Our Dear Miss H. Is on the Case

by Violet Marsh

Genres: Female Sleuths; Regency Romance; Victorian Romance; Romantic Comedy

Synopsis

The second book in this delightfully witty historical rom-com series combines scandalous mystery with swoony opposites-attract romance—perfect for fans Enola Holmes and Bridgerton!

Georgina Harrington should never have trusted her feckless cousin Percy with her most precious archaeological discovery. But no one would take her academic work seriously if they knew it was hers and not her male cousin’s. When Percy goes missing, only Georgina realizes that he is truly in danger.  And to find him, she must rely on the help of his infuriating but incredibly handsome best friend.

Although Alexander Lovett is always up for an adventure, he vows to keep his distance from Georgina, who is on his insufferable parents’ list of suitable brides for a future duke. He’s a grown man who can pick his own wife, thank you very much. But he’s surprised to find himself falling for Georgina’s shockingly bold initiative and independent thinking which save them from more than one deadly scrape. Yet as a simple kidnapping grows into a threat to the monarchy, their smoldering attraction might be snuffed out before it ever has a chance to ignite.
 

Release date: March 25, 2025

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 368

Sample

Essex, late 1750s

Egad! Is that actual gold in this mud trap of yours?”

Miss Georgina Harrington instantly recognized the jovial voice of her most tolerable living relative, Percy Pendergrast. Glancing up, she could espy only her cousin’s handsome face peering over the lip of the six-foot deep pit that she was currently kneeling inside. Knowing Percy, he was standing as far back from the overturned dirt as possible.

“I told you that my father was right about antiquities being hidden inside this mound!” Georgina shouted back. Her own words triggered a bittersweetness that lanced her euphoric bubble. After years of waiting and still more years of fruitlessly moving dirt, she’d finally accomplished her father’s dream—their dream. Dear Papa should be sitting next to her, his narrow, scholarly hand sweeping away the debris to reveal these wonderful treasures. But he’d been gone, though, for a decade.

“You look like you’re dusting,” Percy observed with a shudder. “I still cannot fathom why you insist on descending into that dreadful hole and digging in the muck. What is the point, then, of hiring workers? People call me the family’s spendthrift, but you simply toss away all your money into this giant abyss that you’ve half excavated yourself.”

Tom and Jack, the local chaps whom Georgina had hired to help her shovel, exchanged a glance that she had no trouble deciphering. Clearly, they understood that nothing would keep their eccentric employer away from the mysterious heap of dirt.

She wished her own family could comprehend her passion so readily. At least Percy indulged Georgina, if only because of their mutually beneficial arrangement. In exchange for using his name for her antiquity appraisal business, Georgina paid him a small percentage of her commissions, and a slightly bigger one if he needed to appear in person or give a lecture.

Although Percy enjoyed the extra pin money, he had no appreciation for the actual historical pieces, except perhaps their beauty. He’d visited Herculaneum on his grand tour only because it was becoming a fashionable destination. But when Georgina had toured the site with her father and had watched the workers haul out marble statues and jewelry, she’d imagined herself in the middle of the seaside city during its heyday.

Percy would never comprehend the utter delight in communing with the past, so Georgina didn’t try to explain. Instead, she moved aside in order for her cousin to see what she was so meticulously unearthing.

“Is—is that a gilded face?” Percy’s shoulders and even torso were visible now as he leaned high above her.

“Helmet!” Georgina gazed adoringly at the perfectly formed nose poking through the dirt. Her heart squeezed with utter joy. “Judging from the cheek flap that I already pulled from the ground, I think it is iron covered with thinly hammered gold. I will need to study it more closely, but marvelous designs appear to be etched into the precious metal.”

“A helmet, you say?” Another face—this one unfamiliar and undeniably handsome—appeared at the hole above Georgina. With his even features and straight nose, he looked like a statue of Caesar Augustus come to life. Even the sun seemed to recognize the newcomer’s male beauty as it wreathed his head in a warm, brilliant glow. The auburn strands of his hair burned like fire.

Georgina had little use for pretty countenances, but her heart suddenly decided to beat in an odd, almost trilling fashion. She would have liked to attribute the irregularity to Percy bringing a stranger to her dig, but it wasn’t concern causing her heart to trip.

Quickly, Georgina moved to shield her precious find from the interloper. Thieves—both lowborn and highborn—abounded everywhere. They could claim Georgina’s discovery as their own or steal the grave goods to melt down.

As if understanding her precaution, Tom and Jack also strategically placed themselves to hide the partially unearthed treasures. Percy, as always, seemed blithely oblivious to their concerns or the need for secrecy.

“I see you brought a friend.” Georgina didn’t care that her tone sounded icy. She was icy right now.

Even Percy had no trouble understanding the undercurrent in her voice. “Oh, you needn’t worry about Alexander. He’s the loyal sort. Won’t tell a soul. He’s never gossiped to anyone about the scandalous scrapes that he’s seen me get into.”

“How reassuring,” Georgina remarked drily, finding it odd that Percy used Alexander’s first name rather than his last one or his title. Percy had never been the formal type, but he generally followed that social edict. Judging by the redhead’s style of dress, he was clearly of noble birth, and if he was a good friend of Percy’s, he was likely a roguish scoundrel as well.

“I promise I’m trustworthy,” Alexander called, in a warm, genial baritone that had the surprising and exceedingly uncomfortable effect of resonating inside Georgina.

“Humph,” Georgina replied. “A claim that both an honorable man and rapscallion would make.”

Instead of being insulted, Alexander threw his head back and laughed. The deep, rich sound rumbled through Georgina, too.

“I am the former. I swear.”

“Alexander is the loyal sort, and furthermore, he has no interest in English ancestry,” Percy teased. “Now, if you were hosting secret curricle races, you might have a concern. He is the very devil when he has a set of reins in his hands.”

“Percy is right that I have little regard for musty old heroes and even less care for the stuff they left behind. The present is much more engaging.” Alexander grinned down and sent her a wink as if they were bosom friends. After living with her half brother for ages, Georgina didn’t trust outward charmers. Their polished veneer often hid rough interiors. She also had little use for men who’d rather risk life and limb on a race to nowhere than spend any time learning the lessons of the past.

“I see,” Georgina said as she gave him a polite but tight smile.

“I shall climb into the pit,” Percy announced suddenly as if he were Julius Caesar declaring veni, vidi, vici—I came. I saw. I conquered.

Her cousin considered himself an athlete, but Georgina had trouble envisioning him scrambling down the rickety ladder leaning haphazardly against the wall of dirt. Although Tom and Jack—who had spent time as miners in the western counties—had shored up the sides of the trench with wood, it was a rather amateurish construction. Georgina was not missish about accepting a little peril if it meant touching history, and the men she’d hired had unfortunately endured more perilous jobs than this one. But Percy—Percy was pampered.

“I’ll return to the carriage,” Alexander announced. “Between the ladder, the descent, and the mud at the bottom, it seems a bit too much for me.”

Some adventurer, Georgina thought—even as she acknowledged that her sardonic assessment was a rather uncharitable one. After all, she’d just been worried about Percy a few moments before. Something about Alexander disrupted her normal, practical bearing, which, in turn, irked her. Yet she felt oddly bereft to see his face disappear from the opening.

“Could you have found a ghastlier ladder?” Percy asked as he leaned down, his normally ruddy cheeks growing pale.

“Funds are limited,” Georgina said crisply. Her father had bequeathed her a small monetary inheritance, along with the cottage and the parcel containing the barrows. It was enough to live on—barely—but her guardian, her half brother, did not permit Georgina free access to the largesse. To save on expenses, he’d even shut up her father’s home and arranged for her to reside with him and his wife on their neighboring estate. Although the red-bricked manor house was much larger and more elegantly appointed than the five-bedroom abode, Georgina would have much preferred to live on her own property.

“Ergh!” A strangled sound erupted from Percy. He must have accidentally pushed the ladder away from the wall when he’d climbed onto it. The top swayed dangerously in the air with Percy clinging to the first few rungs. Miraculously, her cousin managed to keep the rickety structure upright as he attempted to wobble it back toward the sloped side of the pit.

Georgina scrambled to her feet. She, Tom, and Jack raced along the planks of wood that they’d laid down to protect the site. Georgina reached her cousin first. Years of wielding a shovel had gifted her with a strength exceedingly unusual among upper-class women. With one calculated shove, she managed to push the ladder and the increasingly panicked Percy against the safety of the dirt wall.

“What happened?” Georgina asked as she steadied the rails while Percy hastily climbed down.

“My shoe buckle caught on a rung,” Percy explained as he pertly dusted off his light-blue silk breeches. Georgina glanced down at her cousin’s footwear and had to hide a grin. Percy did nothing by half measure, especially when it came to fashion. The ornate silverwork inlaid with garnets and paste jewels stuck out almost an inch from the leather upper. No wonder the ostentatious piece had become entangled.

Georgina pressed her fingers into her temples and rubbed. “Why aren’t you wearing your riding boots and a practical wool suit? You are in the countryside, not London.”

“I brought my curricle since Alexander came down with me,” Percy answered as he inspected the sleeve of his coat for any dirt or damage. “After he is happily ensconced at my family seat, I am planning to pop over to visit the lovely Lady Mowbray. She recently entered half mourning, and I thought a carriage jaunt might be just the activity to lift her spirits.”

This time, Georgina could not stop her smirk. At twenty-six—just a year older than Georgina—Lady Mowbray was a young and exceedingly beautiful widow. Her parents had married her off at eighteen to an elderly earl, and according to Georgina’s sister-in-law and her scandalmongering friends, the Dowager Mowbray was not so discreetly delighting in her newfound freedoms. A carriage trip was most definitely not the only riding Percy and Lady Mowbray had planned for today. It also explained why Percy had chosen shoe buckles dotted with garnet hearts.

“I wasn’t expecting to muck about in the mud,” her cousin continued as he gingerly stepped onto the board, his lips curled in distaste. Percy had inherited his ability to pout without looking ridiculous from his father’s side of the family. Georgina, on the other hand, took after her papa and paternal uncles and aunts, including Percy’s mother. With her dark-brown eyes and hair, extremely pale skin, and prominent cheekbones, Georgina always looked sober. Her sister-in-law, Anne, loudly bemoaned Georgina’s grave appearance, claiming it was why Georgina had yet to make a suitable match. Since Georgina had never been given to vanity, the remarks didn’t hurt… much. Besides, she hadn’t desired any of the roués that Anne and Georgina’s brother had not-so-slyly cast in her direction. Georgina dreamed of meeting a bookish man who wouldn’t mind if his wife spent her time digging through the dirt or scribbling in her journal—which she realized was about as likely as her capturing a Pegasus. But she would be equally satisfied to remain unmarried as long as she gained control over her inheritance.

“No one forced you to descend into my pit,” Georgina pointed out. Like Percy, she picked her way back to where she’d been diligently working. Her reason for moving cautiously wasn’t to protect her old, mud-soaked frock, though. Rather, she didn’t want to inadvertently hurt any antique material. For days, she’d been unearthing brittle pieces of iron that were evenly placed in what appeared to be a specific pattern. The sandy dirt around them was a curious color that did not match the rest of the soil. She didn’t understand what they were, and she didn’t want a single one disturbed until she had the chance to record its location. Although the rusty pieces didn’t shine like the gold-encrusted helmet, she still felt drawn to them. Ancient hands had created them for some purpose. Every time Georgina ran her finger along the corroded metal, she couldn’t help but wonder if the long-dead smithy had done the same.

“I am like a crow. I am attracted to shiny things,” Percy admitted good-naturedly. Her cousin’s wry humor and self-assessing honesty were one of the reasons Georgina was fond of him, despite the fact she generally did not tolerate feckless bon vivants.

“Talk of the devil, and he doth appear in the mud,” Percy quipped as he suddenly slacked his already slow pace. “What is that glinting over there?”

As Percy bent to reach for a shard glittering in a beam of sunlight, Georgina grabbed his upper arm. “Please refrain from touching anything. I want to record where I found each object.”

“Swounds, why would you do that? It sounds like a dreadful bore.” Percy, however, did listen as he rose to his feet.

“It’s the method that Karl Jakob Weber recommends. He is using it while excavating the Roman villa with all the papyri,” Georgina said excitedly. She couldn’t wait to write to the Swiss military engineer about her finds today.

“Who? What?” Percy asked as he leaned over again, this time to wipe away dirt that had landed on one of the garnet hearts decorating his shoe buckle.

“Karl Jakob Weber!” Georgina shouted.

“Repeating his name does not help.” Percy pulled out a silk handkerchief and began to polish the semiprecious stone.

“He is assisting with the recovery of antiques in Herculaneum. I told you that I—or rather you—were corresponding with him. You need to remember these details. What if you encounter him?” A flare of familiar frustration burned in Georgina’s chest. She wished—oh, how she wished—she could correspond with antiquitarians using her own name. But when she did, she received no response, and worse, her ideas were purloined without credit to her. But when she signed Percy’s appellation, she garnered accolades and recognition… Well, Percy received the boons. But if her work was to be stolen anyway, she’d rather choose who voiced her thoughts. And Percy, despite some of his hedonistic tendencies, was not really a bad sort.

“Balderdash!” Percy exclaimed confidently. “Do you think I’ll bump into a German scholar at a London curricle race or boxing bout? I suppose he could possibly wander into my favorite coffeehouse, the Black Sheep, but there are so many of those establishments in London. If this Weber chap visited any of them, he’d likely head to Elysian Fields, since it’s frequented by antiquarians.”

Georgina rubbed her temples again, wishing her partner in deception possessed a bit more consideration of the game they played. “First, Mr. Weber is a Swiss mercenary in the Naples army, so there is a chance he might enjoy a bit of blood sport.”

“I thought you didn’t consort with those types.” Percy grinned gleefully.

Georgina pretended to whack her cousin on the shoulder but only gave him a light bop. “I tolerate your presence, don’t I?”

“Only because you lack other options,” Percy happily pointed out. “And you do live with your brother, who makes me look like an utter dullard in comparison. He never met a cockfight he didn’t like, and he is downright vicious with sword, fists, or pistol.”

Georgina suppressed a shiver. Her half brother possessed a dark streak that Georgina had never trusted. She wished her father had noticed the black spot on Algernon’s heart before he’d appointed the scapegrace as her guardian. But as much as Papa understood Greek and Latin texts, he’d always had trouble deciphering people.

“Will you let me touch that helmet of yours?” Percy asked.

“Certainly not.” Georgina increased her pace. Percy may mean well, but his cavalier enthusiasm made him reckless and occasionally clumsy with objects he should treat with care. “It is very fragile.”

“Wasn’t it meant for war?” Percy asked. “How could I damage it?”

“It has been buried for untold years, and the iron has become brittle. Besides, it is highly ornamental. Perhaps it was only meant for ceremonies. Although if that were the case, why didn’t they just make a crown or use a cheaper substance, like copper, for the base? The piece could have multiple purposes and functions. The gold leaf would have made the headwear exceedingly fearsome, especially with the sun glinting off it. The use of such a precious metal would be a clear display of wealth and power so maybe the helmet was used for battle after all.”

“Georgina?” Percy broke into her musings.

“What?” Georgina blinked rapidly at her cousin, realizing that she’d nearly forgotten his presence.

“You’re essaying aloud again.”

Georgina heard twin snorts from Tom and Jack, who were standing shoulder to shoulder in the pit. She felt a sheepish grin stretch across her face. “I have a tendency to do that, don’t I?”

Percy gave her head a friendly tap. “You do, but your fine mind does earn us plenty of accolades.”

Earns you accolades, Georgina thought bitterly, but then she forced the sourness away.

“I’ll let you look at the helmet,” Georgina said. “But no touching.”

Percy sighed laboriously. “I am not a child.”

Georgina shot him a dry look. Percy was exactly like a rambunctious toddler, and he well knew it. “Put your hands in your pockets.”

Percy pretended to pout, but he complied. With her cousin’s grabby fingers properly contained, Georgina led him over to her most marvelous discovery. Even Percy reverently drew in his breath when they approached the half-uncovered helmet. Given the darkness of the barrow, Georgina had left her lantern near the piece of antiquity. The light caught not just the gold but the unique inlaid gems.

“Does—does it truly have rainbow-colored eyebrows and a mustache?” Percy asked. “That is not just an interesting but a bold choice.”

The ancient craftsman had hammered out protruding, arching eyebrows at the bottom of the helmet’s cap, right where the hinged face-plate had been attached. In the raised metal, the artist had inserted thin strips of an opaque rock comprised of pink, purple, blue, and black layers. Similar shards had been skillfully placed between the sculpted nose and the carefully crafted lips. The effect should have been garish, but the overall presentation was so fierce and finely wrought that the armor was simply stunning.

“I am not sure what the gemstone is,” Georgina said, “but we’ve dug up a number of artifacts made from it, including a goblet and a remarkable brooch. It is a rather versatile material and must have been plentiful. They could have traded for it, but the sheer amount indicates a local source.”

“Surely we would have heard of it,” Percy said. “We both grew up in this area.”

Georgina shrugged. “There are an untold number of nooks and crannies dotting the sea cliffs that could contain the mineral, and they are not precisely safe to explore.”

Tom issued a smothered cough that turned into a choke. Jack whacked him on his back in a pretense of helping, but the glare Jack sent the other young man was more telling. Smuggling abounded along Essex’s coastline, and Georgina wasn’t naïve enough to believe that Jack and Tom didn’t play some lowly role in the local operations. But she purposely avoided thinking too hard about what had become a major source of income in the region after the decline of the wool industry. She was also careful not to dig anywhere near the shore on her property or to even visit the barrow at night. If Georgina sometimes spied mysterious lights from the window of her small bedroom on her brother’s estate, she never made mention, even in her personal journals.

“When I was younger, I used to pretend I was a pirate smuggler and that a rock shelter on my father’s property was my lair. It was grand fun,” Percy said, seemingly unaware of the tension between the two workers. “Then I grew up and realized that being confined to a ship for months on end would be a terrible bore. Alas, travels around Cape Horn are not for me, nor are sojourns to the Caribbean. I must only visit the tropics in my imagination.”

Not for the first time, Georgina wondered how she could be related to such a fanciful man. Shaking her head at Percy’s whimsy, she bent to brush more soil away from her magnificent find.

Soon Percy was squatting beside her—the closest he’d probably been to a pile of dirt since his early boyhood days. He extended his hand toward the crest of the helmet, where a miniature, rainbow-gemmed dragon perched. Georgina slapped his fingers. He instantly withdrew and put them in his mouth to suck.

“I did not hit you that hard!” Georgina protested.

“You are terrifyingly strong for a woman,” Percy pointed out as he made a show of shaking his palm. When he leaned over the helmet again, he kept his hands in his pockets. “It looks more like a crown than an item of war.”

“I can imagine a warrior-king wearing it to his coronation,” Georgina admitted.

Percy suddenly grabbed her arm, almost causing her to bash the precious object with the handle of her brush. “Percy, be careful.”

“Georgina, what if it is his?” Percy’s brown eyes were wide as he executed an excited bounce.

“Whose?” Georgina asked in confusion. Percy had little interest in history, and she had no earthly idea which dead English chieftain would make him this excited.

Percy rolled his eyes. “Who else would I be talking about?”

“I cannot even hazard a guess.”

Percy gave her a shake. “Arthur! It must belong to him!”

“You mean King Arthur? The one of Round Table fame?” Georgina asked. Of course, Percy would make that assumption. She should have guessed. Her cousin had pored over his family’s old copy of Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur until he’d irreparably damaged the aging spine.

“Obviously! What other Arthur bears mentioning? You said that you found a goblet! Do you think it is the Holy Grail?” Percy was almost vibrating now.

“Yes. The Holy Grail just happened to be under a mound of dirt in Essex,” Georgina said drily.

Palpably insulted, Percy swept his arm out over the helmet. “Well, this just happened to be lying here in the mud.”

“Percy, think for a moment. Even in many of the legends, the Grail was never recovered. And why would a drinking vessel used in ancient Jerusalem be carved from a colorfully banded rock that appears to be of English origin?”

“You have a way of plucking every thread of fun from a situation,” Percy remarked gloomily before he brightened. “But I still believe the helmet is his.”

“If Arthur even existed—”

“What do you mean, if?” Percy crossed his arms. “Of course he was real.”

“There are serious questions in the scholarly community about whether he was ever a living person,” Georgina protested. “Bede never mentions him—”

“Because Bede was a dullard,” Percy said huffily.

“Bede was a true historian, not a romantic novelist peddling trumped-up tales masquerading as—” Georgina began before Percy cut her off with a gasp.

“You take that back. Malory was a genius,” Percy countered.

“He could weave a story, I’ll grant him that much,” Georgina said. “But even if Arthur actually walked on this earth rather than just in the imagination of his creators, why would he be buried in Essex?”

“Colchester isn’t too far from here. Some say it was Camelot. The Romans called it Camulodunum, after all.”

“The Arthur stories originated in Wales, so if he lived and died anywhere, it would be on the other side of Great Britain!” Georgina barely succeeded in stopping an eyeroll.

“When I present the helmet to the Antiquarians of England Society, I am going to say that it is Arthur’s,” Percy proclaimed, his lips tilting into a devilish smile.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Georgina gasped. “We’d—you’d—become a laughingstock.”

Percy’s smug grin faltered. Although Georgina needed his name more than he required the fake reputation, “his” scholarly work gave him prestige in the family. Since he was the third son, his parents expected him to join the military or enter the clergy—neither of which aligned with Percy’s natural temperament. But once Georgina had begun publishing articles as Percy, his father, mother, and older brothers had stopped pressing him to assume a respectable profession.

“Truly?” Percy asked.

Georgina nodded solemnly. “Yes.”

“Well, I am at least going to tell my mates at the Black Sheep that it is Arthur’s!” Percy declared.

Georgina rubbed her forehead, and she could feel the cool mud that her fingers left in their wake. She didn’t care. “Please don’t. And I wish, when you went to London, that you’d instead frequent Elysian Fields, where the classical scholars gather.”

“Which is why Elysian Fields is so dreadfully dreary. Every patron is haranguing about someone long deceased. Plato this. Socrates that. Nero was mad. Caligula was evil. Hadrian and his wall. Caesar and his conquering. Cleopatra and Marc Antony made the beast with two backs. No one cares. They’re all dead.”

“At least they existed,” Georgina said cheekily.

Percy gripped his heart. “Stop maligning my Arthur!”

“Then stop threatening to denigrate my helmet with a mere myth!”

“A connection to Arthur is an elevation, an honor!” Percy tossed his hands into the air with a grand flourish.

“Maybe at a place like the Black Sheep, but not Elysian Fields,” Georgina scoffed.

“Actually, I think you’d rather like the Black Sheep,” Percy said.

“A coffeehouse run by the daughters of pirates?” Georgina asked. “It sounds too adventurous for my blood. Besides, as a woman, I couldn’t enter either the Black Sheep or Elysian Fields.”

Percy glanced over at Tom and Jack, and then he leaned close to whisper in Georgina’s ear. “The Black Sheep has opened a secret back room where women and men mingle. The furniture is sinfully comfortable. Sophia, one of the proprietresses, experiments with the coffee and makes it not just palatable but delectable. The patrons converse about all manners of topics. It is rumored that Lady Charlotte Lovett has taken part ownership and that she helped unmask Viscount Hawley as a murderous highwayman.”

“Anne has mentioned the scandal, but I never pay attention to her gossipmongering.”

“An heir to a dukedom is robbing carriages for his evil pleasure, and you’re not interested?” Percy asked incredulously.

“Not really,” Georgina admitted. “Although it has crossed my mind that I might have played a role—albeit a small one—in his capture.”

Percy blinked. Twice. “Pardon? How could you possibly be involved? You have been rusticating in the country for years, and you don’t associate with anyone in Society except your family.”

Georgina shrugged as she returned to gently scraping dirt from the helmet. With the excitement of uncovering the antiquities, she had no time to think about solved mysteries. “I knew Lady Charlotte from my debutante days. She recently wrote asking if I could identify an ancient symbol carved into a cameo. I recognized it as belonging to the Chatti tribe of Scotland. It was shortly after I replied to her that Lord Hawley was arrested. I heard one of his victims was Lady Chattiglen, so perhaps the jewelry was hers and had been stolen by the viscount.”

“Why haven’t you told me this?” Percy demanded.

“It didn’t seem of much import, and I have no way of knowing if the exchange of letters had anything to do with the unmasking of Lord Hawley.” Georgina’s careful removal of dirt revealed another glint of gold. Barely focusing on what she was saying. . .