by Beth Byers
A Merry Little Death (coming soon)
Also by Amanda Allen
The Mystic Cove Mommy Mysteries
Bedtimes & Broomsticks
Runes & Roller Skates
Banshees and Babysitters
Hobgoblins and Homework
Christmas and Curses
Valentines & Valkyries
The Rue Hallow Mysteries
Hallow Graves
Hungry Graves
Lonely Graves
Sisters and Graves
Yule Graves
Fated Graves
Ruby Graves
The Inept Witches Mysteries
(co-written with Auburn Seal)
Inconvenient Murder
Moonlight Murder
Bewitched Murder
Presidium Vignettes (with Rue Hallow)
Prague Murder
Paris Murder
Murder By Degrees
Preview of Philanderer Gone
Chapter One
The house was one of those ancient stone artisan-crafted monstrosities that silently, if garishly, announced out and out buckets of bullion, ready money, the green, call it what you would, these folks were simply rolling in the good life. The windows were stained glass with roses and stars. The floor was wide-planked dark wood that was probably some Egyptian wood carried by camel and horse through deserts to the house.
Hettie hid a smirk when a very tall, beautiful, uniformed man slid through the crowd and leaned down, holding a tray of champagne and cocktails in front of her with a lascivious gaze. She wasn’t quite sure if he appreciated the irony of his status as human art for the party, or if he embraced it and the opportunity it gave him to romance bored wives.
She was, very much, a bored wife. Or, maybe disillusioned was the better word. She took yet another flute of champagne and curled into the chair, pulling up her legs, leaving her shoes behind.
The sight of her husband laughing uproariously with a drink in each hand made her want to skip over to him and toss her champagne into his face. He had been drinking and partying so heavily, he’d become yellowed. The dark circles under his eyes emphasized his utter depravity. Or, then again, perhaps that was the disillusionment once again. Which came first? The depravity or the dark circles?
“Fiendish brute,” Hettie muttered, lifting her glass to her own, personal animal. Her husband, Harvey, wrapped his arm around another bloke, laughing into his face so raucously the poor man must have felt as though he’d stepped into a summer rainstorm.
“Indeed,” a woman said and Hettie flinched, biting back a gasp to twist in the chair and see who had overheard her.
What a shocker! If Hettie had realized that anyone was around instead of a part of that drunken sea of flesh, she’d have insulted him non-verbally. It was quite satisfying to speak her feelings out loud. Heaven knew he deserved every ounce of criticism. She had nothing against dancing, jazz, cocktails, or adventure. She did, however, have quite a lot against Harvey.
He had discovered her in Quebec City. Or rather he’d discovered she was an heiress and then pretended to discover her. He’d written her love letters and poems, praising her green eyes, her red hair, and her pale skin as though being nearly dead-girl white were something to be envied. He’d made her feel beautiful even though she tended towards the plump, and he’d seemed oblivious to the spots she’d been dealing with on her chin and jawline through all of those months.
A fraud in more ways than Hettie could count, he’d spent the subsequent months prostrating himself at her feet, romancing her, wearing down her defenses until she’d strapped on the old white dress and discovered she’d gotten a drunken, spoiled, rude, lying ball and chain.
“Do you hate him too?” Hettie asked, wondering if she were commiserating with one of her husband’s lovers. She would hardly be surprised.
“Oh so much so,” the woman said. Her gaze met Hettie’s and then she snorted. “Such a wart. Makes everything a misery. It’s a wonder that no one has clocked him over the back of the head yet.”
Hettie shocked herself with a laugh, totally unprepared to instantly adore one of her husband’s mistresses, but they seemed to share more than one thing in common. “If only!”
She lifted her glass in toast to the woman, who grinned and lifted her own back. “Cheers, darling.”
“So, are you one of his lovers?” the woman asked after they had drunk.
“Wife,” Hettie said and the woman’s gaze widened.
“Wife? I hardly think so.”
“Believe me,” Hettie replied. “I wish it wasn’t so.”
“As his wife,” the woman said with a frown, “I fear I must dispute your claim.”
Hettie’s gaze narrowed and she glanced back at Harvey. His blonde hair had been pomaded back, but some hijinks had caused the seal on the pomade to shift and it was flopping about in greasy lanks. He had a drink in front of him and the man he’d been molesting earlier had one as well. The two clanked their glasses together and guzzled the cocktails. Harvey leaned into the man and they both laughed raucously.
“Idiot,” the woman said. “Look at him gulping down a drink that anyone with taste would have sipped. The blonde one, he must be yours?”
Hettie nodded with disgust and grimaced. “Unfortunately, yes, the blond wart with the pomade gone wrong is my unfortunate ball and chain. So the other fool is yours?”
The woman laughed. “I suppose I sounded almost jealous. I wasn’t, you know. I’d have been happy if Leonard was yours.”
“Alas, my fate has been saddled with yon blonde horse, Harvey.”
They grinned at each other and then the other woman held out her hand. “Ro Lavender, so pleased to meet someone with my same ill-fate. Makes me feel less alone.”
Hettie looked at that fiend of hers, then held out her own hand. “Hettie Hughes. I thought Leonard’s last name was Ripley.”
“Oh, it is,” Ro said. “I try not to tie myself to his wagon unless it benefits me. At the bank, for instance.”
Ro was a breath of fresh air. Hettie decided nothing else would do except to keep her close. “Shall we be bosom friends?” Hettie asked.
“I just read that book,” Ro said. “Do you love it as well?”
“I’m Canadian,” Hettie replied, standing to twine her arm through Ro’s. “Of course I’ve read it. Anne, Green Gables, Diana, Gilbert, Marilla, and Prince Edward Island were fed to me with milk as a babe. Only those of us with a fiendish brute for a husband can truly understand the agony of another. How did you get caught?”
“Family pressure. We were raised together. Quite close friends over the holidays, but I never knew the real him until after.”
Hettie winced. “Love letters for me,” she said disgustedly. “You’d think modern women such as ourselves wouldn’t have been quite so…”
“Stupid,” Ro replied, tucking her bobbed hair behind her ear.
The laughter from the crowd around the table became too much to hear anything and Hettie raised her voice to ask, “Why are we here? Shall we escape into the nighttime?”
“Let’s go to Prince Edward Island,” Ro joked. “Is it magical there? I’ve always wanted to go.”
“I’ve never been,” Hettie admitted, “but I have a sudden desperate need. Let’s flee. You know they won’t miss us until their fathers insist they arrive with their respectable wives on their arms.”
“Or,” Ro joked, “I could murder yours and you could murder mine, and we could create our freedom. If our families want respectable, I would definitely respect a woman that could rid herself of these monsters.”
“That sounds lovely. Until we can plan our permanent freedom, I suppose our best option is simply to disappear into the night.”
Ro lifted her glass in salute and sipped.
Hettie set aside her champagne flute, slipped on her shoes, and then turned to face her husband, who had pulled Mrs. Stone, the obvious trollop, into his lap and was kissing her extravagantly. Hettie scrunched up her nose an
d gagged a little. Mrs. Stone had been in Nathan Brighton’s lap last week.
“She slept with Leonard too,” Ro informed Hettie with an even tone.
Hettie reveled in the camaraderie she found in Ro’s resigned tone. “Have you met Mr. Stone?”
Ro nodded. “He doesn’t realize. He’s not the type of man to be cuckolded like this. So…overtly. Have you heard of the marriage act they’ve proposed?”
Hettie nodded with little doubt that her eyes had brightened like that of a child at Christmas. “I will be there on the very first day. If Harvey had any idea, any at all, he’d be rolling over in his future grave. The money’s mine, you know? My aunt never liked Harvey and she tied up my money tightly. He gets what he wants because it’s easier to give it to him than listen to him whine, but he won’t get a half-penny from me the day I can file divorce papers. They say it’s going to go through.”
“I couldn’t care less about the money,” Ro replied. “Though my money is coming from a still-living aunt. Leonard has enough, I suppose, but his eye is definitely on Aunt Bette’s fortune.”
“So,” Hettie joked, “he needs to go before she does.”
Ro choked on a laugh and cough-laughed so hard she was wiping away tears.
“Darling!” Harvey hollered across the room. “We’re going down to Leonard’s yacht. You can get yourself home, can’t you?”
Hettie closed her eyes for a moment before answering. “Of course I can. Don’t fall in.” She crossed her fingers so only Ro could see. Ro’s laugh made Hettie grin at Harvey. He gave her a bit of a confused look. Certainly he had shouted his exit with the hope she wouldn’t scold him. Foolish man! She’d welcome him moving into Mrs. Stone’s bed permanently and leaving his wife behind.
The handsome servant from earlier picked up Hettie’s abandoned glass and shot her a telling, not quite disapproving look.
“Oh ho,” Hettie said, making sure the man heard her. “We’ve been overheard.”
“We’ve been eavesdropped,” Ro agreed. Then with a lifted brow to the human art serving champagne, she said, “Boy, our husbands are aware of our lack of love. There’s no chance for blackmail here.”
“Does your aunt feel the same?” he asked insinuatingly.
Hettie stiffened, but Ro simply laughed. “Do you think she hasn’t heard the tale of that lush Leonard? She’s written me stiff upper lip letters. Watch your step and your mouth or you’ll lose your position despite your pretty face. It doesn’t matter how you feel, only how you look. No one is paying you to think.”
The servant flushed and bowed deeply, shooting them both a furious expression before backing away silently.
“Cheeky lad,” Hettie muttered. “You scolded him furiously. Are you sure you weren’t letting out your rage on the poor fellow?”
“Cheeky yes,” Ro agreed. She placed a finger on her lip as she considered Hettie’s question and then agreed. “Too harsh as well. I suppose I would need to apologize if he didn’t threaten to blackmail me.”
“But pretty,” they said nearly in unison, then laughed as the servant overhead them and gave them a combined sultry glance.
“No, no, boyo,” Ro told him. “Toddle off now, darling. We’ve had quite our fill of philandering, reckless men. You’ve missed your window.” Ro’s head cocked as she glanced Hettie over. “Shall we?”
“Shall we what, love?”
Ro grinned wickedly. “Shall we be bosom friends then? Soul sisters after one shared breath?”
“Let’s,” Hettie nodded. “As the man I thought was my soulmate was an utter disaster, I’ll take a soul sister as a replacement.”
They sent a servant to summon Hettie’s driver. “I was thinking of going to a bottle party later. At a bath house? That might distract us.”
Hettie cocked her head as she considered. “Harvey does expect me to go home.”
Ro lifted her brows and waited.
“So we must, of course, disillusion him as perfectly as he has me.”
“There we go! It’s only fair,” Ro cheered, shaking her hands over her head. “I have been considering a trip to the Paris fashion salons.”
“Yes,” Hettie immediately agreed, knowing it would enrage Harvey, who preferred her tucked away in case he wanted her. “We should linger in Paris or swing over to Spain.”
“Oooh, Spain!”
“Italy,” Hettie suggested, just to see if Ro would agree.
“Yes!”
“Russia?”
Ro paused. “Perhaps Cote d’Azur? Egypt? Somewhere warmer. I always think of snow when I think of Russia, and I only like it with cocoa and sleigh rides. Perhaps only one or two days a year.”
“Agreed—” Hettie trailed off, eyes wide, as she saw Mrs. Stone enthusiastically kiss the cheeky servant from earlier and then adjust her coat. She winked at Hettie on the way out, caring little that both of them knew Mrs. Stone would be climbing into Harvey’s bed later. Or, perhaps it was Harvey who would be climbing into Mr. Stone’s bed. “Is her husband really blind to it?”
“Oh yes,” Ro laughed. “He’s quite a bit older you know, and even more old-fashioned than my grandfather. He’s Victorian through and through. He probably has a codicil in the will about her remarrying. The type of things that cuts her off if she doesn’t remain true to him. Especially since he’s in his seventies, and she’s thirty? Perhaps?”
Hettie shook her head. “They have a rather outstanding blackberry wine here,” she said, putting Mrs. Stone out of her mind. “Shall we—ah—borrow a bottle or two?”
Ro nodded and walked across to the bar. She dug through the bottles and pulled out a full bottle of blackberry wine, another of gin, and a third of a citrus liqueur. “Hopefully someone will think to bring good mixers.” She handed one of the bottles to Hettie before tucking one under each arm.
The butler eyed them askance as they asked for their coats.
“Don’t worry, luv,” Ro told the butler. “Your master doesn’t mind.”
None of them believed that whopper of a lie, but Ro’s cheerful proclamation made it seem acceptable.
“Thief,” Hettie hissed innocently as her driver, Peterson, opened the door for them and they dove inside. She struggled with the cork and then asked, “Are we going nude or shall we grab bathing costumes?”
“My brother-in-law lives with us,” Ro said, looking disgusted, “I’ll be going nude before I go back and face that one. Look—” Her head cocked as the black cab sped up. “I think that’s him! We can rush back to collect my bathing costume before he returns to the house.”
“I’m a bit too round to want to go full starkers.”
“The men love the curves,” Ro told her. “If you wanted to step out on your Harvey, you’d need to up the attitude and cast a come hither gaze.”
“Like this?” Hettie asked, attempting one but feeling as though she must look like she had something in her eye.
“Like this,” Ro countered, glancing at Hettie out of the corner of her eye. “I’m thinking of a really nice plate of biscuits.”
Hettie tried it and Ro bit back a laugh. “Are you angry with the biscuits?”
“Let me try imagining cakes. I do prefer a lemon cake.” Hettie glanced at Ro out of the corner of her eye, imagining a heavily iced lemon cake, and then smiled just a little.
“No, no,” Ro said, showing Hettie again what to do.
“Oh! I know.” Hettie imagined the divorce act that Parliament was considering.
“Yes! Now you’ve got it! Was it a box of chocolates?”
Hettie confessed, sending Ro into a bout of laughter and tears that saw them all the way to Hettie’s hotel room. From her hotel room to Ro’s house, there were random bursts of giggles and stray tears. Once they reached to bath house, Ro said, “I’ll be drinking to that divorce act tonight. Possibly for the rest of my life.”
“If it frees me,” Hettie told Ro dryly, “I’d paper my house with a copy of it to celebrate those who saved us from a fate I should have
known better than to fall into.”
Order your copy here.
Copyright © 2019 by Beth Byers, Amanda A. Allen
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
