by Erica Monroe
The Philosopher’s Stone has been the subject of many different works throughout time, and holds its basis in alchemical texts ranging from the medieval ages to modern times. The alchemists I have mentioned in this book did indeed exist, though I have probably mangled their very complex work in my attempts at simplifying it. For Felicity’s Philosopher’s Stone, I have embellished upon described processes and created new ones, as there’s a large debate as to how the stone would have been created. When it comes to the purposes of this novel, I wanted the Elixir of Life to do more than just grant immortality, and so I expanded upon what it could do.
My many thanks go to Gaylin Walli, who helped me research spirit lamps for Felicity’s experiment. Berzelius’s lamp was actually invented in 1820, but for the purposes of this novella, I have co-opted it for use in 1811.
My thanks as well to Heather Ratcliffe for describing the exact ingredients needed for the embalming fluid used by Felicity. All errors in chemistry and science are my own.
The “Night Watch Bill” that Nicholas fails to get passed in the House of Lords is a real bill, responding to the public outcry caused by the brutal murders of two East End families in December of 1811. Though the Night Watch aimed at preventing crime, it was not viewed as part of the police due to the fact that it was locally controlled by several different authorities. This led to inefficiency at best, and a failure to stop crime at worst.
The Night Watch Bill suggested fixing this flaw by centralizing the Watch, creating the position of Assistant High Constable to supervise the petty constables and watchmen, and grouping the existing parishes into eight districts. The bill aimed at increasing accountability and opening up communication between the different parishes, as each policing unit in London largely operated independently. In fact, London would not have a centralized police force until 1828, when the Metropolitan Police Department was created.
In May of 1812, the members of Parliament voted against the Night Watch Bill, citing concerns about a government-run police force, among other issues. I have moved this date in my novella to the Season of 1811, for the purposes of the narrative.
Acknowledgments
I owe a debt of gratitude to Christina McKnight, Elizabeth Essex, Eileen Richards, and Christy Carlyle for all reading this book in its early drafts and for sending me copious notes. I am very thankful to Heather “Ace” Ratcliff, who helped me with figuring out an embalming fluid and general body decomposition questions. (All those things you thought you wouldn’t read in a Christmas novella, see below apologies). As always, I am thankful to Gaylin Walli for answering my weird, weird research questions, and to Ali Trotta for keeping me from actually killing anyone when my deadlines are tight.
My thanks as well to Ava Stone, who when I said “so I’m going to write a take on Frankenstein for our Christmas novella project. That sounds good, right?” did not say, “are you out of your mind?” but instead allowed me to run with it. And run with it, I did (see below apologies again, oops).
My thanks to my mother, who long ago stopped being concerned about my “super dark books” and instead learned to embrace the morbidity of her obviously delightful, foul-mouthed daughter.
My apologies to all who picked this up thinking it was going to be a Christmas story and instead got creepy descriptions of dissection. I’d like to blame all the years I’ve spent watching the X-Files for that one (MULDER AND SCULLY FOREVER).
But all glib aside, thank you, from the bottom of my cold, not-so-dead heart, to each of you who have embraced Felicity and Nicholas’s romance. Of all the heroines I’ve ever written, I had the most fun with Felicity, and she holds a special place in my heart as a girl who grew up awkward yet somehow managed to find the love of her life. (Shout out to all y’all who called me “the next Mary Shelley,” because I’ve never been so happy about a comparison in my life.)
Which brings me to the last, but never, ever, ever least, acknowledgment. To my husband, for never minding that I decorate for Halloween in August, dress up as Victorian mourners, and make him listen to very long detailed descriptions of all my gross research. You’re welcome, babe. I’m a peach, I know.
Thank You for Reading
Out of all the books you could choose, thank you for picking up The Determined Duchess. I hope you’ll take a few minutes out of your day to review this book – your honest opinion is much appreciated. Reviews help introduce readers to new authors they wouldn’t otherwise meet.
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Gothic Brides
The Determined Duchess is the second title in the Gothic Brides series. While each book reads as a stand-alone, the series is best enjoyed in chronological order. Set in Regency England, intrepid women and courageous gentlemen must face dark, dangerous circumstances on their path to happily ever after.
The Mad Countess (Teddy and Claire)
The Determined Duchess (Nicholas and Felicity)
The Scandalous Widow (Gabriel and Jemma)
Read on for an excerpt from The Scandalous Widow
An Excerpt from
THE SCANDALOUS WIDOW
Gothic Brides, Book 3
Purchase here
The cruel, senseless murder of the dashing Earl of Wolverston has rocked Hill Street—and not just because Wolverston leaves behind a beautiful widow!
Our secret sources tell us the earl was killed outside of one of Covent Garden’s most notorious houses of ill repute.
-Whispers from Lady X
West End, London, England
June 1816
Zero days since the death of the Earl of Wolverston
Gabriel Sinclair had grown accustomed to the glossy sheen of blood splashed upon narrow London alleys. The sickly-sweet scent mottled with the reek of decomposition, the stench almost overpowering. He sucked in small, barely-sustaining breaths to keep from gagging, regretting the ale he’d drank at the Brown Bear before he’d received the message he was needed in Soho Square.
Although the patrolman who’d initially found the bodies spewed his dinner in the courtyard, Gabriel remained poised and alert in the face of such gore. In his ten years with the Bow Street Runners, he had seen far, far worse. Two middle-aged men—one dressed in high-quality clothing, and the other in little more than rags—rated tame in comparison. Robbery was common enough in Soho Square, and apparently, the cause for this crime. A man claimed he had been leaving the brothel with his brother and a blackguard had attacked them. A scuffle had occurred, and the assailant overpowered the older brother, murdering him. The younger brother was lucky to be alive—he’d managed to get the knife from their attacker and stabbed him.
Frowning, Gabriel’s gaze darted from the two corpses to where the witness sat with his back pushed up against the White House brothel, watched over by another policeman. Patrolman Green had taken the man’s statement and reported a quick summary to Gabriel. The man’s story seemed valid—he had the defensive wounds to attest to the struggle—but Gabriel still wanted to investigate further. Once he’d examined the bodies, he’d return to the station house on Bow Street with the witness and question him more.
But for now, he had more pressing matters.
Every minute that passed changed minute details, making it harder to recreate the murder in his mind. When he’d started as a patrolman, the others had teased him for his meticulous examination. Now that he’d been promoted to Principal Officer, no one questioned his methods.
Gabriel calmly removed his gloves and knelt down to inspect the bodies. He had no formal medical training, but he could at least make note of the injuries and possible cause of death before the coroner arrived. He’d start with the rich man first, since he appeared to be the victim.
To the average man, death was something to be feared. A failure. An ending.
But for men like Gabriel, death was business as usual.
He had work to do. Emotions only clouded the facts, leaving one blind to any clues that might not fit one’s preconceived notio
ns of the case. When he was at work—and Gabriel was always at work, these last three years—he thought of nothing else but getting justice for the victims of a crime. It was easier that way. No time to ponder past regrets, to recall the tinkling laughter of the woman whose smile had always made him feel as though he could accomplish anything. Be anything.
The man was face-down, his arms and legs flung out, bent unnaturally. His gray-streaked brown hair was matted with blood. Gingerly, Gabriel pushed at the hair, revealing a gaping aperture, approximately the size of a club. Most likely the fatal blow, given the viscera clotting the hole. He let the hair fall back with a silent prayer that the man had died quickly—all the while knowing such was improbable. The man’s body bore too many wounds for that to have been the first hit.
Gabriel’s brows furrowed as he examined the man’s torn cutaway tail coat. Dirt and blood marred the blue pinstripes, but even in its disheveled state he could tell that the coat had been expertly tailored to the wearer’s somewhat corpulent frame. The silk was smooth to the touch, still retaining some of its naturally bright sheen. And there, right at his waist, were two dangling threads where gold buttons must have adorned the coat. He checked the sleeves, noting those buttons had been cut too. He’d have to examine the clothing, but so far this all confirmed the brother’s statement.
“But you weren’t so lucky,” Gabriel murmured. “Must have been a hell of a fight. Miracle your brother survived.”
The clip-clop of horse’s hooves against the cobblestones made Gabriel rise quickly. Dawn was approaching, and soon the streets would be full of early morning traffic. The news would spread like wildfire, due to the crime occurring outside the infamous White House, where Mrs. Theresa Berkeley and her girls catered to a clientele that achieved sexual satisfaction through flagellation. The scandal sheets would delight in that on-dit.
Even now, he kept seeing curtains move at the brothel, as prostitutes and their patrons realized what was going on outside. People’s curiosity would soon surpass their desire to keep their sexual proclivities private, and there would be a mass exodus.
Time to start closing off the brothel so they could question everyone. He motioned to Patrolman Green to guide the brother back inside, and then he called to the other patrolman who had first found the bodies. “Wilcox?”
Once he’d finished ridding himself of mutton, Wilcox had stationed himself at the corner, claiming he was looking for the coroner. Gabriel had allowed him to save face with the pretense. But now he needed the younger man’s help.
Wilcox wiped the arm of his sleeve across his mouth, abashedly returning his stare. “I’m sorry, sir. It won’t happen again. It was just—”
“Your first dead body.” Gabriel nodded swiftly. Wilcox hadn’t been on the job more than a week, whereas Patrolman Green had served four years already. “Happens to us all. Nothing to be ashamed of. Here, help me turn him over, would you? I’d like to get a look at his wounds before the coroner comes.”
Wilcox’s lower lip shook, and his skin began to take on that puce hue again.
“Steady, lad,” Gabriel said encouragingly, as he grabbed hold of one side of the corpse.
Wilcox set his shoulders back, notched up his chin, and grasped the other side. Together, they rolled the man over, careful to not disturb his wounds.
“There we go. Very good, Wilcox.” Gabriel patted the patrolman’s arm, half to ensure the man wouldn’t run off and retch again and half to praise him.
“Bloody hell, he looks bad.” Wilcox’s voice only shook a little bit, so Gabriel released the man’s arm and turned his attention back to the scene.
Bad was an appropriate estimation of this victim’s state. The dead man had defensive wounds on his arms and hands, as if he’d thrown his hands up to protect his face. A blade of some sort had slashed into his skin, leaving behind shallow cuts. Likely, the same blade that had ended the attacker’s life. He’d verify that later with the coroner.
The pools of blood corresponded to his current position, so Gabriel doubted he’d been moved since the final blow. And his purse was empty of coin. That too supported the companion’s story.
Yet, something didn’t feel right. He couldn’t shake the niggling sensation that he was missing something.
Gabriel frowned, letting his gaze travel from one end of the street to the other. He took it all in: the stink of the pre-dawn emptying of the brothel’s chamber pots by the maid, the blood splattered on the stones and on the front wall and door of the White House, the bruises purpling the dead man’s face and neck. There was so much damage done to his face it was harder to imagine what he would have looked like before.
Even with the disfigurement, he seemed familiar. But why? His dress marked him as far outside of Gabriel’s current social circle. He squinted. Unless he’d met the man before he’d joined Bow Street, back when he was nothing more than the unfettered fourth son of a viscount, desperate to find a purpose for his life.
He reached into the man’s pockets, hoping to find something identifying. Luck was with him, for in the man’s pocket was a silken handkerchief embroidered with a crest.
When he unfolded the fabric and saw the sword with a wolf on either side of the blade, the ale in his stomach lurched precariously, and he barely stopped himself from suffering the same fate as Wilcox.
God, he’d been a fool. He should have asked Green for the victim’s name immediately. He’d been so consumed with detailing the scene, he’d missed the obvious. “Wilcox, go tell Mrs. Berkeley no one is to leave the brothel. This is the Earl of Wolverston.”
“Oh, bollocks,” Wilcox cursed, summarizing Gabriel’s feelings well.
Here he was, staring at the corpse of a man he’d once considered a friend. A man who had married the only woman Gabriel had ever loved.
Purchase The Scandalous Widow
Also by Erica Monroe:
GOTHIC BRIDES
Regency Gothic Novellas
The Mad Countess
The Determined Duchess
The Scandalous Widow
COVERT HEIRESSES
Regency Spies
I Spy a Duke
For Your Spy Only (2018)
A Spy Never Surrenders (2019)
Spies Are Forever (2019)
THE ROOKERY ROGUES
Romantic Era Working Class
A Dangerous Invitation
Secrets in Scarlet
Beauty and the Rake
Stealing the Rogue’s Heart
The Lady Rebels (2018)
ANTHOLOGIES
Mystified
Charmed at Christmas
Suspenseful Starts
The Rookery Rogues: Volume 1
About the Author
USA Today Bestselling Author Erica Monroe writes dark, suspenseful historical romance. Her current series include Gothic Brides (Regency Gothic romances), The Rookery Rogues (pre-Victorian gritty working class romance), and Covert Heiresses (Regency spies who are the children of a duke). She was a finalist in the published historical category for the prestigious Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence in Romantic Suspense, and her books have been recommended reads at Fresh Fiction, Smexy Books, SBTB, and All About Romance. She loves coffee, profanity, comic books, and television. She lives in the suburbs of North Carolina with her husband, two dogs, and two cats.
Erica loves to hear from readers, so please feel free to contact her at the following places:
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