A high society amateur detective at the heart of Regency London uses her wits and invisibility as an ‘old maid’ to protect other women in a new and fiercely feminist historical mystery series from New York Times bestselling author Alison Goodman.
Intrigued? Well read on to discover the synopsis and an excerpt from Alison Goodman’s The Benevolent Society of Ill-Mannered Ladies, which is out May 30th!
Lady Augusta Colebrook, “Gus,” is determinedly unmarried, bored by society life, and tired of being dismissed at the age of forty-two. She and her twin sister, Julia, who is grieving her dead betrothed, need a distraction. One soon presents to rescue their friend’s goddaughter, Caroline, from her violent husband.
The sisters set out to Caroline’s country estate with a plan, but their carriage is accosted by a highwayman. In the scuffle, Gus accidentally shoots and injures the ruffian, only to discover he is Lord Evan Belford, an acquaintance from their past who was charged with murder and exiled to Australia twenty years ago. What follows is a high adventure full of danger, clever improvisation, heart-racing near misses, and a little help from a revived and rather charming Lord Evan.
Back in London, Gus can’t stop thinking about her unlikely (not to mention handsome) comrade-in-arms. She is convinced Lord Evan was falsely accused of murder, and she is going to prove it. She persuades Julia to join her in a quest to help Lord Evan, and others in need—society be damned! And so begins the beguiling secret life and adventures of the Colebrook twins.
In this excerpt from The Benevolent Society of Ill-Mannered Ladies, our heroines Lady Augusta Colebrook and her sister Lady Julia are travelling in their carriage to rescue a woman in mortal danger from her husband, when something untoward occurs. . .
The carriage pace suddenly slowed and I heard a shout outside. I opened my eyes. The entire road billowed with dust, too much for just our carriage. I poked my head out the window just as we came to a shuddering standstill, the horses shrilling their distress as they were pulled up. Among the swirl of dust, I saw the shapes of two horsemen. One of them had a blunderbuss trained on our driver and footman; the other urged his mount toward our window.
“Put the gun down or I’ll blow yer head off!” Blunderbuss man yelled.
I pulled back inside and grabbed one of the pistols from the box, covering it with the corner of the carriage rug.
Julia gasped. “Gus, no!”
“Be quiet, dear. Do not make a move.”
I wrapped my hand around the butt of the pistol, the quick beat of my heart pulsing to the end of my fingertips. What on earth was I planning to do?
A man with a blue kerchief tied across the bottom of his face drew alongside the open window, his horse blowing irritably at the close quarters. Gray, intelligent eyes considered us. For a second I thought I saw recognition flash through them.
He had not raised his gun.
“Ladies, your valuables, please.” A pleasant baritone, polite and without any local accent.
I rotated the pistol’s cock from half to full and hooked my finger around the trigger.
“We have no valuables that could possibly interest you, sir,” I said. “You should leave now before you come to harm.”
The gray eyes crinkled into surprised amusement. “Harm?”
I flicked off the rug and raised the pistol, no more than ten inches from his forehead.
“I see.” His eyes fixed upon the barrel. “You have a steady hand, my lady.”
“I do, and a steady nerve. Call your companion from my driver and let us continue on our way.”
Thick eyebrows lifted. “I do not believe you will fire that gun, so let us move past this show of bravado.”
On that instant, a blunderbuss shot exploded outside. The cabin lurched, throwing me backward, my finger tightening upon the trigger in reflex. The pistol’s discharge boomed in my ears, the recoil slamming its butt into my chest and punching all the air from my lungs. The man at the window jerked and twisted, then dropped from sight. His horse screamed and reared, a blur of bulging eyes and straining neck, its front hooves slamming against the carriage door. I heard shouts—our driver and footman—and then another shot.
I gulped for air, the cabin hazing into gray. All I could draw into my lungs was the acrid stink of spent gunpowder.
“Gussie, are you hurt?”
I felt the soft kid of my sister’s gloved hands around my face. Finally, I pulled in a full breath, the blessed air easing my burning chest and clearing my sight.
“Winded,” I managed and pushed away her frantic ministrations. I rubbed my chest. The bruised flesh ached, but there was no other damage as far as I could tell. My corset must have shielded some of the blow.
Weatherly wrenched open the door. “My ladies, are you safe?”
Julia sank back into her seat. “We are whole. Are you and John Driver unhurt?”
“Yes, my lady. The blackguard fired upon us but missed.” Weatherly ran his hand through his hair. He had lost his hat. “John Driver tried to hold the horses, but one reared in the traces and the man bolted. I shot after him, but it missed too. He is gone.” He looked back at the ground outside, mouth twisting. “I see you found your mark, my lady. I think he is dead.”
Oh no, had I really killed the man? I sat up. “It was not intentional.” I placed the spent pistol back in the box and slid across the seat. “Quick, let me see.”
I climbed down the carriage step, leaning upon Weatherly’s arm a little more than usual. Dust still hung in the air, the motes swirling in the dappled sunlight. Trampled hazel bushes showed the path of the fallen highwayman’s horse into the woodland. The man himself lay facing us on his side upon the road, blood oozing in a bright wash across his forehead, matting his dark brown hair and dripping into the dirt. The neckerchief had dislodged, showing more of his face: tanned skin now overlaid with a sickly pallor, and a high-bridged nose that could only be called Roman.
“Is he dead?” Julia whispered beside me. Weatherly had helped her down and she stood clutching the side of the carriage.
I took a careful step toward the body with a sick sense of déjà vu. Shades of Mr. Harley, but this time with a lot more blood. Was he breathing? I took another step.
His chest moved.
“Ah, he is alive!”
“Dear God, thank you,” Julia said and crossed herself.
As far as I could see, the ball had only grazed his forehead. A nasty gash ran from his eyebrow to his ear and still streamed with blood, but there was no hole in his head so the ball had not entered his brain.
Julia clutched my arm. “Gus, I know that man.”
“What?”
Her face was intent as she searched that phenomenal memory. “Heaven forfend, it is Lord Evan Belford.”
Now that Julia had mentioned it, he did look familiar. Yet it did not make sense.
“It can’t be Lord Evan. He was transported to the colonies over twenty years ago.”
“True,” Julia said. “But you cannot deny he has the Belford nose. Gussie, I am sure it is Lord Evan.”
If my sister was certain, then the man was indeed Lord Evan Belford. Lud, I had just shot a marquess’s son. Even worse, I had shot an acquaintance.
Excerpted from The Benevolent Society of Ill-Mannered Ladies by Alison Goodman Copyright © 2023 by Alison Goodman. 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.
