'Follow me,' I instructed, although Aquinas actually led the way out of the music room. But Edward had grown thin in the past months. He rose, lifting Edward into his arms with a good deal of care and very little effort, it seemed. 'And would be better served in his own bed,' said the gentleman from the floor. I looked at him, grateful to have an excuse to turn away from the spectacle on the floor. Through the press, Aquinas, our butler, managed to squeeze in next to my elbow. And Edward was proving rather better entertainment than the soprano we had engaged. After all, it was not every evening that a baronet collapsed senseless in his own music room. There was a little thrill of excitement in the air. Behind me the guests were murmuring, buzzing, pushing closer to get a look of their own.

He busied himself for a few brisk moments, palpating and pulse-taking, while I bobbed a bit, trying to see over his shoulder. He is convulsing.'Īn impatient figure in black pushed past me to kneel at Edward's side. I leaned as close to him as my corset would permit. He lay, curled like a question mark, his evening suit ink-black against the white marble of the floor.

I stared at him, not quite taking in the fact that he had just collapsed at my feet. Edward, it should be noted, was still twitching upon the floor. I'd say that I met Nicholas Brisbane over my husband's dead body is not entirely accurate.

Silent in the Grave by Deanna Raybourn