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A review by babygirl
Murder on Cold Street by Sherry Thomas
5.0
I wish I could eat this book.
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Instead of a generous father, she now had a much less generous brother. She'd further deduced that Mrs Treadles had done everything in her power to make sure that her husband was still impeccably turned out, that he felt as little of the lessening of their circumstances as possible.
The Newmarket coat that he wore now, perfectly cut and subtly stylish, as most certainly a new acquisition: Despite her husband's obvious displeasure at her taking over Cousins Manufacturing, Mrs Treadles had used her newly inherited wealth to arrange for a new wardrobe for him.
And Inspector Treadles had continued not to inquire into her work.
Lord Ingram would have liked to think that he himself would have been satisfied with much less form his own wife. But he knew that had not been the case. He, too, had wanted to be everything to his wife. He, too, had not thought that was too much to ask for, even though he never would have asked for it aloud.
Perhaps another man could more easily condemn Inspector Treadles, but that man was not he.
-
If you couldn't love me the way I loved you, I'd have rather we not be lovers at all.
'But now... ' His voice softened. 'I suppose I've become less precious about it. Now I'll be happy for you to love me however you would.'
She felt as if she'd been caught next to a fifty-foot-tall gong struck at full force, the shock of the vibration pushing all her organs out of place. 'You presume a great deal! You presume that I love you.'
'You don't?' he countered calmly.
She looked down at her hands and said nothing.
He picked up his walking stick and knocked it lightly against the floor. 'As I said, however you love me will be fine.'
-
Their hostess at number 31 was exceptionally beautiful.
Her African ancestry was evident in the light brown of her skin and the texture of her hair. Her European ancestry was equally evident in the color her skin, and her golden green eyes.
Eyes that were puffy and red-rimmed from crying.
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Rosemary, rose, lavender, quintessentially English. But also, wormwood, spikenard, and myrrh, an olfactory tour of the Song of Songs.
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mulligatawny soup, several beef and potato croquettes, and a modest slice of boiled mutton in caper sauce
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Power does not yield to virtue. Power yields only to power.
-
The one exception was Miss Longstead's maid, Owens, who was also black. Unlike her spectacular mistress, Owens was rather plain looking and shy of demeanor.
-
Instead of a generous father, she now had a much less generous brother. She'd further deduced that Mrs Treadles had done everything in her power to make sure that her husband was still impeccably turned out, that he felt as little of the lessening of their circumstances as possible.
The Newmarket coat that he wore now, perfectly cut and subtly stylish, as most certainly a new acquisition: Despite her husband's obvious displeasure at her taking over Cousins Manufacturing, Mrs Treadles had used her newly inherited wealth to arrange for a new wardrobe for him.
And Inspector Treadles had continued not to inquire into her work.
Lord Ingram would have liked to think that he himself would have been satisfied with much less form his own wife. But he knew that had not been the case. He, too, had wanted to be everything to his wife. He, too, had not thought that was too much to ask for, even though he never would have asked for it aloud.
Perhaps another man could more easily condemn Inspector Treadles, but that man was not he.
-
If you couldn't love me the way I loved you, I'd have rather we not be lovers at all.
'But now... ' His voice softened. 'I suppose I've become less precious about it. Now I'll be happy for you to love me however you would.'
She felt as if she'd been caught next to a fifty-foot-tall gong struck at full force, the shock of the vibration pushing all her organs out of place. 'You presume a great deal! You presume that I love you.'
'You don't?' he countered calmly.
She looked down at her hands and said nothing.
He picked up his walking stick and knocked it lightly against the floor. 'As I said, however you love me will be fine.'
-
Their hostess at number 31 was exceptionally beautiful.
Her African ancestry was evident in the light brown of her skin and the texture of her hair. Her European ancestry was equally evident in the color her skin, and her golden green eyes.
Eyes that were puffy and red-rimmed from crying.
-
Rosemary, rose, lavender, quintessentially English. But also, wormwood, spikenard, and myrrh, an olfactory tour of the Song of Songs.
-
mulligatawny soup, several beef and potato croquettes, and a modest slice of boiled mutton in caper sauce
-
Power does not yield to virtue. Power yields only to power.
-
The one exception was Miss Longstead's maid, Owens, who was also black. Unlike her spectacular mistress, Owens was rather plain looking and shy of demeanor.