Body in the Amber Library
About the Book
Murder, magic, and marriage. Each has its secrets in this reimagined Regency England.
Lady Cordelia Almvere can step into any room and sense a trace of what happened there before or glimpse the future yet to come. Her husband has a charming gift of his own, though he’d genuinely prefer to be left alone with a good book.
Married only months, they’re still learning how to be an ordinary couple with extraordinary secrets. So naturally, at their first social event, instead of polite smiles and an eager reading of rare texts on the Fae, they find a dead body in the library and empty shelves to greet them.
With guests waltzing in the next room and a culprit hidden among them, the Almveres have one night to recover what was stolen and uncover who would murder to keep it. For if they don’t, they lose more than a good evening — they lose the only lead they’ve ever had on what they possibly are.
***
Welcome to a reimagined Regency England, where the Fae once walked openly long ago and left their mark on everything. The land, the history, and the magic that hums—but only if you know where to look. THE ENCHANTED ALMVERES INVESTIGATE is a series of Regency fantasy cozy mysteries. Their world grows stranger with every book.
But threaded through every case is a larger question: what, exactly, are the Almveres? And who else knows?
Cozy. Witty. Atmospheric. And just a little bit Fae.
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Read an Excerpt
The Amber Library of Greenfield Hall was not an unfamiliar room to the Almveres, though newer it was to Cordelia. It derived its name from the thick blocks of amber resin that made up the room’s flooring. Small leaves and other foliage dotted the insides of the gem material, making art and structure combined. Its sweet, musky scent swirled with the hearty smell of the glowing fire. Tall walls covered in dark-brown wood shelves and iron accents on the door in wrought filigree made the room quite striking. The place had always given a comforting sensation to Cordelia. Odd considering the owners of the room did not give her the same feeling. But for Oliver, the comforting sensation was the same in the library, and always had been so.
Padded armchairs sat empty beneath a picturesque window. A settee and table, with a silver tray holding a bottle of sherry and an empty wineglass, faced the door, as if awaiting them. And two enviable armchairs bookended the fireplace, capping off a perfect place to sit and read for a quarter of an hour or so.
But one chair was not empty.
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Texts and diatribes on the Fae were as nearly extinct as they were. Different people valued information on the Fae for different reasons. The wealthy romanticized them, praising some mythical lost golden age. The educated studied and argued over them. More and more the myth of them stirred emotion, in certain quarters. And it made any primary information on them precious. But to murder for it?
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Cordelia lowered her head demurely, casting her gaze toward several women. Those who loved to talk at her whenever they were forced to talk at all. They were surreptitiously glancing her way and slowly gathering together like a flock of peacocks. The Divine grant her the senses of a noblewoman with less to do. With a start, she remembered once again that she was now a noblewoman.
