The cover blurb promises DEATH COMES TO PEMBERLEY has “the grace of Jane Austen [and] the pace of a thriller,” but as of page 70 it‘s mostly just got the verbosity of Jane Austen with the pace of same. I don‘t dislike it, but I ain‘t gripped, either, and the long paragraphs make it tough to go back in when you‘ve gotta pause and, say, rescue the cat from under the deck.
I might drift away from it. I dunno.