This was a lot of fun, in a riotously confrontational sort of way. The heroine is spirited in the way of children who only have to be told not to do something but they instantly start working out ways to do it anyway. So there are plenty of scrapes to be wriggled out of, and a hero who veers between being furiously angry with her and actively condoning her wilfulness.
Here’s the premise: Lady Barbara Manfred (or Babe to her close friends) has been on the town for six years, and has sailed perilously close to the wind in that time. Her reputation is tarnished, but her impeccable bloodline and fortune still make her acceptable to society, if only just. But the relation she’s been living with is too rackety by half, and is about to remarry and bolt for the continent, so it’s time for the more respectable side of the family to take her in hand and save her from ruining her reputation altogether. Lord Clivedon decides he’ll be the one to do it, with the aid of some of his starchy female relations. The first placement is with the strict and religious aunt, and it isn’t long before Babe is kicking against the traces and getting herself into hot water. But it isn’t until the arrival of the gloriously bonkers Lord Romeo that things go really off the rails…
One of the great mantras for authors is: there must be conflict. That’s true, because when there’s too little conflict, the story becomes boring. But too much conflict can be almost as bad. Both Babe and Lord Clivedon are flighty and volatile, and there’s just no knowing how they will react to any given situation. But gradually, as the story progresses, it begins to become clear that Babe wants to spark a reaction in Lord Clivedon, and he, for his part, is perfectly amenable to her high jinks, and even encourages her, when he’s involved. There’s a wonderful scene when they are stranded at a country inn after a carriage malfunction, happily drinking champagne and playing piquet and smoking cigars (yes, even Babe!), and obviously perfectly suited to each other. Naturally, there are plenty more scrapes to be sorted out before they reach their happy ever after, and most of them involve Lord Romeo.
He’s the sort of brilliantly-conceived side character that readers remember long after the main story has sunk into the darker recesses of memory. He’s a duke’s younger son who was prone to illness as a child, so was sent to Greece to live in healthy sunshine. Whilst there, he’s imbibed a lot of classical aesthetics, a taste for ouzo and a wildly self-centred and child-like view of the world that can’t be diverted. He sees in Babe a Greek goddess of old, decides to paint her, and then that he loves her and will marry her. No matter how many times she tells him this isn’t going to happen, he persists in the idea and nothing, absolutely nothing deters him. I’m not going to spoil the surprise by saying any more about that. Suffice to say, there are some wonderfully funny moments in the latter part of the book. I particularly liked Lord Clivedon’s dealings with his long-suffering secretary.
There are a few anachronisms in the book – words like girlfriend, for instance, and week-end, which are very not-Regency. There’s also the issue of guardianship for Babe. Given that she’s twenty-three and therefore of age, she doesn’t even need a guardian, only trustees to manage her fortune until she’s allowed to have control of it (twenty-five, in this case). Even if she had still needed a guardian, only a father can specify one in his will, and the role can’t be transferred or inherited or changed in any way. If the appointed guardian dies or walks away, someone else could apply to the Court of Chancery to be appointed, but in this case, none of that was necessary. However, the whole premise of the book is that Lord Clivedon becomes Babe’s guardian and takes charge of her life, so there’s not much point in quibbling.
Otherwise, the writing is as competent as usual with Joan Smith. This is a light, fairly frivolous story which I enjoyed very much. Only the guardianship issue keeps it to four stars.
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