Near-fatal accidents keep almost befalling the royal family--could someone be attempting assassination? Lady Georgie is on the case, but keeps getting sidetracked by her tangled romantic feelings. In the end, she figures it out, and the killer confesses and then dies by their own hand, just to make it as tidy as possible. The charm of these mysteries is beginning to wear off--there's so little to them. They're the literary equivalent of cream-puffs.