Mary Kingswood's Blog, page 18

Review: Tempted By Folly by Christina Dudley (2022)

This book was a joy to read. I had a smile on my face from the opening moment, when the irrepressible Lily talks about her sister’s betrothed as ‘the Dreadful Mr Gregory’ to the final scene of the hero and heroine at last in each other’s arms.

Here’s the premise: Miss Florence Ellsworth has grown up in a family made notorious by her father’s many marriages and assortment of children by different mothers, not all equally loving. She’s determined not to follow the same route, and with her mother’s advice to follow her head not her heart uppermost in her mind, she betroths herself to a dull clergyman, and looks forward to a blessedly uneventful future. But her stepmother (wife number three) dies and immediately Mr Ellsworth is looking about him for a fourth wife, another scandal in the making. And then there’s the new attorney, who’s handsome and young and oh so tempting to Florence. And who is the widowed Mrs Whisp, and what does she want?

As far as plot goes, that’s about it, but with Dudley’s books, everything hinges on the characters and the way they interact with each other. Florence herself is lovely, and Mr Fairchild a hero worthy of her. Then there’s Mr Gregory, who is an awesome character, with his puffed out chest that makes him look like a woodpigeon, and his booming clergyman’s voice. There are so many awesome characters here. Miss Gregory, his faded sister. Florence’s sisters, Lily, the outspoken opposite of Florence, Minta, who likes to shoot things (her friend, mainly), and crying Bea. The sunnily wife-chasing Mr Ellsworth. Miss Dunn, the reclusive governess. Mrs Whisp, the rapacious widow. Very different from each other, but all memorable and all busily engaged in pursuing their own objectives.

Florence’s primary objective is to rein in her father’s wife-hunting. She calls on Mr Fairchild, the new attorney, to ask him to do what he can to steer Mr Ellsworth into respectable life as a widower instead. Mr Fairchild is delighted by the prospect of spending more time with the charming Miss Ellsworth, but it’s a difficult task to undertake when Mr Ellsworth is one of his principal clients, and he doesn’t want to get on the wrong side of him. On the other hand, he’d like to please Miss Ellsworth. Sadly, Mr Ellsworth is not a man to be steered, and almost before his late wife is cold in her grave he’s advertising for a governess for the youngest child. Since his previous two wives started as the family’s governesses, Florence can see exactly where this is going to end. And if the governess isn’t quick off the mark, she’ll be out-manoeuvred by the brazen Mrs Whisp, who knows exactly what she wants and sets out determinedly to get it. All Mr Fairchild can do is try to control the selection process for the governess, and suggest legal ways to keep the bulk of the Ellsworth fortune out of the hands of avaricious women.

And all the time, Florence is trying to convince herself that her choice of husband is the right one. Florence is precisely the sort of heroine who must have been everywhere at the time, and her dilemma a common one. Living out in the country, her choice of potential husbands is limited. If she fails to marry, she becomes the spinster dwindling into old age in her father’s home, or looking after her sibling’s children, or she slips out of the gentry altogether as a governess or paid companion. The chance of finding a suitable husband, in rank and fortune, is very small, so if someone offers, it’s very risky to refuse in the hope there’ll be a better offer later. And Mr Gregory is so very respectable, and her present home so rackety…

But… There’s always a but. The handsome and young Mr Fairchild is everything a young lady could wish for, but Florence is betrothed, and she can’t do anything as scandalous as jilting the boring clergyman in the hope that the nice young attorney will look her way. What to do? Try to summon some enthusiasm for her betrothed, that’s what. And surely she’d be happier if her not very passionate lover actually kissed her? And here we get to one of the funniest scenes in a book full of funny scenes, which I won’t spoil by telling you anything more about it.

It’s obvious from the first moment how the story will end, but how that ending is reached is an absolute delight, with any number of twists and revelations along the way. Nothing about a Dudley book is ever predictable, and so although I guessed one very crucial secret, there were plenty of other developments that took me by surprise. And it thrilled me that the final obstacle between hero and heroine is an utterly Regency one, the chains of propriety holding them fast, even though in modern terms there was nothing to keep them apart. The way this is resolved is elegant and pleased me greatly. One other very personal point: it’s common in modern Regencies to end with a long-drawn-out epilogue, and sometimes that’s appropriate, but here the story comes to a close with the final romantic moments between hero and heroine, and to me that felt utterly right.

This is a wonderful book, beautifully written on every level. It’s literate (watch out for the sly references to Emma and also the Barchester series), witty and very moving. I loved every word of it. Christina Dudley has a unique talent and I recommend this and all her books to fans of traditional Regency romance. This is a great start to the new series. Five stars.

Note: I received an advanced copy from the author, but that didn’t affect my opinion.

Review: Alethea by Catherine J Bowness (2014)

Catherine J Bowness is a new author to me, but I’ll certainly be reading more of her work. This was delightful. It’s very traditional, so anyone hankering for something in the style of Heyer, complete with presentations and vouchers for Almack’s and rides in Hyde Park, should find this hits the spot. There are shades of Arabella, and also Venetia, although it’s also very much itself, not a pale imitation.

Here’s the premise: Alethea Benstead is seventeen, the oldest of a whole string of daughters to a country gentleman of reduced means and his jaded wife. Alethea is the beauty of the family, so it falls to her to marry well and restore the family’s fortunes. The only trouble is that she doesn’t want to marry at all, and with the dispiriting example of her parents in front of her, who can blame her? But her aunt and uncle have invited her to London for a spectacular come out, and no one takes her objections seriously. One day she’s out for a long walk to escape the thoughts of her unwanted future, when she gets lost (on her family’s land? Where she’s been walking all her life? Really?) and finds herself on the public highway. So she flags down a passing farmer and hitches a lift home…

Wait, what? No, of course not! This is a Regency romance, so along comes a handsome young man, an earl, no less, with the hard-to-pronounce name of Lord Knill, who nearly runs her down, berates her angrily, is berated in his turn and then kisses her. Because of course he does. That just makes her really mad, but he seems to be the only way for her to get home, passing farmers being in short supply, so he drives her home, and she hopes she’ll never see him again. Or so she says.

Her companion on the journey to London is a distant cousin, Eleanor Peabody, who is thirty-one, newly orphaned and penniless, with no relations interested in helping her, so she’s travelling to London to find a position as a governess. Eleanor is (to my mind) a far more interesting character. She’s far more placid and sensible, an interesting foil to Alethea’s volatile temperament. On the journey, they have a couple of encounters, first with Ivo, son of the aunt in London, and then, after their carriage overturns (this is a *very* traditional Regency), they are rescued by Lord Knill, who coincidentally happens to be passing. Because of course he does. And then they are held up by a highwayman who is seen off by Lord Knill, and they haven’t even reached London yet.

The aunt, Lady Algernon Ferris, conveniently is delighted to have two pretty girls to bring out, so Eleanor is told to forget about governessing and enjoy the season. They are rigged out in fine style, and the beautiful Alethea becomes an instant success. This all happens very easily, and even the all-important vouchers for Almacks miraculously appear. In fact, the world of the ton seems to be a very benign place, where almost everyone is friendly, a duke attracts virtually no comment and even a gallop in Hyde Park passes unremarked. Of course, there has to be a villain, but it’s a long time before things become sticky.

The two heroes for Eleanor and Alethea are not exactly the obvious ones. In my opinion, the volatile and immature Alethea would have been better suited with the equally immature Ivo (when they both grow up), and I’d have liked Eleanor to have the charming and dashing Lord Knill, but the author had other ideas. In fact, the state of play between Alethea and Lord Knill quickly becomes very intense, and their passionate exchanges are an absolute highlight of the book for me. Regency manners impose so much restraint that to see them both losing their composure in such spectacular fashion is awesome. This is particularly true of Lord Knill, because while Regency heroines often dissolve into quivering wrecks, heroes tend to be suavely controlled, and I loved him for being so openly distraught. Eleanor and her suitor have a much more sedate courtship, so much so that she completely misunderstands his intentions. Fortunately, they’re both sensible people and very quickly sort out the difficulty.

I did warn you that this is a *very* traditional Regency, so there’s the inevitable descent into implausible melodrama at the end, which is spectacularly over the top. I loved that when the crisis comes, the two heroines respond precisely in character. Alethea rushes off to effect a rescue herself, with the reluctant Ivo in tow, while Eleanor quietly summons help. This was perfect.

However, there is a huge faux pas buried in the melodrama. Anyone who knows anything about Regency marriage laws will have to grit their teeth and pretend that this book is taking place in some alternate universe, one where any random parson can scribble a special licence on the spot, and any vaguely related male can give permission for a minor to marry, and never mind about settlements, we can sort that out later. And then (apparently), the happy couple can decide later whether they’re actually married or not.

A few minor quibbles: the family name is Benstead, but there are several references to the Bearsteds – a last minute change of name, incompletely made? At the theatre, we are told, ‘the house lights dimmed’ – I don’t think so! Regency theatres were lit by giant chandeliers filled with candles and suspended from the ceiling. There was no way to dim them. The writing is lovely, but the early parts of the book, in particular, felt very slow, as every last detail of conversation, no matter how banal, is faithfully reported.

But these are very minor points (apart from the special licence, which was wrong in so many ways it just made me laugh; there was no way that marriage was legal!). Despite the very traditional themes, and the very conventional setting of the season, I totally enjoyed the book, mainly because all the principal characters were finely nuanced. Even Alethea, who teetered on the edge of being the silly and impetuous ingenue once or twice, was actually a lot more subtle than that, and I loved Lord Knill (although I still don’t know how to pronounce his name – Ker-nill? Nill? No idea). I’d have liked a little more of the duke and a little less of the villain, perhaps. But the writing is lovely, there are some very serious points on the position of women in Regency society and those intense spats between Alethea and Lord Knill make it a five star read for me.

Review: The Luxury of Silence by Susan Adriani (2022)

I haven’t read many Pride and Prejudice variations, but they were uniformly awesome. This didn’t quite match those stellar heights, but the bar was set quite high and this is a pleasant enough read, although it doesn’t add any great insights into the characters.

Here’s the premise: the story starts, intriguingly enough, at Ramsgate, with Darcy and Georgiana recovering from Wickham’s elopement attempt. Here the author has chosen to have Wickham draw Georgiana further from the path of virtue, for when Darcy discovers them, there’s bare flesh on display, and uncertainty about just how far matters have gone. Georgiana has retreated into her shell, unwilling to face the world. Darcy is riven with guilt and self-reproach – he should have protected his sister better! Some time in London does nothing to improve the mood of either of them, but perhaps quiet country life would offer a healing environment? Darcy accepts Bingley’s invitation to join him at Netherfield.

And here we are at the opening of the book, although with the addition of Georgiana to the Netherfield party. Everything else is the same. But almost immediately, the plot veers away from the canonical route; on his first day, Darcy goes for an early morning ride to a nearby viewpoint and immediately bumps into a young lady out for a walk – a surprisingly impertinent and undeferential young lady. After a few hostile exchanges of fire, Darcy discovers that said young lady has a streak of mischief in her – not to mention a pair of fine eyes. They part as friends, but even so, when he encounters her again at the Meryton assembly a few days later, he still manages to insult her. But once more, the plot shoots off at a tangent, for Bingley insists on Darcy apologising and offering to dance with Elizabeth, whereupon she refuses him.

Jane’s visit to Netherfield on horseback and subsequent illness is as per the original, with the happy result of throwing Darcy and Elizabeth together for more of those early morning outings, long discussions in the drawing room after dinner and bonding over Darcy’s dog, Solomon. And so it goes on, with the original story burbling away almost unnoticed in the background, because the main focus here is the growing closeness between Darcy and Elizabeth. He is able to talk openly to her as to no one else in his constrained life, largely because she’s neither a disapproving relation nor an ambitious fortune hunter. He likes her lively wit (as do we all!), and although he doesn’t acknowledge it to himself for a long time, he’s gradually sliding into love with her. For her part, Elizabeth enjoys the intellectual challenge (she’s made out to be something of a bluestocking here), and sees him as nothing more than a friend. He’s absolutely out of her league, after all.

Now this is all very lovely, but it never feels very true to the original characters. We see nothing of Darcy’s struggle to suppress his feelings for Elizabeth, his revulsion at the prospect of such a low marriage or, to be honest, his pride. Nor is her prejudice much in evidence. Instead, there are very few bumps in the road to the inevitable proposal. The minor characters, too, are air-brushed into charming and good-hearted eccentricity, rather than silliness or (in Lydia’s case) outright immorality. Darcy says airily that the younger Bennet girls just need a little bit of guidance to bring them back to sensible behaviour. Because Darcy has no problem proposing to Elizabeth, there is no objection to Bingley marrying Jane, either. Wickham creates the only tension, but even he is dealt with relatively easily. It’s all too simple and conflict-free.

I didn’t have many writing quibbles. One is the constant use of ‘supper’ instead of dinner. The main evening meal was dinner; supper was a separate meal, either a light snack at the end of the evening, or an interlude in a ball or other party. The other question in my mind concerned Darcy’s statement that he would have trouble raising ten thousand pounds. Yet we know from the original that he did in fact raise that sum to persuade Wickham to marry Lydia. Since his income of ten thousand a year meant a total worth of at least two hundred thousand, even if it were all in land, he would have had no trouble raising ten thousand secured against his estate. But it’s a very minor point.

This is a pleasant Pride and Prejudice variation that was a little too bland for my taste. I was tempted to give it three stars, but I enjoyed it pretty well so I’ll be generous and settle for four stars.

Review: The Duke’s Wayward Wallflower by Maggie Dallen (2022)

This is an oddity. A stern and grumpy duke, a shy country girl all at sea in London, and possibly the oddest romance I’ve read in a long time. I like a quirky story, but sometimes this felt a little too out there even for me. And yet, there are some wonderful moments that will stay with me for a long time.

Here’s the premise: Felicity Bishop’s father has just died, and his financial affairs seem to be in something of a tangle. While the helpful family attorney, Mr Beasley, is sorting things out, Felicity is to go to London with her cousin, the very wealthy Earl of Shepley and his sister, Lady Marion. She’s surprised to see the infamous Duke of Mandrick at the funeral, but perhaps it’s because he has an unspoken understanding with Marion. Felicity is at odds with him almost at once. His forbidding countenance reduces her to inarticulate terror, so inevitably he’ll despise her, she’s sure.

Off we go to London, where Felicity is rigged out in the finest of gowns, although in subdued colours because of her mourning, and meets Aunt Greta, who fulfils the eccentric aunt role to perfection. And of course the terrifying duke is hovering around, and having dinner with the family once a week, and reducing Felicity to jelly. When the earl and Marion are invited to the wedding of a friend, Felicity is left to the tender mercies of Aunt Greta and the duke.

Aunt Greta undertakes to instruct Felicity in the not very delicate art of enticing a man to fall in love with her, and this is definitely a highlight of the book. Felicity takes this advice to heart, with predictably disastrous results, fainting in the duke’s arms in the middle of a ball. What she doesn’t realise is that Aunt Greta’s advice is actually working – and not just on the grumpy duke, but on Felicity, too. There are pages and pages of the pair of them suffering with wayward pings and pangs of heart and stomach and limbs and who knows what (lips, mainly; there’s a fixation on lips), and although some of this is very funny, it felt a bit excessive at times. I prefer the palpitations of true love to be a little less overblown.

As a result of this dramatic swooning, the duke sweeps Felicity and Aunt Greta off to his own house so that he can keep an eye on them, and this leads to quite the loveliest scene in the book, in the music room. For once, he sets aside his veneer of dutiful rigidity and she loses her tongue-tied shyness. It’s probably the first time the two of them have been completely natural with each other, and it’s a delight. I’d have liked a lot more of this and less of the pinging and panging.

From here on, it’s all a question of how the duke will escape his understanding with Marion so he can marry Felicity, and I won’t go into details on that. There is some business with the oily Mr Beasley, too, which the duke sorts out handily. The ending irritated me somewhat, because poor Felicity is left in the dark longer than she should be and that’s an unforgivable sin to me.

This is not the book to read if you’re a stickler for historical accuracy. Felicity shouldn’t have been at her father’s burial (ladies just didn’t). Stays weren’t tightly laced in the Regency, since the waistline was so unimportant. The stays were only there to give a smooth columnar silhouette and to push up the bosom. The duke seems to know no other dance but the waltz, which was very rare then and still scandalous for a young unmarried woman, unless approved by the patronesses of Almack’s. And what on earth was Felicity doing even attending balls, let alone dancing, while still in mourning for her father? And finally (you’ll be relieved to hear), the oily Mr Beasley would have been an attorney, not a solicitor (who operated in the Court of Chancery, and didn’t sully his hands with mundane matters of estate business).

There are a fair few Americanisms, too, but if you can set all that aside and read the book as light-hearted entertainment only loosely connected to the Regency, it’s actually a lot of fun. There were a few too many pings and pangs for my taste, which keeps it to four stars, but I recommend it to anyone looking for something a bit different.

Review: The Art of Victory by Martha Keyes (2022)

I came to this book straight after the wonderful prequel to the series, Unrequited, which I loved. This doesn’t quite set me on fire the same way, but it has an absolutely wonderful hero, and some glorious battles of wits between the two main characters, as well as some entertaining side characters, and of course Keyes’ trademark lovely writing.

Here’s the premise: Diana Donovan is the daughter of an Admiral, practically weaned on battle strategy, especially the book The Art of War by Chines General Sun Tzu. The Donovan children all know it off by heart. Diana’s a battler by nature, so when her best friend Lucy falls in love with the seemingly inoffensive Mr Pike, yet her guardian refuses to countenance the match, Diana decides to go to war on behalf of timid Lucy. She’ll tackle the curmudgeonly Mr Marmaduke Russell head on, and by her superior battle skills, persuade him to see the benefits of the match.

But Mr Russell turns out to be unexpectedly young and attractive, not in the least curmudgeonly, and annoyingly cool under fire. He seems quite unbothered by her efforts, and surprisingly well able to return fire on his own account. In fact, he seems to positively enjoy their little spats – is he actually flirting with her? This makes her even more determined to win the war, because what could be more intensely annoying to a girl on a mission than a man whose only reaction is amusement? Well, one who has an answer to her every devious ploy, that’s what, and the dialogues between the two are gloriously funny, and made me laugh out loud.

It’s clear that Mr Russell is falling in love with Diana, and he’s pretty direct about it too. Diana, of course, is falling for him, too, but she’s so focused on her mission and so determined to hate her opponent that she barely notices the subtle way her heart is gradually captured. I’m going to be honest, and say that Diana is the weak point in the novel for me. I actually disliked her quite intensely, because it never occurs to her that Mr Russell might be better placed than she is to know whether Mr Pike would make a suitable husband or not, and some of her actions are pretty foolish. She’s completely oblivious to everything but winning the war, and frankly, her constant whining over it grew tedious. Happily, Diana is balanced by the truly wonderful character of Mr Russell, who is as subtle as she is obvious, and twice as clever, and I wasn’t at all sure what he saw in her. There’s also a cast of lovely side characters, like Mrs Westwood, with her inexhaustable supply of trite epithets, the young lovers, Lucy and Mr Pike, and Diana’s two brothers, book-reading Phineas and wild-boy Valentine.

I had a few minor quibbles. Firstly, Americanisms. Nothing outrageous, but there were many, many uses of ‘shall’ that struck me as wrong. And then I wondered about the inheritance of five thousand pounds that’s made out to be a big deal, and a target for fortune hunters. Five thousand really isn’t a large amount. It’s what Mrs Bennet had in P&P, after all; enough to attract a respectable husband who already has a good income, but not enough to bail out an estate that’s in deep trouble. After all, five thousand invested would only produce an income of (say) two hundred and fifty a year, which is barely above subsistence level for the gentry.

The ending is a little too contrived for my taste, but the romantic elements play out just fine, and despite all my little quibbles and even the (mostly) unlikeable Diana, I enjoyed it enormously. The glorious Mr Russell and the author’s brilliant writing earns the book five stars from me.

Review: Unrequited by Martha Keyes (2022)

I’d almost forgotten just how good Martha Keyes is. I’ve been a fan of hers since first stumbling across Wyndcross three years ago, and read all her early work avidly. She took an authorly excursion to Scotland, which didn’t interest me, but now she’s back in the English Regency and she’s only improved in the interim. This is the prequel to her new series, and it’s a wonderful, nuanced, layered work. I loved it.

Here’s the premise: Elena MacKinnon is an orphan, whose four brothers are all serving in the army. Elena can’t stay alone at their Scottish estate, so she’s been living with her godfather’s family for seven years, being educated in the ways of English ladylike behaviour. Her godfather, Admiral Donovan, has three sons, Theo, Phineas and Valentine. Theo has been at sea, following in his father’s footsteps, but it’s not clear to me quite what the other two have been doing. All we know is that Phineas is bookish, and Valentine is the cynical, wayward one. There is also a daughter, Diana, and since the death of Mrs Donovan, the girls have been largely left to their own devices. But now, with the end of the war, Admiral Donovan and Theo are coming home. Although Theo’s just been promoted to Captain, his future is uncertain, as there’s a lack of naval vessels to command.

That’s a fairly brief summary, for this is a family with a LOT of history. Some of it we read about here, like the lingering illness and death of Mrs Donovan, and some is obviously being saved for future books in the series (Phineas and Valentine, for instance). But the key piece of history is between Elena and Theo, and the letter she tucked in his luggage as he left for sea several years ago, when he was nineteen and she an impassioned and lovesick fourteen. He broke her heart by never writing back. Now he’s home again, they’ve both changed but is there the possibility of a grown-up love for them? Or should she marry Mr Bailey, the dull but worthy man Admiral Donovan is steering her towards?

The answer is obvious, of course, but how they reach their happy ever after is an absolute delight.
Keyes has the power to weave a multitude of strong story threads into beautiful cloth. Every one of these characters springs to life on the pages as a fully rounded person, with history and temperament and an agenda of their own, and their interactions feel like spontaneous reactions rather than plot devices. There are no villains here, just good people doing the best they can according to their lights, and making mistakes along the way, mistakes that ripple through the family.

There’s so much depth here. For example, Elena is Scottish, and her normal accent is a strong brogue, but she’s learnt to moderate her voice into a more ladylike English accent. But is she throwing away her heritage with the accent? Can she be true to herself with a false voice? If she is to consider marrying Mr Bailey, she has to talk like a lady but can she maintain that indefinitely? Or should he accept her as she really is? The attitude of the English characters to Scotland both intrigued and amused me, particularly the Baileys, since they see the Scots as barbaric heathens (unless they present themselves in a flawlessly English way, of course). But Elena has the best line: “The English took a strange view of [Scotland]— simultaneously romanticizing it and looking down upon it— but I felt uncomfortable with both approaches. For me, it was simply home and all that such a word encapsulated.” And that’s just one of many threads running through the book.

But what of the romance? There isn’t the joy of watching the two fall in love, for Elena did that long ago. For her, there’s the agony of seeing Theo again, not knowing whether they can even rekindle the close friendship of their childhood years, and she doesn’t dare to hope beyond that. For him… well, we don’t know what he feels, because the story is all written from Elena’s point of view, so the reader has to glean hints of his state of mind from his words and actions, and try to interpret the subtlest gesture, just as she does. I normally prefer to see both points of view, but here it works perfectly.

Theo’s feelings are gradually revealed, but of course there’s more to a Regency romance than just feelings. What about Theo’s career in the navy? And perhaps more important, what about his father’s wishes for him and the obligations of family duty? This is why I say this book is nuanced, because all of this comes into play, and much more, before the situation is resolved. And along the way there are some memorable interactions between the two, particularly those walks on the beach.

The writing is excellent on every level, and very little tripped me up. Admiral John Bailey is a baronet, so he should be Admiral Sir John Bailey, surely? And I wondered about the use of ‘trek’, which sounds too modern to me, but the Oxford English Dictionary puts it at 1824, which is close enough. One or two Americanisms, but trivial stuff.

This is a book about being true to yourself, and not having your life dictated by other people’s expectations of you, and it’s also about family and home and freedom and a lot more besides. It’s a short book but with tons of depth, and it was free when I got it. A great read – highly recommended. Five stars.

Review: The Rake’s Challenge by Beth Elliott (2011)

This is one of those books that absolutely shouldn’t have worked for me. It was too tropey for words, and channelled some of my least favourite Georgette Heyers. And yet I enjoyed it a whole heap. So there.

Here’s the premise: Annabelle (Anna) Lawrence is a straight-out-of-school heiress running away from home because of a wicked stepfather trying to push her into an unwanted marriage (I told you it was tropey). Giles Maltravers, the Earl of Longwood and heir to the Duke of Hawkesborough (because of course he is) is a world-weary rake, bored with his fast-living scandalous life of duels (three this year!) and tired of his avaricious mistress. Yes, I know, Heyer wrote this plot several times, but stay with me. Anna has enterprisingly arranged a job as a companion to an elderly lady to tide her over until she can draw on her inheritance and be independent, but, being scrape-prone, she’s missed the stage coach and can’t afford to stay at the inn, so she sets off along a quiet country lane in the middle of nowhere, where she is set upon by two upper-class thugs bent on… well, rape, presumably. Was Hampshire really so lawless that an obviously gently-bred girl would be targeted in that way? Fortunately, along comes our dissolute hero, who surprises even himself by becoming an actual hero and rescuing her.

So far, so unoriginal. This book was first published in 2011 (according to Goodreads) but it feels a lot older than that. Yes, it’s an unoriginal start but I’m always prepared to give a book its initial premise. It’s how things develop that I judge on, and here things look more promising. Giles takes it upon himself to protect Anna, successfully negotiates the hazards of the overnight stay at an inn, and drives her to destination, where there’s a much more interesting setup. Lady Fording, Anna’s elderly employer, turns out to have a daughter who’s an Italian Contessa and a nephew who’s also very Italian and clearly some kind of revolutionary. The three are hoping to return to Italy soon now that things have settled down on the continent a bit. So that’s all a bit different.

Lady Fording is supposedly ill, but happily her indispositions never interfere with the plot. The three decide to decamp from the Hampshire countryside to Brighton for a little shopping and socialising, and they buy a whole new wardrobe for Anna. She’s a little surprised that the paid companion is to be fashionably dressed but she’s young enough not to refuse. And so off they go to Brighton, where everyone turns up – not merely Giles and a couple of cronies, but also his mistress and the two thugs who assaulted Anna, and a mother and daughter determined to hook Giles by any means necessary. And of course the Prince Regent, because what self-respecting Regency romance can visit Brighton without Prinny?

And so the plot trundles on, with Anna falling into one scrape after another, Giles rescuing her in gentlemanly fashion, and his attentions attracting the jealousy of his ex-mistress and the ambitious mama and her daughter. And then there’s the scheme which required the fancy clothes. I’m not quite sure just how much Lady Fordham and the Contessa were involved in all that. Were they complicit, or merely willing dupes? In other hands, this story might have been dull work, but Elliott gives it a light-hearted froth, and the main characters are likeable. Anna is the innocent abroad, not exactly silly but not always wise to the machinations of those around her, although she’s a fast learner.

As for Giles, he’s a charmer right from the start, clearly falling in love with Anna from day 1, yet stoutly refusing to believe it’s anything more than a gentlemanly urge to protect her. Even when the idea of marriage seeps into his brain, he finds all sorts of reasons why it won’t do – he’s too old for her, for heaven’s sake! He’s thirty, not exactly at his last prayers. And although much is made of his scandalous reputation, we never see him as other than honourable. It seems to be a habit with the genre that a man can be described as a rake of the most committed sort, yet behave impeccably throughout. Giles steals one kiss, under provoking circumstances, but is stricken with guilt afterwards, so no, not in the least rakish, and no, I don’t believe for one minute that rakes give up their wicked ways the instant the heroine hoves into view. Not plausible. But, as I said, he’s a charmer, despite the author’s attempts to paint him as a stern sort of man, and I liked his very honest discussion with his father, which was the best scene in the book, with real emotion showing through. I’m not quite sure what he saw in Anna, who seemed a little bit too young and innocent for a sophisticated man-about-town, but he says he’ll never be bored with her, and that’s as good a reason as any. Love is ineffable, after all.

I spotted very few errors. The Duke of Hawkesborough was referred to as Lord Hawkesborough, which is wrong. I baulked at ‘weekend’, but there were pre-Regency usages, although not necessarily in the modern meaning. I also wasn’t sure about the use of fans to convey meanings, which sounds more Victorian to me. Other than that, nothing tripped me up, and the writing was very smooth. It’s not as literate as Heyer (but then, what is? She was one of a kind), but for a Heyer-esque plot with a fine, independent-minded heroine and a charming hero, I can recommend this. Four stars.

Review: The Difficult Life of a Regency Spinster: Jane by Susan Speers (2022)

A difficult one for me to rate. I’m a huge fan of Susan Speers, who is one of the most original Regency authors around. I never quite know what she’ll come up with next, and I love that uncertainty. But it does mean that her books are quite hit or miss with me. This one was more miss than hit, but still an intriguing read.

Here’s the premise: Lady Jane Wilverhampton is living a retired life with her godmother in Scotland, trying to escape the misery of an almost-betrothal that went wrong and family scandal. But when she’s invited to a house party, she meets again the man who broke her heart a number of years ago, when he married someone else. It wasn’t from choice – the two were caught alone in the library together and forced to marry. Now she’s dead, and Angus Killoran is free again, but Jane has made a vow never to marry. Her father and younger brother were both tainted by a kind of madness, and she won’t pass on that bad blood to another generation. But Angus has a younger brother, Fergus, who is supposed to be wooing the daughter of their hosts, a beautiful heiress who will restore the Killoran fortunes. Unfortunately, Fergus has taken a shine to Jane…

The characters here have an awful lot of history. There’s the halcyon days of Jane and Angus’s courtship in France. The misery of his entrapment, forcing him to marry. There’s his wife’s death in a fire, partially destroying the family home. Then there is Jane’s father, and his cruelty to her mother and to the children. Jane’s younger brother has committed murder, although we never hear much about that, and he’s living abroad. And finally, Jane’s older brother, who also vowed never to marry, has broken that vow and is expecting his first child. All of this is revealed piecemeal in flashbacks, which gives the book a disjointed feel.

There are numerous side characters, none of whom are ever brought to the front of the stage so that we can get to know them properly. They simply flit about, moving into Jane’s view and then out again, easily forgotten. I would have liked to know more about the heiress, for instance, and also about young Catriona and her brother. What was the point of them in this story? I have no idea.

As for Angus and Fergus, I never really understood what they were thinking or feeling, or why they didn’t sit down together and talk openly about Jane. It seemed as though they simply drifted about in a helpless, purposeless way. And then there was Jane herself. What did she feel? Where was the emotion? Sometimes she cried and paced about impatiently, but I can’t say that any of the intense feelings she ought to be (and was!) experiencing came across to me. A lot of this was frustrating to me. I’m not a huge fan of angsty heroines, but with the sort of tragedies sweeping through Jane’s life, I wanted to feel her pain more intensely than I did.

If this sounds negative, it’s because there is an unusual and powerful story here that struggled to escape the unemotional tone of the writing. Perhaps other readers can fill in the gaps between what was written and what was beneath the surface, but I found it too difficult. There were moments when the emotion reached me, but mostly it was submerged. The writing was also marred by proofreading errors, with a lot of wayward punctuation, and a few anachronisms (no teddy bears in the Regency, for example). Speers has written some amazing books, but this one was an interesting read that just didn’t quite work for me. I still recommend it, and the whole series, for anyone who’s tired of the usual Regency tropes. Three stars.

Review: Quality Maid by Mira Stables (1973)

This was the third in a cheap box set (three Mira Stables books for a pound, how cool is that?), and for me it was by far the best. Both Emma Disposes and A Match For Elizabeth had flaws which (for me) kept them to four stars. But this one was engaging right from the start, with a delightfully independent heroine, a hero who knows his own mind and some melodrama that, for once, made absolute sense and wasn’t just tacked on to give the hero a chance to be heroic. It also features one of the most original proposal scenes ever, so there’s that.

Here’s the premise: John Longden is minor gentry with a reasonable income of his own, and a wealthy wife. He was blinded in a shooting accident, but he doesn’t repine, and his three grown daughters (Clemency, Prudence and Faith) help him manage. But four years ago, his wife set out on a journey and vanished into thin air, her money is now unavailable to him, and his own investments have gone disastrously wrong. The family is practically destitute, the only valuables remaining are the mother’s jewels.

The daughters, however, are resourceful. They are determined to find genteel employment of some sort, but they need someone to help them with references and the like. Clemency has the bright idea of calling upon their neighbour, Piers Kennedy, a former naval captain and now a sheep farmer and wool merchant, for help. Mr Longden saved his life many years ago, so he will surely feel under an obligation to help them. Her sisters cannibalise their mother’s fine silks and velvets for suitable clothing to rig Clemency out for a formal visit, but it doesn’t go well. The two end up in a battle of wits, he grabs her wrist to stop her leaving and ends up kissing her.

Now, normally I strongly dislike supposed heroes who ruthlessly impose themselves on gently brought up young ladies just because they can, and he has less excuse than most such instances. He doesn’t mistake her for a serving wench, for instance (not that that excuses such behaviour, but given that this book was written fifty years ago, it’s in line with the prevailing morality of romances of the era). But somehow, the way the scene is written makes the kiss almost inevitable, and not as reprehensible as it would otherwise be. In fact, for me it’s the fact that he grabbed hold of her that I find most shocking. A kiss might be construed as a romantic gesture, but a Regency gentleman should never, ever lay a hand on a lady’s person.

From then onward, the lines are drawn. She despises him thoroughly for his reprehensible behaviour (as she should!) and he is riven by guilt and determined to find some way to help the family. And (the part that makes me like him rather a lot) he sees all the positive elements of her actions and is half way to being in love with her before she’s even left the house. Even though he stoutly maintains that he’s never going to marry because reasons, he’s still drifting towards it with every single meeting. And he doesn’t do anything stupid along the way, like kissing her again, for instance.

I’m not going to spoil the plot by telling you how it all turns out. Suffice to say that the missing wife subplot is resolved in a satisfactory way, and ties in neatly with the melodramatic ending, which seems to be de rigueur in books of this era. The hero gets a chance to be suitably heroic, the heroine gets a chance to be suitably resourceful and there’s the most glorious proposal scene which made me laugh out loud. And everything is settled in the best possible way. A lovely traditional read that made me smile all the way through. Five stars.

Review: Georgette And The Unrequited Love by Alicia Cameron (2020)

This was a whole heap of fun. The world’s most disfunctional and embarrassing family, a heroine yearning for a man she briefly exchanged glances with two years ago, a hero yearning for a woman he almost married but discovered was not what he thought, and the house party from hell, with a cast of thousands. So much to love about this book.

Here’s the premise: Georgette Fortune is one of ten daughters of an impoverished baron. Several of them have married already, and their father is keen to be rid of the rest of them, but he’s just about given up on Georgette. At 21, she’s just about on the shelf, and although she’s had an offer or two, she’s refused them because she’s met the love of her life, Lucian, the Marquis of Onslow. They had a brief moment of understanding two years ago, when she was winding up a pompous clergyman for her own amusement, and Lord Onslow overheard and found it amusing too. For a single moment, their eyes locked and Georgette’s heart was lost. Here at last was a man who saw life as she did.

Unfortunately, having discovered this paragon, she learnt that he was deeply in love with Miss Julia White, a great beauty and the success of the season, with a troop of devoted suitors. Surely she won’t refuse Lord Onslow when he offers? But two years later, they’re still not married, and when Lord Fortune decides to hold a house party to jolly along one of the younger daughters’ suitors, both Lord Onslow and Julia White are amongst the guests. There’s also one of Georgette’s own former suitors, the very nice Sir Justin Faulkes, whose only fault, in her eyes, is that he isn’t Lord Onslow.

This is going to be a trying time for Georgette. But she can see that Lord Onslow is still taken with Julia, and that she is also interested in him, but there seems to be some constraint between them. Perhaps Georgette can solve her own problem once and for all by facilitating a reconciliation between these two seemingly star-crossed lovers? Then at least she’d be able to put it behind her. But of course it doesn’t quite work out that way…

This book is such an interesting, not to say downright quirky, mix of humour that verges on farcical together with a depth of emotion in the protagonists that is profoundly moving. Georgette, Lord Onslow and Sir Justin fall into an unusual friendship, all three of them hiding the unrequited love of the title, which leads to some fairly intense exchanges. There are also not one but two side romances, between younger sister Jocasta and Lord Paxton, heir to an earldom, the object of the whole house party, and between two of the other guests, a most unexpected pairing (which is not altogether convincing, in my view).

The farce comes from the Fortune family itself, with the baron who speaks his most crass thoughts out loud, and never considers the effects of his actions on his daughters, and a son who is taking after him. Then there are the remaining sisters, all going their own way without much guidance, and so prone to wildly inappropriate behaviour. And then there’s Castle Fortune, the crumbling medieval pile, gently silting up with dust and broken this and that. The preparations for the influx of visitors has the sisters and the harassed servants rushing round exchanging torn sheets and chipped ewers for good ones, and laying in a supply of extra eggs, and maybe an extra haunch of beef.

Now, I don’t know whether the author has ever sat down to calculate the requirements for a Regency house party, but with close to 30 guests, plus the family, plus the servants plus all those visiting servants (valets and lady’s maids, coachmen, grooms, etc) to be accommodated and fed breakfast, dinner, supper and (apparently) ‘light refreshments’ whenever they’re out playing archery. The amount of food required would be astronomical, and need an army of kitchen maids to prepare. Every time a meal was mentioned, I cringed and wondered what on earth they were eating this time. And then every guest got a bedroom to themselves, and this in a medieval castle, which was set up for communal living in the great hall and a handful of private rooms, if you were lucky, for the family. Even a large Georgian house might only have ten or a dozen bedrooms, and a really grand pile might have twenty or so.

But plausibility isn’t what this is about, and after the initial bumbling preparations and light-hearted air of a rollicking and very amusing read, we are soon plunged into a much more interesting story, where the deep and long-hidden emotions of the principals come boiling to the surface, resulting in odd encounters that ought to have been superficial and polite and instead transformed in a second into fierce quarrels that Lord Onslow and Georgette, in particular, can’t understand. Several times as things develop they find themselves licking their wounds after a particularly violent spat and wondering – what on earth just happened there?

This was all wonderful stuff, and I just loved the gradual deepening of their feelings. Beautifully done. Apart from the unreality of the logistics of the house party, I found nothing to quibble at historically. There were a very few typos, and some odd word choices, which sometimes had me scratching my head to work out what was meant. For instance: ‘One of my sisters will be with her, so do not fear for the conveniences’. Conveniences? Or conventions, maybe, or proprieties? Hard to say.

This is a quirky book, but then I love quirky. It’s also funny and surprising, both of which earn extra brownie points from me. But it’s those intense fallings out between hero and heroine, and the wonderful deep undercurrents of emotion that earn it five stars.