Mary Kingswood's Blog

A strange book, with some very unsettling mood changes, intermingling light-hearted banter with much more serious matters. Very enjoyable, despite that, although I wish the author had lightened the mood somewhat at the end.

Here’s the premise: Onyx Hamilton and her twin brother Gerald were abandoned at birth on the steps of a parsonage. The parson took them in and raised them, but when he died and his wife made a somewhat better (ie higher ranked) marriage, the foundlings became unwanted, especially as Mama now had a daughter of her own, Amethyst, who’s as spoilt and pampered as Onyx is neglected. Bit of a Cinderella vibe at this point.

In adulthood, Gerald joins the army and dies (the first of the downer moments that infest the book). Onyx is disposed of by the expectation that when a slimy parson proposes, she will accept him. Onyx has survived her miserable life by doing exactly as she’s told, so accept him she does. She’s dispatched to the parsonage which needs to be renovated before they can marry and move into it, and she’s expected to do all the work. In the meantime, she’ll have the reluctant support of the local big cheese, Lady Bagshott.

What I’ve written so far sounds fairly straightforward, doesn’t it? But very little of it was spelled out so clearly. A little more exposition would have been a great help in working out who was related to whom and to what degree. For instance, it wasn’t at all clear to me for a long time that the Lady Daggett who was so hard on Onyx was her adoptive mother, or that Amethyst was effectively her sister.

The journey to the parsonage is where things go off the rails, for the carriage suffers a breakdown, and when the coachman goes off to fetch help, Onyx and her maid are attacked by highwaymen. Of course they are, for how can there be a self-respecting Regency novel of this vintage that doesn’t have at least one highwayman, kidnapping or elopement? Or sometimes all three.

Happily, the ladies are rescued by the hero arriving in the nick of time, because of course he does. He and Onyx see off the robbers, but our hero, Major Jack Beresford, is wounded in the altercation. Of course he is (because this book is a positive trope-fest).

So it’s off to the nearest farm for some recuperation, and this is the weirdest journey imaginable, and the point where the story can’t make up its mind whether it wants to be a tragedy or a farce. Jack has been losing blood fast and he’s drifting in and out of consciousness, but whenever he happens to be awake, he’s bantering and downright flirting with Onyx, and not in a gritted-teeth, distracting himself from the pain sort of way, either. For two minutes, he’s as light-hearted as if he were in a ballroom, the next moment he’s swooned clean away again. It’s very peculiar, and frankly, downright unsettling.

This odd mood roller-coaster continues for several days at the farm, where one moment Onyx and Jack are making up false, but very funny, background stories (they’re a married couple with a three-year-old child, apparently) to satisfy the prudish farmer’s wife, the next Onyx is fishing bone fragments out of Jack’s wound.

But then Onyx’s slimy parson turns up, prepared to be outraged but is sweet-talked into allowing Onyx to take Jack off to Lady Bagshott for recuperation. From here on, the romance becomes a little bit more conventional. Jack gets serious and proposes, Onyx throws over her slimy parson and … wait a minute, no she doesn’t, she turns Jack down. Now, seriously, why would she… why would any rational woman turn him down? He’s cute, he’s fun, he loves her… oh yes, and his brother is a marquis (which he forgot to mention) so no shortage of money. It’s madness. There seem to be no real issues, except for the whole ‘I’m not worthy’ thing. Sigh.

The odd thing (OK, another odd thing) is that Jack doesn’t fight her decision at all. He simply accepts it, so although the title of the book is ‘Summer Campaign’, and you’d expect that to be Jack’s campaign to win Onyx, he really does very little in that line. I won’t say he’s entirely passive, but he never really fights for her (as a hero should, in my opinion).

The latter part of the book is another huge downer, and even the banter is lacking at this point. To be honest, I might have given up at this point, except that I really wanted to see how the two would get together in the end – whether Jack would become all manly or whether Onyx would realise what she was throwing away. And I also hoped for an upbeat ending for the huge downer, because frankly I couldn’t quite see the point of all the misery. Romances are supposed to be light-hearted froth, after all.

There are a few Americanisms scattered about – bay rum, for instance, and visit with and we don’t have grackles in England. Nor could you get a special licence from Leeds, or anywhere but Doctors’ Commons, London. And Jack, as the son of a marquis, should properly be addressed as Major Lord John Beresford, or Lord John, but he never was. None of this bothered me overmuch. I wavered between three and four stars, but in the end I enjoyed it pretty well, so four stars it is. But don’t read it if you’re already feeling a bit down.

A charming tale that’s fairly predictable, but no worse for that. I’m not sure that the rather arm-wavy attitude to war wounds passes muster in this day and age (this book is close to fifty years old!) but I was grateful to be spared too many of the gory details.

Here’s the premise: Captain Henry (Harry) Thorne is fighting Napoleon when he learns that he’s become the Sixth Earl of Thornbury. There’s just one problem – his final battle leaves him so injured that he loses one leg, which, combined with the vagaries of war, means that it’s some time before he returns to England, and all he wants is to retreat to his most remote estate and hide away from the world. Meanwhile, in London, his relations are hoping he’s dead, but until that’s certain, they can’t claim the estate and their debts are growing. The only answer is to marry their ward, Nell Beldon, to the nearest rich suitor. But she’s a spirited (ie flighty) soul, and she ditches him – her third jilting! Her guardians despatch her to a distant estate until she’s prepared to do their bidding.

Well, there could be any number of remote estates owned by the family, but naturally the two end up at the same one, where Nell finds the family taking care of the house strangely reluctant to welcome them. In fact, they’d be very pleased if they’d just turn round and go back to London, because after all, they wouldn’t want to stay in a haunted house, would they?

Nell would, actually, and when she’s treated to clanking chains and ghostly apparitions at midnight, she’s by turns amused, intrigued and then curious. Who is this mysterious ghost? It’s not a spoiler to reveal the answer – it’s in the blurb, after all. The ghost is none other than Harry Thorne, so keen to be left in peace that he’s prepared to drive his unwanted visitors away. Nell tumbles to it pretty quickly, and sets about convincing the reluctant earl to take up his rightful place in society. He isn’t convinced, but all those intimate midnight conversations, where the normal bounds of propriety seem not to apply, have had their usual effect, and the two are well on the way to falling in love.

But there’s a wrinkle. Before he went off to war, Harry was sort of (but not quite) betrothed to a very respectable girl, and Nell knows that she’s still not married or even betrothed. She’s waiting for her hero to return, and Harry really needs to do the honourable thing and see her again, missing leg or no missing leg. And so the second part of the book leaves behind the charming Cornish setting and becomes a more conventional Regency in London, where both Nell and Harry wrestle with their consciences and their feelings.

The resolutions to these knotty problems are totally in keeping with their characters, and (in Harry’s case) delightfully original. A lovely romance, an unusual premise, beautifully written (albeit with a few Americanisms) and a thoroughly enjoyable read. A good four stars.

Possibly only a three star in some ways, but I was in the mood to overlook its flaws and just enjoy the romp. Nothing special, in a lot of ways, but a good comfort read.

Here’s the premise: It’s almost Christmas, and Colonel Nick Morgan is returning from the wars to his uncle’s home. His uncle is elderly, frail and a bit gaga, and Nick is his heir presumptive. Soon he’ll inherit, so what he needs is a wife, right? And who better than his childhood friend, the rather lovely Jane Ramsey. The ladies of the house are confident that’s what he’ll do. Jane herself isn’t so sure. Even so, it’s a shock when Nick turns up with a very lovely and very immature future wife on his arm. Aurelia is the daughter of a brewer, very rich, very spoilt, very town-bred and entirely unsuitable for country boy Nick.

At first, he makes allowances for her and assumes they’ll learn to accommodate each other’s wishes, but when her vulgar relatives arrive, and he sees Jane being the focus of attention from two other men, he begins to realise he’s made a dreadful mistake. The way he contrives to escape his now unwanted betrothal with his honour intact (because a gentleman does not jilt a lady) is certainly creative, and I’m not going to spoil the surprise by saying anything about it. In fact, this is just about the only surprise in the entire book, since everything else is telegraphed in very large letters. There are also a fair sprinkling of anachronisms and the like – Aurelia is called a fiancee throughout, for instance, a term not in use at this time.

Despite all of this, the book is a lot of fun, Nick’s little plan is clever and there are some very entertaining characters, like the slightly potty uncle, the vulgar relations and the indolent friend who half-heartedly courts Jane. An enjoyable if not outstanding read. Four stars.

A terrific read, the first book for ages that’s had me so spellbound that everything else got neglected so that I could carry on reading. One of those tales with such an arresting premise that you just have to know how it all works out.

Here’s the premise: Genevra (Jan) Hazeldine is toppling headfirst into perpetual spinsterhood at the age of twenty-eight. She’s had innumerable offers and rejected all of them, but there’s one she can’t forget – her first, to Max, the Marquis of Ollenshaw. He was a rake who seemingly couldn’t change his ways even when he was in love with Jan, so she jilted him but she just can’t forget him. Instead she buries herself in her music, being a talented violinist. When her young cousin tells her she’s betrothed and invites her to the wedding in Bath, Jan is delighted to accept, only to discover with horror that Belinda’s betrothed is none other than Max.

Now this is a wonderful situation, with faint echoes of Heyer’s Bath Tangle (but almost every modern Regency has echoes of Heyer – she invented all the tropes, after all). The difference here is that Max behaves far better than Rotherham did. At no point does he try to cry off from his engagement. He talks sensibly to Jan, agrees to keep their prior betrothal from Belinda, at least for a while, does his best to keep Jan, if not at arm’s length, then at least not to pay her too much public attention, and plays the complaisant suitor to Belinda. And Jan, too, behaves well.

Naturally, such a situation can’t last, and the author dreams up a spectacular way for them to betray their feelings. From there on, things become increasingly unstable and reach a resolution without any machinations from the main characters. Along the way, there are two minor romances to enjoy.

For the pedantic (like me) there are a fair few Americanisms that slipped in, but I was enjoying the story too much to care. There are some questionable plot issues, too. For instance, Max is said not to like music at all initially, yet he attends a musical evening where he is entranced by Jan’s violin playing. And then, after he jilts her, they don’t meet again for eight years – how on earth did he manage that, when they moved in the same very limited circles? Surely they must have bumped into each other at some point?

But none of that troubled my enjoyment of the book. Highly recommended. Five stars.

Another good mystery for the Petterils to solve in this, the eighth book in this series. There are still problems for the couple, a predictable twist and one niggling issue for me that spoilt my enjoyment somewhat.

Here’s the premise: a small baby is dumped on the Petterils’ doorstep. Whose is it, and why was it left there? The natural assumption is that it’s a by-blow of Piers’, but he denies it. His relations, disapproving of April, suggest maybe it’s hers until Piers points out the discrepancy in age and timing. So the search is on to find the mother… or the father, possibly. The mystery proceeds with some neat twists and turns, leading to a satisfactory resolution. I liked this part of the book very much.

The other element involves April getting broody (not unexpectedly) but seemingly she believes she can’t have children, and she’s discussed this with Piers before they married. Now this really bothered me. I’ve read the whole series to date, and I don’t recall any such discussion. Well, my memory’s not the best, so maybe I’ve just forgotten, but I spent quite a bit of time trawling through previous books looking for any reference to this, only to come up empty-handed. Now this shouldn’t matter, but when something is presented as having occurred earlier, and it’s something so important (Piers is a viscount, after all, so an heir might be important to him), I’d expect it to be memorable… or at least findable. I’m afraid that every time the subject arose, I was so cross that it became very distracting. I’d love to know whether I just missed the earlier discussion or whether it actually wasn’t there.

But that aside, this is another good read, which would have been five stars but for that annoying niggle. So four stars it is.

I found this book hard to read because although it’s book 2 of the series, it parallels and interweaves with the plot of book 1 extensively. That book focused on Lord Kendall and Mrs Audeley, whereas this book is primarily about Gyles Audeley and Lady Louisa Lymington, but the first half is the same meeting of Lord Kendall’s family with the Audeleys and their trip to London, with many of the same scenes, just viewed from a different perspective. I found this quite unsettling to read, spending far too much time trying to work out which were the new bits. But then the second half of the book has problems of its own.

Here’s the premise: Lady Louisa Lymington is a wealthy heiress who will come into her inheritance when she’s twenty-one, in just a few months’ time. Her uncle and guardian, however, has a cunning plan to relieve his own pecuniary difficulties by marrying her to his unsavoury pal, who will then slip him a share of the proceeds. Louisa isn’t going to tamely submit to that, so she runs away to Yorkshire, to be governess to the Earl of Kendall’s wards. When Lord Kendall whisks the eldest off to London to be brought out into society, Louisa and the younger girls are also sent for, and thus she returns to the precise place where she least wants to be, in case she is recognised and forced to return to her uncle.

But on the journey south, Lord Kendall has acquired company in the form of Mrs Audeley and her son Gyles. Louisa finds herself powerfully drawn to Gyles, even though she’s forced to avoid him (and everyone!) as much as possible. And when she is inevitably discovered by her uncle and forced to bolt again, it’s Gyles who insists on accompanying her, disguised as a footman, all the way to Paris.

Now, this is the point where I fell out with the book. I like a resourceful heroine as much as the next reader, but I honestly can’t believe in one who sets out to travel to Paris – alone! And set up house there – alone! And finances herself with a small fortune in jewels. No. Just no. Even speaking fluent French and carrying a pistol (and knowing how to use it), I just found it all too implausible for words. And she’s not even particularly grateful to poor, long-suffering Gyles, who stays by her side through thick and thin.

Gyles himself is a lovely hero, and perhaps if there’d been a bit more spark between them, this book could have been redeemed. Sadly, it’s only at the very end that the romance fires up properly, and although it’s nicely done, and there’s a bit of melodrama at the end to liven things up, it was all too late for me.

I don’t know, maybe I’m just in the wrong sort of mood for this sort of frivolity, but whereas book 1 was a charming and delightful read, this felt like a bit of a plodding affair. Still, it’s well written, and if you want to know something about the Empress Josephine and her house and garden at Malmaison, this is the book for you. Three stars.

Well. I’ve enjoyed some of Jennie Goutet’s previous works, but this one I found really lax in a number of ways. The idea was good, but the execution felt lazy, as if she hadn’t really thought too deeply about it, and was just pushing the plot along.

Here’s the premise: Lady Eugenia (Geny) Stanich is the daughter of the Earl of Goodwin. It’s a lonely life, for her mother is dead, her father is a distant figure and her young brother is away at school much of the time. She doesn’t much enjoy society life and has few friends among the ton. Her closest friend is a wealthy merchant’s daughter. Her great love is the orphanage her mother started, where she spends a great deal of her time.

John Aubyn is a bit of a rake and a ne’er-do-well, living a dissolute life until he overhears the Earl of Goodwin (Geny’s father, remember) admitting to wanting to dump some investments because he has insider knowledge that things are going pear-shaped. John feels obliged to relay this information to one of the other investors but is disbelieved and blackballed (thrown out) of the clubs and good society. He sets out to get his revenge by proving that the earl is misusing the funds of the orphanage, and gets himself employed as steward there, under an assumed name.

Now, this is a great setup. He’s masquerading as something he’s not and when he’s unmasked, as inevitably he will be, she will see him as a person unworthy of trust. And by that time, they will be well on the way to being in love. Of course they will. So the early part of the book is them developing ‘feelings’ for each other.

I have to be honest, and confess that this part rang false with me. Geny, after all, is an earl’s daughter, and John, for all his gentlemanlike appearance and manners (and I assume an educated accent, although that’s never mentioned), is a lowly employee, and one below the rank of presumed gentleman. It’s hard to believe that she would ever entertain the possibility of a match between them, even for five minutes. But not only does she do so, she encourages him at every opportunity, seeks out his company and even has no hesitation getting into a closed carriage with him without a chaperon, something that would destroy her reputation at a stroke if it became known (and no, him not being technically a ‘gentleman’ wouldn’t save her, it makes it worse, if anything).

The biggest problem with all of this is the practical one – money. How on earth does she imagine they would survive if she married him? She makes a big deal about the fact that she doesn’t need her father’s permission since she’s of age, but she knows perfectly well that he wouldn’t approve and therefore there would be no dowry forthcoming. What’s the salary for a steward at an orphanage? A hundred a year, maybe, if we’re being generous. That wouldn’t even cover the cost of her stockings and gloves. It’s madness. Yet on she goes, allowing herself to be drawn in because she can’t help herself, apparently, and nor can he. Regency restraint? Forget about it.

Of course, there’s a big explosion when everything comes out into the open, and this part of the book and the wrap-up of the romance is nicely done, and if you like sickly-sweet epilogues, you’ll be very happy.

There are some errors and oddities that tripped me up. Geny’s brother, the heir to the earldom, is given the courtesy title of Viscount Fernsby, but is inexplicably addressed throughout as Lord Caldwell. He also seems to think he’s a peer of the realm, which he won’t be until he inherits the earldom. Geny’s orphanage is also called an asylum, more usually a place for those considered to be insane. There are a few grammatical errors, too.

Fans of Jennie will certainly enjoy this book. I did too, up to a point, but the hero and heroine were a little bit too goody-two-shoes for my taste, and John is the typical Regency rake whose dissolute ways are only briefly seen, after which he is a perfect model of rectitude. My biggest problem is the way Geny fell (quite improbably, in my view) for the hired help, without giving a moment’s thought to the practicalities of marrying a man with a negligible income. This should have been a major hurdle, which he could have overcome at the proposal stage by revealing the estate he owns, but it seems the author never even considered this point. Disappointing. So only three stars from me.

A little bit of a let down, being a bit too similar to the previous book, and also a bit politically convoluted for my taste (I felt I ought to be taking notes, which knocks the shine off a bit), but a swoon-worthy hero, some lovely kisses and a fun read.

Here’s the premise: Esther Lisle comes back to consciousness in the Vienna woods with a huge bump on her head and the body of her betrothed, Prince Otto, lying nearby. A stranger is bending over her, although she can’t make out whether he’s friend or foe. It’s a great opening, literally ‘in media res’, with all sorts of questions arising. The unnamed stranger, who tells her he’s from the police, suggests that she keep quiet about Otto’s death, go on with her life and simple pretend Otto’s fine. Just not there.

It’s the middle of the Congress of Vienna, wall to wall crowned heads of Europe, diplomats and anyone who’s anyone, a constant succession of society events, each grander than the previous ones, and naturally endless machinations behind the scenes. So there’s plenty going on, and frankly I got lost in the multitude of names and affiliations pretty early on. I let it all wash over me, so it didn’t make much difference in the end.

The big disappointment is that the characters and romance follow the pattern set in the previous book. Esther is another spirited, intelligent and independent-minded female. Garin is another mysterious spy-type character, able to blend into the background when he needs to or step forward when he needs to take charge, and needless to say a handy fellow to have on your side in a fight. And the romance is again driven by immediate attraction mingled with suspicion and downright lack of trust, although with an added dose of class differences to keep them apart for a bit longer.

But the author can really write romance, and the scenes between them fairly sizzle with attraction, without ever stepping over the line into anything graphic. Historically, everything feels very authentic to me. A good read which would have been much better with a little more space between it and the previous book. Four stars.

An extraordinary book in three different ways. Firstly, it’s set in the middle of the famous Congress of Vienna in 1814, when most of the crowned heads of Europe gathered to celebrate the downfall of Napoleon, to squabble gently and outdo each other’s glittering social occasions. Secondly, it features one of the most fascinating heroes I’ve ever encountered. And thirdly, if, as seems likely, this is Mary Lancaster’s first published book in this genre, then it’s a veritable tour de force. I wish my own first steps had been half so accomplished.

Here’s the premise: Lizzie Gaunt is the eldest of several siblings, orphaned and abruptly turfed out of the family home by the new heir, a distant cousin. In desperation, they throw themselves on the mercy of their aunt, whose husband is part of the British diplomatic effort in Vienna. Lizzie herself is past the age of looking for a husband, but her beautiful younger sister should make a good match, if only they had a little money to launch her into society. There’s just one hope – the last remnant of the family wealth, an expensive necklace, is being used by her aunt to bolster the family’s position in Vienna. Eventually, it will have to be given back to the new heir – but not if Lizzie can get her hands on it first. And when she sees a man daring to steal a necklace at the theatre, she knows she’s found the thief who will help her.

So far, so preposterous, but never mind. There’s no law that says a Regency romance has to be plausible, which is just as well, because most of them would be illegal if there were. So the mysterious thief sets about finding out more about his task and finding himself inexorably drawn to the lively Gaunt family (shades of Frederica here). And for their part, they soon see ‘Johnnie’, as he calls himself, as a comfortable friend.

But Johnnie is also Vanya, a Russian aristocrat with a murky history, involving women, booze, duels, the Tsar and (possibly) spying. It’s a testament to the skill of the author that she successfully conveys just what a dangerous man Vanya is in a multitude of ways. He seems to be coiled like a spring, ready to unleash his power at any moment. And yet, he’s as sweet as pie to the Gaunt family, acting like an affectionate older brother, and he’s soon feeling true affection for Lizzie, which she, in her self-effacing way, is completely unaware of, thinking herself to be no sort of draw to a man.

I won’t go into the details of the plot which get delightfully complicated. All I can tell you is that I thoroughly enjoyed the whole thing. I liked the whole political shenanigans going on in the background, and the inclusion, sometimes in starring roles, of real historical figures. And the romance comes slowly to the boil, the very best kind (in my view). An excellent story, beautifully written and highly recommended. Five stars.

That was different! A what-if? scenario that lots of Jane Austen fans must have wondered about — what if Dear Jane had not been a spinster all her life before dying at the tragically young age of forty-one? What if she had in fact enjoyed the same happy ending that she so generously gave all her heroines? It sounds implausible, but astonishingly, it really works.

The thesis is that Persuasion, perhaps Jane’s most romantic novel with its regrets and a miraculous second chance for happiness, mirrors Jane’s own life. While celebrating the marriage of her brother Henry to Eliza, Jane meets Captain Devereaux, a Frenchman who has escaped the troubles in France to join the British navy against the French. There is a whirlwind romance, quickly followed by a proposal and acceptance. But Captain Devereaux has not yet made his fortune, and Jane is persuaded to give him up. They part in anger, thus far mirroring the events of Persuasion closely, highlighted by a number of quotes.

Later, they meet again, but (again, in a reflection of Persuasion), there is no happy reunion. Instead, Captain Devereaux becomes entangled with another young woman, and becomes engaged to her, even while recognising the reigniting of his feelings for Jane. So far, so identical. But after this, Jane produces a happy ending for Anne Elliott and Captain Wentworth, while her own life (according to this book) takes a different direction. Captain Devereaux is swept up into the renewal of hostilities with France and vanishes from view, leaving Jane bereft.

I’m not going to spoil the surprise by detailing how things go from then onwards. It seemed perhaps a touch implausible, but then to fit the known facts of Jane’s life as far as possible (which the author has clearly gone to great pains to do) things had to be somewhat convoluted. As I said above, it works for me, but then (like most romance readers) I love a happy ending.

What I think is most astonishing is how well the writing mirrors Jane’s own language. Few modern authors can reach this level of authenticity, and if it largely lacks Jane’s biting wit, well, who could possibly match it? I will never criticise an author on that account. Jane was a towering talent, and no one truly comes close, but this is as close as anyone gets.

In fact, the author writes ‘British’ so well that the odd Americanism is all the more jarring for being so rare. I noticed ‘on High Street’ (for some reason, Brits say ‘on the High Street’), and Jane’s sister-in-law, the former Mary Lloyd, is called Mary Lloyd Austen, in the American fashion of incorporating the maiden name. There were some minor typos, too (demure for demur, discrete for discreet), but nothing drastic.

I’ve had this on my Kindle for a long time (three years!) and now I’m wondering just why I waited so long to read it. A very enjoyable read, beautifully written without taking liberties with history and a cracking romance as well. Five stars and highly recommended.