Murder at Donwell Abbey, page 1
Books by Vanessa Kelly
MURDER IN HIGHBURY
MURDER AT DONWELL ABBEY
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously« Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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Copyright © 2025 by Vanessa Kelly
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CONTENTS
Books by Vanessa Kelly
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
To my dear readers, who followed along on this new writing
adventure—I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know.
Thank you!
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To take on a project that attempts to emulate the great Jane Austen—or is even Austen-adjacent—is quite mad. Therefore, it is one that requires considerable support from very skilled and knowledgeable people. I’m so grateful to John Scognamiglio and Alex Nicolajsen, who have been true champions of my work at Kensington. Larissa Ackerman’s support has gone above and beyond, and I would be sunk in a promotional morass without her nimble assistance. In fact, the entire Kensington promotional and marketing team has performed miracles with this series, and I’m so grateful to them. A thousand thank-yous!
As always, I owe my agent, Evan Marshall, a debt of gratitude for his help and support over the years. I’m also deeply grateful to Louisa Cornell and Laurel Ann Nattress for helping me up my Austen game.
To my friends and family—thank you! A special call-out must go to Laurie Lynd, Moze Mossanen, Allison Van Diepen, Digby Ricci, Minerva Spencer, and Debbie Mazzuca for their friendship, advice, and support. The publishing/entertainment business can be, ahem, challenging at times, and I’ve been blessed to have excellent friends to help carry me through the heavy bits. To my nephew, Nick Rudman—you’re the best, and may both our futures be bright! To my family, especially Trish, Anne, Philip, Brian, Liz, and Wendy and Joe … I love you and am so grateful for your kindness and support.
And to my dear husband, Randy, I couldn’t do it without you. I love you the most, and am forever grateful for you.
CHAPTER 1
Hartfield
January 1816
Emma Knightley had encountered her share of vexing moments in life. Stumbling across the body of a murder victim last year was certainly one of them. But nothing could have prepared her for this moment. For a few seconds, she wondered if she’d misheard her father’s shocking statement.
Her family had been enjoying a cup of tea, ensconced in Hartfield’s drawing room for their final evening together before the holiday season ended. George had been chatting with John, his brother, while Isabella, Emma’s older sister as well as John’s wife, had been expressing regret that they must return to London after such a charming visit to Highbury with their children. Naturally, their home in London beckoned, as did John’s work at the Inns of Court.
At that point, Father had abruptly made his announcement, one that landed with the force of a cannonball crashing into the drawing room.
Emma finally gathered her wits. “I beg your pardon, Father. I don’t think I heard you—”
“What the devil do you mean you’re going to marry Miss Bates?” John blustered. “Surely you cannot be serious. The woman’s a—”
Emma ruthlessly interrupted her brother-in-law. “What John means, Father, is that perhaps we misunderstood you. You cannot mean that you truly wish to …” She found the words almost too hideous to utter. “You know.”
Father graced her with a beatific smile. “To take that dear lady as my wife? Yes, I certainly do. Miss Bates and I have discussed the matter at great length. Given the nature of our friendship, we feel that marriage is the proper course of action.”
Since Emma found herself unwilling to contemplate what her father meant by the nature of their friendship, she cast a pleading gaze at her husband. George, however, was still regarding his father-in-law with his jaw agape.
Emma cleared her throat to catch his attention before tapping a finger under her jaw. George blinked, and then snapped his mouth shut.
“But, Father,” Isabella plaintively said. “You always maintained that you never wished to marry again. You said no one could ever replace Mama in your heart.”
“No one will ever replace you blessed mother’s memory, my dear girl,” Father gently said. “Indeed, I had quite the job persuading Miss Bates to accept my hand, because she feared she could never measure up to such a fine woman’s legacy.”
“I should think not,” exclaimed John. “Miss Bates is a kind woman, but she’s a blasted chatterbox, not to mention—ouch!”
He glared at George, who was sitting next to him on the sofa. Most likely George had just forcefully jabbed his brother in the leg.
Emma refocused her attention. “Father, I know you and Miss Bates have been a great comfort to each other through difficult times, but is this decision not a trifle … well, impetuous? After all, you know how much you hate change.” She got a flash of inspiration. “And what of Mrs. Bates? Surely Miss Bates would not wish to leave her mother.”
Mrs. Bates was the widow of one of Highbury’s former vicars, and well advanced in years. She and her daughter had lived in a small set of apartments in the village ever since the death of Mr. Bates.
Father nodded. “It’s kind of you to be worried about Mrs. Bates, but such anxieties are unnecessary. She will be moving to Hartfield with Miss Bates.”
Emma swallowed a whimper, while George pressed a finger to his lips. He seemed to have recovered from his shock and was now looking rather amused. She supposed she couldn’t blame him, since the idea of her father marrying Miss Bates was absurd. From a certain point of view, one might even call it comical. But that point of view didn’t happen to be hers.
Then another thought struck with terrible force. Miss Bates would not only become her father’s wife, she would become Emma’s stepmother.
Heaven help me.
Isabella rose and went to their father, taking his hand. “Are you sure, Father? Such a drastic change might greatly affect your health. You and I are not robust, and I cannot fathom what I would do without John to look after me, providing me with everything necessary to my comfort. We go on so quietly in Brunswick Square, with nothing changing from one day to the next—just as you do with Emma and George.”
Although John did take excellent care of his wife, Isabella’s life was hardly quiet. Not as the mother of five young children.
“I understand, my dear,” Father replied. “But Miss Bates and I will take care of each other.”
Emma blinked, rather stung by that statement. “I take care of you, Father. George and I both do so, gladly.”
“You do indeed, my dear. Still, I am such a burden, with all my little oddities. It does weigh on me, on occasion.”
“Nonsense, sir,” said George in a bracing tone. “You are never a burden. Emma loves you, as do I.”
“And why cannot you and Miss Bates simply go on as you have, as the best of friends and companions?” Emma was now a trifle desperate. “She visits almost every day as it is.”
“But that’s just it,” her father replied in a gentle but unyielding tone. “As one gets older, one wishes for companionship with someone of like mind. Miss Bates and I take great comfort in each other’s company, and that is nothing to be sneezed at when one reaches my years.”
Emma sighed. As sweet-tempered as her father was, he had a stubborn streak. It usually manifested in harmless ways, such as his strict admonitions against cake or his never-ending battle against drafts. But experience had taught her that when Father made up his mind, it was all but impossible to change it.
She mustered a smile that likely looked more like a grimace. “I know how her friendship has been a comfort to you.”
He nodded. “Especially in this year past, when life has been so fraught.”
This was an obvious reference to the murder of Mrs. Elton, one of Highbury’s leading citizens. Both Miss Bates and Father had been greatly affected by that dreadful event, and it had drawn them even closer together.
If the poor woman hadn’t come to such an unfortunate end, Emma could almost be cross with Mrs. Elton for having set in motion this domestic cataclysm that was erupting at Hartfield months later.
“And you and George are always so busy—you with Hartfield and your charitable work, and George with Donwell Abbey,” her father added. “But now I will have Miss Bates to keep me company. She will also be a great aid to you in managing Hartfield. Miss Bates is a fine housekeeper in her own right, and can relieve you of much of that burden.”
The notion of Miss Bates taking over the management of Hartfield was so ghastly that Emma was again stunned into silence.
John snorted. “Miss Bates managing Hartfield? That’s the most—”
“I’m sure Miss Bates is more than up to the task,” George firmly cut in. “Especially with Emma’s help.” He cast her a mildly challenging glance. “Is that not so, my dear?”
“Er, yes. Of course,” she managed. “If Father is really sure about this.”
“I am,” Father replied with quiet dignity.
George nodded. “Then please accept my congratulations, sir. We’re very happy for you.”
Emma bit back a sigh. Once George gave his approval, there was no point in prolonging the battle.
She dredged up a smile and rose. “Of course we want you to be happy, dearest. If Miss Bates makes you happy, then I am pleased for you.”
“I’m not,” muttered John.
Emma bent down to give her father a hug. Isabella pulled a slight grimace, but did the same.
“Ridiculous,” John groused.
Emma ignored her dratted brother-in-law as she and Isabella resumed their seats. One frequently had to ignore John’s outbursts.
“Have you and Miss Bates decided on a date?” George asked.
“No,” her father replied. “We must think of Jane and Frank. They must travel a great distance for the wedding, and one would not wish them to do so at such an inclement time of year. Jane is still recovering from her lying-in.”
Good Lord, Jane and Frank!
Emma had not even thought of how the Churchills might react to this unsettling news.
Jane, formerly Jane Fairfax, was the granddaughter of Mrs. Bates and the niece of Miss Bates. Orphaned at an early age, she had been lovingly cared for by the two of them. Jane had eventually gone to live with a school friend whose well-to-do parents had raised her as a second daughter. When she finally returned to Highbury, her intention had been to find a position as a governess. Before that unpleasant prospect had come to fruition, she’d fallen in love with the wealthy Frank Churchill and he with her. They were married a few months before Emma and George, and now resided on the Churchill family estate in Yorkshire.
“Do Jane and Frank know about your plans?” she asked.
Father shook his silver-haired head. “Miss Bates intends to send an express post to Jane first thing in the morning.”
“Then I take it the Westons aren’t privy to the news, either,” said George.
Frank was Mr. Weston’s son by his first wife. Unable to care for his little boy after his wife died, Mr. Weston had made the difficult decision to allow Frank to be adopted and raised by her wealthy relatives, the Churchills. Frank and Mr. Weston, however, now enjoyed an excellent filial relationship.
“Not yet.” Father smiled at Emma. “I was hoping you could tell the Westons the happy news, my dear. I thought you would enjoy doing so. Perhaps first thing in the morning?”
John let out a snort, while George actually had to smother a laugh.
After casting her husband a warning glare, Emma nodded at her father. “Of course.”
If nothing else, Mrs. Weston would provide a sympathetic ear. Having lived for many years at Hartfield as Emma’s governess, she was well aware of her former employer’s disposition. Mrs. Weston would be astounded by this turn of events.
Father beamed at her. “Then it’s all settled. Miss Bates will be so pleased.”
“I’m only sorry John and I won’t be here to give Miss Bates our best wishes, since we leave tomorrow,” Isabella said, making a game attempt at sounding sincere.
Father wrinkled his brow. “I was hoping I could prevail upon you and the children to stay an extra week or so. I know John must get back to London, but surely you will not want to miss the party.”
Isabella and Emma exchanged a perplexed glance.
“What party are you referring to?” Emma asked.
“Did I fail to mention the party?” Father chuckled. “How like me. I’m referring to our betrothal party, naturally. Miss Bates insisted on it, and I didn’t have the heart to deny her. But there mustn’t be any cake, Emma. I hold the line on that point, at least.”
For her father to suggest any sort of large social gathering was unheard of. In fact, it took a great deal of coaxing to persuade him to go even as far as the Westons’ home, Randalls, for a holiday party, or for an outing at Donwell on a sunny day.
“Do you mean something like a dinner party at Hartfield?” she cautiously asked. “I’m sure we can—”
“No, my dear. I mean a proper party, something along the lines of a dance or a ball.”
George’s eyebrows practically shot up into his hairline. “Are you certain you heard Miss Bates correctly, sir? She knows your preferences. Would you not find a dance or a large party inconvenient?”
“I confess that I cannot view such an event without trepidation, but Miss Bates insists on making it a festive occasion. She says it will be a great treat for Highbury after the difficult year we’ve all had.” He fluttered a hand. “With Mrs. Elton, you know. Most distressing for everyone.”
“Especially Mrs. Elton,” John sardonically replied. “But where will you hold this grand event? Surely you don’t wish for all of Highbury to be tromping about Hartfield, dirtying the carpets and causing a grand fuss.”
Emma felt herself go cold at the very idea. “Perhaps you’re thinking of the Crown Inn for a ball? Though I cannot think you would like that very well.”
Father looked horrified. “Emma, inns are such unhealthy, drafty places, especially at this time of year.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. “I so agree. That being the case, I think a nice dinner party at Hartfield—”
“I suppose we could hold a dance at the abbey,” George said, almost to himself.
“What?” Emma exclaimed.
Isabella winced. “Emma, that was right in my ear.”
“I apologize, dear.” Emma glared at her husband. “I was merely surprised.”
“I suppose you could hold it at Donwell,” commented John. “From what George told me, you did manage Mrs. Elton’s funeral reception with quite a large crowd. Smashing success, apparently.”
Emma gazed at him with disbelief. “Funeral receptions are not intended to be smashing successes. And it was a mob scene and an exceedingly troublesome event.”
George smiled at her. “John is correct, though. You managed that affair with great aplomb.”
“Emma, I think George’s idea has great merit,” Father said. “I feel certain Miss Bates would be thrilled with a party at Donwell Abbey.”
