Aunt Dimity Takes a Holiday Read Online Free Page A

tired of boys’ games. Let’s go shopping.” We spent the next week buying clothes.
    Emma hadn’t replenished her wardrobe since she’d dumped her excess poundage, so our shopping spree was more enjoyable than either of us expected it to be. We purchased riding outfits and hiking gear, were measured for tea gowns and dinner dresses, and selected—at Dimity’s insistence—the sort of nightclothes that could be worn while searching chilly corridors for distant bathrooms.
    Then came the hunt for shoes to go with each outfit, bags to go with the shoes, and a few simple pieces of jewelry to add sparkle to our ensemble. When Bill asked about our extended shopping trips, I explained to him what Dimity had explained to me: Five days in a country house was equivalent to six months in a foreign country. One had to be prepared for anything.
    I made no attempt to tame my unruly curls, knowing that they’d refuse to cooperate in any case, but Emma had her gray-blond hair styled in a becoming bob. The new haircut seemed to bolster her self-confidence. By the time we left the salon, she’d stopped scolding me for addressing her as Viscountess.
    As I surveyed my new finery, I took particular pleasure in a slinky black number I’d found at Nanny Cole’s Boutique in London. It fit me like a glove and would, I knew, knock Bill’s eyes right out of their sockets. When I thought of what else it would do to him, I realized that it was an extremely selfish purchase.
    I hadn’t felt like such a girly-girl in years and I reveled in every giddy minute. It took me half a day to pack my new clothes—in tissue paper, as Dimity suggested—and I finished by tucking Reginald into my shoulder bag. Reginald was a small, powder-pink stuffed rabbit who’d been with me since childhood, and a powder-pink rabbit was, in my opinion, the perfect complement to a girly-girl’s wardrobe.
    For the first time since I’d known her, I was glad that Dimity was less than three-dimensional. If we’d had to cart her holiday frocks to Hailesham Park along with mine, we’d have needed a moving truck. As it was, I had to endure endless ribbing from Bill—“Have you packed my spare truss, dear?”—as we loaded my suitcases into his silver-gray Mercedes. The teasing made me more determined than ever to handle my bodyguarding duties without his help.
    Dimity might scoff till her ink turned purple, but a promise was a promise. Although I agreed with her that poisoned rings and dueling pistols were no longer in fashion, I also agreed with Emma. Accidents happened, even in the most aristocratic circles, and I had no intention of letting my friend down by allowing one to happen to her husband.
    By the time Bill and I kissed the twins good-bye, I felt fit and ready for service. I was, as Dimity had instructed me to be, prepared for anything.
    Anything, that is, except the sight that met my eyes when Hailesham’s fabled gardens came into view.

Four
    Are you sure we’re on the right road, Bill?”
    I peered intently at the woods lining the narrow, winding lane but didn’t see much. A late start, heavy traffic, and the shortening days of early October had left us navigating the back roads of Wiltshire in the dark.
    “We passed the lodge gates five minutes ago,” Bill replied. “But I’m not sure what to look for next.”
    “Hailesham House.” I cleared my throat and assumed a professorial expression. “A sublime, eighteenth-century neoclassical villa on a hill with three levels of terraced gardens descending from a graceful front staircase to an ornamental lake and a sweeping great lawn. The gardens are open to the public from May to September, but the house is a private residence.”
    Bill raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
    “There’re giant topiaries, too,” I went on. “Whimsically clipped giant topiaries rising at regular intervals from the yew hedges bordering the lowest level of terraced gardens.” I counted on my fingers. “There’s a