One of her most lucrative seances, for the wealthy Petrie family whose daughter is about to marry a handsome young duke, goes chaotically awry. The duke’s late, and very irate, grandfather demands Flora and his grandson Benedict find the long-missing family diamonds—even the search becomes littered with mayhem and murder! Can Flora discover the jewels before she loses her career, her sanity—and her heart?
Sparks fly as Flora, Benedict, and Chou-Chou pursue the truth of the diamonds’ disappearance in this lighthearted, cozy historical mystery set in foggy, gas-lit London
Purchase Links
US - https://www.amazon.com/Flowerdew-Mystery-Diamonds-Victorian-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B09ZSWGXYS/
Excerpt
London 1888
Flora Flowerdew has a secret. The former Florrie
Gubbins, music hall dancer, is now Madame Flowerdew, one of London’s most
renowned spirit mediums. But it’s actually her beloved Pomeranian dog,
Chou-Chou, who can see the ghosts.
One of her most lucrative seances, for the
wealthy Petrie family whose daughter is about to marry a handsome young duke,
goes chaotically awry. The duke’s late, and very irate, grandfather demands
Flora and his grandson Benedict find the long-missing family diamonds—even the
search becomes littered with mayhem and murder! Can Flora discover the jewels
before she loses her career, her sanity—and her heart
The morning after her ill-fated
séance, Flora meets the ghostly duke’s grandson...
Feeling uncharacteristically flustered, Flora left her hat and gloves with Mary and quickly tidied her hair as she hurried toward the sitting room. There was no time to put on her 'madame' guise. There was a real duke, in her own home. She had a baronet or two among her clients, and plenty of wealthy mill owners and merchants, but nothing like a duke. She had barely even met one before! She hardly knew how a girl from the East End and the stage ought to talk to one.
Yet she was also very curious. What could he tell her about his ghostly grandfather and the missing diamonds? Why had he come to her flat at all?
She pushed open the door and stepped inside, her stomach fluttering a bit. The butterflies turned to agitated finches when she saw the man who stood there.
The duke was very tall and very broad-shouldered, seeming to take up the whole small, well-furnished sitting room. His hair was tawny-gold, longer than was fashionable and waving back from the stark, sharp angles of his clean-shaven face. He was dressed in an impeccably tailored charcoal-gray suit, but the Savile Row clothes seemed uncomfortable on him, incongruous. Flora thought he probably needed a Viking tunic and furs to really suit him. He was really quite astonishing.
Luckily he was half-turned away from her, looking out the window, and she had a second to compose herself before he turned to face her. Of course his eyes were the bluest she had ever seen, pale and piercing like ice.
“Your Grace,” she said, instinctively making a little curtsy. She immediately cursed herself for it. After all, he had come to see her, in her own home. She wasn't a supplicant. “I am Madame Flowerdew. How can I help you today?”
Those icy eyes swept her up and down, and she had to resist patting her hair to make sure it really was tidy. “You are the ghost woman, then?” he said, his voice as jagged as granite. It suited him perfectly. Really, Flora thought, if she was casting a stage production of Jane Eyre, he would be an ideal Mr. Rochester.
She laughed. “I myself am not a ghost, but I can serve as a conduit if they have something to communicate.”
His nostrils flared and his jaw tightened, who told her what he thought about about that. Flora didn't blame him. She'd been a skeptic herself, once upon a time.
“I understand you met with Miss Maud Petrie and her family last night,” he said.
“My, word does travel fast.” Flora sat down on her favorite blue brocade armchair, and took her time arranging her skirts around her. She waved him to the settee, but he shook his head and started pacing the length of the pink flowered needlepoint carpet. Flora saw that Mary had done her duty and brought in the tea tray, and she poured herself a cup. “I hope your fiancee has quite recovered. She seemed understandably startled at the séance. So many people are when first faced with the beyond.”
“She isn't yet my official fiancee, and she is rather more than startled,” he said, wheeling around to glare at her. “Her mother says she can't stop crying, and she has refused to see me. She may never be my fiancee if this keeps up.”
Flora remembered how Miss Petrie had seized her hand, begging for her help. “I am very sorry to hear that.” She took a slow sip of tea. “What can I do to help? I did tell Sir Henry another séance might be necessary to fully close the circle. Perhaps that would help to settle Miss Petrie's mind as well.”
“Another séance is the last thing any of us needs! I have come to demand that you tell me what really happened last night. What trickery was used to make the Petries believe that my grandfather is angry with them.”
“No trickery at all, I assure you, Your Grace,” Flora said. It was the truth for once. She was as confused by what happened as the Petries were. “I didn't even know about your family or their diamonds until last night.”
“No trickery at all, I assure you, Your Grace,” Flora said. It was the truth for once. She was as confused by what happened as the Petries were. “I didn't even know about your family or their diamonds until last night.”
“No trickery at all, I assure you, Your Grace,” Flora said. It was the truth for once. She was as confused by what happened as the Petries were. “I didn't even know about your family or their diamonds until last night.”
His frown flickered, and he started pacing again. “So there was talk of the diamonds.”
“Yes. He seemed very concerned about them. Rather violently so, even.” She was becoming quite dizzy from watching him stride across the floor and back, over and over. “Won't you sit down, and tell me more about how I can help? I am quite hopeless when I'm in the dark about it all.”
Amanda McCabe wrote her first romance at the age of sixteen--a vast historical epic starring all her friends as the characters, written secretly during algebra class (and her parents wondered why math was not her strongest subject...)
She's never since used algebra, but her books (set in a variety of time periods--Regency, Victorian, Tudor, Renaissance, and 1920s) have been nominated for many awards, including the RITA Award, the Romantic Times BOOKReviews Reviewers' Choice Award, the Booksellers Best, the National Readers Choice Award, and the Holt Medallion. She lives in New Mexico with her lovely husband, along with far too many books and a spoiled rescue dog.
When not writing or reading, she loves yoga, collecting cheesy travel souvenirs, and watching the Food Network--even though she doesn't cook. She also writes as Amanda Allen...
Please visit her at http://ammandamccabe.com
Social Media Links – (4) Amanda McCabe Books | Facebook
http://ammandamccabe.com
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