Beautiful orphan Morwenna is the daughter of a Baron, but he’s dead. So is her brother. Her mum died years ago. She’s 18 and her cousin’s family have taken over her family home because of an entail, and now they’re complaining that she’s breathing their air and being all useless and gloomy. Sure, not to her face, but it’s all there behind closed doors, which Morwenna must now knock on before she can open them, because the cousin family are all awful.
Morwenna is beautiful and a little bit talented at art. Her real skills are parties, lying, and crazy schemes. When she realises just how unwelcome she is, she decides to take her mother’s paintings of the place she grew up, Trevennon, to Trevennon. Trevonnon is this big old mansion in Cornwall. Morwenna is going there not, she would like the reader to understand, because she wants her mother’s family to take her in (although she sort of does) but because she’s sure they won’t mind looking after the paintings while Morwenna moves to the Welfare State.
After the entail in ‘Witching Hour,’ and it turning up again here, I decided to look them up. Sure, I thought I knew what an entail was: I’ve read ‘Pride and Prejudice’ lots, and other historical romances with entail plots. I had this vague idea that entails probably couldn’t still shut dependence out of inheriting, even without a will: and I was right. And wrong. While the transfer of title could continue through the male line, entails on real property could never be set up in perpetuity, and they could no longer be made at all after the ‘Law Property Act of 1925’ came into effect. So, for this plot to work, Morwenna’s grandfather most probably established the entail some time before 1925. Her father and brother could have brought the entail to a close really easily, and that they didn’t is evidence that they were being jerks. And Morwenna was even further legally disadvantaged, because any money associated with her father and brother should have gone to her, and not the miserable cousins.
While looking this up probably makes it look like I thought Sara Craven had decided to have legal stuff operate differently in her romance world, that’s not quite it. I basically just fixated on it because I was sure you couldn’t explain away how disadvantaged Morwenna was by just saying ‘entail’ and ‘her relatives are money-grubbing and snobby and mean.’ The last part is totally true: her relatives are crap. Also, it makes sense that Morwenna didn’t know anything about it: she was 18.
And the Welfare State! Rowan in ‘Summer of the Raven’ also plans to go on welfare in her book, and I can’t help but feel that Sara Craven is maybe making a tiny comment on socialism. I think until very recently, a heroine going on welfare was the equivalent of a heroine getting a nose job or having sex with some guy just because she feels like it: it’s something that a good girl might contemplate, but it simply wasn’t done.
I also have a vague feeling that if Sara Craven was being slightly sniffy about the Welfare State in the late 70s, she was about to see just how far ladylike disapproval of government as a helpful entity would be taken under Thatcherism.
Anyway, Morwenna tells all these lies to her cousins about being invited to stay at Trevennon before she takes up a painting scholarship in Carcassone. She lies to the cousin who is her own age about how she’s going to flirt the handsome Trevennon man into giving her gobs of money.
At Trevennon, she has a Jane Eyre style encounter with the hero, but with a car. She’s not welcome! Her mother was a terrible person and brought doom to the family! She cannot see the fragile old man in the tower, because she would kill him with her face! It’s all very gothic and awesome.
Morwenna basically calls this nonsense. Her mum told her great stories about growing up, and she never acted like she was harbouring some guilty secret that was tearing her apart. Of course Morwenna knows zero about psychology so she could be completely wrong about her mum. She really does know nonsense though, and she’s not having it. And of course she’s asked to stay, even though the hero makes a really good effort at throwing her out.
Dominic, the hero of the book, is very brooding and handsome. He’s the best kind of handsome: that sort of rugged brows and face lines and black turtleneck sweaters – sort of Sean Connery in really early James Bond. Or Clint Eastwood? I've run out of male actors who were big in the 70s. Anyway, he’s wrapped in this manly cloak of sexual magnetism and Morwenna thinks he’s totally hot. He’s also not rich yet. Sure, he has more money than Morwenna does, and a big house, and lots of property and a boat building business, but he’d like everyone to know that he’s not ‘sending floozies to painting school in Carcassone’ wealthy.
I liked that Morwenna didn’t cringe around him, in fact I liked her a lot because she always just got on with things. And told such crazy lies that were just designed to get her in trouble! She was the best at that. She had completely insane ideas and a dangerous attachment to seeing them through to the end, but it made her really interesting. She also wasn’t as morbidly insistent on hiding her feelings from the hero until the bitter end as some heroines, which made her seem incredibly brave by comparison.
Dominic had a bit of Rochester to him, and a talent for turning up at the right time to rescue Morwenna. He was also obviously romantically into Morwenna as well as lustful. He made the usual missteps of thinking Morwenna was a terrible person, and keeping his horrible ex girlfriend around, and not admitting his feelings, but I found his whole melodrama amusing so I liked him. I also liked that he actually admitted that he was nearly twice as old as Morwenna, and therefore probably too old for her. I was even generous enough to think that maybe his ‘nearly’ mathematics put him at early 30s, rather than 35-36. I also decided that Morwenna was probably only about 5 minutes off her 19th birthday, which made me feel slightly better over how young she was.
When ‘provoked beyond measure’ he does go in for the ‘we’re having the sex now whether you like it or not,’ scene. I see these a lot in Sara Craven novels and get a bit disappointed by how the hero’s passionate fury trumps his better, non-rapist self. My rationalisation is usually that if the heroine can turn him off the idea by convincing him that she’s a disgusting ho, then maybe he wasn’t really into the rape? It all gets extremely tenuous.
I did love this book, but then I love everything gothic and really wish gothic would come back. Proper old gothic - with book covers with terrified young ladies running away from houses during thunderstorms in their negligees! Although now that I think about it, there’s probably some symbolism there that’s really not on.