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385 pages, Mass Market Paperback
First published November 30, 2021
Janine: Kaetrin and I have been reviewing Mary Balogh since her Westcott series of historical romances began eight books ago and this review continues the tradition.
Someone Perfect is Westcott-adjacent and the start of Balogh’s “Friends of the Westcotts” series; its heroine, Lady Estelle Lamarr, is Viola Westcott’s stepdaughter.
Estelle and her twin Bertrand are living in the country. Estelle has turned away many a suitor; if she can’t “find herself,” she’s content to live with brother. As the book begins, the sun is shining after days of rain and Estelle celebrates by going for a walk. The scenery tempts her into sitting by a nearby river and dipping her feet, even taking off her bonnet. Her hair comes down by mistake.
Her moment of bliss is interrupted when a panting, menacing dog races toward her. The dog—Captain—is called to heel by a huge, dour man. When he rides away without a word Estelle is shocked by his rudeness and embarrassed by her improper appearance.
Justin Wiley, Earl of Brandon, is ashamed and consternated by his behavior, which was brought on by broodiness and unexpected lust. He dreads a confrontation with his sister that awaits him in nearby Prospect Hall. Justin (age 34) and Maria (20) are half-siblings who once adored each other. That and every other facet of Justin’s life, was shattered twelve years ago and they haven’t seen each other in all that time. When he inherited his father’s title and country seat six years earlier, Justin had Maria and her mother sent to Prospect Hall.
Kaetrin: I had to laugh at the description of Justin’s age. I felt like it was one of those maths exam problems where you have to do algebra to work out the answer.
Maria was the daughter of his father and his father’s second wife, now deceased. She was fourteen years younger than Justin. He had not seen her for twelve years. She had been a child then, eight years old, thin and pale, with fine blond hair and big blue eyes, and he had adored her. And she him. But he had left home abruptly and been gone for six years before he inherited the title and properties and fortune upon the death of his father.
Let me just say there are not many authors I willingly do maths for.
Janine: In the intervening years Maria’s mother sickened, cared for by the teenaged Maria (the nurses Justin sent were turned away). When she died, Justin became Maria’s guardian and wrote his sister to invite her home. All his letters met with chilly and polite refusals. Justin loves Maria and decides to give her the chance to meet young people, come out in society, and marry by bringing her back.
While he is at Prospect Hall, Estelle and Bertrand, friends of Maria’s, pay a call. Justin and Estelle’s second meeting isn’t any smoother. Each feels awkward, embarrassed, and resentful. Estelle concludes that Justin is rude and unpleasant and that she dislikes him intensely. Though Justin is aware of it, he invites Estelle and Bertrand for a visit. Maria’s companion can’t move due to family demands and Justin doesn’t want Maria to be isolated.
Kaetrin: The rest of the story, for the most part, takes place at Everleigh Park, where Justin has invited Maria’s relatives, his own and their shared relations too, to try and give Maria a better sense of family and belonging. (The cast is extremely large and it took me quite a while to remember who everyone was – and as none of them were Westcotts (apart from Estelle and Bertrand) they were all entirely new.)
Janine: I didn’t feel impatient with the family gathering, and I often do with Balogh. New bonds were forged, sometimes across gaps of social class, and shared interests discovered. There was genuine warmth and interest on all sides. It may require suspension of disbelief that no one was a snob over the class divisions, but I was glad of that.
"Life is a funny thing," he said. He surprised himself by laughing then . . . They sat quietly for a while.
"Stay here with me?" . . . There was another stretch of silence.
"Yes," she said.
* * *
Estelle heard the echo of her response and waited for guilt, panic, denial, moral outrage, something to rush at her in protest. Nothing did. She had said yes, and yes was what she meant. . .
"You will be marrying me," he said.
Her eyes smiled into his. "That is a proposal?"
"No," he said. "That is a statement."
"The proposal is still to come?" she asked. "Are you busy composing a sonnet?"
For a moment—ah, for a precious moment—laughter flashed in his eyes.