duke of Kesgrave about anything, let alone how he chose to represent the incident to the local constable. And yet that's exactly what she does.

A marquess and a lady must avoid rumors and scandal while solving a great mystery. Lady Prudence has always enjoyed London. However, when her cousin suddenly appears, frantically handing her a package before being knocked to the ground by a runaway carriage, everything changes in an instant. A gentleman nearby comes to her aid, and instantly, Prudence finds herself locked in a dangerous mystery. Felix, the Marquess of Stoneleigh, had been intending to leave London, finding his search for a bride to be less than successful. None of the young ladies have truly caught his attention, no matter ...

I am the narrator of this book, which means I have already carried an entire Mayfair Season, three dozen teacups, and one extremely rude corpse across the page, and now they have decided I must also persuade you to join the mess. Fine. Come in, mind the carpet. In A Spot of Murder in Mayfair, Lady Helena Foxe is supposed to be doing what well bred young ladies do best, namely, smiling politely while other people ruin their own lives in whispers. Instead, a tired clerk with ink on his finger and trouble in his wake collapses in her family’s drawing room, leaving blood in the wool and ...

This sparkling box set includes all four full-length novels in Claudia Stone’s Regency Murder and Marriage series—a delightful blend of cosy mystery, romantic mischief, and sharp-tongued heroines who always find trouble… and often find love along the way.