The Dead Betray None (A Viscount Ware Mystery) Historical Regency Mystery by J.L. Buck ➱ Book Tour with Giveaway
The Dead Betray None
A Viscount Ware Mystery
by J.L. Buck
Genre: Historical Regency Mystery
An aristocratic spy and a highborn lady cross paths over a dead body.
The Dead Betray None begins in 1811 when England is at war with France, facing the threat of revolutionaries at home, and on the verge of open conflict with America. Lucien Grey, Viscount Ware, has secretly spied for the Crown on the Continent the last four years. Called home on family matters, he soon becomes bored with such a leisurely life. Then a French spy carrying a vital dispatch is captured, but the document he carried--which could mean the difference between victory or defeat for Wellington's army--is stolen by a band of thieves.
Lucien agrees to assist the War Office in recovering the dispatch, but he never envisioned the mission would include such perilous complications that would lead him from London's crime world to polite society's ballrooms and even into the shadows of the very government he serves.
Excerpt: Opening lines, Chapter One
The thundering hooves of swiftly moving horses echoed through the dense fog. Lucien Grey, Viscount Ware, feathered his pair of blood bays around the sharp curve, the curricle’s wheels slipping a brief moment on the wet road. The encroaching trees opened onto a broad misty park, revealing the familiar Doric columns of Baron Sherbourne’s yellow-and-gray sandstone manor. Despite the dismal morning, the estate held good memories for Lucien, and a fleeting smile crossed his lips.
Easing the bays to the left toward the stable yard, he brought the light carriage to a halt, and his groom, Finn, slipped off the back to run to the horses’ heads. The high bred team danced in place, snorting at the abrupt end to the journey, their hot breath forming tiny clouds in the icy air.
Lucien leapt to the ground, his top boots squishing the sodden maple leaves blown over the cobblestones. He tossed the reins to Finn. “Be good to them. They earned it.”
“Aye, m’lord.” The small man, somewhere in his thirties, but not much over five feet tall nor eight stone, gave his master a toothy grin and flipped a shock of reddish-brown hair out of his eyes. “Sev’teen mile in a’ hour an’ a bit more. They be getting oats an’ barley for sure.”
Lucien nodded casual approval and yanked off his leather driving gloves, using them to brush at the dried road dirt on his multi-caped greatcoat. A burst of rain and sleet from the same storm that must have blown through the baron’s estate had caught him on the Great North Road from London.
With a final slap of the gloves, he abandoned the futile effort to make himself presentable and strode toward the country house, his lean, muscled frame moving with the ease of a man used to action. A twinge of disquiet returned a frown to his face, and his eyes narrowed. Four years of clandestine missions in the glittering courts and ballrooms of the Continent—their elegant setting no less deadly than the wretched battlefields—had taught him to trust his instincts, and something was off the mark about this assignment. A part of him had known it since Lord Rothe’s man came pounding on his door before dawn.
Lucien’s nostrils flared in the cool breeze. Why was he sent to investigate a country housebreaking? Rothe had failed to tell him something about the theft, something vital that had captured Whitehall’s rapt attention. Lucien had sensed an undertone of anxiety in the habitually composed Marquess of Rothe, the man in charge of the Crown’s secret spies.
What the devil had Prinny’s War Office gotten him into this time?
Excerpt 2
setting:
Lady Anne and her cousin are at their great-aunt home in the country. The cousin has confessed she is being blackmailed for a large sum of money to be delivered at a Christmastide Ball in London. They are short of funds.
“I shall tell my man of business he must find the rest,” Aunt Meg declared, sitting straighter now a plan was taking shape. “And I shall recover my strength to chaperone you in London, Georgina, and…and meet with the blackmailer.” When Anne started to speak, her aunt shushed her. “No, Anne. Georgina cannot be allowed to face this scoundrel herself.”
“Good heavens, no!” Anne could not imagine how badly that would go. “Nor do I wish you to risk your health, Auntie, in such a frightening situation. You asked for my help, and this is something I can do. I shall deliver the money.”
The resulting argument was brief; even Georgina recognized it was the best of rather limited options. Before they retired for the evening, Aunt Meg wrote to the Barbarys that she would be bringing an additional guest. “At least you shall have your first London ball,” Aunt Meg said, giving Anne a tearful smile. “I am happy for that.”
The idea startled Anne. She had not thought that far ahead.
Late into the night, she lay awake in bed, listening to a tree branch scrape against the house with each new gust of wind and staring at the ceiling in the dim moonlight. She had finished her letter to her parents without mentioning the blackmail. If she told them, they would be alarmed and forbid her to go to London.
And she must go. There was no one else.
As it was, her parents would be delighted she was extending her stay to include a holiday in London. Her gentle, beautiful mother—left an invalid ten years ago after barely surviving scarlet fever—had become insistent the past year that her father take Anne to London and find a sponsor to bring her into Society. Anne had never asked or even dreamed it would happen, feeling she was needed at home. But Father had hired a nurse this year that Mother had taken a great liking to, and it had made this visit possible. And now London.
With even a brief taste of London society a real possibility, Anne found herself excited, and she smiled in the dark…until she remembered with a jolt that she going there to confront a blackmailer.
Excerpt: Opening lines, Chapter One
The thundering hooves of swiftly moving horses echoed through the dense fog. Lucien Grey, Viscount Ware, feathered his pair of blood bays around the sharp curve, the curricle’s wheels slipping a brief moment on the wet road. The encroaching trees opened onto a broad misty park, revealing the familiar Doric columns of Baron Sherbourne’s yellow-and-gray sandstone manor. Despite the dismal morning, the estate held good memories for Lucien, and a fleeting smile crossed his lips.
Easing the bays to the left toward the stable yard, he brought the light carriage to a halt, and his groom, Finn, slipped off the back to run to the horses’ heads. The high bred team danced in place, snorting at the abrupt end to the journey, their hot breath forming tiny clouds in the icy air.
Lucien leapt to the ground, his top boots squishing the sodden maple leaves blown over the cobblestones. He tossed the reins to Finn. “Be good to them. They earned it.”
“Aye, m’lord.” The small man, somewhere in his thirties, but not much over five feet tall nor eight stone, gave his master a toothy grin and flipped a shock of reddish-brown hair out of his eyes. “Sev’teen mile in a’ hour an’ a bit more. They be getting oats an’ barley for sure.”
Lucien nodded casual approval and yanked off his leather driving gloves, using them to brush at the dried road dirt on his multi-caped greatcoat. A burst of rain and sleet from the same storm that must have blown through the baron’s estate had caught him on the Great North Road from London.
With a final slap of the gloves, he abandoned the futile effort to make himself presentable and strode toward the country house, his lean, muscled frame moving with the ease of a man used to action. A twinge of disquiet returned a frown to his face, and his eyes narrowed. Four years of clandestine missions in the glittering courts and ballrooms of the Continent—their elegant setting no less deadly than the wretched battlefields—had taught him to trust his instincts, and something was off the mark about this assignment. A part of him had known it since Lord Rothe’s man came pounding on his door before dawn.
Lucien’s nostrils flared in the cool breeze. Why was he sent to investigate a country housebreaking? Rothe had failed to tell him something about the theft, something vital that had captured Whitehall’s rapt attention. Lucien had sensed an undertone of anxiety in the habitually composed Marquess of Rothe, the man in charge of the Crown’s secret spies.
What the devil had Prinny’s War Office gotten him into this time?
Research Happily Gone Astray
One of the greatest perks of writing historical fiction is the research. I honestly love it, and sometimes get carried away. Take cookery, for example. It's not likely I'd need to include recipes in my books, but I found an 1805 book on cookery and couldn't resist buying it.
At the beginning of the book are fun pages on how to market, determining if food is fresh or not. For example, you might want to stay away from herring unless its "gills are of a lively shining redness, their eyes stand full, and the fish is stiff." The Art of Cookery Made Plain and Simple by Hannah Glasse
The recipes inside the same book are not exactly written with the detail you and I would expect.
Mutton or Veal Gravy
"Cut and hack your veal well, set it on the fire with water, sweet herbs, mace, and pepper, Let it boil till it is as good as you would have it, then strain it off. Your fine cooks always, if they can, chop a partridge or two and put into gravies."
Note the lack of amounts or times, plus I didn't know what was meant by sweet herbs (see The Historicfoodie’s Blog) or mace (sort of like nutmeg), and I can't recall the last time I had a partridge handy. :)
J l Buck began writing full-time after she retired from a legal career with the Juvenile Court System. Over the next few years, she published sixteen urban fantasy/paranormal novels under the pen name of Ally Shields. In 2019, she decided to fulfill a childhood wish to write mysteries, chose a period in history that fascinated her—and began work on the Viscount Ware Mystery series set in Regency England.
Ms Buck lives in the Midwest with Latte, a mischievous Siamese cat, who attempts to co-author her writing by taking over the keyboard. When not writing or running two blogs, J L Buck enjoys her eight grandchildren (and a great-grandson), reading (preferably on a sunny deck), travel (USA and abroad), and binge-watching any sub-genre of mystery shows.
She can be contacted through her website, her Ally Shields fantasy website, or social media (twitter: @janetlbuck or her pen name account: @ShieldsAlly)
Website * Blog * Facebook * Twitter
Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!
$10 Amazon
Join us on the #BookTour with Guest Post & #Giveaway
#Historical #Regency #Mystery #TheDeadBetrayNone #NewRelease #JLBuck #SilverDaggerBookTours
@jlbuckauthor #OnTour with @SilverDaggerBookTours
Comments
Post a Comment