Source of book: NetGalley (thank you)
Relevant disclaimers: None
Please note: This review may not be reproduced or quoted, in whole or in part, without explicit consent from the author.
This is quite a difficult review to write because this book was … um. Fine. I enjoyed it, but I didn’t have particularly strong feelings about it, and I’m worried that’s going to make it anything I say about come across as faint-praisey.
In any case, the basic premise here is that the hero, Hugh Standish, Earl of Somewhere-Or-Other has been lying to his mother for two years about being engaged to and in love with a woman called Minerva. This is because she desperately wants him to marry for wuv, he believes he is incapable of marrying for wuv because his father and grandfather were both philanderers, and he doesn’t want to disappoint her. But now she’s returning from America, where she’s been living with her new husband, leaving Hugh in the awkward situation of having to admit to his mother that he’s been lying to her for the past two years. ALTERNATIVELY he could meet a woman called Minerva at random in the street and pay her forty pounds to pretend to be his fiancé.
As you can probably tell from that description, this is a light, frothy, low-angst kind of read given the main conflict is a man not wanting to upset his mum. And, to be fair to Never Fall For Your Fiancé, the book is pretty clear that Hugh’s behaviour does not reflect well on him. To quote Minerva herself (who is not above the occasional zinger): “What sort of man invents a fiancée because he finds responsibility too daunting and is frightened of his own mother?” Well, quite.
And, in many ways, Hugh is an unusual character. Yes, there’s nothing particularly unusual about the whole Now We Got Bad Blood (in the hereditary sense) arc, but people-pleasing, sensitive and conflict-averse aren’t exactly standard romance hero fare. I rather wish more of had been made of it, if I’m honest, but the book was also at pains to emphasise his feckless fuckboyness as well, lest—I suspect—he came across as insufficiently masculine. Minerva is sharp, clever and likeable, but also felt more typical. She also starts the book as a talented engraver, struggling to get work because of her gender, a … I don’t even think it’s a plot exactly … a story element perhaps … that gets completely subsumed into pretending-to-be-an-Earl’s-fiance-and-then-falling-in-love-with-him business. Which, I don’t know? Maybe that’s fair enough? If I was a woman in the 19th century and my options were deal with institionalised sexism in the engraving industry or marry an Earl, I might go with the marry an Earl option too?
Anyway, Never Fall For Your Fiancé has all the hallmarks of an entertaining, light-hearted histrom: amusing dialogue, an absurd premise, a well-drawn supporting cast, and strong chemistry between the leads. Why I think I struggled occasionally when I wished to romp was that the writing sometimes tended towards the over-expository (at least for my personal preference) and towards the end there are a run of miscommunications between Minerva and Hugh that got a little wearing: she thinks he’s asking her to be his mistress, he’s just asking her to wait until he sorts his head out, she thinks he’s rejecting her because she’s not of his social class, he’s actually rejecting her because he does feel he’s worthy etc. etc. I also pedantically tripped on the actual plot in the sense that Hugh meets Minerva entirely at random and is all like, oh thank god, a woman called Minerva who can pretend to be fiancé. Couldn’t he have just got ANY woman? Like, they’re lying about everything else. Why did it matter that her name was genuinely Minerva?
On top of which there’s sex scene at the end that I personally didn’t feel was doing anything other than being a sex scene: I know banging in romance is a heavily contested subject, with some people feeling banging is integral to the romance genre but, personally, as a reader, I’d rather have no sex or less sex, than sex that wasn’t meaningfully part of the characters' journey. But, let me emphasise, that’s personal preference. I’m not saying the sex scene is bad or books with non-narratively driven sex-scenes are wrong. Just, to me, having Hugh put his dick in Minerva felt less about who they were, both as individuals and together, than, for example, the picnic they’d gone on earlier in the book. PLUS an earlier point of misunderstanding/conflict had been Minerva being offended she thought Hugh had wanted her to be his mistress, because she wasn’t going to “debase” herself for him. And while he’s assured her didn’t mean that, he’s still not ready to confess his feelings or, y’know marry her, but she’s suddenly all I WANT TO DO THE BANGING. And I don’t think I quite got how having sex with a gentleman without an offer marriage went so abruptly from not-okay to okay. Because wouldn’t sleeping him under the circumstances of his not being ready to do any marriage stuff but he might be maybe at some point in an undisclosed future mean she was sort of in practice his mistress anyway?
There’s also some of the … um. I guess I’m just going to call it the standard histrom stuff that might not be ideal for some readers? I don’t mean to pick on this book specifically for it because it’s so widespread as to be almost a genre feature (though, let’s be clear, I kind of wish it wasn’t). So there’s a bit of gendered language in here (hot men affecting ‘feminine parts’ etc.) and a middle-aged stage actress who is used solely for the purpose of comedy. Hugh has hired her to play the part of Minerva’s mother, and when she’s first introduced she gives a delightful speech about method acting so I thought the joke was going to be that she was going to be pretentious but awesome at her job. Except no. The joke is that she is fat, old, vulgar, and drinks too much. The hero even imagines her when he needs to control his desire for the heroine. Which is, you know, not cool. And, listen, I know that histrom is specifically the place where we indulge our fantasies about aristocrats (and Never Fall Your Fiancé goes out of its way to note Hugh’s privilege, which I appreciated) but I really wish that didn’t always come at the cost of portraying anyone who isn’t an aristocrat as morally and aesthetically moribund. It strikes an especially strange note here, too, because Minerva and her sisters are genteel but impoverished, and their father is dodgy AF, so instead you get semi-Dickensian distinction enforced between the virtuous and the non-virtuous poor. And as far as I can tell, Lucretia DeVere’s only flaws are daring to be fat and earn her own living.