Historical Regency Amateur Sleuths

In the heart of Regency London, where the gulf between the opulent upper class and the squalid streets is as wide as the Thames, Zoe Demas, a young French woman entangled in two worlds, finds herself at the center of a chilling mystery. When her lady's maid, Lucy, is found dead in the notorious district of Whitechapel, Zoe refuses to accept the verdict of a tragic accident. Determined to uncover the truth, she enlists the help of Quinton Huxley, a man whose expertise lies in navigating the murky waters between legality and the underworld. Alongside a cast of characters as diverse as they ...

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 ...

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...

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 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 ...

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 am to haul you through every polite disaster inside it and receive precisely none of the credit. Now they have decided I should also sell it, as though I were not busy keeping everyone from lying in the same sentence. Beatrix Langford arrives at a country observatory to do the sensible work, copy figures, reconcile ledgers, and let titled people feel clever beneath a dome with a slit like a watchful eye. Then Lady Honoria Pemberton falls down her own staircase, very dramatically and quite dead, leaving behind an irritable ghost who refuses to be...

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 ...

When Lord Wrexford discovers the body of a gifted inventor in a dark London alley, he promptly alerts the watchman and lets the authorities handle the matter. But Wrexford soon finds himself drawn into the murder investigation when the inventor's widow begs for his assistance, claiming the crime was not a random robbery. It seems her husband's designs for a revolutionary steam-powered engine went missing the night of his death. The plans could be worth a fortune and very dangerous in the wrong hands.

The descendant of adventuring-dead-aristocrats, Clarissa Knightley supplements a modest inheritance by penning gothic novels that cost more than they earn. Upon learning that she has mysteriously inherited a share of an earl's estate, she rashly packs up her household. In remote Gravesyde Priory, she hopes to find a safe haven and family who will welcome her and her young nephew. Instead, she discovers a drunken American army captain, his African servant, and ancient, surly caretakers.

The options for the penniless daughter of a deceased earl are few indeed in Regency England. So, following the suspicious death of her father and the discovery that she and her much younger sister have been left without income or home, Lady Caroline takes a post as a lady's companion to the wealthy widow Frogerton. Just as Caroline is getting accustomed to her new position, her aunt, Lady Eleanor Greenwood, invites her and her employer to a house party in the countryside to celebrate her youngest daughter's birthday. But all is not well at the Greenwood estate.

The Earl of Wrexford possesses a brilliant scientific mind, but boredom and pride lead him to reckless behavior. He does not suffer fools gladly. So when pompous, pious Reverend Josiah Holworthy publicly condemns him for debauchery, Wrexford unsheathes his rapier-sharp wit and strikes back. As their war of words escalates, London's most popular satirical cartoonist, A. J. Quill, skewers them both.

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, ...

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 ...

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 ...

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.

I am the narrator of this book, which means I have already carried one stubborn widow, one inconveniently principled doctor, and an entire village’s worth of holy outrage across the page, and now they have decided I must sell it as well. Apparently murder is not labour unless it comes with marketing. A cozy Regency whodunit where Sunday best meets a very un-Sunday death. In the village of Hartleigh, Phoebe Hartwell keeps an apothecary, a steady hand, and her temper in a respectable jar, largely because the alternative is letting the manor decide what sort of widow she is allowed to be. ...

One advantage of being caught up in a whirl of dress fittings and decisions about flower arrangements is that Charlotte Sloane has little time for any pre-wedding qualms. Her love for Wrexford isn't in question. But will being a wife - and a countess - make it difficult for her to maintain her independence - not to mention, her secret identity as famed satirical artist A. J. Quill? Despite those concerns, there are soon even more urgent matters to attend to during Charlotte and Wrexford's first public outing as an engaged couple.

I am the narrator of this book, which means I have already carried you through every lamp lit folly, every sharp tongued conversation, and one extremely public corpse, and now “they” have decided I must also sell it. Naturally. Vauxhall Gardens is meant to provide music, fireworks, and the comforting illusion that London can behave itself for an evening. Instead, it hands Charlotte Penbury a borrowed gown, a borrowed name, and the sort of trouble that clings to ink. Charlotte draws for a living, mostly by recording the city’s most ridiculous men in lines they do not enjoy seeing ...

I have already carried this entire tale across the finish line, kept the facts in order, and stopped the characters from licking anything obviously poisonous, and now they have decided I must sell it too. Very well, hover at the threshold, and try to look innocent. Here is what waits on the other side of page one: Miss Tabitha Grey of Greycot Cottage, botanist, notebook tyrant, and the sort of nosy neighbour who owns a spyglass “for excursions” and then points it at Merrow Abbey because, frankly, there were grooms and trunks and a returning duke to be assessed. Gabriel Merrow comes home...