This is such a hot mess of a book. Joan Smith is always a bit hit or miss, but this one was a spectacular miss, without a single likeable character or plot event.

Here’s the premise: Tess Merchant’s parents are living apart and threatening to divorce, largely because he’s been fooling around with a mistress very publicly, and she retaliates by finding an admirer or her own. Tess can see that this is not going to end well. However, the admirer, Lord James, has a cousin who’s almost as much of a ne’er-do-well as he is, but Tess wonders whether Lord Revel might have some influence over his cousin and get him to back off. Then at least there’d be a chance of persuading her father back home, which the whole family wants.

Now, this is a fairly daft plot to begin with. Divorce isn’t something anyone undertakes lightly, for one thing, since it involves an act of Parliament, and no wife could get one in the Regency. It was strictly for men to get rid of adulterous wives, not for wives to get rid of adulterous husbands. There was no recourse for them except to put up and shut up. Still, Lord Revel agrees to be party to the scheme to reconcile the parents, mainly by encouraging Tess to step outside the bounds of propriety and stay out till all hours with him. Right, so the plan is to restore the family’s reputation by damaging the daughter’s… I see. And, in the best traditions of Joan Smith novels, the two manage to fall in love while constantly sniping at each other and pretending they hate each other.

There’s a lot more silliness, but I really can’t be bothered to go into all that. I finished the book without throwing it against the wall, that’s as much as I can say about it. And it’s clean. And it’s Joan Smith, so if you like that kind of undiluted sniping for almost the entire book, there you go. Two stars (and I think I’m being generous here).

A broken marriage is a really difficult setup for an author to tackle, but I felt it worked really well, and the focus was very much on the principal couple, as it should be, rather than the minor characters or the subplots.

Here’s the premise: society sophisticate Oliver, the Duke of Avondale, had astonished the ton by marrying country mouse Miss Belle Anderson, a girl of no particular beauty, connections or fortune. Despite their very different backgrounds, he had clearly been besotted with her, for no obvious reason, yet as soon as they had married, he had stopped trailing round in her wake and gone back to his old habits, and within a month she had run back to the seclusion of her father’s house. They agreed to a formal separation, and there was talk of divorce. And then Lady Hathaway inadvertently invited them both to her house party…

I confess, I found it implausible that Belle would agree to go to a house party at all, since she’s barely left her father’s estate since leaving her husband. But there’d be no story without that, so let it pass. Oliver is not quite so reclusive and Lady Hathaway is his cousin, so that part is more plausible. And despite Lady Hathaway’s best intentions, the two meet accidentally and quite unaware that the other will be there, and while Belle is enjoying a moment with her cicisbeo. However, the two manage not to flounce (because, again, there’d be no story if they did), and the stage is set for an extremely awkward house party. He thinks he’ll just have a nice chat with his wife, perhaps recreate a pleasant moment from the early days of their marriage, and she’ll come back to him. But she’s edgy and snippy, and things go off the rails pretty fast.

We learn quite early on (because the author tells us) why they fell out. After a fairly intense courtship, when he followed her about like a puppy, once married, he assumed she would immediately adapt to the rather vapid and dissolute society life that he was used to, spending time with his gossipy friends and pursuing her own interests, mostly without him. She was hurt by the disappearance of the charming pre-marriage man who wanted to spend time with her. She disliked his friends and fell in with a crowd of lower gentry types, who went off in big groups to look at museums and watch balloon ascensions, things she would have liked to do with her husband. He bought her expensive, showy presents that she disliked. He was insulted that she rejected these attempts to please her.

And all of that (and more, because there’s a reason why Belle left so abruptly) has to be resolved before they can get together again. Their altercations are marked by bitterness and downright rage, which I found unusually intense for a book of this era. Anyone expecting a lot of light-hearted banter will be sorely disappointed. The pair find it difficult to talk to each other in any way that doesn’t end (and sometimes start!) with hostility. And yet right from the start, it’s clear that Oliver, at least, is determined to win Belle back. One has to wonder why on earth he didn’t go to her father’s house, where she was hiding out for the best part of a year, but still, he didn’t, so this is his best opportunity to talk to her. But every time he tries, they end up fighting.

There are some lighter moments, fortunately. Belle’s cicisbeo, Arnold Henderson, who’s been quite happy to squire her about and enjoy a delicate flirtation, is horrified to meet her husband. He had planned ‘to walk and sit and ride and talk with her, to dance and flirt discreetly and entertain her, and it was not only extremely difficult but actually impossible to do so with Avondale glowering at him with murder in his eyes. Avondale was a big man, for one thing, a good three inches taller than himself and a couple of stones heavier, in all the right places. Shoulders like a dashed door, and of course he was a famous boxer, in an amateur capacity.’ Poor Arnold spends the entire house party avoiding Oliver like the plague, in the hope of not getting knocked down by him, and his efforts are highly entertaining. Then there is the gossiping Lady Dempster, who ignores all the rules of politeness in order to find out what is going on between Belle and Oliver.

Meanwhile, Oliver has turned his charm on Belle and taken her riding, which is the right thing to do. She’s halfway to being won over, until a certain lady arrives from London, and everything falls to pieces again. The whole book is like this… two steps forward and one (or two or three) steps back, as the two fight their own anger to get on terms again, as they both want. Sometimes it’s external events which throw them into a tizz, and sometimes it’s their own stupidity or just an infelicitous word or two. Always it’s Oliver pressing forward towards a reconciliation and Belle hesitating and pushing back. The dialogue between these two is perfectly judged. Joan Smith has always had a skilled hand with that, but here she is absolutely superb, and every encounter between the two combatants (word used advisedly) is compelling, with the comedy moments brilliantly interspersed.

It’s not exactly a spoiler to tell you that everything works out in the end, although I really hope that Oliver can control that temper of his, or everything will fall apart again. A fascinating look into what happens when two people from different worlds fall in love but fail to communicate sensibly. Five stars.

Never was a book more aptly titled – strange capers, indeed. I had no idea what was going on, or who was on which side, or what was true and what was just an outright lie for most of the book. And the romance was a bit strange, too. But despite all that, it was wildly funny and I enjoyed it hugely.

Here’s the premise: Constance Pethel lives at a rundown old manor house, Thornbury, on the south coast with a widow, Lady Savage, who for years has been wheedling funds out of the house’s owner, Lord Aiglon, for refubishment, which she then never carries out. Constance has learnt to go along with Rachel’s manipulations for a quiet life, although she doesn’t really approve. The days and weeks and years drift by, and the only excitement is the prospect of Bonaparte invading. To that end, a militia has been got up locally, but a shipment of rifles for them has mysteriously disappeared, probably into French hands. Into this placid existence comes Lord Aiglon himself, and the two ladies soon have more to worry about than Aiglon discovering that the funds for refurbishment have been pocketed by Rachel.

Aiglon is a curious sort of hero, but one that’s all too common in books of this age. He’s top-to-toe aristocratic entitlement, needless to say, but when he makes a play for Constance, is he just flirting or does he have something more serious in mind, and if so what? Constance can’t make him out (and neither can the reader initially) since he tells her many things that sound reprehensible (that he’s gambled away his fortune, he’s hiding because he’s killed a man in a duel, he routinely gets blind drunk, and a whole lot more besides). But every time she begins to suspect that he’s not really as bad as he makes himself out to be, she uncovers some other element of his behaviour that makes him seem even more of a villain. Might he even be involved in traitorous activities like selling arms to the French? And all the time, he’s relentlessly pursuing Constance, and even sweeping her into his arms for a passionate kiss without so much as a by-your-leave. That’s the aristocratic entitlement at work.

Constance, meanwhile, who has more hair than wit, is swept this way and that by the constantly veering lord (he’s an earl, we find out eventually), quite unable to make up her mind whether he’s trustworthy or not, on any level. She’s also played for a fool by Rachel, who doesn’t hesitate to send her to keep watch on Aiglon or listen at keyholes, which she does without a second thought. Like I said, more hair than wit. Frankly, it’s hard to see what Aiglon sees in her.

The finale is completely over the top, but at least it brings the romance to a resounding conclusion, with a little bit more build-up than is common in this vintage. Some Regencies from this era leave the romance to the very last page, the hero proposes and that’s it, but we do get a bit more than that here, with some nice romantic moments to enjoy. That was, frankly, the best part of the melodramatic ending which was all too silly for words.

But the complexities of the slowly unravelling plot, and the constant blatant lies and machinations of all the principal players (apart from Constance, of course, who has no clue what’s going on) are very funny, and I enjoyed it all enormously. It’s awash with Americanisms (we didn’t and still don’t have real estate agencies here, or ‘everything’ stores), but that’s par for the course with this author. If you want a change from modern angsty Regencies, Joan Smith is well worth a try, but be warned that her books are very variable. I rate most as four or five stars, but I’ve had the odd one or two I just couldn’t finish. Happily, this one is definitely a five star for me.

Another oddity. I’m on something of a binge of Joan Smith books just now, and almost every one has a review that says: not her best work. I’d love to know what her best work is, actually, but that aside, here’s one where I can also say: not her best work.

Here’s the premise: Jennie Robsjohn (such an odd name!) was a teacher at a seminary in Bath until she inherited a small fortune – ten thousand pounds. Enough for her to give up her job and live like a gentlewoman, and if she goes to London, perhaps she’ll meet a nice man and marry. A baronet, perhaps. But at an inn along the Bath to London road, she encounters a man in his thirties accompanied by a young girl who’s protesting volubly about being dragged here and there. Jumping immediately to the wrong conclusion, Jennie wades in to rescue the obvious victim of a rake, only to discover that the gentleman is a marquess and the girl is his rather wilful daughter.

Lord Marndale soon discovers that Jennie, with her take-no-nonsense school-marm ways, has far more effect on Lady Victoria’s behaviour than he has, so he cajoles her to his beautiful estate and persuades her to act as companion to his daughter while he flits to London for government business. Jennie’s quite willing to do so, because he’s handsome and rich and single, and a girl can always hope, can’t she? And he’s very generous and attentive to her, which might mean something or it might just mean that he’s buttering her up to keep her as Victoria’s companion, and nothing more.

And that’s really the whole plot. There are other characters thrown into the mix as potential partners for both Jennie and Lord Marndale to ensure maximum confusion between hero and heroine, and there’s Jennie’s companion, the outspoken Mrs Irvine, to stir things up, but at bottom the issue is solely about Marndale’s intentions. Romance? It’s the usual thing for a book of this age, in that absolutely nothing is said or done that’s unequivocally romantic until the last page. All Marndale’s actions can be interpreted either way, as growing love for Jennie or as a cynical attempt to keep her looking after Victoria, and as for Jennie, she never gives any indication of being in love at all, even though the whole book is written in first person from her point of view. If anything, her thoughts are purely pragmatic – that it would be a very good match for an ex-school teacher, if she could get it.

So definitely not Joan Smith’s best work, especially as the latter part of it focuses on the very modern idea of a Friday night to Monday morning ‘weekend’. Despite that, it’s very funny in places, and I enjoyed it enormously, so I’m going to give it four stars.

Not a perfect book by any means. The heroine is not very likeable, the hero is all over the place, and the supporting characters are largely useless, but there was something about it that got under my skin, and by the end I felt deeply sorry for the heroine.

Here’s the premise: Olivia Fenwick doesn’t get on with her new stepmother, so she’s taken a year away from home to act as governess/companion to the daughter of a distant but high-ranking relation. With the daughter safely wed, she decides to continue her successful career, but this time she’ll market herself as a very superior type of governess, more a family guest than an employee, although charging a phenomenal rate for her services. She settles for a baron’s family, with two daughters, and at first everything goes swimmingly. Only Lady Synge’s brother, Lord Philmot, seems unimpressed by Olivia’s abilities, taking every opportunity to denigrate her.

But gradually things start to go wrong, and Olivia finds herself in very difficult circumstances, not entirely of her own making. I said that she’s not very likeable – she’s arrogant, intolerant, a raging snob and has no self-awareness. Even so, I did actually admire her independence of spirit and was very sorry when everything started to fall apart for her. The hero – well, he veers about from outright antagonism to a kind of heavy-duty flirtation, and sometimes it’s hard to know what to make of him. That’s not helped by the first person narration from Olivia’s point of view, so we only ever see Lord Philmot through her eyes and she’s not the most perceptive person in the world. To be honest, I was quite prepared to dislike him quite thoroughly, since he not only has a mistress in tow for the early part of the book, he tries it on with Olivia, too, and then effectively punishes her when she won’t play the game. But he can be very charming when he wants to be, and he does eventually set things right for Olivia (which he should have done, since most of her problems were his fault).

One of the interesting points in the book is the contrast between the aristocracy, who vary from selfish to outright wicked, and the middle classes. Olivia reveres the nobility, and just can’t see when they’re being horrible. Her now-married former charge, for instance, who cold-bloodedly excludes Olivia from all her social events, which Olivia sets down to forgetfulness or her new husband’s influence. Even when Olivia overhears her talking about ‘a bossy old scold’, she doesn’t for one minute imagine it’s herself being spoken of. It’s quite sad, actually.

But her middle class relations in Hans Town are a lovely, normal family who welcome Olivia with genuine friendliness, and her own family in Bath are equally lovely, setting off for London instantly when they hear what has happened to her, to make sure things are set right. And Olivia is by this time so humbled by her experiences that she finds that her stepmother is perfectly tolerable, in fact. Slightly vulgar, but good-hearted and not at all the enemy she’d imagined.

And the hero eventually becomes suitably heroic, and the book wraps up in the annoying way of books of this age with an abrupt kiss and that’s it. Anyone looking for a schmaltzy extended epilogue – sorry, not happening. This was a bit uneven, and there are a few Americanisms, but in the end I enjoyed it enough to give it four stars.

Finally, a Joan Smith Regency I can enjoy unreservedly. I liked both hero and heroine, the side issues were interesting and there was a lovely kiss quite early on which should have ignited something, and perhaps it did, but the romance still only smouldered until the very end.

Here’s the premise: Rosalind Lovelace is twenty-four, and seemingly firmly on the shelf. Her brother is engaged, so she’ll soon be superfluous in her own home. However, some poetry she’s written has been accepted for a fancy London magazine, and the publisher wants to meet her. She’d have preferred to keep her writing secret, especially from her neighbour Lord Harwell, who would tease her unmercifully about it, but when Lord Sylvester Staunton arrives, not only is her secret revealed but it seems that she has acquired an admirer. Could this lead to a marriage offer? Lord Harwell certainly thinks so, and he realises rather belatedly that Rosalind would be the perfect wife for himself.

And so the plot unfurls in amusing style, much of it revolving around Rosalind’s brother’s vulgar and snobbish future wife. Her excesses were very entertaining, and even though the final outcome was never in any doubt, the route there was a pleasant one. I never felt that the characters were behaving oddly or were being manipulated purely to advance the plot.

I loved Lord Harwell (or Harry, as Rosalind and her brother charmingly call him), who never put a foot wrong and never became the sort of overbearing arrogant man so beloved of older Regencies. I liked Rosalind, too, pragmatically building a new life for herself when faced with a sister-in-law she couldn’t get along with. And if she seemed a bit bossy sometimes, that was inevitable given that she’d been running the household for years, and her brother had leaned on her to make all the difficult decisions. Her hopes for Lord Sylvester were rather sad, when she would much rather have stayed at home. And then, a fine ending, with all loose ends neatly tied up and Harry and Rosalind finally getting together for a repeat of that lovely kiss. A very enjoyable five stars.

A strange little book, an intriguing mystery combined with the usual (for this era) unconvincing romance. It gets a bit convoluted, but very funny as the principals are supposedly working together but also trying to keep vital clues secret from each other.

Here’s the premise: Zoie Barron is an aspiring artist, planning to renovate a room of the family home to use as a studio. It was her late uncle’s room, and while clearing it out, she discovers a valuable diamond necklace, reported stolen by a neighbour some five years ago, just when the uncle returned from India and moved in with the family. Is he a thief? And if so, how can she return the necklace to the family of the owner (now dead) without any awkward questions being asked? Her attempts become increasingly awkward, and the whole scheme is soon uncovered by Lord Weylin, the head of the neighbouring family, and nephew of the necklace’s owner.

From then on, Weylin and Zoie join forces to solve the mystery of the necklace, and the strange history of the lady who owned it originally and the man who ended up with it. Or at least, they claim to join forces, but repeatedly they conceal information from each other that would reflect badly on their own family. The comedy arises from their various lies, together with the discovery of them. Probably this fell into the category of ‘Regency romp’ in its day, but there’s an element of silliness that had me veering towards three stars some of the time. But there are also some stronger moments, and the romance, while overshadowed by the mystery, is allowed to develop slowly over much of the course of the book, and I always give credit for that, since it isn’t always the case for books of this vintage. There is a nice kissing moment in the rose garden by moonlight, too, so brownie points for that. An interesting and (for me) unexpected ending to the mystery, but quite logical. It’s a quirky read that won’t suit everyone, but being generous, I’ll settle for four stars.

Another winner from Joan Smith, with a charming heroine, an initially grumpy but soon melting hero, some amusingly horse-mad minor characters and a creative ending.

Here’s the premise: eligible Lord Southam is betrothed to manipulative Deborah Swann, but the marriage is being delayed by his eldest half sister, Gillian, who cordially dislikes Deborah, and the feeling is mutual. Deborah has sworn she won’t marry Southam until Gillie is safely married and out of the house. But where to send her? The girl’s head is full of horses and not much else, she’s too gauche to be set loose on the London marriage mart and there are no suitable relatives. But there’s the widow of Southam’s cousin, Beatrice Searle, who lives in Bath, and is also an old school friend of Deborah’s. She would do, and it would get Gillie out of the house for a few weeks. After all, what can she possibly get up to in Bath?

Bea Searle is delighted with the idea. She remembers Lord Southam very well, since he flirted with her outrageously at her own wedding, knows that he’s not yet married and sees a perfect opportunity to weigh up the possibility of a second, and very agreeable, husband. She’s very put out when it’s not Southam himself who brings Gillie to Bath, only her former governess, Miss Pittfield. For a while, she lets her peevishness sour her relationship with Gillie, but she soon sees that the girl is homesick and in need of some gentle mothering, and her sympathies are aroused.

After this, they get along swimmingly, as Bea introduces Gillie to her horsiest acquaintances, manages to smarten her up a little and takes her off for some gentle evening entertainments. But Southam is concerned by the seemingly raffish nature of Gillie’s new horsey friends, and decides to drive to Bath to take a look at them, and this is where the book really takes off. Bea and Southam, after a chilly start, soon rediscover the fun of flirtation, the raffish friends turn out to be a duke and his uncle, and Southam starts to make unfavourable comparisons with his future wife. Deborah’s managing ways are not nearly so agreeable as Bea’s lively, not to say welcoming, nature.

Once the project to marry Gillie to the equally horse-mad duke gets underway, there’s a trip to Bournemouth, where Southam makes the mistake of a heavy-handed nocturnal approach to Bea, and gets the sharp end of her Irish temper. Happily, he’s too far along the road to being in love with her to let things stand, so the story becomes the familiar one: how to escape his now unwanted betrothal to Deborah? I have to say, Southam’s methods are ingenious.

This was a thoroughly enjoyable read, despite a number of anachronisms and Americanisms. The banter between Bea and Southam is delightful, Gillie and her duke are great fun, and even Miss Pittfield is given a spirited personality. As ‘villains’ go, Deborah is as entertaining as they come, and no doubt she’ll find some other muggins to manipulate into marriage. A great read. Five stars.