{"product_id":"an-anne-perry-christmas-isbn-9780345497000","title":"An Anne Perry Christmas","description":"For the first time in one cozy volume: Anne Perry’s first two Christmas novels–yuletide  offerings full of holiday magic . . . and murder\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A CHRISTMAS JOURNEY\u003cbr\u003e “One of  the best books to brighten the joyous season.” \u003cbr\u003e –USA Today \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “This brief work has  an almost Jamesian subtlety. . . . [A] powerful message of responsibility and redemption.”\u003cbr\u003e –The Wall Street Journal\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e In the Berkshire countryside, family and guests have gathered  for a delicious weekend fête surrounded by roaring fires and candlelight. It’s scarcely  the setting for misfortune, and no one–not even that clever budding sleuth Lady Vespasia  Cumming-Gould–anticipates the tragedy that is to darken this holiday house party.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A CHRISTMAS VISITOR\u003cbr\u003e “Satisfyingly dark and suspenseful.”\u003cbr\u003e –Entertainment Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Wondrous . . . a welcome entry to the seasonal thriller.”\u003cbr\u003e –Richmond Times-Dispatch\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e At the Dreghorn family reunion, the tranquility of a snowbound English estate is  shattered by what an apparently accidental death. The victim’s distraught wife summons  her godfather, the distinguished mathematician and inventor Henry Rathbone, to the  scene. And questions about the tragic event soon turn into whispers of murder.\u003cb\u003eAnne Perry\u003c\/b\u003e was the bestselling author of two acclaimed series set in Victorian England: the William Monk novels and the Charlotte and Thomas Pitt novels. She was also the author of a series featuring Charlotte and Thomas Pitt's son, Daniel, as well as the Elena Standish series; a series of five World War I novels; twenty-one holiday novels; and a historical novel, \u003ci\u003eThe Sheen on the Silk,\u003c\/i\u003e set in the Byzantine Empire. Anne Perry died in 2023.Lady Vespasia Cumming-Gould hesitated a moment at the top of the stairs. Applecross  was one of those magnificent country houses where one descended down a long curved  sweep of marble into the vast hall where the assembled guests were gathered awaiting  the call to dinner.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e First one person, then another looked up. To wait for them all  would have been ostentatious. She was dressed in oyster satin, not a shade everyone  could wear, but Prince Albert himself had said that she was the most beautiful woman  in Europe, with her glorious hair and exquisite bones. It was not a remark that had  endeared her to the queen, the more so since it was probably true.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e But this was  not a royal occasion; it was a simple weekend party early in December. The London  season was over with its hectic social round, and those who had country homes had  returned to them to look forward to Christmas. There were rumors of possible war  in the Crimea, but apart from that the middle of the century saw only greater progress  and prosperity within an empire that spanned the globe.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Omegus Jones came to the  foot of the stairs to meet her. He was not only the perfect host, but also a friend  of some years, even though he was in his fifties and Vespasia barely past thirty.  Her husband, older than she, was the one who had first made the acquaintance, but  he was abroad on business at the moment. Her children were in the house in London,  safe and well cared for.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"My dear Vespasia, you are quite ravishing,\" Omegus said  with a self-deprecating smile. \"Of which you cannot fail to be aware, so please do  not insult my intelligence by pretending surprise, or worse still, denial.\" He was  a lean man with a wry face, full of humor and an unconscious elegance as much at  home in a country lane as a London withdrawing room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She accepted the compliment  with a simple \"Thank you.\" A witty reply would have been inappropriate. Besides,  Omegus's candor had robbed her of the ability to think of one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e A dozen people were  here, including herself. The most socially prominent were Lord and Lady Salchester,  closely followed by Sir John and Lady Warburton. Lady Warburton's sister had married  a duke, as she found a dozen ways of reminding people. Actually Vespasia's father  had been an earl, but she never spoke of it. It was birth, not achievement, and those  who mattered already knew. To remind people was indelicate, as if you had no other  worth to yourself, never mind to them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Also present were Fenton and Blanche Twyford;  two eminently eligible young men, Peter Hanning and Bertie Rosythe; Gwendolen Kilmuir,  widowed more than a year ago; and Isobel Alvie, whose husband had died nearly three  years earlier.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e It was not customary to serve refreshments before dinner, but rather  simply to converse until the butler should sound the gong. The guests would then  go into the dining room in strict order of precedence, the rules for which were set  out in the finest detail and must never be broken.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lady Salchester, a formidable  horsewoman, was dressed in a deep wine shade, with a crinoline skirt of daunting  proportions. She was speaking of last season's races, in particular the meeting at  Royal Ascot.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Magnificent creature!\" she said enthusiastically, her voice booming  a little. \"Nothing else stood a chance.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lady Warburton smiled as if in agreement.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bertie Rosythe--slender, fair, superbly tailored--was trying to mask his boredom,  and doing it rather well. If Vespasia had not known him, she might have been duped  into imagining he was interested in horseflesh.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Isobel was beside her, darkly striking,  less than beautiful but with fine eyes and a ready wit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Magnificent creature indeed,\"  she whispered. \"And Lady Salchester herself certainly never had a chance.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"What  are you talking about?\" Vespasia asked, knowing that there must be many layers to  the remark.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Fanny Oakley,\" Isobel replied, leaning even more closely. \"Didn't you  see her at Ascot? Whatever were you doing?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Watching the horses,\" Vespasia answered  dryly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Don't be absurd!\" Isobel laughed. \"Good heavens! You didn't have money on  them, did you? I mean real money?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Vespasia saw by Isobel's face that she was suddenly  concerned in case Vespasia were in gambling debt, not an unheard-of difficulty for  a young woman of considerable means and very little to occupy herself, her husband  away a good deal of the time, and endless staff to care for her home and her children.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Vespasia wondered for a chill moment if Isobel were really acute enough in her observation  to have seen the vague, sad stirrings of emptiness in Vespasia's marriage, and to  have at least half understood them. One wished to have friends--without them life  would hold only shallow pleasures--but there were areas of the heart into which one  did not intrude. Some aches could be borne only in secret. Isobel could not have  guessed what had happened in Rome during the passionate revolutions of 1848. No one  could. That was a once-in-a-lifetime love, to be buried now and thought of only in  dreams. Vespasia would not meet Mario Corena again. This here in Applecross was the  world of reality.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Not at all,\" she replied lightly. \"The race does not need the  edge of money to make it fun.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Are you referring to the horses?\" Isobel asked softly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Was there another?\" Vespasia retorted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Isobel laughed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lord Salchester saw Vespasia  and acknowledged her appreciatively. Lady Salchester smiled with warm lips and a  glacial eye. \"Good evening, Lady Vespasia,\" she said with penetrating clarity. \"How  charming to see you. You seem quite recovered from the exertion of the season.\" It  was a less-than-kind reference to a summer cold that had made Vespasia tired and  far from herself at the Henley Regatta. \"Let us hope next year is not too strenuous  for you,\" she added. She was twenty years older than Vespasia, but a woman of immense  stamina who had never been beautiful.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Vespasia was aware of Lord Salchester's eye  on her, and even more of Omegus Jones's. It was the latter that tempered her reply.  Wit was not always funny, if it cut those already wounded. \"I hope so,\" she answered.  \"It is tedious for everybody when someone cannot keep up. I shall endeavor not to  do that again.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Isobel was surprised. Lady Salchester was astounded.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Vespasia smiled  sweetly and excused herself.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gwendolen Kilmuir was talking earnestly to Bertie Rosythe.  Her head was bent a trifle, the light shining on her rich brown hair and the deep  plum pink of her gown. She was widowed well over a year now, and had only recently  taken the opportunity to cast aside her black. She was a young woman, barely twenty-eight,  and had no intention of spending longer in mourning than society demanded. She looked  up demurely at Bertie, but she was smiling, and her face had a softness and a warmth  to it that was hard to mistake.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Vespasia glanced at Isobel and caught a pensive  look in her eye. Then a moment later she smiled, and it was gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Bertie turned  and saw them. As always he was gracefully polite. Gwendolen's pleasure was not as  easily assumed. Vespasia saw the muscles in her neck and chin tighten and her bosom  swell as she breathed deeply before mustering a smile. \"Good evening, Lady Vespasia,  Mrs. Alvie. How nice it will be to dine together.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"As always,\" Isobel murmured.  \"I believe we dined at Lady Cranbourne's also, during the summer? And at the queen's  garden party.\" Her eyes flickered up and down Gwendolen's plum taffeta. \"I remember  your gown.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gwendolen blushed. Bertie smiled uncertainly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Suddenly and with a considerable  jolt, Vespasia realized that Isobel's interest in Bertie was not as casual as she  had supposed. The barb in her remark betrayed her. Such cruelty was not in the character  she knew.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"You remember her gown?\" she said in feigned surprise. \"How delightful.\"  She looked with slight disdain at Isobel's russet gold with its sweeping skirts.  \"So few gowns are remarkable these days, don't you think?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Isobel caught her breath,  a flare of temper in her eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Gwendolen laughed with a release of tension and turned  to Bertie again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Lady Warburton joined them, and the conversation became enmeshed  in gossip, cases of \"he said\" and \"she said\" and \"do you really believe?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Dinner  was announced, and Omegus Jones offered his arm to Vespasia, which in view of Lady  Salchester's presence she found a singular honor, and they went into the long blue-and-gold  dining room in solemn and correct procession, each to their appointed place at the  glittering table.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The chandeliers above were reflected in the gleam of silver, shattered  prisms of light on tiers of crystal goblets in a field of linen napkins folded like  lilies. The fire burned warm in the grate. White chrysanthemums from the greenhouse  filled the bowls, providing a redolence of earth and autumn leaves, the soft fragrance  of woodland.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e They began with the lightest consomme. There would be nine courses,  but it was not expected that everyone would eat from all of them. Ladies in particular,  mindful of the delicate figures and tiny waists demanded by fashion, would choose  with care. Where physical survival was relatively easy, one created rules to make  social survival more difficult. Not to be accepted was to become an outcast, a person  who fitted nowhere.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Conversation turned to more serious topics. Sir John Warburton  spoke of the current polit-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e ical situation, giving his views with gravity, his thin  hands brown against the white linen of the cloth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Do you really think it will come  to war?\" Peter Hanning asked with a frown.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"With Russia?\" Sir John raised his eyebrows.  \"It is not impossible.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Nonsense!\" Lord Salchester said briskly, his wineglass  in the air. \"Nobody's going to go to war against us! Especially over something as  absurd as the Crimea! They'll remember Waterloo, and leave us well alone.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Waterloo  was over thirty-five years ago,\" Omegus Jones pointed out. \"The men who fought that  have laid their swords by long ago.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"The British army is still the same, sir!\"  Salchester retorted, his mustache bristling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Indeed, I fear it is,\" Omegus agreed  quietly, his lips tight, his eyes sad and far away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"That was the finest, most invincible  army in the world.\" Salchester's voice grew louder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"We beat Napoleon,\" Omegus corrected.  \"We have fought no one since then. Times change. Good and evil do not, nor pride  and compassion, but warfare moves all the time--new weapons, new ideas, new strategies.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I do not like to disagree with you at your own table, sir,\" Salchester responded.  \"Courtesy prevents me from telling you what I think of your view.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Omegus's face  lit with a sudden smile, remarkably sweet and quite unaffected. \"Let us hope that  nothing happens to prove which one of us is correct.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Footmen in livery and parlor  maids with white lace-trimmed aprons removed the soup plates and served the fish.  The butler poured wine. The lights blazed. The clink of silver on porcelain was the  soft background as conversation began again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Vespasia watched rather than listened.  Faces, gestures told her more of emotion than the carefully considered words. She  saw how often Gwendolen looked toward Bertie Rosythe, the flush in her face, how  easily she laughed when he was amusing, and that it pleased him. He was almost as  much aware of her, although he was more careful not to show it quite so openly.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Vespasia was not the only person to notice. She saw Blanche Twyford's satisfaction  and recalled hearing her make a remark, which now she understood more clearly. Blanche  had spoken of spring weddings, and Gwendolen had blushed. Perhaps this was the weekend  when a declaration was expected? It would seem so.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Fenton Twyford seemed less pleased.  His dark face looked cautious. A couple of times his glance at Bertie suggested unease,  as if an old shadow crossed his thoughts, but Vespasia had no idea what it might  be. Was Bertie not quite as perfectly eligible as he seemed? Or was it Gwendolen  who somehow fell short? As far as Vespasia knew, she was of good family, wealthy  if undistinguished, and without a breath of scandal attached. Her late husband, Roger  Kilmuir, was also without blemish and was connected to the aristocracy. If his far  elder brother died childless, which seemed likely, then Roger would have inherited  the title and all that went with it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Only, Roger had died in an unfortunate accident,  the sort of thing that happened now and again to even the best horsemen. Gwendolen  had been quite shattered at the time. It was good to see that she was reaching after  some kind of happiness again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e One by one gold-rimmed plates were removed, fresh  courses brought, and more wine poured, until nothing was left but mounds of fresh  grapes from the hothouse, and silver finger bowls to remove any faint traces of stickiness.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e The ladies excused themselves to the withdrawing room and left the gentlemen to  pass the port and, for those who so wished, to smoke.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Vespasia followed Isobel and  Lady Salchester and was aware of the rustle of taffetas and silks as Gwendolen and  Blanche Twyford came behind them. They took their seats in the velvet-curtained withdrawing  room, carefully arranging mountainous skirts both to be flattering and not to impede  other people's approach, when the gentlemen should rejoin them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e This was the part  of any evening that Vespasia liked the least. Conversation almost always became domestic,  and since Rome she found it hard to concentrate on such things. She loved her children,  deeply and instinctively, and her marriage was agreeable enough. Her husband was  kind and intelligent--an honorable man. Many women would have been envious of so  much. She wanted for nothing socially or materially. It was only in the longing of  the heart, the hunger to care to the power and depth of her being, that she was not  answered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e She looked at the other women in the room and wondered what lay behind  the gracious masks of their faces. Lady Salchester had energy and intelligence, but  she was plain, plainer than her own parlor maid, and probably the housemaid and the  kitchen maid, as well. It was widely suspected that Lord Salchester's attention wandered,  in a practical as well as imaginary way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"I know what you are thinking,\" Isobel  said beside her, leaning a little closer so she could speak in a whisper.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e Vespasia  was startled. \"Do you?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Of course!\" Isobel smiled. \"I was thinking so, too. And  it is quite unfair. If she were to do the same, with that nice-looking footman, society  would be scandalized, and she would be ruined. She would never go anywhere again!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e \"Dozens of married women become bored with their husbands, and after they have produced  the appropriate number of children, they have affairs,\" Vespasia pointed out sadly.  \"I don't think I admire it, but I am quite aware that it occurs. I could name you  half a dozen.\"From the New York Times bestselling author A Christmas Journey    A Christmas Visitor","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46302636933349,"sku":"NP9780345497000","price":18.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345497000.jpg?v=1767721487","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/an-anne-perry-christmas-isbn-9780345497000","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}