One Phaedra Brighton knew she was dangerously close to losing control of her car on the twisty, ice-slick road. She tightened her grip on the wheel and drew in a calming breath. It was early December in the Blue Ridge, after all. The snow-dusted mountain peaks and tree branches rimed in ice offered a singular beauty-but danger as well. Branches snapped and pines fell under the weight of ice and snow. Winter made driving perilous, especially on infrequently traveled rural roads. Like this one. In spring and summer, a thick, impenetrable fog settled over the peaks and valleys. In autumn, a buck or doe might hurtle out in front of an unwary driver. But December meant snow, and hitting a patch of black ice could send a car spinning treacherously close to a guardrail overlooking a heart-stopping drop. A sign loomed up ahead. delaford winery. two miles. Relief washed over Phaedra as she realized she was nearly there. She slowed the car and wished, not for the first time, that she was home and tucked up in bed. Not traveling halfway up the side of Afton Mountain so early on a Friday morning. Oh, what she'd give for a bracing cup of Keemun right now . . . When her mother, Nan, asked her to dress in her Regency finery and act as a guide for the annual Historic Holiday Homes tour, Phaedra regretfully declined. With morning and afternoon lectures scheduled at Somerset University, a peer review awaiting comments, next quarter's funding to finalize, and midterms to grade before winter break, Professor Brighton had zero free time. Instead, she'd promised to drop off four dozen of her sister Hannah's cupcakes for visitors on the holiday homes tour. Cupcakes Hannah couldn't deliver herself because Saturday was the grand opening of her new patisserie, Tout de Sweet. At least she'd get a peek inside Delaford. The historic home was a jewel in the crown of local Virginia architecture and the final residence on the tour. And like every home on the tour, the interior would be as lavishly decorated in traditional holiday style as the exterior. At the next signpost, Phaedra slowed the car and turned cautiously into the winery entrance. She had no desire to hit black ice and send her sister's cupcakes, beautifully decorated and stowed in the trunk, flying. Hopefully the sun would show its face soon and melt all of these icy patches into harmless puddles. The drive, branching left to the winery, or right to the historic family residence, was paved and treated with sand. She turned right. To one side, a parking lot was already half filled with vehicles, as well as a large, fenced concrete area. A helipad, she realized. Impressive. She followed the curving asphalt and admired the fountain, turned off now for the winter, and caught her first glimpse of Delaford. Despite the breathtaking backdrop of mountains and sky behind it, the house, with its turrets and arches and mullioned windows, captured her attention. Although "house" was hardly the proper word for the sprawling stone edifice before her. This? This was a castle. A magnificent stone edifice straight out of Ivanhoe. It lacked only a moat and a drawbridge, perhaps a few knights poised on the battlements shouldering bows and releasing arrows against encroaching marauders. Brushing aside such fanciful thoughts, Phaedra shut off the engine and slid out of the Mini, hampered slightly by her ankle-skimming Regency dress. As a teaching tool it was invaluable; but the thin silk offered little protection against the cold. At least the steps, like the drive, had been treated and showed no trace of ice or snow. Carrying in four boxes of cupcakes shouldn't be a problem. As she debated whether to risk carrying the boxes in at once or make a couple of trips, one of the tall carved doors swung open. It wasn't Lady Rowena who stood there, or Rebecca, as she'd half expected; but a young woman with curly dark hair and friendly but inquisitive blue eyes. "Hello." She regarded Phaedra expectantly. "You must be Professor Brighton. I'm Anna Steele, Rachel Brandon's personal assistant. I love your outfit." "Thank you. It's period appropriate, and my students love it," Phaedra admitted, "but it's not very warm." She indicated the boxes on the back seat. "My sister's cupcakes for the tour. I wonder, would you mind . . ." "Of course. Let me help you." She took two of the boxes, balancing them carefully in her arms, and led the way up the steps and through the front door. "The dining room is through here. Rachel's getting ready for a photo shoot for Home Channel magazine later this morning." Phaedra followed, glimpsing ancestral portraits swagged in fresh greenery and a twelve-foot Christmas tree towering at one end of the entrance hall. A handful of people decorated the lower branches, already fitted with white lights, and carefully hung up a selection of antique, handblown glass ornaments. She set the boxes down at the end of a lengthy dining table. "This is stunning." "Would you like a quick tour?" Before Phaedra could reply, a brisk voice rang out. "I'm afraid there's no time for that. Anna, go and sign for the champagne delivery, please." As Anna excused herself, a perfectly coiffed woman in a navy-blue St. John suit strode into the room. Highlights gleamed in her dark blond hair. "Rachel Brandon," she said as she extended her hand. "You must be Professor Brighton. Nan said you'd be dropping off the cupcakes for our afternoon tour guests. Thank you." "My pleasure." The owner of Brandon Advertising and host of the Home Channel's Home and Hearth show was petite, yet she commanded the room just as Delaford commanded the mountainside. A firm grip belied her small stature. "Your home is lovely." Rachel produced a gracious smile. "Thank you. I hope the tour raises money for the Historical Society. Giving back is so important. I'm also a spokesperson for the Foster Child Foundation. It's a wonderful organization-I was a foster child myself." "Oh. I had no idea." Phaedra eyed her with renewed admiration. "Both endeavors are so close to my heart. I just hope the weather cooperates, at least for today." She glanced out the window. "The forecast is calling for more snow on Sunday." "Two to four inches," Phaedra said. "But the sun's peeking out, so the roads should stay clear until then." "I hope so. We're expecting quite a crowd." She glanced up as Anna returned. "Take these cupcakes into the kitchen and get them plated. Where is Clark what's-his-name? He's supposed to interview me at"-she consulted her wristwatch-"eight. It's already five after." "He just called. The roads are a little treacherous-" "Professor Brighton arrived with no problem. I expect solutions, not excuses. If he isn't here in five minutes tell him he'll have to reschedule." Phaedra bit back a smile. Looked like Clark Mullinax, reporter for the Laurel Springs Clarion and the bane of her high school existence, was in for a singular challenge with Rachel Brandon. "I should go," she told Rachel. "I have a nine o'clock lecture to give and exams to grade before winter break starts. I'll be back later this afternoon to help set up. It was wonderful to meet you, Ms. Brandon." "And you as well. I'll see you later." As Phaedra retraced her steps across the cavernous entrance hall to the front doors, Anna Steele, cell phone pressed to one ear, caught her eye. She lowered the phone to her chest. "Thanks for bringing the cupcakes. Sorry I couldn't give you a tour." "It's fine. I need to get going anyway. See you this afternoon." She opened the door, gave Rachel's personal assistant a wave goodbye, and returned to her car, her duty done. She slid behind the wheel and, with a last admiring glance at the broad, sun-warmed face of the castle, headed for Somerset University. Cars crowded the faculty parking lot as Phaedra arrived at the university. She pulled into an empty space beside Professor Mark Selden's dark green Triumph. With its "ET2BRUT" license plate, the Shakespearean scholar's car was hard to miss. After a chilly trip down Afton Mountain, the Mini was finally warm and she hated to leave its toasty interior. She reached for her briefcase and reminded herself to get the heater checked the next time the car was serviced. Her steps were brisk as she crossed the south end of the campus to the Humanities building. No one lingered outside the doors or sat on the benches along the tree-lined quad. Those who ventured across campus walked quickly. Although the sun was out, the air carried the unmistakable sting of winter. Phaedra entered the building and went straight to the faculty lounge. She was in serious need of a warming cup of tea before giving her first lecture of the day, "Women Writers of the Nineteenth Century." As she waited for the Earl Grey to steep, she glanced up at the bulletin board. Notices and holiday-related items crowded its cork surface. Parties, among them a Twelfth Night celebration, featured heavily. She was surprised to see that Professor Selden was sponsoring and cohosting the event at Dean Carmichael's house. A frown puckered her brow. On the surface, Selden and Carmichael had little in common. The dean, a former journalism teacher and a graduate of Northwestern University, had worked his way up the academic ladder. Mark was British, Oxford educated, and born into privilege. For that reason, she'd initially assumed him to be a snob of the first order. Which just went to show how wrong first impressions could be. Their guarded, somewhat prickly friendship had grown, slowly, into something more. Something almost, but not quite . . . romantic. Romantic-ish, Phaedra corrected. She refused to assign more import to her relationship with Professor Selden than actually existed. After all, he was a well-respected Shakespearean professor, and she was a noted Jane Austen scholar and professor of English literature. Professionalism was paramount. Which was why she'd always striven to keep her personal and work relationships separate. But Mark's passion for Shakespeare had sparked a renewed enthusiasm for teaching within her, and now she wondered if perhaps some of her personal rules of conduct shouldn't be relaxed a bit. Or jettisoned altogether. "What's got you so deep in thought, Professor B?" Marisol Dubois, her teaching assistant and one-third of the Jane Austen Tea Society book club Phaedra chaired, studied her curiously. Her green eyes were bright and inquisitive and missed very little. "I'm caffeinating myself before my morning lecture." "Why? You can deliver that lecture in your sleep. Standard first-year stuff." "I got up early to run cupcakes over to the Delaford Winery." Phaedra removed the tea bag from her paper cup and suppressed a yawn. "For the Historic Holiday Homes tour." "Hannah's cupcakes?" Marisol asked. "I don't suppose you brought in a few extra . . ." "No, sorry." Phaedra took a cautious sip of tea. "How was your date last night?" "Not worth discussing. He had tats and spiky hair, so I assumed he'd be edgy and interesting. He wasn't either." "Assumptions can be tricky." Phaedra regarded the murky brown liquid in her cup and grimaced. "Like assuming this tea would be drinkable." She dumped the remainder down the drain and tossed the cup and tea bag into the recycle bin. "I'm headed upstairs. See you later." "There you are." Lucy Liang, the third Tea Society member and a professor of modern and postmodern literature, was all angles, from her short, dark hair to cheekbones that could cut glass. "I went to your office but you weren't there. Where've you been?" "Delaford Winery." Lucy raised her brow. "A little early, isn't it?" "I wasn't there for a tasting. Although I hear their wines are spectacular. Hannah asked me to drop off four dozen cupcakes for the Historic Holiday Homes tour." "Oh, right," Marisol said. "Her new patisserie opens tomorrow, doesn't it?" Phaedra nodded. "Yes, it's the grand opening. And you're both invited." "We'll be there," Marisol promised. "Wait," Lucy said. She held out a small brown package covered in Chinese characters. "Auntie Roz brought you a present. From Shanghai." She handed it over. "It's jasmine-scented green tea." "My favorite." Phaedra breathed in the delicate scent of jasmine and the grassy notes of green tea. "I can't wait to try it. Please thank her for me." She tucked the package in her briefcase and headed for the door. "I'd love to stay and catch up, but I need to run. Lecture. See you later." "Meet us for lunch?" Marisol asked. But Professor Brighton was already gone. "Phae, I need a favor. Please don't hang up until you hear me out." With a sigh, Phaedra slid behind the wheel of the Mini Cooper, phone pressed to her ear. After two lectures, a staff meeting, and two sets of papers waiting to be graded, she had no desire to prolong her day. "What's up, Han? I'm just heading home." "Glad I caught you. Please tell me you can swing by early to Delaford and help me set up. Liv can't make it, and I'm here alone and I really need an extra pair of hands." "Oh. Of course. I promised Rachel I'd be back this afternoon anyway. Why'd Liv bail? She knows tonight's important." As chairperson of the local historical society, their mother had recommended Hannah provide pastries for the Historic Holiday Home tour. Tonight, locals would get their first taste of her French confectionary treats. And a little pre-publicity for Tout de Sweet's grand opening tomorrow couldn't hurt, either. "Family emergency. She's profusely sorry and promised to be at the patisserie tomorrow, bright and early. I baked another tray of cupcakes, and once they cool, I need to glaze and decorate." Her sister, normally calm under pressure, sounded frazzled. "All right, I'm on my way. See you soon." "Thanks. I owe you." At least the roads, like the skies, were clear, and traffic was light as Phaedra headed up Afton Mountain again. She arrived at Delaford forty minutes later and turned into the parking lot. Unlike that morning, the lot was nearly full. After slotting the Mini into one of the few empty spots, she waited to be admitted. A volunteer appeared and led her across the entrance hall to the kitchen. The towering tree she'd glimpsed earlier glistened now with handblown glass ornaments and miniature white lights. The scent of pine and cedar filled the air, along with the tantalizing fragrance of Hannah's apple-walnut cupcakes. As she followed the volunteer through a baize door that led into the kitchen, Phaedra heard raised voices. "I prefer you keep the decoration to a minimum, please." Rachel Brandon's voice was clipped. "I see," Hannah said, her own voice deceptively calm. "Perhaps I'll leave off the caramel glaze, as well. Just serve naked apple cupcakes. Is that plain enough?" Excerpted from Cyanide and Sensibility by Katie Oliver All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
