Page 1 of A Murder on London Bridge
CHAPTER 1
LONDON 1925
SUPPER AT LORD AND LADY RUTLEDGE’S
It was with a great deal of pride that Robert and I welcomed our guests to our first formal dinner as husband and wife. To tell the truth, it should have happened months ago. But the death of Robert’s brother had precluded an earlier celebration.
His absence was keenly felt by our family, especially Mother and Father, who’d been his closest friends. But the one who’d missed him most was Robert, as he’d been Robert’s mentor long before he discovered they were related. Not only related, but the heir to the Rutledge title and everything that went along with it.
With the assumption of the title came certain responsibilities, one of which being we had to be social. With time marching on, Robert had decided April was the right time to hold our first formal dinner party. Having learned from the best, Mother, I was infinitely familiar with what that entailed. Scrumptious food, gorgeous place settings, and, of course, a guest list that included the familiar and the new.
My parents, naturally, were there. And so were my brothers, Richard and Ned; Lady Lily, Ned’s fiancée; Lady Emma, who would soon become Lady Marlowe; and Marlowe himself. Lady Mellie, our newest Assistant Lady Detective, as well as our dear friend, Hollingsworth’s sister, was present as well. Sadly, he was still on his travels. Last we heard, he’d landed in Greece. We sorely missed his presence and hoped he would soon return to us.
Last, but not least, we’d invited Mister Merton, an antiquities dealer, and his wife. One might think Merton an odd person to invite to our first formal dinner, as he was neither related nor a close friend. But Robert thought he would be an interesting dinner guest. I had to agree. During a sudden rainstorm, Robert had sought shelter in his shop. Given his love of rare books, he’d become fascinated by what he’d discovered there. So, of course, we’d extended the invitation, which Merton was not slow to accept.
As our guests arrived, we welcomed them in our drawing room, where a cheerful fire glowed in the grate. A footman moved with practiced ease, offering flutes of champagne and glasses of sherry. Conversation flowed easily among family and friends. The Mertons were soon included as they were drawn in with gentle encouragement.
With the evening happily established, I decided it was time to satisfy my curiosity about Lily’s wedding plans. She looked radiant beneath the candlelight, the glow catching in her blonde hair and the subtle shimmer of pearls at her throat.
Joining her by the hearth, I lowered my voice just enough to carve out a private moment amid the broader din. “So,” I said, “how are the wedding plans coming along?”
Lily’s eyes sparkled as she laughed. “Everything’s proceeding exactly according to plan. Down to the last embroidered napkin.”
“I should have known,” I teased.
“Mother Worthington has been . . . wonderfully involved.”
“Mother Worthington?” I echoed, lifting a brow.
Lily flushed ever so slightly, though she looked pleased. “It felt natural, somehow. She’s been incredibly kind and rather determined to make this wedding a triumph.”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt of that,” I said. “Has she introduced you to ‘The File Folders’ yet?”
Lily laughed again. “Oh yes. Each one neatly labeled, color-coded, and cross-referenced. One for flowers, one for food, one for the guest list, one for music. There’s even one labeledPossible Weather Contingencies.”
“That sounds exactly like Mother,” I said with a grin. “She created a folder labeledKitty’s Futurewhen I was fourteen. It included a list of eligible peers and my ideal hairstyle.”
“She only wants everything to be perfect,” Lily said gently. “And honestly, I rather love the folders. I’ve always liked a bit of order amidst the chaos.”
“I suppose they do have a certain charm,” I conceded. “Like a military campaign in paper form.”
“Exactly,” Lily agreed.
“Well, I’m relieved to hear the bride hasn’t been buried beneath fabric swatches or kidnapped by a runaway florist.”
“Not yet,” she said. “Though I’ve heard the cake designer has opinions.”
I placed a hand to my heart. “Ah, yes, the Cake Wars. No one escapes unscathed.”
Lily beamed. “I’m so glad you’ll be by my side as an attendant, not just as my soon-to-be sister, but my friend.”
“Always,” I said, and meant it.
She reached for my hand and gave it a small squeeze, and for a moment, the world felt perfectly splendid.
The laughter grew brighter, the glasses clinked, and by the time we were summoned to the dining room, the evening already felt like a success.
Our dining room positively glowed under the candlelight, all soft shadows and golden flickers. Polished mahogany, gleaming crystal, and china so fine I was almost afraid to touch it.
