Lady Georgiana Rannoch is looking forward to her first ever turn as hostess for her very own house party when the festivities lead to murder…. Georgie, back home at her estate in Eynsleigh, impatiently awaits the birth of her baby. But she has plenty to occupy her: her new chef, Pierre, has arrived from Paris, and Sir Hubert, who owns Eynsleigh, is back from his latest expedition. It's time for Georgie to throw her first house party to celebrate his return and show off her new chef. The dinner party is a smashing success. Sir Mordred Mortimer—famous author of creepy Gothic horror novels—is one of the guests. He recently purchased a nearby Elizabethan manor because it has a famous poison garden. After the dinner, Sir Mortimer approaches Georgie and asks to borrow her new chef for his upcoming party, and Georgie and Darcy, her dashing husband, are invited! The tour of the poison garden is fascinating, as is Sir Mordred’s laboratory. Shockingly, just after the banquet several of the guests become sick. And one dies, apparently poisoned by berries from the garden. But how could this be when they all ate the same meal and the same delectable dessert? Georgie has to find the culprit to save her new chef and her own reputation—all before her bundle of joy arrives! Praise for the Royal Spyness Mysteries “Brilliant. . . . So much more than a murder mystery.”—Louise Penny, New York Times bestselling author of A World of Curiosities “Lady Georgiana Rannoch is firmly cemented as one of the great fictional sleuths of our time.”—Chanel Cleeton, New York Times bestselling author of The Cuban Heiress “Full of fascinating characters in a compelling setting, [Bowen] keeps you spellbound to the very end.”—Charles Todd, New York Times bestselling author “A smashing romp.”—Booklist (starred review) “Whimsical. . . . Bowen successfully melds a whodunit with comedy as few contemporary writers can.”— Publishers Weekly (starred review) “Georgie’s high spirits and the author’s frothy prose are utterly captivating.”— The Denver Post “The perfect fix . . . for Downton Abbey addicts.”— New York Times bestselling author Deborah Crombie “Britain teeters on the brink of scandal and war in this charming combination of history and mystery.”— Kirkus Reviews “Reads like a collaboration between Agatha Christie and P. G. Wodehouse.”— Crimespree Magazine “Georgie and her adventures continue to be an absolute delight.”—Anna Lee Huber, USA Today bestselling author of the Lady Darby Mysteries Rhys Bowen , a New York Times bestselling author, has been nominated for every major award in mystery writing, including the Edgar®, and has won many, including both the Agatha and Anthony awards. She is also the author of the Molly Murphy Mysteries, set in turn-of-the-century New York, and the Constable Evans Mysteries, set in Wales, as well as two international bestselling stand-alone novels. She was born in England and now divides her time between Northern California and Arizona. Chapter 1 June 25, 1936 Eynsleigh, Sussex Excited and nervous about the impending arrival. Oh golly, I hope it goes well. I hope Queenie behaves herself and doesn't make things too difficult. You have probably heard that Darcy and I were expecting a baby in August, but that wasn't the arrival I was nervous about at that moment. It was still sufficiently far away that I was not considering the implications of childbirth. Every time I thought about the baby, I imagined holding him or her in my arms and seeing that adorable little face looking up at me-maybe with Darcy's blue eyes and dark curly hair. I had pushed images of the actual delivery and what that meant into the dark recesses of my mind. Actually I knew little about it. One isn't educated in such matters at school. Mummy had once said it was absolutely the worst thing one could imagine and she decided on the spot that she'd never do it again, but then Mummy did tend to be overdramatic about most things. The arrival that was concerning me more at the moment was that of our new chef, Pierre. We had been living at Sir Hubert Anstruther's lovely Elizabethan house called Eynsleigh for almost a year now. Sir Hubert is my godfather and one of my mother's many husbands. As he spends most of his time climbing mountains, he invited Darcy and me to move in. It was a lovely invitation and we jumped at it, since we were both penniless and had been looking at ghastly flats in London. After a rocky start we had loved living there. I've always been a country girl at heart, having grown up in a castle in the Scottish Highlands (my father being the Duke of Rannoch). It suited me well to look out on acres of parkland and to walk my dogs every morning. There had been a servant problem when we moved in, but luckily the former housekeeper, Mrs. Holbrook, had agreed to come back and take care of the place so that it now ran like clockwork. We had acquired a housemaid and a footman/chauffeur, a personal maid