Clarissa Lovel is a young woman, not quite eighteen, secluded all her life in a strict women's school. Her mother died long ago, her father seems unwilling to know her or have her home even for the holidays, while her brother has quarrelled with their father and left home, nobody seems to know where. Against this canvas, Clarissa returns home after her education has been completed, only to find that her father, in deep financial trouble, had sold their old home to a wealthy merchant and become a recluse.
Clarissa's new life, her falling in love with someone who is engaged to marry another woman, her loveless marriage to the man, more than twice her age, who had bought her father's old home and her relations with her husband and the stepdaughter who is two years older than her, and is governed by duty, propriety and spite rather than any impulsive spontaneous emotion form the rest of the narrative. Of course there are temptations along the way, and of course they are repelled, but not without serious repercussions.
Although the plot is gloomy, grim and rather weak by Braddon's standard, it makes for an engrossing novel nonetheless. All the stock Victorian characters are present: the stern, aloof parent, the heavy handed husband, the lovely and impossibly virtuous wife, the bohemian good-for-nothing brother, the stiff unloving stepdaughter, the kindly careless aristocratic (female) friend, an angelic baby, the deus ex machina in the form of the baby's illness, and best of all, that marvellous creation, the louche villain. Any person can make mistakes in his or her choices in life, but to agonise over them in the manner of the people in this novel is exclusively a Victorian habit of introspection. To a modern reader, the omniscient author/narrator is an intrusive presence, but then, this is not a modern novel, and situations like Clarissa's are impossible today. Altogether, a grand read, despite the fact that it occasionally draws from us an irreverent chuckle at the solemn crises of the heroine's life.