A Perilous Perspective by Anna Lee Huber
Lady Darby Mystery #10
Historial Mystery
April 19, 2020, by Berkley

Summary:

An all-new historical mystery in this USA Today bestselling series featuring beloved inquiry agents Lady Kiera Darby and her dashing husband, Sebastian Gage.

Argyll, Scotland. July 1832. After a trying few months in Edinburgh, Kiera and her husband and investigative partner, Sebastian Gage, are eager to escape to the Highlands with their three-month-old child. Kiera is overjoyed for her cousin Rye and her detractor-turned-friend Charlotte who are being wed in a private ceremony at the estate of Rye’s great-uncle, the Marquess of Barbreck, in what seems to be the perfect wedding party.
 
But when Kiera is invited to peruse Barbreck’s extensive art collection, she is disturbed to discover that one of his most priceless paintings seems to be a forgery. The marquess’s furious reaction when she dares to mention it leaves her shaken and the entire house shocked. For it turns out that this is not the first time the word forgery has been uttered in connection with the Barbreck household.
 
Matters turn more ominous when a maid from a neighboring estate is found murdered where the forged painting hangs. Is her death connected to the forgeries, perhaps a grisly warning of what awaits those who dare to probe deeper? With unknown entities aligned against them, Kiera and Gage are forced to confront the fact that they may have underestimated their opponent. For they are swiftly made to realize that Charlotte’s and Rye’s future happiness is not the only issue at stake, and this stealthy game of cat and mouse could prove to have deadly consequences.

Excerpt:

I tipped my head back and breathed deeply of the Highland air thick with the scent of pine trees and the salty brine of the loch, as well as the faint aroma of old stone. The castle ruins providing us shade were little more than two stubby walls of a former tower while a number of larger stones straggled across the hillock. Lord Barbreck had explained that the rest of the rocks had long been carted away, most of them being utilized to help build the new castle in the early seventeenth century near the spot where the manor now stood. That building had been burned to the ground by Hanoverian troops following the Jacobite rising of 1745, but if I looked to the northeast over the treetops, I could just spy the decorative chimneys and crenellations of the Georgian manor which had been built to replace it some fifty years ago.

At the sound of the loud snuffle behind me, I looked over my shoulder to find Lady Bearsden blinking up at Morven.

“Rise and shine, sleepy-head,” my cousin teased as she poured herself some lemonade from the pitcher she’d located.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” she countered, pushing herself upright, then patting her snow-white hair to be certain it was in place. “Merely resting my eyes.”

Morven nodded toward her chin. “Then I suppose you’ll blame that bit of drool on little Emma?”

Lady Bearsden swiped at her face but, upon seeing the smirk Morven had failed to hide behind her glass, narrowed her eyes. Morven bent forward to return the pitcher to the basket, but the older lady halted her with a thump of her gold figure-headed cane, narrowly missing my cousin’s foot. “Aren’t you going to offer to pour some for me? My, but isn’t it warm today.” She fanned her face with her hand. “And you ladies dashing about in this heat.”

“I suppose you and Kiera had the right idea,” Morven replied good-naturedly, handing her the glass of lemonade she’d demanded in retaliation for Morven’s impertinence.

Lady Bearsden accepted it with a nod of thanks. “I told Kiera I was surprised she’d not brought her sketchbook with her, as I’ve scarcely seen her without it the past three days.”

She had, indeed, already remarked such just before dozing off and apparently missing my answer.

“There are many interesting sights to capture at Barbreck,” I replied. “But I suspected it would be much too blustery on this hill to fumble with paper and charcoals, and I was correct.”

“All the same, that view must be beckoning to you,” Charlotte interjected, admiring the aspect before us.

“Yes and no.”

This admission was met by a quizzical glance.

“Kiera is only curious about people.” A twinkle lit Morven’s eyes as she sat beside me again. “Landscapes are much too dull and less prone to foibles.”

I laughed. “I suppose that’s partly true. But portraits are definitely where my talents lie. I wish I could paint a landscape half so well as Gainsborough or Constable,” I added wistfully.

My cousin made a derisive sound at the back of her throat. “Well, I wish I could paint more than a blob with arms and legs. You happen to be one of the most gifted portrait artists in all of Britain, so don’t expect me to feel sorry for you.”

I smiled at her taunting tone, hearing the pride behind it. Though she had been exaggerating, at least a little. It was true that, second only to my family, my art was my greatest passion. But while my portrait paintings had recently become all the rage, that was more due to my scandalous reputation than my talent. And my decision some months past to stop accepting portrait commissions had only seen the demand for them rise. In the past three weeks alone, I had turned down two outrageous offers from one of the highest-ranking peers of the realm and a wealthy industrialist. Had money been my chief consideration, I might have been sorely tempted, but Gage’s fortune was more than adequate, and I was much more interested in pursuing my own portrait projects.

“I’ve two Gainsboroughs up at the hall,” the Marquess of Barbreck declared, shuffling over to rejoin us with the aid of his walking stick. “A few Van Dycks, Titian, Reynolds, Zoffany . . .” he continued rattling off artists’ names, some of whom made my ears perk up with interest. I had already spied a pair of portraits by Thomas Lawrence and a delightful watercolor by Thomas Girtin, but I’d not yet had time to explore the rest of the manor, what with the demands of motherhood and preparations for the wedding to be completed.

“Yes, Barbreck is quite proud of his art collection,” my Aunt Cait said, breaking into this litany as she herded Morven’s youngest child toward his mother. As always, dressed in the first stare of fashion, my late mother’s younger sister appeared elegant and unruffled even after chasing a toddler and his ball about.

“Rightfully so,” Barbreck trumpeted in his deep brogue as he settled in the other chair. “‘Tis one o’ the finest private collections in all o’ Scotland. Nay, all o’ Britain!” He gestured upward with his walking stick before lowering it to point at me, his scraggly white eyebrows arching. “I’ll take you for a tour myself one o’ these days.” He thumped the stick down between his legs, leaning against the silver filigreed head. Between his and Lady Bearsden’s canes, I expected someone’s head or knuckles to be rapped at any moment. “At least I ken you’ll appreciate it.”
Excerpted from A Perilous Perspective by Anna Lee Huber Copyright © 2022 by Anna Lee Huber. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.

About the Author:

Anna Lee Huber is the Daphne Award-winning author of the national bestselling Lady Darby Mysteries and the Verity Kent Mysteries. She is a summa cum laude graduate of Lipscomb University in Nashville, Tennessee, where she majored in music and minored in psychology. She currently resides with her family and is hard at work on her next novel.

Photo credit: Shanon Aycock

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