This book was absolutely lovely. For one reason or another I’ve never read any of the author’s work before, but this one drew me because of its unusual subject matter, autism. It’s not something that’s often covered in a Regency romance, and it’s hard to imagine a more perfect portrayal than here. Fanny is a delight in every way, lighting up every scene she’s in, and completely pushing the two main characters into the shade. It’s wonderful.

Here’s the premise: Lady Verity Palmer is the eldest daughter of the Earl of Huxley, and her life is devoted to protecting her seventeen-year-old sister, Lady Frances (Fanny), who is autistic (not that the word is ever used, but modern audiences recognise the signs). She lives her life by rigid schedule revolving around animals, especially birds, and drawing. The girls’ mother thinks she should be in an asylum, to be ‘treated’ by doctors for what she views as an illness, but Verity is determined to keep her safely at home at Lamouth, where she can live a happy life in her own way. Since she has no brothers, Verity married her father’s heir to ensure that she and Fanny would never have to leave their home. But now her husband and father have both died, and the title and estate have passed to a distant relation, a known rake and general ne’er-do-well. Verity decides she’ll do whatever it takes to ensure Fanny is kept safe and out of the asylum.

The new earl, Daniel Palmer, is that common trope of Regencies, the man living in the shade of his father, and falling short in his own estimation. He doesn’t even try to live up to his sainted parents’ reputation, hurling himself into a life of gambling, drinking and wenching. He’s even fallen out with his mother for remarrying a man he despises. How can she bear to replace his father? He can’t quite forgive her. And now, to make matters worse, he’s inherited a wretched title he absolutely doesn’t want. He refuses to take up his responsibilities, refuses even to be addressed by his title, and runs away to his own family home, Arden Castle, to hide. But his mother won’t let him evade his responsibilities. The former earl’s widow and daughters have to be dealt with somehow, so she invites them to the castle to stay.

And so hero and heroine meet, and although Daniel doesn’t see it, all the ladies realise that the ideal solution is for Daniel and Verity to marry. They have different reasons for thinking so, of course, and Verity’s are all concerned with her sister. She knows that even if Daniel is willing to let them stay on at Lamouth indefinitely, sooner of later he will marry and then everything will change. What Fanny needs above all is security, so Verity must force Daniel to marry her, by one means or another. Her efforts to persuade him form the backbone of the romance plot, as the two gradually circle round each other.

The romance all seemed a little bit too easy, despite Daniel’s resistance. The two are clearly attracted to each other from the start, and they obviously get along like a house on fire. Nor is there any real opposition from the two mothers, and Fanny likes Daniel, so the only obstacle is that Daniel doesn’t want to marry anyone, least of all Verity, who’s only interested in him for his ability to provide a safe home for Fanny. But of course he soon crumbles, and there are no real fireworks. There’s a little bit of back story for Daniel but it doesn’t really amount to anything.

I confess that Daniel’s transformation from drunken wildness to responsible earl was a bit easier than might have been expected. Is it possible for an alcoholic to simply choose to give up the booze? I’d like to think so, but I’m not too sure. Still, I did like the gradual way he comes to terms with his new role and learns to be his own man and not merely a pale shadow of his father. The shrinking of the desk demonstrates this beautifully – nicely done.

Verity was a little bit too saintly and devoted to her sister, but I suppose that was the premise of the book. I would have liked to see a few more rough edges, frankly. It would have made her seem more human. But it’s a very small point.

There are some minor annoyances. The dual first-person points of view is something I find problematic. I’m sure it’s just me, but I found myself constantly getting confused as to whose head I was in at any given moment, and yes, I know every chapter is labelled but that doesn’t help. I get deep into a piece of dialogue and have to stop and go back just to find out who’s speaking. But it seems to be common these days, so I guess it must be popular. There’s a smattering of Americanisms, although nothing too distracting, and a couple of misused words (including downsizing – first recorded use in 1968, according to the OED). However, none of this spoilt my enjoyment overmuch.

There’s some humour in the book, which is always welcome. This exchange tickled my funny bone:

‘The goddaughter, it turned out, was fresh from the schoolroom. Biddable, Miss Edith had called her. A child would have been far more on the nose.
“Those women are harmless,” Mother said.
“We have different definitions for that word, I think.”’

The finale includes a bit of drama, somewhat too easily resolved, and after that everything ends on a high note. But really, the plot isn’t the main attraction of this book, or even the romance. They’re very well done, and the writing is smooth and sure, but everything is overshadowed by the towering presence of Fanny and her – well, I won’t call it a disability. Her characteristics, let’s say. She is such a darling, and, although I’m no expert, she seemed completely authentic and believable to me. I have a nephew who is on the spectrum too, and he does the exact same thing with shaking his hands as if shaking off water. This is an amazing portrait of an autistic girl, drawn with such affection that it’s impossible not to love Fanny. A fine piece of writing, and highly recommended. Five stars.