Mary Kingswood's Blog, page 3

Review: The Lady In The Moneylender’s Parlour by Rosanne E Lortz (2023)

Not as frothy and funny as the first in the series (The Gentleman in the Ash Tree), and more conventionally set against the backdrop of the season, but still a lovely read with two appealing romantic characters, a villainous villain, some surprisingly deep business to do with slavery and a suitably happy ending.

Here’s the premise: William Allen is in pretty miserable shape after losing a hand at Waterloo and burning through what little money he had in drink and gambling. None of which served to cheer him up. Down to his last few coins, he’s desperate enough to turn to a moneylender for help. But while waiting to see him, he encounters an old acquaintance, Margaret Blackburn, the sparky younger sister from the previous book. She’s there to raise money to pay a publisher to publish a book she’s written. Horrified, William offers to help her stay out of the moneylender’s clutches. He’ll pretend to court her to ensure her mother doesn’t whisk her away from London before she’s raised the money for the book by some other means. It means he’ll have to turn to his rich relations for help (a duke and duchess! Why ever didn’t he ask for their help before? That’s what well-connected relations are for), and he’ll have to become respectable again, but he’s sensible enough to realise that’s no bad thing.

And so they start their cunning scheme and needless to say, it quickly become obvious they’re made for each other, they just don’t realise it yet. And of course there’s the tricky business of her thinking he’s just helping her out in a gentlemanly way, and him thinking a one-handed man with no income is hardly a proper suitor for a beauty like Margaret. And into this awkward situation comes a certain Lieutenant Charles Russell. He has some history with Margaret, having made an assignation to elope with her in a previous season, which she had no intention of keeping (she slept peacefully through it). Russell was only deterred by William, who punched him on the nose when he found out about it. So Russell still wants Margaret, and also wants vengeance on William. Cue much villainous villainy.

Running in the background to all this is the issue of slavery, which was a real hot potato in the Regency. Even though slavery was illegal in Britain (and had always been so), many plantation owners and shipping magnates had made fortunes from the slave trade, but the tide was now turning in favour of the abolitionists. A lot of modern Regency authors throw in a sympathy for the abolitionists to demonstrate that their hero or heroine is a right-thinking person, but Lortz has done her homework here. Not only is the slavery issue woven into the whole plot, rather than being a throw-away line or two, but she’s also made use of real historical events to illuminate the subject. It’s very elegantly done, so kudos for that.

The hero and heroine suffer through the usual shenanigans by the villain, and overcome them in surprising (but very believable) ways before cruising to the inevitable happy ending. A thoroughly enjoyable read, with no noticeable issues to tweak my oversensitive pedantic historical accuracy meter. I missed the lightness of the previous book, however, which keeps it to a very good four stars.

Review: The Unexpected Duke by Julia Justiss (2025)

This is a book of two halves. The first half is slow as treacle, repetitive and bogged down with unnecessary detail. The second half is alive with delightful banter and the slowly burgeoning romance with a wonderful, emotional ending.

Here’s the premise: with a title like ‘The Unexpected Duke’, the plot is laid out from the very first page. Lieutenant Hartley is forced to relinquish his army career to take up the role of Duke of Fenniston after the sudden death of his cousin. He hasn’t rushed back from the continent, in case the late duke’s young wife should produce an heir. Now that hope of that possibility has gone, there’s no choice but to take up the reins of his new position. To say he’s reluctant is an understatement. He’d enjoyed the army life, but feels totally unsuited for his new responsibilities. At Steynling, he finds the sickly duchess keeping to her rooms, but her sister, the widowed Claire Hambledon, is running the house and estate, and although hostile to the upstart outsider, she’s willing to dutifully help him find his feet – and find a duchess for himself.

The central conceit of the book is laid out from the start. He accepts that he must find himself a suitable duchess, and is quite happy to let Claire help him, as well as showing him how to manage his estates. She wants him to find the right woman, but doesn’t for one moment consider that she might be the one. And yet they have the hots for each other almost from the first moment they clap eyes on each other.

And here’s the thing: how can she not be suitable, when her own sister is the current duchess? If one sister is acceptable, why on earth would the other sister not be? And this is in essence the only obstacle to the romance. Frankly, it’s silly.

I confess that the transition from sort of enemies (even if quivering with lust) to very friendly indeed is nicely handled. The first half of the book is heavy with details of the estate management which frankly I found tedious. We really did not need to know the names of all the tenants and the stories of their lives. It was especially tedious since Claire seems to know everything there is to know about them, down to the name of the smallest infant and the crops yields and the whole nine yards, and Hart is the typical perfect new overlord, kindly and generous and sympathetic and a very fast learner. Yawn.

But then things get a bit hot and heavy and although they pull back from the brink, Hart decides to make a running joke of their attraction, and so the second half of the book lightens up considerably. Happily the move to London for the season and duchess hunting is skipped over with a light touch, and eventually Hart realises they have to be together. And then she won’t have him, and so he becomes truly the hero with a glorious and truly romantic ending that shows he’s finally understood her.

I don’t recall whether there’s any sex in the book, but there is some fairly graphic lusting all the way through. I don’t have many criticisms of the writing, apart from a number of minor Americanisms (like ‘go do’ instead of ‘go and do’), trivial stuff, and some missing words that a final edit should have picked up. There are a couple of oddities, though. The main house switches from Steynling Cross to Steynling Hall and back again randomly, and the book is set in 1813 (written explicitly at the opening chapter, and confirmed by historical events), but the blurb says 1830s. That’s just careless.

Still, I enjoyed it and would have given it five stars if not for the dull patches in the first half and that silly assumption that the sister of the current duchess isn’t suitable duchess material. But a good four stars.

Review: For Duty, Love and Honour by Jenny Hambly (2025)

A new Jenny Hambly book is always a joy to read, with endearing characters, an intricate plot, just the right degree of mystery versus romance, and a beautifully realised Regency world. I’m loving this series with its heroines with a traumatic past hiding away from the world and gradually finding a new way forward.

Here’s the premise: Anne Huxley is in hiding at Ashwick Hall under the auspices of Lady Westcliffe, who provides a home both for orphans and for ladies suffering from the travails of a difficult life. She provides a safe haven until they are ready to face the world again, albeit still in hiding, perhaps. For Anne, her opportunity comes when a naval captain advertises for a governess. Anne travels to London for an interview, competing against many other potential governesses, among them an elderly lady, Miss Burdock.

Captain Edward Turner has braved many dangers at sea, but when his mentor dies and bequeaths him an estate and he takes on the two neglected and wild daughters of a fellow naval man, he’s completely lost. He has no idea how to manage the estate, and a succession of governesses make no headway with the two children. So he decides to let them be part of the selection process for the next governess. But that brings a quandary, for they like the kindly Miss Burdock, while he prefers the coolly ladylike Mrs Huxley. But when Miss Burdock falls victim to a pickpocket and looks to be near destitution, Anne has a novel solution – why not two governesses, splitting the salary between them?

I have to say, I really like this idea, which is one I’ve never encountered before. For Anne, it gives her protection in what is a bachelor household, the children get twice the attention, and Miss Burdock is saved from the workhouse. Needless to say, the wild children respond quickly to Anne’s firm insistence on good manners and Miss Burdock’s kindliness, and Edward responds to some of Anne’s other qualities. I liked that he found her rather too cool at first, despite being an excellent governess, but as he comes to know her better and sees her in more challenging situations, he comes to admire her in a very different way. And she follows a similar process, finding him a dour, reserved man, but soon learning to appreciate his resourcefulness.

Running in the background is the mystery part of the story, both Anne’s history and also some mysterious goings on in Edward’s naval career, too. I confess I’m a little uneasy about the theme of slavery and abolition which drives some elements of the plot. It’s conventional in modern Regencies that heroes and heroines are against the slave trade, and only villains support it. It’s too easy, perhaps, for modern authors to use slavery as a quick signal of a good or bad character without really engaging with the subject meaningfully. In reality, it was a lot more nuanced than that, with strong voices on both sides. Happily, Hambly brings some depth to the subject by describing the naval engagements to take slave trading ships and release their captives.

As always with this series, the heroine’s past blows up in spectacular fashion, with a surprising revelation and a fairly dramatic confrontation, allowing both hero and heroine to display their courage. There are quite a few loose ends to be tied up in the final chapter, followed by a sweet romantic finale. Another excellent entry in this series. Five stars.

Review: Mrs Merritt’s Remorse by Christina Dudley (2025)

For the first quarter or so of the book, I wondered if this was going to be that rare creature – a Dudley book that falls short of five stars. But no, as always she pulls it off with aplomb, and a little help with the happy ending from that most amiable of barons, Lord Dere.

Here’s the premise: in book 1, Barstow daughter Jane made a terrible mistake, by eloping to marry a man who was handsome and charming and everything that was desirable, but also unreliable. When his aunt, from whom he expected to inherit, cuts him off without a penny, he ends up in the Fleet debtors’ prison. Happily (I suppose) he died there, too, leaving Jane to return home a broken woman, widowed and disgraced. For two years, she’s hidden herself away at the Barstows’ grace-and-favour cottage, venturing forth only to church.

But then comes a change. The vicar needs to go away to recover his health, so he installs a temporary curate in his place, and wouldn’t you just know it, but Philip Egerton is handsome and vibrant, a thoroughly good man who’s everything that Jane’s husband wasn’t. The arrival of Philip and his sister Cassandra is the spark which gets Jane back into the world again, which is a good thing, and there’s an obvious spark of attraction between them, too. But frankly the early chapters, featuring a rash of coincidental encounters, sometimes literally bumping into each other and edging into outright farce, are all a bit too silly for me, and Philip comes across at this point as a bit of a sanctimonious twit (or ‘parsonish’, as one character calls him). Not a particularly appealing hero.

Fortunately, Jane is everything that’s endearing, and the Barstow family is its usual rumbustious and totally loyal self. Dudley writes wonderful families, and here’s another one which is a joy to be allowed to mingle with. And into this setting arrives a character who is not endearing at all, the irritating, flirtatious and entitled Mr Beck, who singles Jane out at once as the target of his tomfoolery, and it never once crosses his mind that his attentions might be unwelcome. After all, she’s a disgraced woman, so she’ll be grateful for any man who’ll have her, on whatever terms, won’t she?

Philip also has an alternative love interest, in the delectable person of the very beautiful Miss Hynde, only eighteen years old but featuring very firmly in his future plans. His fellowship from Oxford (achieved), a curacy (achieved), a living, in time, and then… marriage to Miss Hynde. And somehow, his self-knowledge not being very great, it never crosses his mind that his infatuation with Miss H is wearing off and a certain widow is featuring more prominently in his thoughts.

The two dance around each other for virtually the whole book, with the scoundrelly Mr Beck causing mayhem, and both Philip and Jane behaving with less than gentlemanly/ladylike restraint. There are some fun side characters (I love the gossipy Mrs Lamb at the inn!), Dudley’s trademark quotations on every chapter and thank heavens for a book that’s genuinely funny!

I must also add a modest paean of praise for the timid baron, Lord Dere, who appears to be thoroughly henpecked by his widowed sister-in-law, Mrs Markham Dere, but rises to the occasion beautifully when honour and justice demand it. He’s a bit of a plot device, parachuted in to resolve tricky problems, but I love the fact that he’s so different from the usual run of lords in Regencies, who tend to be arrogant, aggressive, randy or grumpy.

Everything is resolved satisfactorily at the end, albeit with another coincidence, but Dudley seems to specialise in those, so I won’t quibble. And I loved Philip’s explosion in the inn yard – a moment to savour. Another great read, highly literate and intelligent, and with (shock horror!) a bit of a moral to it, if lightly made. An excellent five stars.

Review: The Gentleman in the Ash Tree by Rosanne E Lortz (2023)

A charming and sweet novella, too short in many ways, but a delightful read.

Here’s the premise: Eloise Blackburn is helping her young sister fly her kite when the pesky thing gets lodged in an ash tree. Eloise is persuaded to discard her shoes and stockings and climb the tree to retrieve it, but there’s a catch – a strange man is already aloft, hidden in the leafy canopy of the tree. He claims to be a cousin of the neighbouring Allen family, from the West Indies, called Crispin, but Eloise has never heard of him. However, her parents, it transpires, recognise him as the son of the eldest Allen brother, James, who was disinherited years ago. All he was left in his father’s will was a chest and the contents thereof. He’s come back to England now that his father has died to claim the inheritance, but the Allen family deny all knowledge of him.

So the mystery is laid out clearly – where is this mysterious chest? And why are the Allens so keen to disclaim all knowledge of their cousin? But alongside the mystery is the romance between Eloise and the flirtatious Crispin. The blurb describes him as ‘cheeky’, but actually he’s more than that, and Eloise is immediately smitten. It appears he’s equally smitten with her – or is he? Maybe he’s just amusing himself with a little light flirtation before disappearing back to the West Indies?

There isn’t much more to say about this, because frankly the book is too short to develop the characters beyond their initial positions, and the romance comes to the boil far too quickly for my taste. But I loved Crispin and his outrageous behaviour, completely understood why Eloise fell for him (I would have done too, like a shot) and only wished he had been a bit more open about some aspects of his history that caused his lady love some unnecessary grief. But then there would have been even less of a story without it, so never mind.

A lovely read from a new-to-me author. Five stars.

Review: Miss Vincent’s Vow by Rachel Knowles (2024)

An interesting read by a new-to-me author, with a terrific premise, a lot of misunderstandings and miscommunications, and some difficult family situations, which I read avidly.

Here’s the premise: Cassandra Vincent’s rector father has died leaving her destitute, and her brother is away at sea. In desperation, she advertises for a position as a companion. Only one person replies – merchant Jethro Hunt, who wants to impress his investor by being more adept socially, so he needs a genteel wife. He offers her a business deal – a marriage of convenience, nothing more, if she will help him move in society. Cassandra prefers marriage, even if it’s not a love match, to the alternatives. Because she’s about to be thrown out of the rectory by the incoming resident, they marry immediately.

Now, this is a wonderful situation – two people who know very little about each other, thrown together by circumstance, and inching their way towards an accommodation. Things are bound to be a bit rocky, and so they are, not helped by the fact that they both continually make assumptions about what the other wants, and don’t think to simply ask. How hard would it be? Quite hard, apparently.

To make things more difficult, there’s a stepsister, Julia, who’s taken a different route, working as a teacher at the local school until a suitable husband comes along, and then there’s Eugenia, who was betrothed to Cassandra’s brother, Alexander, but abandoned him when a better offer came along, having now married Jethro’s business rival, Mr Frampton.

Eugenia is a real piece of work, who is unspeakably rude to Cassandra in her own house, and Cassandra, who sometimes has all the gumption of a wet noodle, simply sits there and takes it with very little pushback. Now, this is an overtly Christian book, so there’s an element of turning the other cheek, but when someone is insinuating, and not very subtly, that the hasty wedding was for suspicious reasons, I’d have thought a more robust response is called for. It’s possible to do that without being nasty, surely?

And then there’s Alexander himself, who is less than well-behaved. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the Christian tone regarding these less than admirable characters – the flighty Julia, the rude and avaricious Eugenia and the sneering, selfish Xander. The strong implication is – if only they followed more Christian principles like Cassandra and Jethro, they’d be good people. But Eugenia and Xander aren’t so much unChristian or immoral as downright bad-mannered, and Jethro, for all the time he spends praying, isn’t a great advert for Christian charity. He far too often comes across as grumpy, and he jumps to wrong, and very negative, conclusions about Cassandra all the time.

And this is my main complaint about the book. Jethro and Cassandra are constantly at cross purposes because they simply won’t talk to each other. Something happens, they see the other’s reaction and they promptly misinterpret it. It’s maddening. I wanted to bang their heads together so many times. They know very little about each other, so it’s not unreasonable to say, ‘Is it all right if I…?’ now and then. And they keep circling round the marriage of convenience business. Why not simply say, ‘Look, I know what we agreed, but if ever you want to change that, I’m willing. And if not, that’s fine, too.’ You know, talk to each other, like sensible adults.

And despite all that, I devoured the book in no time. There’s some nice business at the end with Mr Wade, Jethro’s backer, which turned out to be more complicated than I’d expected, and a big, dramatic finale to resolve the romance. A beautifully written book free from typos and Americanisms. I noticed a couple of historical quibbles. Angst is a twentieth century word, and male cooks were very rare (and expensive!) in the Regency. Otherwise, a great read (apart from all those misunderstandings). Four stars.

Review: The Viscount’s Pearl by Melissa Addey (2025)

Another awesome read, slightly marred by a few issues, but Addey really knows how to create fascinating, unique and yet totally believable characters.

Here’s the premise: Frances Lilley is about to embark on her fourth season, to the despair of her parents. She’s just too different to ‘take’, but she doesn’t mind. All she wants is to be left alone to collect shells and use their unique beauty to decorate her home. If it were up to her, she’d settle happily for spinsterhood and a house of her own near the sea. Laurence Mowatt is the consummate man about town, socially adept and taking advantage of his freedom to enjoy discreet liaisons with married women. As the heir to a viscountcy through his mother—

Wait. Let’s talk about that. Laurence’s uncle (his mother’s brother) is a viscount, and somehow Laurence in his heir, both to his fortune (which is fine) and his title (which is problematic). There are titles inherited through the female line, but mainly in Scotland. In England, it’s so vanishingly rare that it really ought to be explained. And no, the uncle can’t choose who inherits the title. That was cast in stone at the time the title was created, and can’t be changed. But the whole book is built around the title he’s going to inherit, so let it pass.

Anyway, as the heir to a viscountcy from his uncle, and also to his father’s estate, he’s a very desirable match for ambitious mothers and their daughters. He knows he ought to marry, and he’s decided he will do it soon, but he’s not hanging out for a love match. A marriage of convenience will do him very well, and he’s even picked out his future wife, Lady Honoria.

But his benevolent uncle has other plans for him, plotting a little to throw him into the way of his god-daughter, Frances. The two meet at Lord Barrington’s house at Margate, in Kent, where Frances is spending her days happily shell-gathering. At first, she won’t look him in the eye and is monosyllabic, but as they spend more time together he discovers that she’s intelligent and articulate, with a refreshingly honest approach to life.

This part of the book is delightful, as Frances gradually learns that not all young men are worthless fools, and Laurence gradually learns that not all young ladies are simpering imbeciles. But the season beckons, and they both return to the fray, she in increasing despondency and he growing tired of the endless games. Even a house party with an array of suitable young men and the chance for more meaningful interaction than a dance at a ball produces no offers. In despair, her parents accept an offer for her from sixty-year-old Lord Hosmer, who promises to tame her, forcibly if need be. In desperation, she writes to Laurence, offering herself for his marriage of convenience, if only he will rescue her from horrible Lord Hosmer. Which he agrees to, and they have one day of happiness at Margate before Lord Barrington dies and everything changes.

And this is where the book goes off the rails for me. Laurence bundles Frances off back to London and her parents and sets about the business of being the new Lord Barrington, which takes him weeks. And in all that time, he doesn’t write to Frances, doesn’t send word to her, doesn’t write to her father to explain his intentions, doesn’t put a notice of the betrothal in the papers. No, just no. Here’s a nice bloke, shaping up nicely as hero material, drifting away from his hedonistic life, happy to be marrying Frances, in love with her, even, yet he can’t write her a single letter? Even if he thinks she only wants a marriage of convenience, surely he would have at least told her what he was up to, and given her some idea of his plans? Wouldn’t he have wanted to write to have the pleasure of her writing back to him?

So I can’t believe in the slightest in this new, thoughtless Laurence. Of course, it ratchets up the tension enormously, in case she gets dragooned into marrying horrible Lord Hosmer, but it is just too implausible for me.

There’s one other implausibility that also grated on me, in that when Frances finally gains a house of her own, she’s allowed to live there alone. No unmarried woman would be so unconventional as to live alone. She should have had a married woman or a respectable older spinster to protect her reputation.

However, all comes right in the end, inevitably, and if there were a few bumps in the road, these latter troubles were entirely character driven and therefore believable. I loved Laurence’s efforts to please Frances, even if he sometimes got it wrong. Probably it would have been better just to ask her what she wanted, but they were lovely romantic gestures, so I can’t quibble over that. There is some sex in the book, and some misunderstandings along the way, resolved in what sounded like a pretty uncomfortable way.

Normally, the problems that worried me would knock the book back to three stars, but Addey is such an awesome writer that I couldn’t do it. Frances is so beautifully drawn as an autistic character, Laurence is (apart from that one lapse) a wonderful hero, Lord Barrington, with his fascinating but delicately sketched history, is a charming matchmaker, and an honourable mention for Margate and its beaches, a character in its own right. And it’s a pleasure to read a book free of typos and Americanisms. So four stars it is.

Review: Lady For A Season by Melissa Addey (2024)

This is possibly the most unusual Regency romance I’ve ever read. It sounds seriously unworkable, but although I had a few issues with it, overall the author does a magnificent job overcoming the inherent implausibilities for one of the most resounding characters arcs ever.

Here’s the premise: Maggie was left at a foundling hospital as a baby by her mother, raised in the strict atmosphere there to be a useful and hard-working member of society. At the age of twenty, she’s taken to a cottage many miles away where her job will be to act as ‘companion’ to a lunatic, confined there by his family for his own good. Edward is a quiet, nervous young man, not much older than Maggie, but as she encourages him to enjoy himself a little, even to play (the inevitable snowball fight), he begins to open up a little and she begins to wonder whether he’s really mad or whether his withdrawn nature and nightmares are merely symptoms of some traumatic experiences.

Every two months, a doctor comes to administer ‘treatment’ to Edward, which is described in graphic and horrifying detail. The author’s note at the end assures the reader that everything described was actually used at the time. We can only be thankful that medicine has moved on since those benighted times.

But then comes disruption. Edward is a son of the Duke of Buckingham, and now that his father and elder brother are both dead, he’s taken back to his home of Atherton Park to be groomed for the London season, where he is to marry and sire an heir or two. His mother insists on his compliance, but he insists on having Maggie, the only person who ever cared for him, by his side during a process he finds terrifying. So Maggie is to be dressed in finery and put through the season, too, masquerading as an impoverished distant cousin, and the few months before then are spent preparing both of them to appear in society.

There’s a huge amount of detail of the preparations – the clothes, the dancing master, the art master, the learning about cutlery, even the choosing of ribbons. Frankly there was way too much of this for my taste, and it could have been summarised in a couple of paragraphs, but if you ever wanted to know exactly what a lady needs for the season, this is the book for you.

So off we go to London, first for the Little Season in the autumn (which to my understanding wasn’t a thing, but never mind) and then for the main season from Easter onwards. The author has them returning to London very early in the year purely (I suspect) so she can take the main characters for a day at the Frost Fair, when the Thames was so ice-bound that all sorts of stalls and entertainments took place on it. To be honest, while interesting, I didn’t think this added much to the story.

Thus to the season proper, where Edward is hounded to the limits of his endurance and beyond by ambitious girls and their mothers keen to catch a duke, and Maggie becomes a success, too. And no one seems to guess that she’s not really aristocracy, not even lower gentry, but a working class girl. This is the point where I have to grit my teeth, because the difference in accent would be huge and not easy to overcome, even with a great deal of training, but I didn’t see any mention of it. Well, Maggie is a bit of a Cinderella, so let’s just go with the flow.

All the while, there’s the dark threat hanging over Edward that if he doesn’t do as he’s told, he’ll be locked away again, and this time forever. If he complies, he’ll still live a restricted life but he’ll have some freedom. So he goes along with it for that little sliver of hope, and Maggie helps him. So even though the two have clearly fallen in love, they’re terrified to do anything about it, thinking that Edward’s mother and his doctor have all the power. The moment when he breaks free, realising that – he’s a duke! He can do whatever he wants! – is absolutely glorious, and makes this book truly special.

A few minor quibbles. Side-saddles with twin pommels were a Victorian invention, as were dance cards (although the paper fan style sounds charming). I was also uncomfortable with using a real duke’s title. The author explains that the Duke of Buckingham’s title is now extinct, and was so during the Regency, which is true, but there were real Duke’s of Buckingham both before and after, so it seems cheeky to me. It’s not hard to make up a name. Still, kudos for pointing out that there were fewer than thirty non-royal dukes at the time. Not a lot of people know that, and if you read much Regency romance, you’d be forgiven for thinking there were thousands of them. There’s one gratuitous and totally implausible sex scene, although tasteful rather than graphic.

But none of this made much difference. I loved the original characters (a lunatic and a foundling! How many authors would even dare?), I loved the slow-build romance, I loved seeing Edward ever so slowly becoming the self-confident young man he was destined to be. I also loved the free-spirited Lady Honoria, and hope she turns up in a later book. And oh the joy of a book free from typos and Americanisms. Highly recommended. Five stars.

Review: Lady Lisa’s Luck by Anne Barbour (1993)

This was recommended by Lady Catherine’s Salon member Rabia Bawany in a Sunday Review, and I found it an absorbing read, even though I wanted to bang the principals’ heads together at times. Would it hurt to talk to each other, people?

Here’s the premise: Lady Elizabeth Rushlake is an unusual Regency lady, for she has a little hobby of dabbling in stocks and shares, which she takes far more seriously than her expected role of finding a husband. She dominates her mother and younger sister, and is altogether not the usual submissive female. But there’s a reason for that. Six years ago, she fell deeply in love with Chadwick Lockridge, and would have married him, except that foul rumours about him drove him away to India and broke her heart. But one day she’s shaken to discover that Chad has moved into the house next door, and is set on re-establishing himself in society. She’s determined not to be drawn in again, and he seems indifferent to her now. Perhaps she should settle down with long-standing friend and admirer Giles Daventry? But then rumours start to circulate about Chad again and things get decidedly murky.

This is not the sort of book where the villain is revealed in the final chapter. We know his identity from a very early stage, so the only surprise is how long it takes Liza to cotton on. Meanwhile, Chad and Lisa are circling warily round each other, veering from icy disdain to passionate kisses and all points in between. Since we see into both characters’ heads, we know right from the start that they both harbour feelings for the other, and they both feel betrayed by the other. It’s a classic case of a misunderstanding that could have been cleared up in five minutes over a cup of tea, but no, it gets dragged out for the whole book. I accept that they were both very young when the first break-up happened, but surely their older and wiser selves could have been more sensible?

If the main romance is slightly lacking in the common sense department, there’s an array of minor characters to lighten the mix. Liza’s lively younger sister Charity was fun to watch, although she had her own outbreak of stupidity. And Chad’s oddball collection of servants and informers who helped him track down the villain were a delightful bunch of eccentrics. At least one of them turns up in another book, so I’ll have to look that up.

The finale is suitably dramatic even if not very original (shenanigans at Vauxhall’s? Who would have thought it?), and the romance (in fact all the romances, because there are several) end in resounding fashion. This is the first Anne Barbour I’ve read, but I shall certainly be looking out for more of her work. There are lots of minor typos that probably result from careless digitisation, but they were only a minor irritant. An unusual and intriguing read. Four stars.

Review: A Dangerous Affair by Judith Hale Everett (2024)

I’ve loved everything this author’s published, so I knew this was a safe bet. It’s a wonderful read, literate and engaging, with a plot that’s never predictable. Some reviewers find the heroine unlikable, but I found her fascinating and totally believable.

Here’s the premise: Clara Mantell is the daughter of an unredeemed rake and sister to another, and has learnt that men are despicable, untrustworthy creatures, and she will never submit herself in marriage to one. Steadfast, honourable men like neighbour Lawrence Simpford hold no attractions for her. Instead, she plays her own game with rakish men, charming them into falling in love with her in order to break their hearts and teach them a lesson. But that can be a dangerous game for a woman, even one so resourceful and self-sufficient as Clara.

No, Clara’s not really an admirable character, but with her family history it’s unlikely she would grow up to be a simpering, demure miss. Her weak mother is no help, although having recently married a good man (was this in an earlier book? I don’t remember) she’s beginning to make better decisions about her friends. But she has no influence over Clara, who sets out to entice two of the most notorious rakes into her web, confident that she can best them.

And Lawrie, poor love-lorn Lawrie, tries his best to protect her or at least to rescue her when she gets into real trouble, and gets nothing but contempt for his pains. The two have some spectacular blow-ups, and it’s only when Clara feels that she’s lost Lawrie’s friendship for ever that she begins to appreciate and realise how necessary he is to her comfort.

Meanwhile, her efforts to keep control of her two rakes are beginning to unravel, and things take a decided turn for the worse. The finale is pretty dramatic stuff, and although it gets a little bit over the top, with more than one ‘just when you thought it was all over’ moment along the way, it’s very readable.

Clara might be a hard-hearted flirt, but the banter between her and her rakish admirers is wonderful, I loved the determined way Clara managed to get her own way so often, and Lawrie made a terrific hero. Three cheers for stepfather Mr Noyce, too, who exerted some subtle influence on Clara. I almost knocked off a star for that melodramatic ending, but the writing is so wonderful that I didn’t have the heart to do it, so five stars it is.