A Club Built on Secrets and Courtesy
This is a mystery suspense, told in first person through Alice Wiley, the narrative has a sharp, observant, and quietly sardonic voice. That intimacy allows the book to braid personal memory with social x-ray, making even small gestures in Briar’s Green feel loaded.
Miller uses a dual-timeline design, which I always love; present-day Alice returns to Briar’s Green and the Horseman Club, while dated sections take us back to July 4, 1999—the night her cousin Caitlin Dale died. This back-and-forth steadily tightens character motives, class rules, and the village’s “decorous lies.”
Briar’s Green (Hudson Valley) and the Horseman Club are characters in their own right—ritual-heavy, rule-bound, meticulously preserved, and exclusionary. The village charter, stone walls, and generational etiquette create a sealed ecosystem; the club (peach-cream “Brandywine” with its terrace over the Hudson) embodies the thesis: old money isn’t just wealth—it’s a governance system, a social operating system, and a shield. As the reader you feel like an outsider, just like Alice, looking in on a world were you don’t belong.
This is a slow burn by design, though the pace is uneven. At times, it gains momentum, then eases back into simmering unease, punctuated by sharper spikes of suspense rather than wall-to-wall action. The suspense parts had my heart racing with me sitting on the edge of my seat.
The characters are sharply drawn. Some are unlikeable, but that’s the point—it’s a rich man’s world, steeped in entitlement. I liked Alice and Caitlin, though I wish we had seen more of Caitlin so that her character could have been more developed. Mr. Brody, another one of my favorites, the club’s imperious, near-mythic butler, gave me A.B. Wynter vibes from the Netflix series The Residence. He is truly an interesting character. Susannah, Alice’s childhood best friend, is steadfast in the past but complicated in the present. I did not connect with her. Jamie Burger, former classmate and now club concierge, is a “normie insider” who understands both the rules and the workarounds. Most characters are well developed, even if connection to them varies.
Miller’s prose is clean, vivid, and slyly funny—keen observational beats (“decorous lies,” “five layers of courtesy”) sit beside tactile, sense-memory details (honeysuckle, carpet cleaner, extinguished candles). Dialogue is crisp and coded; subtext does heavy lifting. The book is firmly character-driven.
While the plot is strong and the village theme atmospheric, the reason for the murder left me a bit baffled, and some lingering questions remain. The twists were great, even where they are predictable. The epilogue felt too long. Still, this would translate beautifully to screen—perhaps a limited series.
I can see this novel earning plenty of 5-star ratings. For me, the uneven pacing and a few unanswered threads kept it from perfection. With some tightening, this could be a knockout.
It’s ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ from me.
Old Money is out September 30.
Thank you to Kelsey Miller, HarperCollins, Harlequin Trade Publishers, and NetGalley for the ARC in exchange for my honest opinion.