Tears of Pearl (Lady Emily Series #4) [NOOK Book]

Overview

Set amid the beauty and decadence of the Ottoman Empire, Lady Emily’s latest adventure is full of intrigue, treachery, and romance.

Looking forward to the joys of connubial bliss, newlyweds Lady Emily and Colin Hargreaves, diplomats of the British Empire, set out toward Turkey for an exotic honeymoon. But on their first night in the city, a harem girl is found murdered, strangled in the courtyard of the Sultan’s lavish Topkapi Palace. Sir Richard St. Clare, an Englishman who ...

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Tears of Pearl (Lady Emily Series #4)

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Overview

Set amid the beauty and decadence of the Ottoman Empire, Lady Emily’s latest adventure is full of intrigue, treachery, and romance.

Looking forward to the joys of connubial bliss, newlyweds Lady Emily and Colin Hargreaves, diplomats of the British Empire, set out toward Turkey for an exotic honeymoon. But on their first night in the city, a harem girl is found murdered, strangled in the courtyard of the Sultan’s lavish Topkapi Palace. Sir Richard St. Clare, an Englishman who works at the embassy in Constantinople, is present and recognizes the girl as his own daughter who was kidnapped twenty years earlier. Emily and Colin promise the heartbroken father that they’ll find her killer, but as the investigation gains speed, they find that appearance can be deceiving—especially within the confines of the seraglio

As a woman, Emily is given access to the forbidden world of the harem and quickly discovers that its mysterious, sheltered walls offer no protection from a ruthless murderer. As the number of victims grows, Emily must rely on her own sharp wis in a heart-stopping finale if she is to stop a killer bend on exacting vengeance no matter how many innocent lives he leaves in his wake.


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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly
In Alexander's lackluster fourth Lady Emily historical (after A Fatal Waltz), Emily and her new husband, British intelligence agent Colin Hargreaves, are honeymooning in Constantinople when a half-English harem girl is murdered. After Colin is charged with the investigation, the British crown reluctantly allows Emily to handle questioning within the harem. Emily follows the clues much farther afield, exploring the tangled histories of the victim's diplomat father from whom she was abducted many years before, her troubled archeologist brother and sultans both current and deposed. The author deftly handles the exotic setting and a subplot in which Emily worries she may be pregnant, but a lack of tension and a number of implausibilities, starting with the ease with which a Western woman can play detective in despotic, late 19th-century Constantinople, make this a relatively weak entry. Hopefully, Emily will recover her usual sparkle once the newlyweds return to more familiar ground. Author tour.(Sept.)
Library Journal
Lady Emily and Colin Hargreaves are on their honeymoon tour, headed to Constantinople via the Orient Express. On the train, they assist Sir Richard St. Clare after he falls ill at dinner. In appreciation of their help, Sir Richard invites the couple to attend an opera at the sultan's palace. As guests are leaving, the body of a harem girl is found. She's identified as Sir Richard's missing daughter, who was kidnapped by bandits over 20 years ago. Emily is determined to exhibit her sleuthing abilities and discover the truth, but is it worth the personal price she'll pay? Because this is the fourth book in Alexander's Victorian series (after A Fatal Waltz), characters have been well established, but their relationships and inner conflicts continue to develop in interesting ways. Curious facts about the Ottoman Empire, comparisons of women's independence there and in England, and vivid descriptions of locations and objects add that little something extra. VERDICT The strong female lead and historically accurate details will please readers of Anne Perry, Laurie R. King, and Deanna Raybourn seeking a new fan-favorite author. [Library marketing campaign; see Prepub Mystery, LJ 5/1/09.]—Stacey Hayman, Rocky River P.L., OH
From the Publisher
“The forth book of Alexander’s Victorian-era series has a lush setting and beautiful details. . . . The romance and lovely writing sweep the readers along. Emily is a most independent woman for her time. Her voice and the accurate historical details will keep the reader enthralled.”—Romantic Times (4 ½ stars, Top Pick)

“The author deftly handles the exotic setting and a subplot in which Emily worries she may be pregnant.”—Publishers Weekly

“The strong female lead and historically accurate details will please readers of Anne Perry, Laurie R. King, and Deanna Raybourn seeking a new fan-favorite author.”—Library Journal

“Infused with wit and charm, with just the right amounts of danger, romance and detection blended in.”—Denver Post

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9781429928267
  • Publisher: St. Martin's Press
  • Publication date: 9/1/2009
  • Series: Lady Emily Series , #4
  • Sold by: Macmillan
  • Format: eBook
  • Edition description: First Edition
  • Edition number: 1
  • Pages: 320
  • Sales rank: 38,493
  • File size: 512 KB

Meet the Author

Tasha Alexander

TASHA ALEXANDER attended the University of Notre Dame, where she signed on as an English major in order to have a legitimate excuse for spending all her time reading. She lived in Amsterdam, London, Wyoming, Vermont, Connecticut and Tennessee before settling in Chicago.

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Read an Excerpt


TEARS OF PEARL

Chapter 1

It is always a mistake to underestimate the possibilities of a train compartment. Some newly married couples might prefer luxurious, spacious suites at the Continental in Paris or rooms overlooking Lake Lucerne, but I shall never be convinced that one can find bliss more satisfactory than that to be had in a confined space with the company only of each other. Limitations lend themselves to creativity, and my spouse wasted no time in proving himself adept beyond imagination.

After the death of my first husband, a man I’d barely known, I hadn’t expected that I, Lady Emily Ashton, would ever again agree to subject myself to the bonds of matrimony. I’d not believed there was a man alive capable of tempting me to give up even a shred of what I considered my hard-earned independence. More surprising than simply finding such an extraordinary individual was discovering that he was said late husband’s best friend. Philip, the viscount Ashton, a dedicated hunter, had gone on safari immediately following our wedding trip, leaving me behind in London. He never returned. Everyone initially accepted his death as natural—it appeared as if he’d fallen victim to fever—but I soon began to believe otherwise and spearheaded the ensuing investigation, suspecting early on that Colin Hargreaves had murdered the man who’d been like a brother to him.

Such are the follies of a novice detective, and in the end I was pleased to have been wholly incorrect about Colin’s character. Far from a nefarious criminal, he instead turned out to be a gentleman of the highest morals who spent much of his time working for the Crown—investigating situations that, as he liked to say, required more than a modicum of discretion. This description was too modest. In fact, his services were indispensable to the British Empire, and he was one of Her Majesty’s most trusted agents. I do not blame myself entirely for having been so wrong in my suspicions—a man who works in such mysterious ways ought to expect his actions to be, on occasion, misinterpreted.

And so, rather than seeing him off to prison, I fell in love with him, and after refusing his proposals twice, at last was convinced that matrimony was essential to my happiness. This decision came after I’d solved two more crimes in a fashion competent enough to earn Colin’s praise and his suggestion that I begin to assist him in a more official capacity. Assuming, of course, his colleagues would agree to such an arrangement. A female investigator was not something much sought after in the halls of Buckingham Palace.

My decision to pursue such a line of work complemented nicely my other so-called eccentricities, in particular a propensity for academic pursuits that at present focused on the study of ancient Greek. All of this greatly vexed my mother, a staunch traditionalist, and strained our already tenuous relationship. When at last I agreed to be Colin’s wife, she rejoiced (although she would have preferred for me to catch a duke), but her jovial attitude dissolved the instant she learned we had eloped on the Greek island of Santorini. Philip had left me a villa there, and it was the place to which I fled whenever I was overwhelmed or in need of escape. It also proved the perfect spot for an extremely private wedding.

Afterwards, we returned to England, where we passed an excruciating month with my parents at their estate in Kent. We felt it right to tell them our news in person and wanted to extend the proverbial olive branch. But only the most rare sort of mother could find it in her heart to welcome home a child who had deprived her of the pleasure of planning a society wedding, and Lady Catherine Bromley was not such a woman. The only bright spot in the visit was the fact that my dearest childhood friend, Ivy, in that happy condition that comes inevitably after marriage, was also there. My mother, upon learning that Ivy’s parents were in India, had all but carried my friend into Kent, insisting that she needed special care during her confinement.

Much though Colin and I enjoyed seeing Ivy, it had become evident almost at once that escape was necessary. We longed to get away from everyone, to a place where our only pressing business would be to enjoy our honeymoon, and had planned a trip east to visit sites important to me because of my love of classical antiquities and literature. I wanted to see the ruins at Ephesus, and as student of Homer, craved a visit to Troy. Colin, proving himself husband extraordinaire from the first, did not need to be told any of this; he anticipated my every desire. And hence, we soon found ourselves speeding towards Constantinople on the Orient Express.

“I’m not sure your mother will ever forgive me all the way,” Colin said as he guided me through narrow, mahogany-paneled corridors to the train’s dining car. “I’d no idea how wild she and the queen had run with their wedding plans.”

“Well, we did give up our opportunity to be wed in the chapel at Windsor Palace.”

“Yes. With fireworks and our two thousand closest friends.”

I laughed. “I confess I never thought she had it in her to be so fierce with you.”

“Now that we’re married, she considers me a safe mark. No more worries that I’ll take my affections and my fortune elsewhere.”

“Excellent point. But I’d hoped that her desire to charm you into eventually accepting a title from the queen would keep her better in line.”

“She’s quite amusing,” he said.

“Spoken like a man who’s never lived with her.” A crisply uniformed steward pulled open a door for us, and we stepped into a dining room that, although small, was worthy of the best restaurants in Europe. Soft candles flickered with the gentle motion of the train, sending light undulating across crystal glasses, gold-rimmed porcelain, and damask tablecloths the color of bright moonlight, while the smell of perfectly roasted beef with a tangy claret sauce filled the air.

“Twenty-eight days was more than enough,” Colin said.

“Was it only twenty-eight?” I asked.

“And a half. Why do you think I insisted we take the morning train to Paris?”

I slipped into a chair across from him at a table where a silver-haired gentleman was already settled. He’d risen and bowed to me—over me, more like, as his height was extraordinary—and then offered his hand to my husband. “Sir Richard St. Clare,” he said, introducing himself with a stiff nod. Colin shook his hand and introduced us both. “Hargreaves, eh? I know of your work. Your reputation is sterling in diplomatic circles.”

“The compliment is much appreciated,” Colin said, sitting next to me.

“And much deserved. But we shan’t bore your lovely wife with talk of business.” He turned to me. “How far are you traveling?”

“All the way to Constantinople,” I said, then leaned forward, a broad smile stretching across my face. “First real stop on our wedding trip.”

“Excellent.” He rubbed together thick-knuckled hands. “And where else shall you visit?”

“I’ve been promised Ephesus,” I said, raising an eyebrow at Colin, who was a vision of handsome perfection in his evening kit.

“I’ll take you to Philadelphia and Sardis as well,” Colin said. “So long as you have clothing suitable for exploring ruins.”

“You wouldn’t have married me if I didn’t,” I said, wishing I could grab his knee under the table and feeling a hot rush of color flood my cheeks at this reference to a conversation we’d had nearly two years ago on the Pont Neuf in Paris, the night he’d fallen in love with me in spite of his erroneous belief I was not in possession of a wardrobe suitable for adventurous travel. The gown I was wearing now—of the palest pink silk embroidered with silver thread from which hung teardrop-shaped crystals—did not suggest I was a lady ready for the wilderness, but I was not the sort of woman who should be judged by her clothing. An appreciation for high fashion does not preclude possession of common sense.

“A rather wild agenda, isn’t it?” Sir Richard asked. “You might find you’d prefer Rome for ruins. It’s far safer.”

“I was not aware of problems at Ephesus,” Colin said, pointedly not looking at me as I raised an eyebrow.

“My son, Benjamin, is an archaeologist and spent some months with the team excavating there a year or so ago,” Sir Richard said. “There’s no longer the trouble they had there in the past, but I can’t say it’s a place I’d bring a new bride.”

This line of thought did not surprise me in the least. It was precisely what I expected from an ordinary Englishman and precisely the sort of reaction I had grown accustomed to dismissing without reply. “What has induced you to visit the Ottomans, Sir Richard?” I asked.

“Constantinople is my home. I work at the embassy.”

“Then you must tell us all the inside secrets of the city,” Colin said. “The places we shouldn’t miss.”

“You might consider hiring a guide to keep track of you unless you plan on staying in the Westernized parts of the city.”

“I’d much prefer an adventurous approach,” I said. “I want to have no doubt in my mind that I’m far from England.”

“You remind me of my wife. Not that she ever went to England—that she preferred adventure. An explorer like no other, my Assia.”

“Will she be dining with us tonight?” I asked.

“I’m afraid I lost her many years ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, a shard of grief piercing my stomach, bringing with it memories of Philip, whom I’d come to love only after he was gone. I owed my happiness with Colin in no small part to him. We would never have come to know each other were it not first for their friendship and second for Philip’s murder. And this was a realization that carried with it a large dose of complicated and bittersweet emotion.

“It’s a terrible thing to lose someone you love,” Colin said.

“Quite,” Sir Richard said, looking down and tapping a finger against the tines of his fork as an awkward silence enveloped us. I had thought of and rejected no fewer than fourteen ways to change the direction of the conversation before our dinner companion surprised me by continuing. “My son goes sour whenever the subject of his mother comes up—we lost her and his sister the same day. He was only eight years old and in ways has never fully recovered. Neither of us has, I suppose.”

“Condolences are not enough,” Colin said.

“But they are appreciated nonetheless,” Sir Richard said, the words heavy with the sound of forced strength. “Assia was an Algerian Berber, and a more beautiful woman has never walked the earth. She had been educated in Paris—I imagine you, Lady Emily, would approve of the value placed on cultured women in Kabilya, the region in which she grew up. She loved adventure, and we traveled constantly. I took her to India and Egypt. After our children were born, we brought them with us.”

“What a marvelous childhood,” I said.

“I thought it would be.” He squared his jaw. “Until bandits attacked our camp near the dig at Ephesus. This was twenty-odd years ago, soon after John Turtle Wood started excavating. He was plagued with problems—warned us not to come—but I would have none of it. I was a young fool.”

“Redundant,” Colin said, drawing a hard laugh from our visitor.

“Quite. We were in two tents. Ceyden, my daughter, had been sick, so Assia was sleeping next to her. I didn’t know what was happening until I heard my wife screaming as they cut her throat. She’d struggled too much.”

“I’m so sorry.” I could not help reaching out to take his hand, but he pulled it from the table.

“I had to protect Benjamin. Helped him hide before I grabbed my rifle and went on the offensive, but at the first gunshot, the cowards started to retreat. They took Ceyden with them. She was a beauty, even at three years old. That striking red gold hair, blue eyes. Looked like her mother.”

“You must have been frantic,” I said. I considered the poor girl, terrified, torn from her family, and my heart ached at the thought of her carrying so much pain and such horrific images.

“I spent years and a fortune searching for her, but never uncovered a trace. All my efforts were futile. I’ve always assumed that she must have been sold into slavery. So you see, adventurous travel isn’t all romance. You’d be better off, Hargreaves, keeping your wife safely in sight.” He drained his wine, slammed the glass down with a thump, and laid his hands flat on the table.

“I of course appreciate the advice and shall heed it,” Colin said. I resisted the urge to kick him under the table, restraining myself only out of respect for the tragedies suffered by Sir Richard.

“I’m afraid I’ve—I’ve quite ruined the mood of the evening. Apologies.” His words sounded almost slurred as he reached for the half-empty bottle of wine in front of him, filled his glass, and took a long drink, sweat beading on his forehead. “I’m sure that between Topkapi Palace and . . . ah . . . yes, the Blue Mosque and the Grand Bazaar, you’ll find yourselves quite well diverted. I’ll see what I can do about arranging invitations to any parties in the diplomatic community as well as—”

His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped over in his chair, still only for an instant before his body convulsed, sending him crashing to the floor.

 

 

The speed with which the ensuing chaos was calmed is a testament to the efficiency of the staff of La Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits. Within a quarter of an hour, Colin and I were crowded into the corridor outside the sleeping compartment, where a doctor, who had been traveling in the next car, was examining Sir Richard. The physician ducked out and took a short step towards Colin.

“May I talk to you privately?” He shot a glance at me. “I don’t think it’s appropriate—”

“You may speak freely in front of my wife,” Colin said, his dark eyes serious.

The doctor clenched his jaw and scrunched his eyebrows together. “Sir Richard took an extremely high dose of chloral hydrate. A not uncommon occurrence among those dependent on the medication—it’s given as a sleeping aid. I believe he’d mixed it in with his wine at dinner. He’s lucky to be alive.”

“Will he be all right?” I asked.

“There’s not much to do but wait, and I’ll sit with him as long as necessary. You need not stay.”

Colin scribbled the number of our compartment on a piece of paper and handed it to the doctor. “Please alert us if the situation changes.”

“Of course.” He went back to Sir Richard, leaving us alone.

“I don’t feel hungry anymore,” I said as Colin and I started down the corridor.

“I’ve not the slightest interest in the dining car.” He stopped walking and pressed me against the wall, kissing me.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re a beast to kiss me at a time like this,” I said, twining my fingers through his. “Perhaps we should be doing more for him.”

“A man who can’t properly dose his own medicine has no right to interrupt our honeymoon.”

“Could we contact his son?” I asked. “I don’t feel right leaving him so alone.”

“When we get to Constantinople. We’re on a train, Emily.”

“I had noticed that,” I said.

“Perceptive girl.” He kissed my forehead. “I do adore your compassion for Sir Richard. But right now, forgive me, I think you should direct it to me, your husband, who by unfortunate coincidence of seating arrangements has been forced to deal with doctors and train stewards all evening instead of being left to his violently elegant and relentlessly charming wife.”

“Sounds delicious,” I said. “I should have married you ages ago.”

 

 

The two remaining days of our trip passed without further incident. We saw Sir Richard the following evening in the dining car. He was in fine health, full of apologies, and all easy charm for the rest of the trip—no more criticism of our itinerary or of my yearning for adventure. More important, no more signs that he was using too heavy a hand when dosing his medicine.

“Perhaps he’s a changed man after his near brush with death,” Colin said, gathering the few remaining books strewn about our compartment as the train pulled into the station at Constantinople.

“I don’t believe in sudden transformations,” I said.

“That’s because you’re so very cynical. It’s one of your best qualities. You know . . .” He looked around. “I’m almost sorry to leave the train. It’s effortless to lock this door and shut out the world. No house full of servants bothering us.”

“Just overzealous stewards.”

“Who were quick to learn that we wanted our privacy.” He ran a hand through the thick, dark waves of his hair. “I think that’s everything. Ready to have the Ottoman Empire at your feet?”

Excitement surged through me as we stepped onto the platform, and I looked around, eager to take in a culture so very foreign to me. Despite the fact that my guidebook told me it had been designed by a Prussian architect, the Müir Ahmet Paa Station, with its elaborately decorated façade, looked satisfyingly Oriental to me. Bright reddish pink bricks were arranged in rectangular patterns between wide stone borders along the lower portion of the building, the rest of the walls painted pink. Stained glass curved over the doors and long windows, above which there were more, these large and round, fashioned from leaded glass. The center of the structure was low, its sides anchored by taller sections, one with a flat roof edged with stone decoration, the other domed.

“Where shall we go first?” Colin asked.

“Meg is perfectly capable of seeing to it that our trunks get to the house. My plan is to get a spectacular view of the city, unless you’ve a mad desire to go to our quarters first.” Meg, my maid, was traveling with us, despite my husband’s protests that he’d prefer we be alone. I, too, liked very much the idea of privacy, but a lady must deal with hard realities, and there was simply no way my hair could be made presentable on a daily basis without skilled assistance. Furthermore, I’d spent a not inconsiderable effort to show her the merits of places beyond England. Her provincial attitude had begun to thaw in Paris more than a year ago, and I had every intention of continuing her enlightenment.

“If we go to the house first, you’re not likely to see much of the city today.” He pulled me close, his arm around my waist.

“I cannot tolerate that,” I said, a delightful flash of heat shooting from toes to fingertips. I straightened my hat—a jaunty little thing, devoid of the ornamentation favored by many of my peers. So far as I was concerned, stuffed birds had no place in the world of fashion. I was too eager in making the adjustment, and the tip of my hat pin jabbed into my scalp, causing me to jump, knocking into a gentleman walking behind me.

“Oh, Sir Richard, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t see you.”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention, either.” A gruff edge cut through his already rough voice.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Yes, actually. It appears I’ve been robbed. Nothing serious, just unsettling.”

“What happened?” Colin stepped closer to me and began a methodical study of the area around us.

“I’ve no idea. When I was gathering my belongings to leave the train, I realized a sheaf of papers I was bringing from London to the embassy is gone.”

“What sort of papers?” I asked.

Sir Richard narrowed his eyes, seeming to appraise my competence as I asked the question. “Standard diplomatic fare. Nothing of pressing confidentiality. More of a nuisance and embarrassment to lose them than anything else.”

“Do you have any idea when they went missing?” I asked.

“Not at all,” Sir Richard said. “I didn’t need to deal with them during the trip and never pulled them out. It could have happened anytime.”

“Who had access to your compartment?” I asked. “We should question the stewards at once and try to locate the physician who treated you. We know he was there.”

“I assure you, there’s no need, Lady Emily—”

I interrupted him. “Every possibility must be considered.”

“Have you reported this to the local police?” Colin asked.

“No,” Sir Richard said, shielding his eyes from the sun. “It’s entirely unnecessary. This may be nothing more than a prank.”

“I can’t see that making any sense.” I shook my head, harder than I ought to have, sending my already maligned hat off-kilter. “And if that were the case, wouldn’t you have some idea who would do such a thing? Did you have any colleagues on the train? Did anyone even know you had the papers?”

“No. I saw none of my colleagues. But I’m a diplomat. It’s reasonable to assume I’d be carrying papers. Someone—a Turk, perhaps—who’s less than pleased with Britain could have done it to make a point.”

“An awfully oblique point,” I said, frowning. “We’d be happy to assist you—”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” he said. “As I said on the train, I know well your husband’s reputation, but I assure you this is nothing more than an aggravating inconvenience and quite out of the sphere of his interest. I do, however, hope to be in touch soon with an invitation to something I think you’ll both enjoy.”

I watched, dissatisfied, as he walked away from us. “We are going back to the train, aren’t we?” Sir Richard might refuse to investigate, but I could not do the same. My experience, while limited, had given me a taste for detecting.

Colin gave a short laugh. “This is not in the least what I want from a honeymoon, but I know you must be pacified.”

“Yes, I must.” I looped my arm through his and led him to the platform. He flashed some sort of identification, and within a short while we had conducted a quick but thorough interrogation of stewards and lingering passengers. Our efforts, however, were in vain: no suspicious characters, no overlooked clues, and certainly no breathless confession.

“I can’t escape the feeling we’ve missed something,” I said when, finished, we crossed back through the station.

“It’s possible.” Colin took my hand. “But there’s no harm done, Emily. He might have mislaid the papers himself. There was no sign of forced entry into his compartment.”

“He could have forgotten to lock the door.”

“He’s too competent to have done that.”

“Doesn’t it make you wonder about the chloral hydrate?” I asked. “Perhaps someone dosed his wine, knowing the subsequent commotion would provide an opportunity to snatch the papers.”

“I understand the suspicion, my dear, but why would anyone go to so much trouble to take something that, by all accounts, is of no particular value?”

“Perhaps the papers were not the goal,” I continued. “Perhaps harming Sir Richard was, and the theft was meant to set the investigation on the wrong course. We may be dealing with a matter entirely personal, not professional.”

“We, my dear, are not at present dealing with any matter whatsoever other than enjoying our wedding trip.”

“I just—”

“No, Emily. Let this go. Come. The Golden Horn awaits you.”

Copyright © 2009 by Tasha Alexander. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fift h Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

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First Chapter

Tears of Pearl

A Novel of Suspense
By Tasha Alexander

Minotaur Books

Copyright © 2009 Tasha Alexander
All right reserved.

ISBN: 9780312383701

TEARS OF PEARL

Chapter 1

It is always a mistake to underestimate the possibilities of a train compartment. Some newly married couples might prefer luxurious, spacious suites at the Continental in Paris or rooms overlooking Lake Lucerne, but I shall never be convinced that one can find bliss more satisfactory than that to be had in a confined space with the company only of each other. Limitations lend themselves to creativity, and my spouse wasted no time in proving himself adept beyond imagination.

After the death of my first husband, a man I’d barely known, I hadn’t expected that I, Lady Emily Ashton, would ever again agree to subject myself to the bonds of matrimony. I’d not believed there was a man alive capable of tempting me to give up even a shred of what I considered my hard-earned independence. More surprising than simply finding such an extraordinary individual was discovering that he was said late husband’s best friend. Philip, the viscount Ashton, a dedicated hunter, had gone on safari immediately following our wedding trip, leaving me behind in London. He never returned. Everyone initially accepted his death as natural—it appeared as if he’d fallen victim to fever—but I soon began to believe otherwise and spearheaded the ensuing investigation, suspecting early on that Colin Hargreaves had murdered the man who’d been like a brother to him.

Such are the follies of a novice detective, and in the end I was pleased to have been wholly incorrect about Colin’s character. Far from a nefarious criminal, he instead turned out to be a gentleman of the highest morals who spent much of his time working for the Crown—investigating situations that, as he liked to say, required more than a modicum of discretion. This description was too modest. In fact, his services were indispensable to the British Empire, and he was one of Her Majesty’s most trusted agents. I do not blame myself entirely for having been so wrong in my suspicions—a man who works in such mysterious ways ought to expect his actions to be, on occasion, misinterpreted.

And so, rather than seeing him off to prison, I fell in love with him, and after refusing his proposals twice, at last was convinced that matrimony was essential to my happiness. This decision came after I’d solved two more crimes in a fashion competent enough to earn Colin’s praise and his suggestion that I begin to assist him in a more official capacity. Assuming, of course, his colleagues would agree to such an arrangement. A female investigator was not something much sought after in the halls of Buckingham Palace.

My decision to pursue such a line of work complemented nicely my other so-called eccentricities, in particular a propensity for academic pursuits that at present focused on the study of ancient Greek. All of this greatly vexed my mother, a staunch traditionalist, and strained our already tenuous relationship. When at last I agreed to be Colin’s wife, she rejoiced (although she would have preferred for me to catch a duke), but her jovial attitude dissolved the instant she learned we had eloped on the Greek island of Santorini. Philip had left me a villa there, and it was the place to which I fled whenever I was overwhelmed or in need of escape. It also proved the perfect spot for an extremely private wedding.

Afterwards, we returned to England, where we passed an excruciating month with my parents at their estate in Kent. We felt it right to tell them our news in person and wanted to extend the proverbial olive branch. But only the most rare sort of mother could find it in her heart to welcome home a child who had deprived her of the pleasure of planning a society wedding, and Lady Catherine Bromley was not such a woman. The only bright spot in the visit was the fact that my dearest childhood friend, Ivy, in that happy condition that comes inevitably after marriage, was also there. My mother, upon learning that Ivy’s parents were in India, had all but carried my friend into Kent, insisting that she needed special care during her confinement.

Much though Colin and I enjoyed seeing Ivy, it had become evident almost at once that escape was necessary. We longed to get away from everyone, to a place where our only pressing business would be to enjoy our honeymoon, and had planned a trip east to visit sites important to me because of my love of classical antiquities and literature. I wanted to see the ruins at Ephesus, and as student of Homer, craved a visit to Troy. Colin, proving himself husband extraordinaire from the first, did not need to be told any of this; he anticipated my every desire. And hence, we soon found ourselves speeding towards Constantinople on the Orient Express.

“I’m not sure your mother will ever forgive me all the way,” Colin said as he guided me through narrow, mahogany-paneled corridors to the train’s dining car. “I’d no idea how wild she and the queen had run with their wedding plans.”

“Well, we did give up our opportunity to be wed in the chapel at Windsor Palace.”

“Yes. With fireworks and our two thousand closest friends.”

I laughed. “I confess I never thought she had it in her to be so fierce with you.”

“Now that we’re married, she considers me a safe mark. No more worries that I’ll take my affections and my fortune elsewhere.”

“Excellent point. But I’d hoped that her desire to charm you into eventually accepting a title from the queen would keep her better in line.”

“She’s quite amusing,” he said.

“Spoken like a man who’s never lived with her.” A crisply uniformed steward pulled open a door for us, and we stepped into a dining room that, although small, was worthy of the best restaurants in Europe. Soft candles flickered with the gentle motion of the train, sending light undulating across crystal glasses, gold-rimmed porcelain, and damask tablecloths the color of bright moonlight, while the smell of perfectly roasted beef with a tangy claret sauce filled the air.

“Twenty-eight days was more than enough,” Colin said.

“Was it only twenty-eight?” I asked.

“And a half. Why do you think I insisted we take the morning train to Paris?”

I slipped into a chair across from him at a table where a silver-haired gentleman was already settled. He’d risen and bowed to me—over me, more like, as his height was extraordinary—and then offered his hand to my husband. “Sir Richard St. Clare,” he said, introducing himself with a stiff nod. Colin shook his hand and introduced us both. “Hargreaves, eh? I know of your work. Your reputation is sterling in diplomatic circles.”

“The compliment is much appreciated,” Colin said, sitting next to me.

“And much deserved. But we shan’t bore your lovely wife with talk of business.” He turned to me. “How far are you traveling?”

“All the way to Constantinople,” I said, then leaned forward, a broad smile stretching across my face. “First real stop on our wedding trip.”

“Excellent.” He rubbed together thick-knuckled hands. “And where else shall you visit?”

“I’ve been promised Ephesus,” I said, raising an eyebrow at Colin, who was a vision of handsome perfection in his evening kit.

“I’ll take you to Philadelphia and Sardis as well,” Colin said. “So long as you have clothing suitable for exploring ruins.”

“You wouldn’t have married me if I didn’t,” I said, wishing I could grab his knee under the table and feeling a hot rush of color flood my cheeks at this reference to a conversation we’d had nearly two years ago on the Pont Neuf in Paris, the night he’d fallen in love with me in spite of his erroneous belief I was not in possession of a wardrobe suitable for adventurous travel. The gown I was wearing now—of the palest pink silk embroidered with silver thread from which hung teardrop-shaped crystals—did not suggest I was a lady ready for the wilderness, but I was not the sort of woman who should be judged by her clothing. An appreciation for high fashion does not preclude possession of common sense.

“A rather wild agenda, isn’t it?” Sir Richard asked. “You might find you’d prefer Rome for ruins. It’s far safer.”

“I was not aware of problems at Ephesus,” Colin said, pointedly not looking at me as I raised an eyebrow.

“My son, Benjamin, is an archaeologist and spent some months with the team excavating there a year or so ago,” Sir Richard said. “There’s no longer the trouble they had there in the past, but I can’t say it’s a place I’d bring a new bride.”

This line of thought did not surprise me in the least. It was precisely what I expected from an ordinary Englishman and precisely the sort of reaction I had grown accustomed to dismissing without reply. “What has induced you to visit the Ottomans, Sir Richard?” I asked.

“Constantinople is my home. I work at the embassy.”

“Then you must tell us all the inside secrets of the city,” Colin said. “The places we shouldn’t miss.”

“You might consider hiring a guide to keep track of you unless you plan on staying in the Westernized parts of the city.”

“I’d much prefer an adventurous approach,” I said. “I want to have no doubt in my mind that I’m far from England.”

“You remind me of my wife. Not that she ever went to England—that she preferred adventure. An explorer like no other, my Assia.”

“Will she be dining with us tonight?” I asked.

“I’m afraid I lost her many years ago.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, a shard of grief piercing my stomach, bringing with it memories of Philip, whom I’d come to love only after he was gone. I owed my happiness with Colin in no small part to him. We would never have come to know each other were it not first for their friendship and second for Philip’s murder. And this was a realization that carried with it a large dose of complicated and bittersweet emotion.

“It’s a terrible thing to lose someone you love,” Colin said.

“Quite,” Sir Richard said, looking down and tapping a finger against the tines of his fork as an awkward silence enveloped us. I had thought of and rejected no fewer than fourteen ways to change the direction of the conversation before our dinner companion surprised me by continuing. “My son goes sour whenever the subject of his mother comes up—we lost her and his sister the same day. He was only eight years old and in ways has never fully recovered. Neither of us has, I suppose.”

“Condolences are not enough,” Colin said.

“But they are appreciated nonetheless,” Sir Richard said, the words heavy with the sound of forced strength. “Assia was an Algerian Berber, and a more beautiful woman has never walked the earth. She had been educated in Paris—I imagine you, Lady Emily, would approve of the value placed on cultured women in Kabilya, the region in which she grew up. She loved adventure, and we traveled constantly. I took her to India and Egypt. After our children were born, we brought them with us.”

“What a marvelous childhood,” I said.

“I thought it would be.” He squared his jaw. “Until bandits attacked our camp near the dig at Ephesus. This was twenty-odd years ago, soon after John Turtle Wood started excavating. He was plagued with problems—warned us not to come—but I would have none of it. I was a young fool.”

“Redundant,” Colin said, drawing a hard laugh from our visitor.

“Quite. We were in two tents. Ceyden, my daughter, had been sick, so Assia was sleeping next to her. I didn’t know what was happening until I heard my wife screaming as they cut her throat. She’d struggled too much.”

“I’m so sorry.” I could not help reaching out to take his hand, but he pulled it from the table.

“I had to protect Benjamin. Helped him hide before I grabbed my rifle and went on the offensive, but at the first gunshot, the cowards started to retreat. They took Ceyden with them. She was a beauty, even at three years old. That striking red gold hair, blue eyes. Looked like her mother.”

“You must have been frantic,” I said. I considered the poor girl, terrified, torn from her family, and my heart ached at the thought of her carrying so much pain and such horrific images.

“I spent years and a fortune searching for her, but never uncovered a trace. All my efforts were futile. I’ve always assumed that she must have been sold into slavery. So you see, adventurous travel isn’t all romance. You’d be better off, Hargreaves, keeping your wife safely in sight.” He drained his wine, slammed the glass down with a thump, and laid his hands flat on the table.

“I of course appreciate the advice and shall heed it,” Colin said. I resisted the urge to kick him under the table, restraining myself only out of respect for the tragedies suffered by Sir Richard.

“I’m afraid I’ve—I’ve quite ruined the mood of the evening. Apologies.” His words sounded almost slurred as he reached for the half-empty bottle of wine in front of him, filled his glass, and took a long drink, sweat beading on his forehead. “I’m sure that between Topkapi Palace and . . . ah . . . yes, the Blue Mosque and the Grand Bazaar, you’ll find yourselves quite well diverted. I’ll see what I can do about arranging invitations to any parties in the diplomatic community as well as—”

His eyes rolled back in his head and he slumped over in his chair, still only for an instant before his body convulsed, sending him crashing to the floor.

 

 

The speed with which the ensuing chaos was calmed is a testament to the efficiency of the staff of La Compagnie Internationale des Wagons-Lits. Within a quarter of an hour, Colin and I were crowded into the corridor outside the sleeping compartment, where a doctor, who had been traveling in the next car, was examining Sir Richard. The physician ducked out and took a short step towards Colin.

“May I talk to you privately?” He shot a glance at me. “I don’t think it’s appropriate—”

“You may speak freely in front of my wife,” Colin said, his dark eyes serious.

The doctor clenched his jaw and scrunched his eyebrows together. “Sir Richard took an extremely high dose of chloral hydrate. A not uncommon occurrence among those dependent on the medication—it’s given as a sleeping aid. I believe he’d mixed it in with his wine at dinner. He’s lucky to be alive.”

“Will he be all right?” I asked.

“There’s not much to do but wait, and I’ll sit with him as long as necessary. You need not stay.”

Colin scribbled the number of our compartment on a piece of paper and handed it to the doctor. “Please alert us if the situation changes.”

“Of course.” He went back to Sir Richard, leaving us alone.

“I don’t feel hungry anymore,” I said as Colin and I started down the corridor.

“I’ve not the slightest interest in the dining car.” He stopped walking and pressed me against the wall, kissing me.

“That’s not what I meant. You’re a beast to kiss me at a time like this,” I said, twining my fingers through his. “Perhaps we should be doing more for him.”

“A man who can’t properly dose his own medicine has no right to interrupt our honeymoon.”

“Could we contact his son?” I asked. “I don’t feel right leaving him so alone.”

“When we get to Constantinople. We’re on a train, Emily.”

“I had noticed that,” I said.

“Perceptive girl.” He kissed my forehead. “I do adore your compassion for Sir Richard. But right now, forgive me, I think you should direct it to me, your husband, who by unfortunate coincidence of seating arrangements has been forced to deal with doctors and train stewards all evening instead of being left to his violently elegant and relentlessly charming wife.”

“Sounds delicious,” I said. “I should have married you ages ago.”

 

 

The two remaining days of our trip passed without further incident. We saw Sir Richard the following evening in the dining car. He was in fine health, full of apologies, and all easy charm for the rest of the trip—no more criticism of our itinerary or of my yearning for adventure. More important, no more signs that he was using too heavy a hand when dosing his medicine.

“Perhaps he’s a changed man after his near brush with death,” Colin said, gathering the few remaining books strewn about our compartment as the train pulled into the station at Constantinople.

“I don’t believe in sudden transformations,” I said.

“That’s because you’re so very cynical. It’s one of your best qualities. You know . . .” He looked around. “I’m almost sorry to leave the train. It’s effortless to lock this door and shut out the world. No house full of servants bothering us.”

“Just overzealous stewards.”

“Who were quick to learn that we wanted our privacy.” He ran a hand through the thick, dark waves of his hair. “I think that’s everything. Ready to have the Ottoman Empire at your feet?”

Excitement surged through me as we stepped onto the platform, and I looked around, eager to take in a culture so very foreign to me. Despite the fact that my guidebook told me it had been designed by a Prussian architect, the Müir Ahmet Paa Station, with its elaborately decorated façade, looked satisfyingly Oriental to me. Bright reddish pink bricks were arranged in rectangular patterns between wide stone borders along the lower portion of the building, the rest of the walls painted pink. Stained glass curved over the doors and long windows, above which there were more, these large and round, fashioned from leaded glass. The center of the structure was low, its sides anchored by taller sections, one with a flat roof edged with stone decoration, the other domed.

“Where shall we go first?” Colin asked.

“Meg is perfectly capable of seeing to it that our trunks get to the house. My plan is to get a spectacular view of the city, unless you’ve a mad desire to go to our quarters first.” Meg, my maid, was traveling with us, despite my husband’s protests that he’d prefer we be alone. I, too, liked very much the idea of privacy, but a lady must deal with hard realities, and there was simply no way my hair could be made presentable on a daily basis without skilled assistance. Furthermore, I’d spent a not inconsiderable effort to show her the merits of places beyond England. Her provincial attitude had begun to thaw in Paris more than a year ago, and I had every intention of continuing her enlightenment.

“If we go to the house first, you’re not likely to see much of the city today.” He pulled me close, his arm around my waist.

“I cannot tolerate that,” I said, a delightful flash of heat shooting from toes to fingertips. I straightened my hat—a jaunty little thing, devoid of the ornamentation favored by many of my peers. So far as I was concerned, stuffed birds had no place in the world of fashion. I was too eager in making the adjustment, and the tip of my hat pin jabbed into my scalp, causing me to jump, knocking into a gentleman walking behind me.

“Oh, Sir Richard, I’m so sorry,” I said. “I didn’t see you.”

“I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention, either.” A gruff edge cut through his already rough voice.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Yes, actually. It appears I’ve been robbed. Nothing serious, just unsettling.”

“What happened?” Colin stepped closer to me and began a methodical study of the area around us.

“I’ve no idea. When I was gathering my belongings to leave the train, I realized a sheaf of papers I was bringing from London to the embassy is gone.”

“What sort of papers?” I asked.

Sir Richard narrowed his eyes, seeming to appraise my competence as I asked the question. “Standard diplomatic fare. Nothing of pressing confidentiality. More of a nuisance and embarrassment to lose them than anything else.”

“Do you have any idea when they went missing?” I asked.

“Not at all,” Sir Richard said. “I didn’t need to deal with them during the trip and never pulled them out. It could have happened anytime.”

“Who had access to your compartment?” I asked. “We should question the stewards at once and try to locate the physician who treated you. We know he was there.”

“I assure you, there’s no need, Lady Emily—”

I interrupted him. “Every possibility must be considered.”

“Have you reported this to the local police?” Colin asked.

“No,” Sir Richard said, shielding his eyes from the sun. “It’s entirely unnecessary. This may be nothing more than a prank.”

“I can’t see that making any sense.” I shook my head, harder than I ought to have, sending my already maligned hat off-kilter. “And if that were the case, wouldn’t you have some idea who would do such a thing? Did you have any colleagues on the train? Did anyone even know you had the papers?”

“No. I saw none of my colleagues. But I’m a diplomat. It’s reasonable to assume I’d be carrying papers. Someone—a Turk, perhaps—who’s less than pleased with Britain could have done it to make a point.”

“An awfully oblique point,” I said, frowning. “We’d be happy to assist you—”

“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” he said. “As I said on the train, I know well your husband’s reputation, but I assure you this is nothing more than an aggravating inconvenience and quite out of the sphere of his interest. I do, however, hope to be in touch soon with an invitation to something I think you’ll both enjoy.”

I watched, dissatisfied, as he walked away from us. “We are going back to the train, aren’t we?” Sir Richard might refuse to investigate, but I could not do the same. My experience, while limited, had given me a taste for detecting.

Colin gave a short laugh. “This is not in the least what I want from a honeymoon, but I know you must be pacified.”

“Yes, I must.” I looped my arm through his and led him to the platform. He flashed some sort of identification, and within a short while we had conducted a quick but thorough interrogation of stewards and lingering passengers. Our efforts, however, were in vain: no suspicious characters, no overlooked clues, and certainly no breathless confession.

“I can’t escape the feeling we’ve missed something,” I said when, finished, we crossed back through the station.

“It’s possible.” Colin took my hand. “But there’s no harm done, Emily. He might have mislaid the papers himself. There was no sign of forced entry into his compartment.”

“He could have forgotten to lock the door.”

“He’s too competent to have done that.”

“Doesn’t it make you wonder about the chloral hydrate?” I asked. “Perhaps someone dosed his wine, knowing the subsequent commotion would provide an opportunity to snatch the papers.”

“I understand the suspicion, my dear, but why would anyone go to so much trouble to take something that, by all accounts, is of no particular value?”

“Perhaps the papers were not the goal,” I continued. “Perhaps harming Sir Richard was, and the theft was meant to set the investigation on the wrong course. We may be dealing with a matter entirely personal, not professional.”

“We, my dear, are not at present dealing with any matter whatsoever other than enjoying our wedding trip.”

“I just—”

“No, Emily. Let this go. Come. The Golden Horn awaits you.”

Copyright © 2009 by Tasha Alexander. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fift h Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.



Continues...

Excerpted from Tears of Pearl by Tasha Alexander Copyright © 2009 by Tasha Alexander. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Reading Group Guide

Set amid the beauty and decadence of the Ottoman Empire, Lady Emily’s latest adventure is full of intrigue, treachery, and romance.

Looking forward to the joys of connubial bliss, newlyweds Lady Emily and Colin Hargreaves, diplomats of the British Empire, set out toward Turkey for an exotic honeymoon. But on their first night in the city, a harem girl is found murdered, strangled in the courtyard of the sultan’s lavish Yildiz Palace. Sir Richard St. Clare, an Englishman who works at the embassy in Constantinople, is present and recognizes the girl as his own daughter who was kidnapped twenty years earlier. Emily and Colin promise the heartbroken father that they’ll find her killer, but as the investigation gains speed, they find that appearance can be deceiving—especially within the confines of the seraglio.

As a woman, Emily is given access to the forbidden world of the harem and quickly discovers that its mysterious, sheltered walls offer no protection from a ruthless murderer. As the number of victims grows, Emily must rely on her own sharp wit in a heart-stopping finale if she is to stop a killer bent on exacting vengeance no matter how many innocent lives he leaves in his wake.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 58 )
Rating Distribution

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(22)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 58 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted September 8, 2009

    With Heavy Sighs And Rolling Eyes

    I found myself repeatedly sighing out loud and rolling my eyes at the ridiculous, unlikely, unbelievable and melodramatic events and dialogue throughout this mediocre murder mystery.

    I know Tasha Alexander can do better. She created wonderful characters in Lady Emily and Colin Hargreaves in 'And Only to Deceive' and she continued to develop their relationship in 'A Poisoned Season'. I thought both books were wonderful and I would recommend either of them to any one who enjoys good historical fiction or likes mysteries.

    Unfortunately 'Tears of Pearl' has little or no character development, a poor mystery at it's core, unrealistic dialogue and a completely unbelievable string of events. There is an overwhelming amount of trembling and tingling being described but sadly there wasn't any chemistry between the characters. The constant double entendres exchanged between Emily and Colin seemed forced and far too contemporary.

    The reader does learn some new things about Lady Emily's youth but they feel as if they are facts given to fill in the blanks, some of which were repeated a bit too often for my tastes. Alexander also includes letters in the book that add nothing to the story. She did this with 'Fatal Waltz' as well.

    The only thing I liked about this book was when Lady Emily recalled events that happened in the first two books.

    I thought the mystery was lack-luster the events ridiculous and the author turned what had been very likable characters into caricatures. This, the double entendres and unbelievable dialogue has made me swear off any more Tasha Alexander novels until she returns to the quality of writing that she produced in her first two novels.

    I never would have finished this if I hadn't been obligated to review it. Had I paid for this book I would have been very angry to have wasted my money on this.

    I would recommend some similar but very well done historical mysteries; Deanna Raybourn's 'Silent' series and Kate Ross' 'Julian Kestral' mysteries. And Ashley Gardner has a nice series set in a little bit earlier time period, the 'Gabriel Lacy' series.

    4 out of 4 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 12, 2009

    I Also Recommend:

    Waste of time and money

    Having enjoyed Alexander's first two books but being less than thrilled by the third, I was hesitant about purchasing the latest in the Lady Emily series. I caved in, though, but I was terribly disappointed (understatement) in Tears Of Pearl. Whether or not the author has done huge amounts of research, it matters little when the plot was thin, there were too many coincidences to mention and the characters were barely recognizable from Alexander's first two books. Okay, so the plot and mystery/suspense of this author's first books weren't all that savvy to begin with, but at least those were enjoyable books, with an enjoyable cast of characters whom you cared about.
    _______________
    In Tears Of Pearl, main character Emily has quite a narrow view of the Ottoman culture and its women, which spoils the book even more. She is not open-minded to anything or anyone at all...unless it concerns herself, which says enough about this character.
    ________________
    Tears Of Pearl is a so-called "novel of suspense", but the 'suspense' part of this book is playing hide-and-seek. A true mystery, that.
    ________________
    See my recommendations of murder/mystery and suspense series which does a much better job overall.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted June 15, 2011

    Not her best

    At first, I couldn't figure out why I was having such a difficult time getting through this book. Then it came to me, it wasn't well written. I loved the first two in the series, the third was still good, but not a good as the others. However, this one was just plain boring. So unfortunate. Lady Emily seems to have lost her edge. And I felt as if I was in a classroom being lectured on the Ottoman Empire. I hate to say it, but this was not worth the money or time.

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 10, 2009

    I love Lady Emily and this is the best of the series

    I'll admit that I'm already an avid fan of the Lady Emily mysteries, but I confess I wasn't sure what to expect with this one. I don't know anything about the Ottoman Empire, and I wasn't sure I wanted to learn. But this book sucked me right in with it's intriguing premise.

    Tasha Alexander has a way of painting pictures with words and this book was just like the others. Soon I felt like I had been swept up into a world harem intrigue.

    She visited Istanbul to do research for this story and it is evident in the detailed way that she depicts the city, in addition to the incredible amount of authentic historical research that she pours into the writing of each and every book.

    I was immediately impressed by the way that Ms. Alexander always wants to push herself to the next level in her writing. Though this book did not have the courtship between Emily and Colin to drive the story, the romance became even more intriguing as they dove into sleuthing and married life.

    Lady Emily is a strong woman and the chemistry between her and Colin is hot, hot, HOT.

    I'm the sort of reader who can't stand reading a book that's not well written, and so I always count on Tasha Alexander to provide a read that is fun, intelligent, romantic and fast-paced. And this book was no exception.

    I can't wait until the next book comes out!!!

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted March 27, 2013

    Loved it!

    The Lady Emily series just gets better and better. Colin Hargreaves and Lady Emily are on their honeymoon in Constantnople, and of course end upinthe middle of murder and intrigue. The book was exciting and the mystery was good, if somewhat improbable. But it kept me reading, wanting to know who the villian was. Onto thenext book!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 23, 2012

    Reading through the series

    Very well written. The author cares deeply for not only the characters but the surroundings of the story. Each book takes privileged, young, Lady Emily to another Victorian aged european capital, walking the streets of beautiful Paris to interview interesting characters to solve a murder. The story uncovers the keen interests of that time in the art world from ancient Greek sculpture to her personal encounters with painters of the era like Monet. Do not worry that it sounds too involved in the art world as Lady E. is not the least interested in much of that in the beginning. She accepts a marriage proposal purely to get her away from living with her overbearing mother.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 8, 2012

    Nadia

    Superb

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  • Posted August 11, 2011

    Wonderful historical fiction! Must read!!

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  • Posted May 15, 2010

    I Also Recommend:

    Victorian series of mystery, intrique and romance.

    Lady Emily is a thoroughly modern 19th century lady....and then of course there is the dashing Colin Hargreaves. I love that Emily is an intelligent heroine that loves Art and Literature and would rather live alone than submit to a man that doesn't respect her mind and independence, esp. considering it's 1890 London. All the characters, and there are many, are delightful and interesting and work together to round out Emily's life in London Society and beyond. In Tears of Pearl, along with the usual mystery, her marriage to Colin introduces her to international intrique that takes them to the palaces of Constantinople. Colin and Emily are very romantic and easily distracted, but it is not overdone; although, since we read about Emily and Philip's wedding night, I was hoping to read about Emily and Colin's, I doubt it was quite so 'proper'. I always enjoy a book that gives something extra, in this case, the letters that keep Emily in touch with her family and friends. In addition to the history, mystery and intrique, we get to enjoy the literature and romance novels (that the gentlemen don't approve of, but seem to enjoy) of this period. Thoroughly enjoyable, looking forward to Book 5.

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  • Posted December 14, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    I Also Recommend:

    That Emily Never Changes

    I have loved this series of Tasha Alexander which have an amazing, lovable, hard headed Emily Ashton/Hargreaves. This 4th installment took me awhile to get into but once the investigation started rolling my interest was alit. Emily and her new hubby the wonderful Colin have set on a journey to Constantinople to enjoy their honeymoon only to be enveloped in a mystery as soon as they set on the train. In order to help an Englishman whose daughter is murdered both Mr. and Mrs. Hargreaves begin work on the case, that's right Emily's actually working for the crown in this one. Their new exotic surroundings, especially the Harem are very interesting. Trying to discover the ending has twists and turns that have you guessing as to the culprits until the very end. I enjoyed it thoroughly and found myself getting quite emotional with some of the situations between these wonderfully created characters.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted November 13, 2009

    I Also Recommend:

    Alexander Continues to Intrigue Readers with Tales of Lady Emily

    This book was another wonderful installment to the Lady Emily series. Just when I thought Tasha Alexander couldn't top her last novel, she surprised me with this exciting journey to the East. The setting takes us out of Western culture and introduces many new and interesting characters. This is a must-read for all Lady Emily fans and anyone who loves historical fiction with a bit of mystery and suspense worked in as well. I hope Alexander keeps more stories coming about this fascinating leading lady!

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 26, 2009

    A book set in a real Palace in Istanbul!

    I enjoyed this book alot, and since I have traveled to Turkey in the past,and I can pichure the palace here where most of the story took place, which is in the lavish Topkopi Palace in Istanbul. This is a real palace of the Ottoman Sultans.It is a page turner to the end! DK from Nebraska.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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    Posted February 10, 2013

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    Posted January 25, 2010

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    Posted October 28, 2010

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    Posted May 21, 2010

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    Posted January 12, 2010

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    Posted April 12, 2012

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 14, 2011

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 20, 2011

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