Mary Kingswood's Blog, page 13

Review: The Guinea Stamp by Alice Chetwynd Ley (1961)

I’ve enjoyed a number of Alice Chetwynd Ley’s other books, but this one just didn’t work for me. Too many concealed identities, too rushed a romance and a frankly unbelievable ending. Actually, the whole book is just one implausibility after another.

Here’s the premise: Joanna Feniton’s parents are dead, so she lives with her grandparents, and at the story’s opening, they are visiting Joanna’s friend Kitty. Joanna is writing a letter one evening alone in a room, when she hears a suspicious noise outside. Instead of doing the sensible thing and ringing for a couple of hefty footmen to deal with the problem, she throws open the french doors and goes outside, where she meets a very suspicious man indeed. Again, instead of summoning help, she invites him into the house to hear his story. Then, when she discovers he is injured, and he tells her that he can’t actually explain what he’s doing, she calmly binds his injured arm, hides him when someone comes looking for her and then doesn’t mention his presence after he’s gone. She even gets up early to wash away the blood from the carpet. And all she knows of him is his (probably fake) name, Captain Jackson.

Now, I’m usually quite prepared to give any book its basic premise, however unlikely, but this one pushed me a little too far. I get that Joanna is intrepid and courageous, and all the rest of it, but there’s a difference between intrepid and foolhardy, and she’s frankly a little too much on the foolhardy side. There are several other occasions when she decides to do something herself instead of sensibly leaving it to those better able to tackle it, and gets herself into all sorts of hot water because of it. Combine that with her propensity to trust anyone with a glib story, or even no story at all, and she’s getting perilously close to too stupid to live territory.

Another big problem with this book is that there are far too many characters who have important roles but aren’t given names, only numbers or the shadowy title ‘my lord’. Again, I get what the author is trying to do, and I suppose if I’d been paying more attention (or had been taking notes, perhaps) I’d have worked out everyone’s identities eventually. As it was, I was left completely confused, and the last few chapters threw me completely. At one point, Captain Jackson is bopped on the head by the bad guys and held captive. Then he seems to have been arrested and imprisoned by the good guys. And then he’s on a ship helping the good guys defeat the bad guys. Was this all the same Captain Jackson? Maybe I missed the connecting story that explained all these disparate sightings.

And then there’s the big reveal of who Captain Jackson really is. All I can say about that is — no. Just no. I don’t believe for one single minute that she could not know that, and no, telling us that she always met Jackson in poor light and therefore didn’t recognise him elsewhere just doesn’t cut it. So that’s a huge fail.

On the plus side, the writing is beautiful, as always with this author, and nothing struck me as inauthentic. There were some nice side characters. I especially liked Joanna’s grandfather, who would have lived in his library if he could and was only half attending to anything else outside his books (a position with which I have total sympathy). The side romance between Kitty and her betrothed was well drawn, too, and the main romance had its share of good moments, although I’m not keen on heroes who seize a kiss that wasn’t actually on offer. The whole smuggling/spying/adventure plot left me cold but that’s just me. I’m not a fan of that, especially when it takes up so much space that the romance is effectively squeezed out. I did guess the identity of the villain, so there’s that.

Other books by this author worked really well for me, but this one was a pretty spectacular fail in the credibility department, and I didn’t particularly take to either of the main characters. For anyone who enjoys this kind of spy story, however, it might work better. As it is, I can only give it two stars.

Review: A Knowing One by Judith Hale Everett (2023)

To be honest, I’m not quite sure what to make of this. On the one hand, Everett is one of those glorious authors who writes a completely different book every time — you just never know what’s going to turn up when you start reading. And the authenticity of the language she uses is twelve shades of awesome. On the other hand, some elements of this book left me underwhelmed, most specifically the heroine, and that’s a problem.

Here’s the premise: Tom Breckinridge is the son of a ne’er-do-well who practically bankrupted his family. Happily, he died before things quite reached that point, and Tom’s been spending the years since slowly rebuilding his finances and nurturing his estate. His mother has remarried, his sister is also married and Tom himself is in love with Diana Marshall, who seems to favour his suit. But into this promising situation comes Reginald Popplewell, a childhood friend of Diana’s, who has dazzled her with his charm, wealth and prospects of inheriting a viscountcy. Mr Marshall is very much on his side, and Diana appears to be too. But Mrs Marshall intervenes to invite Tom to stay with them, and when there are setbacks, to follow them to Brighton for the summer. And Tom, faithful, honest Tom, does so, and even tries to make a friend of Popplewell, as Diana asks him to, in the hopes of winning Diana in the end.

I have to say that Tom is one of the most delightful heroes I’ve had the pleasure of encountering. He’s a true down-to-earth fellow, not given to flowery compliments or flirtation, but he knows his own worth and holds to his principles, and that is so rare in a Regency novel. To be honest, a lot of heroes appear to have no principles at all. I absolutely cheered every time he managed to put one over on his adversary (which was not very often, to be frank – at first he appeared to be quite outgunned, but Tom is deep (and the knowing one of the title) so he gets there in the end.

It’s rare to meet a villain who’s as complex and downright nuanced as Reginald Popplewell, or ‘dear Reggie’ as he’s generally known. He appears to the world as a perfectly amiable and charming man, perfect husband material, one would think, yet through Tom’s eyes we see the snide comments and the sly ways in which he tries to make Tom feel inferior and put him at a disadvantage with Diana. It’s very, very clever, and the reader totally sympathises with poor misused and abused Tom. This book is a glacially slow read in many ways, with a fair amount of long-winded introspection, but I read on avidly to see dear Reggie get his comeuppance.

And then we come to Diana. What can I say? The whole premise of the book is that, although she seems to be drawn to Tom, she does very little to encourage him, constantly seeming to be in thrall to Reggie, and she refuses to believe there’s anything underhand about him. In fact, she outright accuses Tom of irrational prejudice against his rival, and wants the two to be friends so that Tom will come to appreciate Reggie for the good and noble man he really is. And honest Tom does as she asks, or makes a valiant attempt to, and only succeeds in proving to his own satisfaction what a deceiving toad Reggie is. But Diana never makes the same effort to see Reggie from Tom’s point of view. Considering that she supposedly wants to marry Tom, she’s astonishingly dismissive of his opinions. If a good, honest man tells you that another man is a shady character, you should at least trust him enough to think about it. After all, women only see men in certain carefully prescribed contexts, so she couldn’t possibly know what Reggie gets up to when she’s not around. Although, to be fair, her father ought to have been looking out for her interests too, and he failed rather badly in that regard, being blinded by his own advancement, silly man. But that doesn’t excuse Diana for arguing so forcefully against Tom’s opinion. There’s a moment when they have a huge dust-up when I wondered just why he wanted to marry her at all. Any rational man would have said, well, if that’s how you feel, you can have Reggie, I’m outta here.

But in the end, it all gets worked out and I expect that marriage to Tom will knock the most obviously stupid of her ideas out of her head. A beautifully realised Regency, with language and manners and every detail perfect. Only that slight overdose of introspection and a moderately silly heroine keep it to four stars.

Review: Winter Wedding by Joan Smith (1990)

This was a wonderful old-school Regency, over thirty years old now, but still fresh, beautifully written and with a ton of that witty banter that some people regard as the epitome of a good Regency.

Here’s the premise: Clara Christopher is an itinerant poor relation, fetching up at this aunt or that cousin for a few weeks at a time before moving on, and that’s exactly how she likes it. She supposes that she’ll have to settle down eventually, either in marriage, since she’s had a few offers and isn’t yet at her last prayers, or by becoming a paid companion, preferably to someone who also likes to travel about. If she were to marry, she’d like it to be someone like Lord Allingcote, a man she met some years ago, who made her his deeply appreciative flirt for a few days before they parted. Since then, she’s heard of him visiting one or other of her distant relations, but never at the same time as her.

Now she’s helping eccentric Lady Lucker organise a winter wedding for her daughter Prissie. Lady Lucker’s eccentricity runs to pretending to have not two farthings to rub together, so all her effort is expended on getting the most expensive wedding gifts out of her relations, and ensuring that her neighbours provide all the food for the occasion. It’s an enterprise that amuses Clara, being used to managing on not very much herself, so the two get along famously, and Lady Lucker’s skinflint ways and economies form a lot of the humour of the book.

And needless to say (because there wouldn’t be much of a story otherwise), Clara’s Lord Allingcote is one of the guests, and happily he not only remembers her, he seems inclined to carry on the flirtation right where it left off. Or is he even flirting at all? Is it possible that he has remembered Clara in exactly the way she remembers him? But the fly in this ointment is Miss Nel Muldoon, a flighty piece and wealthy orphan whom Allingcote is escorting to London to offload onto a willing couple. Or so he says… but is he in fact betrothed to her? Or about to be? What is going on with him anyway?

The reader is left in just such a muddle as Clara herself, knowing that she’s Allingcote’s target to flirt with, but having no idea of his intentions. And Allingcote isn’t sure of Clara’s feelings, either. And so they circle round each other, getting into deeper and deeper water until the charming Nel forces things to a head. Why is it that every Regency of this era has to feature an elopement? Or if it isn’t that, it’s an abduction of some sort. I know it adds a bit of drama to spice up an otherwise placid tale but just a touch of plausibility wouldn’t go amiss.

Anyway, Nel’s shenanigans are just a backdrop for the banter between the two principals. There’s a lot of sparkle to it, just as there should be, but I particularly loved the ambiguity in it. There really is subtext dripping from every word, so even though the reader can see (or hope, at least) that the words mean one thing, it’s easy to see how they would be misinterpreted, leaving both parties floundering, uncertain of the other’s feelings. In some ways it’s frustrating – I just want to shake them, and tell them to speak openly for once. But this is the Regency, so subtlety is all.

Beautifully written, and enjoyable from start to finish. Five stars.

Review: Mr Malcolm’s List (movie, 2022)

This was so much fun! Apart from the Bridgertonised casting, which was lovely, there’s nothing particularly to distinguish this from a thousand other lightweight Regency-style romantic comedies, and it’s absolutely not historically correct, but I enjoyed it and found it entertaining in a frothy kind of way.

The premise is that the gorgeous and rich and therefore highly eligible Mr Malcolm is also highly picky. He’s looking for a bride, certainly, but he has a list of qualities he finds indispensable. When Julia Thistlewaite is slighted by said Mr Malcolm and discovers it’s because she failed some of the tests on his list, she determines to get her revenge. She summons from the country her old school friend Selena Dalton and ‘grooms’ her, with the aid of her cousin who’s seen the actual list, to be just the bride that Mr Malcolm is looking for. The plan is for Selena to ditch Mr Malcolm by telling him that he doesn’t match up with the items on her list!

Inevitably, Mr Malcolm and Selena are very soon falling into love, they are indeed perfectly suited and all seems set fair for a happy ending. Mr Malcolm invites everyone to a house party at his estate where he plans to propose, and Selena tells Julia that she doesn’t intend to go through with the deception. So what can possibly go wrong? Well, Mr Malcolm inevitably finds out about the scheme and feels (not surprisingly) that he’s been duped. After that things unravel in spectacular fashion, and it takes a lot of manipulation, not least by Mr Malcolm’s mother, before things come right.

This isn’t, of course, a serious attempt to recreate the Regency period. The costumes are lovely, and some of the language is period authentic, but there are too many errors to make it a comfortable watch for purists. I winced every time one or other character attempted to bow or curtsy, or worse, neglected to do so at all. Introductions were terrible, the dancing was awful with absolutely no attempt at any recognisable format and don’t get me started on the lack of chaperonage. There was only one outrageous title error, however.

I won’t complain about the implausibility of the plot, because it was meant to be light-hearted and therefore one doesn’t expect plot logic or sensible character arcs. It’s all about the funny moments, and the set-piece visuals. I did like the eye-rolling of the footman, however, which added a much-needed note of levity to scenes which might otherwise only have been mildly amusing.

As for the Bridgertonisation of the cast, mixing up actors of all ethnicities seemingly at random, I liked the freshness of it, although I couldn’t resist trying to detect subtle underlying messages in the choice of one actor or another for certain roles. Probably there was none, and they were merely chosen for their acting ability, but it amused me to wonder about it. All the actors were fine, although I was especially pleased to see Theo James in a minor role, having missed him from later series of Sanditon.

Overall, a fun movie, not for purists or anyone looking for serious themes, but as a Regency-lite type of rom-com, it whiles away a pleasant couple of hours.

Review: Isabelle by Sophia Holloway (2022)

This is such a beautifully written book that was completely wonderful for the first 75%, then became a little melodramatic, but in a good way, until the hero fell at the final hurdle. This is going to be spoilerish, so don’t read it if you don’t want to know.

Here’s the premise: Isabelle Wareham is nineteen, and while her much older sister had a season in London and made a good match, she stayed at home nursing her father through his final illnesses. Now he’s died, and Isabelle is put in the guardianship of her brother-in-law, Lord Dunsfold. Her cousin Sir Charles Wareham, the head of the family, is given joint charge of the estate which Isabelle is to inherit, but it is Cornelia’s husband who has charge of her person. Isabelle doesn’t much like him, but she will be of age in not much more than a year, so it is only a temporary arrangement and he seems minded to leave her at peace in her home during her period of mourning.

But then fate intervenes. A friend of Sir Charles, Lord Idsworth, staying with him for a shooting party, is accidentally shot, and carried to Isabelle’s home. She nurses him back to health with the inevitable result, but however predictable this might be, the gentle and charming way they fall in love is utterly beautiful. It reminded me a little of Heyer’s Venetia, where it is obvious that the two principals are like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that fit together perfectly.

However, Idsworth is not deemed a suitable match by Isabelle’s avaricious sister and brother-in-law, so she is whisked off to Bath to be kept in relative seclusion until she agrees to marry the suitor of their choice, Mr Semington, whose principal attraction is that he will pay the Dunsfolds handsomely for the privilege of relieving them of the care of Isabelle. She is blissfully certain that she has only to wait until she comes of age and she can marry the man of her heart, but it gradually dawns on her that her letters are being intercepted and she has no way to communicate with the outside world.

Needless to say, our hero arrives on the scene to save the day despite the machinations of the not very appealing Mr Semington and the very unappealing sister and her husband. The heroine herself is also able to take steps to rescue herself from her predicament. Things do get quite complex for a while, but eventually we come to the point where I fell out rather with the hero. This is rather spoilerish, so if you don’t want to know anything about it, skip forward to the last paragraph.

To my mind, a hero is one who will do pretty much anything to rescue the heroine from whatever dire circumstances the villains inflict on her, and I have no problem with Lord Idsworth in that regard. His pursuit of the heroine and subsequent rescue are suitably heroic. But what he does after that falls very much short of heroic behaviour. No matter what the villain has done, his retribution should come either from the law or should be proportionate and rational. It’s not for the hero to mete out summary justice, yet that is pretty much what Idsworth was prepared to do. Only the words of the heroine drew him back from actually killing the villain, and to me that is unacceptable behaviour. I get that he was in an absolute rage about it, but it really wasn’t a sensible reaction. Even when he drew back from actually killing the guy, he did something pretty nasty to him, as well. If he’d merely humiliated him, that would have been enough (and very funny, as it happens). But there was nothing remotely funny about his violence.

So although this was a beautifully written book in almost every way, that one moment reduces the rating to four stars for me. But I still recommend the read, and I fully intend to read everything that Sophia Holloway writes going forward.

Review: Deserted by Mary Lancaster (2023)

This is the third book in a series dealing with the repercussions of a duel wherein the much disliked Duke of Cuttyngham meets an untimely demise. The first book focused on the other duellist, Major Giles Butler, and the widowed duchess. The second book dealt with the duke’s daughter, Lady Hera, and the attending doctor at the duel, Justin Rivers. This book is all about one of the seconds, the Earl of Frostbrook, and the former betrothed of Major Butler.

Here’s the premise: Sophia Wallace, living a miserable life as the put-upon poor relation to cousins, was scooped up in book 1, for fairly contrived reasons, and deposited at the ducal residence, Cuttyngs, ostensibly as companion to the now widowed duchess. When the duchess departs, Sophia is to act as chaperone for the late duke’s daughter, Lady Hera. But even she has taken herself off, so what is Sophia to do now? The new duke, Victor (by far the most interesting character in this whole saga, by the way) doesn’t much mind if she stays on, but it’s not quite proper and anyway the widowed duchess had a mind to live in the dower house before she left, so Sophia sets herself to restore it to habitability and live there until such time as the duchess returns.

Into this rather pleasant, if lonely, existence, she meets a man with whom she had a brief but unforgettable encounter some time previously. In her role as unpaid slave to her cousins, she had been required to walk some distance at night to bring a forgotten item to the young lady of the family who’s at a party. Exhausted and not at all happy, she leaves the house to set out on the return walk, only to be accosted by a somewhat drunk Earl of Frostbrook. Mistaking her for a servant girl, he amuses himself by dallying with her and eventually kissing her. Sophia is shocked and gives him a piece of her mind, but secretly she rather enjoyed the experience. Now Lord Frostbrook has turned up again, and remembers her, and so is set the scene for the gentle development of the romance. By the time Lord Frostbrook sets out to stymie his mother’s matchmaking attempts by introducing Sophia as his betrothed, there’s not much doubt how things are going to end.

Of course, a smooth path to the happy ever after is anathema to any well-devised Regency, and here it’s the unpleasant cousins who throw a huge spanner in the works. I never quite understand why such people have to be so relentlessly nasty, when they could have achieved their aim in much gentler ways but there we go, and the reason for them to decamp to Brussels and there join up with the main characters from the previous books is too implausible for words. But you know what? It doesn’t matter a bit. This is a rollicking good read, with plenty of action, a spirited heroine, a heroic hero and villains who get their comeuppance. There’s a little sex in it, but nothing terribly graphic, and it certainly helps to have read the previous books, but it’s a great read. Four stars, and I’m very much hoping that Victor gets his story in the next book.

Review: Captured by Mary Lancaster (2023)

I enjoyed the first of this series, built around the death in a duel of a duke, no less. The first book told the story of the duke’s young widow and the man who challenged him to the duel. This one features the duke’s sister and the doctor who attended the duel, and although it could be read as a standalone, it makes a lot more sense if read after the first book.

Here’s the premise: Lady Hera Severne is released from the oppression of her father, the Duke of Cuttyngham, when he dies in a duel. Uncertain what to do with her life now, she decides to become a paid companion, and finds a position surprisingly easily. Now this is a huge plot contrivance (why on earth would a duke’s daughter become a companion? It makes no sense, but I’m prepared to allow a book one contrivance at the start, so I’ll go with the flow here). Hera finds that her duties are light, and concerned less with her mistress, Lady Astley, than with her husband’s adult ward, who seems benign enough, if a little eccentric, yet is kept under constant watch living separately from the family. George is locked in with his nurse at night (shades of Jane Eyre and the madwoman in the attic), and even doped with laudanum when the family have guests to stop him disturbing the guests. An accidental overdose of laudanum causes Hera to send for the local doctor, who by a huge coincidence is the very same Doctor Rivers who attended the duel (that’s the second big contrivance). Doctor Rivers saves George, but he agrees with Hera that they have to ‘rescue’ him from his captivity.

It’s an odd thing, but this is the second Regency book I’ve read recently to feature an autistic person, but this one I found far less convincing. George was supposedly so disturbing as a boy that he was locked away, and the world told he was dead, yet when Hera and Justin set him loose in the world, suddenly he’s able to cope pretty well, with no more than mild eccentricity. I’m sorry, but even a non-autistic person who’d been locked away in a very restricted world for twenty-odd years would have serious trouble adjusting to the real world, so this element of the story didn’t work at all for me.

However, I was happy to whizz past all that with no more than a raised eyebrow, since the romance was charming and far more convincing, despite an outbreak of I’m-not-worthy-itis from the good doctor. But the couple (and George) end up in Brussels with the characters from book 1, where, with only a mild episode of melodrama matters are resolved in a satisfactory way. As is usual with Mary Lancaster’s books, there is some sex in the story, but it’s not terribly graphic. Despite the surfeit of contrivances, this is so well-written and enjoyably entertaining that I gave it four stars.

Review: Entangled by Mary Lancaster (2023)

I’m a big fan of Mary Lancaster, and enjoyed quite a few of her long Blackhaven series, although I never made it to the end. This one is a curious one. I enjoyed it totally, but I have to say it’s wildly implausible, and there was rather too much deus ex machina involved for my taste.

Here’s the premise: Major Giles Butler is en route to join Wellington’s army when he and his fellow officers encounter the obnoxious Duke of Cuttyngham at an inn. The duke insults a former commander of Giles’, who promptly calls him out. It’s purely for honour, with no thought of killing on either side, and Giles duly aims wide. Despite that, the duke ends up dead. Giles is determined to do his bit for his country with Wellington before dealing with the consequences of his actions, so he heads off for the coast, but not before going to the duke’s home to tell them what happened. He thinks better of that (wisely) but as he waits outside the gates, by chance he encounters a young woman running away. She tells him she’s a relation of the duke’s, so Giles agrees to help her.

And thus becomes entangled with the young (and newly widowed by his hand) Duchess of Cuttyngham. But since he doesn’t know who she is, and she doesn’t know that her husband is dead, they get along quite merrily and pass the time by falling inconveniently in love with each other. And so the plot unwinds, with Giles being chased by the law, Rosamund being chased by the duke’s people, then haring back home when she realises she’s a widow, and eventually chasing after Giles again. So there’s a whole heap of backwards and forwards, and (here’s the deus ex machina) important people jumping into the fray to help them. And along the way (shades of Georgette Heyer here) there’s a very young couple eloping to be helped and advised and generally sorted out. And somehow, in the midst of all this frenetic action, there’s time for a masked ball (because what self-respecting Regency romance doesn’t have a ball in it?).

It’s all tremendous fun, there’s a little steaminess, but nothing to frighten the horses, and it’s every bit as well written as Mary Lancaster’s works usually are. I might even have given it a resounding five stars except for the sheer number of times our heroes are improbably rescued by Very Important People who might have been expected to have more urgent things on their mind on the eve of battle than sorting out the romantic entanglements of insignificant nobodies. But it makes for a cracking good plot, so I’m not going to complain too much. Four stars. I’ll probably continue the series, partly in the hope that the intriguing new duke, Victor, gets his story told, and partly to find out just what did happen at the duel, how the duke came to die instantly and who the mysterious female is who was seen nearby.

Review: A Noble Inheritance by Kasey Stockton (2023)

This book was absolutely lovely. For one reason or another I’ve never read any of the author’s work before, but this one drew me because of its unusual subject matter, autism. It’s not something that’s often covered in a Regency romance, and it’s hard to imagine a more perfect portrayal than here. Fanny is a delight in every way, lighting up every scene she’s in, and completely pushing the two main characters into the shade. It’s wonderful.

Here’s the premise: Lady Verity Palmer is the eldest daughter of the Earl of Huxley, and her life is devoted to protecting her seventeen-year-old sister, Lady Frances (Fanny), who is autistic (not that the word is ever used, but modern audiences recognise the signs). She lives her life by rigid schedule revolving around animals, especially birds, and drawing. The girls’ mother thinks she should be in an asylum, to be ‘treated’ by doctors for what she views as an illness, but Verity is determined to keep her safely at home at Lamouth, where she can live a happy life in her own way. Since she has no brothers, Verity married her father’s heir to ensure that she and Fanny would never have to leave their home. But now her husband and father have both died, and the title and estate have passed to a distant relation, a known rake and general ne’er-do-well. Verity decides she’ll do whatever it takes to ensure Fanny is kept safe and out of the asylum.

The new earl, Daniel Palmer, is that common trope of Regencies, the man living in the shade of his father, and falling short in his own estimation. He doesn’t even try to live up to his sainted parents’ reputation, hurling himself into a life of gambling, drinking and wenching. He’s even fallen out with his mother for remarrying a man he despises. How can she bear to replace his father? He can’t quite forgive her. And now, to make matters worse, he’s inherited a wretched title he absolutely doesn’t want. He refuses to take up his responsibilities, refuses even to be addressed by his title, and runs away to his own family home, Arden Castle, to hide. But his mother won’t let him evade his responsibilities. The former earl’s widow and daughters have to be dealt with somehow, so she invites them to the castle to stay.

And so hero and heroine meet, and although Daniel doesn’t see it, all the ladies realise that the ideal solution is for Daniel and Verity to marry. They have different reasons for thinking so, of course, and Verity’s are all concerned with her sister. She knows that even if Daniel is willing to let them stay on at Lamouth indefinitely, sooner of later he will marry and then everything will change. What Fanny needs above all is security, so Verity must force Daniel to marry her, by one means or another. Her efforts to persuade him form the backbone of the romance plot, as the two gradually circle round each other.

The romance all seemed a little bit too easy, despite Daniel’s resistance. The two are clearly attracted to each other from the start, and they obviously get along like a house on fire. Nor is there any real opposition from the two mothers, and Fanny likes Daniel, so the only obstacle is that Daniel doesn’t want to marry anyone, least of all Verity, who’s only interested in him for his ability to provide a safe home for Fanny. But of course he soon crumbles, and there are no real fireworks. There’s a little bit of back story for Daniel but it doesn’t really amount to anything.

I confess that Daniel’s transformation from drunken wildness to responsible earl was a bit easier than might have been expected. Is it possible for an alcoholic to simply choose to give up the booze? I’d like to think so, but I’m not too sure. Still, I did like the gradual way he comes to terms with his new role and learns to be his own man and not merely a pale shadow of his father. The shrinking of the desk demonstrates this beautifully – nicely done.

Verity was a little bit too saintly and devoted to her sister, but I suppose that was the premise of the book. I would have liked to see a few more rough edges, frankly. It would have made her seem more human. But it’s a very small point.

There are some minor annoyances. The dual first-person points of view is something I find problematic. I’m sure it’s just me, but I found myself constantly getting confused as to whose head I was in at any given moment, and yes, I know every chapter is labelled but that doesn’t help. I get deep into a piece of dialogue and have to stop and go back just to find out who’s speaking. But it seems to be common these days, so I guess it must be popular. There’s a smattering of Americanisms, although nothing too distracting, and a couple of misused words (including downsizing – first recorded use in 1968, according to the OED). However, none of this spoilt my enjoyment overmuch.

There’s some humour in the book, which is always welcome. This exchange tickled my funny bone:

‘The goddaughter, it turned out, was fresh from the schoolroom. Biddable, Miss Edith had called her. A child would have been far more on the nose.
“Those women are harmless,” Mother said.
“We have different definitions for that word, I think.”’

The finale includes a bit of drama, somewhat too easily resolved, and after that everything ends on a high note. But really, the plot isn’t the main attraction of this book, or even the romance. They’re very well done, and the writing is smooth and sure, but everything is overshadowed by the towering presence of Fanny and her – well, I won’t call it a disability. Her characteristics, let’s say. She is such a darling, and, although I’m no expert, she seemed completely authentic and believable to me. I have a nephew who is on the spectrum too, and he does the exact same thing with shaking his hands as if shaking off water. This is an amazing portrait of an autistic girl, drawn with such affection that it’s impossible not to love Fanny. A fine piece of writing, and highly recommended. Five stars.

Review: Lady Pamela by Clare Darcy (1975)

I’m going to be honest, this one didn’t really do it for me. It had its moments (mainly to do with the rather wonderful hero, Carlin), but I never came to like the headstrong heroine, who consistently barges into any situation that would really be better left to those more suited to it. And being a novella, it was too short to go into greater depth, which might have made her more likeable. Still, not a bad little story, on the whole, and at least there were consequences to her actions.

Here’s the premise: Lady Pamela Frayne can’t resist getting involved in whatever outrageous escapade takes her fancy, so when her rackety brother seems to have filched a valuable government document from their grandfather to sell to offset his gaming debts, Lady Pamela dives into the fray to rescue him from disaster. Making her way to the country house where she thinks the document may have ended up, she’s delayed by snow, and no postilions will turn out to take her on the final stage. Fortuitously, a regular stage coach comes through, driven by an eccentric coachman called Carlin who’s determined to press on regardless. Lady P has found her transport. Needless to say, they come to grief and are forced to improvise once again. But the inn where they end up also contains a woman with a broken leg who just happened to be on her way to take up a position as lady’s maid at the very house Lady P is headed for. So off Lady P goes to pretend to be the lady’s maid and see what she can find out. The oddball coachman, meanwhile, is intrigued enough to follow her there and get involved in her scheming (and to rescue her when things go amiss).

When they realise the document isn’t there, they head back to London, where the consequences of Lady P’s outrageous behaviour upsets her very upright fiance, Lord Babcoke, and the entire ton. And so the plot runs on fairly predictable rails to the inevitable conclusion. Lady P is fairly stupid, and as heroines go I’m not at all enamoured of the type who hurls herself willy-nilly into any situation regardless of the consequences.

Carlin I liked much better as the devil-may-care nobleman. Being reckless seems to sit much better on a hero than on a heroine (in Regency times, anyway). My only grumble with him is that he struts around telling Lady P (and the world!) that he’s going to marry her when she’s still betrothed to Lord Babcoke, and although it’s a spectacularly ill-suited pairing, it’s very rude to announce your intentions before the engagement is officially over. And I do prefer it if the hero actually asks the heroine first. However, that’s par for the course for books of this age, whose original readership perhaps preferred a domineering kind of hero. We modern readers prefer our heroines to be treated respectfully, and as something more than a man’s rightfully property (even if they actually were, of course, two hundred years ago).

A silly plot, a very silly heroine and redeemed only by a fun hero, so only three stars, but I’ve enjoyed others by Clare Darcy much better than this, so I’ll put it down as an unusual blip.