Another very strange read from this author. She really does like melodrama, and sometimes that works and sometimes… hmm, less so. A fine hero, but I’d have liked a bit less of the clingy dependency from the heroine.

Here’s the premise: heiress Bethia Pepperell has been kidnapped, drugged and hauled from London all the way to Cornwall and is about to be dumped into the sea to drown (did I mention the melodrama?), presumably under orders from one of the three cousins who stand to inherit after her death. Miraculously, as she pleads for her life, she’s overheard by ex-smuggler Digory Rendel, unseen in the fog, who contrives to rescue her and leave her would-be murderers thinking she’s drowned. The next day, when they come looking for the body, they meet Digory and his smuggling pals. Unfortunately, their attempts to capture them and find out who sent them end up with both men dead.

Digory’s prepared to help protect Bethia but she knows the only sure way to fix the problem, and that is for the two of them to marry. Since they have the hots for each other, and she’s not at all shy about showing him how she feels, even to the extent of inviting him into her bed and otherwise trying to seduce him, he reluctantly agrees to it, even though he realises that he’s not at all of her station in life. I really felt that Bethia is stepping outside the bounds of propriety and even common sense at this point. Yes, she’s overwhelmed by Digory’s masculinity (or something), but really, girl, get a grip! By hurling herself at him with abandon, she really gives him no choice but to agree to the marriage. Which is pretty silly, frankly.

So they go back to London, where her aunt, whose powers of self-deception know no bounds, happily tells herself that the story she’s been telling that Bethia was laid up with illness is actually true and now she’s better so everything’s fine… isn’t it? And all this worrying about murderous cousins is just nonsense. But Digory summons some very disreputable (but high ranking) friends who will swear to his blameless past and help him marry Bethia, which they do and then show themselves in society so that everyone will think everything’s fine. And then, right at the end, everything goes to hell in a handcart in spectacular fashion. No, it seems an ex-smuggler can’t pass himself off as a gentleman after all.

I’m going to be honest, and say that I really disapproved of both hero and heroine in this one. Bethia was so hot for Digory that she was prepared to do absolutely anything to stay with him, and frankly, I think they should have run off to the continent or America or some such right from the start. It would have saved a lot of bother. As for Digory, with the whole we’ll get married but we won’t really be married schtick – oh, per-lease. Either marry the girl or don’t, but just get over yourself.

My other main quibble is with ‘society’, which is prepared to randomly accept some unknown man because one or two people vouch for him, and then turn against him the instant some other random (and known to be evil) bloke says he’s no good. People, even at the highest levels of society, still have some sense of judgement and don’t accept or reject people purely on the basis of hearsay.

Some historical quibbles. No, you can’t annul a marriage for non-consummation (not in England, anyway). And no, a title once awarded can’t be retracted, even when it turns out it went to the wrong person (in general, anyway; the king could, of course, do whatever he liked about those pesky titles). Money and property, yes, that can be redistributed after the event, but titles, no. What would likely happen if a title has been wrongfully claimed and the true heir turns up is (probably) that he would be given another, equivalent title.

I’m going to be honest – I did enjoy the read, on the whole, but the flaws in the characters of the principals keep it to three stars.

A strange book, which leaves me a bit uncertain what to make of it. There’s some truly dark stuff in the background here, and sometimes it feels as if the author threw in everything but the kitchen sink, but there’s also a wonderful romance (I love a man who knows precisely what he wants) and some amusing moments, too.

Here’s the premise: Lady Cassiopeia Anderby is living a hand-to-mouth existence since her brother, the Earl of Blackstone, has gambled away the family fortune and has been draining the estate of funds for years. But a flying visit shows him that he still has one asset left to sell, namely, Cassie herself. She’s a rare beauty, so she’ll fetch a good price on the marriage mart, won’t she? By threatening Cassie’s younger sister, he persuades her to come to London for the season.

Travelling by stage coach, Cassie, her sister and step-mother Ellen find themselves in company with three very unsavoury-looking characters and when an unexpected snow storm strands them at a country inn (cliches? In a Regency romance? Surely not!), she avoids them as much as possible. They all have to eat, however, so she makes a deal with them – if they bring in wood and see to the fires, she’ll prepare food. The three ladies survive the ordeal unscathed, to Cassie’s surprise, and the next morning the snow has miraculously vanished, so they go on their merry way.

What Cassie doesn’t know (but the reader does) is that the three (Richard Hawke, John Tuke and Perry, now a viscount) are survivors of the American wars and much other drama, returning reluctantly to London to help Perry deal with his recent ennoblement and assorted relatives, and somewhat more reputable than they look. Richard is so enamoured of Cassie’s spirited practicality that he decides on the spot that he’s going to marry her. His friends deride his choice, since he’s now rich enough to buy himself a better wife than the servant that Cassie appears to be. Needless to say, London brings surprises for both sides – she discovers that Richard and Perry are moving in society like respectable gentlemen, and they discover that the servant girl is an earl’s daughter.

The romance is therefore laid out from the start. The obstacle is Cassie’s brother, who gives her a list of three potential suitors that he will accept, and Richard’s name isn’t on it. But there’s another obstacle, too, which is that Cassie finds Richard terrifying. There’s a hint in the book that this is because she’s an innocent, and its her own feelings that terrify her, but I’m not sure I buy that, and frankly, I found her weeping and wailing at the very prospect of innocuous events like driving in the park with him irritating in the extreme. Get a grip, girl! After all, he may be an imposing sort of man, but he’s never been anything but unfailingly kind to her.

Richard being a man who’s (literally) pulled himself up from the gutter, he isn’t going to let a trifling matter like other suitors stand in his way. The stratagems he employs to get rid of them, one by one, are highly enjoyable, even if not strictly honourable. All right, not honourable at all, and his friend Perry does remonstrate with him at one point, but they justify it quite elegantly to themselves. I wasn’t convinced, but at least the author addresses the point.

The romance resolves itself just as you might expect, and there are several other pairings thrown in almost at random towards the end. Memo to authors: not every minor character needs to get their happy ever after, but if you’re going to do it, please try to make it more convincing than this. But for Richard and Cassie, all comes right very satisfactorily, and the evil brother gets his comeuppance, too. Only one major historical error – no, you can’t simply renounce your title and walk away. You don’t have to take your seat in the House of Lords, but the title is settled irrevocably on the heir specified in the original letters patent when the title was created.

An enjoyable read, and I’m used to the plethora of Americanisms now, so that wasn’t more than a few eye-rolling moments. So why only three stars? I really found this an unsettling book. The hero has a very dark past, and although he may be unfailingly honourable in his dealings with the heroine, elsewhere his moral compass is not all it should be. He’s not an out and out evil villain, like Cassie’s brother, but he doesn’t scruple to do whatever it takes to get his own way. If he had given Cassie the option of whether to marry him or not, I could (perhaps) have forgiven him, but he doesn’t. He’s determined to marry her, whether she wants it or not (and she doesn’t; she’s hounded into it), and even though he promises not to touch her until she’s ready, I wouldn’t put any money on him holding to that if she really kept on saying no. So even though I zipped through the book at a rapid pace, and never for one moment considered abandoning it, I disapproved of the hero so much I’m going with three stars.

A fascinating and highly original premise, an appealing hero and heroine, some interesting side characters and with a mystery thrown in, to boot – what’s not to like? I tore through this in a couple of days.

Here’s the premise: Demetrius, Lord Thorverton, is happiest raising horses on his Devon stud farm, but an impassioned plea for help from his mother sends him hot-footing it to London to rescue his younger brother from another scrape. It seems he’s fallen under the spell of the alluring lady known as the Black Widow. She’s not actually a widow, but four times she’s been either betrothed to or courted by men who died unexpectedly, so she’s shunned by society as one who puts a curse on any man who goes near her. Demetrius quickly discovers that his brother, along with half the young men of London, are demonstrating their bravery and daring fate by dancing with the Black Widow.

One glance tells Demetrius that Miss Meribe Prestwich— No, wait, let’s talk about those names. Demetrius is acceptably classical, but his younger brother is Collier. Um, a viscount’s brother is named after a coal miner? And whatever sort of name is Maribe? Good grief. I don’t even know how that would be pronounced.

Anyway, as I was saying, one glance tells Demetrius that Miss Meribe Prestwich is no femme fatale, for she’s obviously distressed by her situation. He doesn’t believe in curses, so he undertakes to protect her from the nuisance of foolish young men tempting fate and annoying her by squiring her about himself. Pure altruism, of course, and the fact that she’s young and pretty has nothing at all to do with it. She reluctantly agrees, and things are humming along nicely when someone attacks Demetrius, and calls him by name, to boot. So not a curse, but not random accidents, either. This is about murder.

From then on, the race is on to find out who is behind all these deaths, with the added bonus of trying to prevent Demetrius from becoming the next victim. Frankly, the villain isn’t exactly hard to work out and the dramatic climax is brought about solely because, having worked out not only who the villain must be and deduced that there must have been an accomplice, everybody’s brains apparently switch off and forget some of these important facts. And there’s the usual does-he-love-me-or-is-is-it-gentlemanly-honour business before the hero remembers to tell the heroine that yes, he does love her, actually. And all’s well that ends well.

Not a perfect book by any means, and it’s riddled with Americanisms (gotten, fall, visit with, stoop, and all the usual suspects), and there’s that brain fade at the end, so I can’t give it more than four stars, but it was still a cracking good read.

[First published 1991] My second Dolan on the trot, and another oddly original work that ought to have irritated me but actually surprised me at every turn, and very much in a good way. Every time I thought the story was descending into cliche, the author took a sharp turn into new territory.

Here’s the plot: Anne Hemsworth is a governess – yes, it’s that plot. She finds herself dispatched to Devon to take on twin boys who’ve driven away all previous governesses. Yep, still in the time-honoured plot. There’s a rakish ne’er-do-well, who instantly tries to get into Anne’s bed, and there’s the absentee guardian, tall, stern and brooding, who descends unexpectedly… I must have read a dozen or more variations on this one. And then there’s one misunderstanding after another between the two protagonists, so you begin to wonder if they will ever get themselves sorted out, although the instant sizzling attraction between them suggests they will.

Now, if all that sounds yawn-inducingly boring, it’s not at all. For one thing, the misunderstandings are actually very clever and our couple work out what’s actually going on very quickly, simply by logical deduction, so no coincidences or deus ex machina, just the little grey cells. For another thing, the twins are actually very, very ingenious (as they tell Anne themselves!). And for a third thing, she, too, is very clever and is the teacher we all wish we’d had. And for a fourth thing (last one, I promise!), that instant sizzling attraction leads to some deliciously romantic moments. And if I hadn’t promised to stop at four, I would also mention the author’s glorious sense of humour.

The villain of the piece is delightfully inept, even with the aid of his long-suffering valet, and the twins are more than a match for him. The book is light on backstory. We know Anne’s from the start, but hero Bronson’s is only slowly revealed. It makes him rather a sad and lonely figure, but the author handles it with a very light hand.

This reminds me of my major bugbear with the book – the names. I refuse to believe that any man, much less a baron, would be called Bronson, and then there’s Creighton, Gloriana, Collier, Demetrius… Poor Collier, named after a coal miner! I shuddered every time I encountered the poor fellow. But otherwise, the book is a delightful read, and maybe it’s the fact that it was published 30 years ago that makes it so refreshingly different now. Five stars.