At the spinster age of 26, the independent, wealthy and imminently sensible Isabella Latham had forgotten about marriage hopes long ago. Ever aware of duty, Isabella accompanies her two young cousins to oversee their debut in London…only to find that it’s Isabella who is attracting all the suitors…all of whom do seem to have quite an excess of creditors.
There’s the sinfully sexy Basil Trevelyan, a rake through and through – the kind of rake that even sensible Isabella can barely resist. And then there’s his maddeningly handsome cousin, the Earl of Hartleigh, who makes her heart nearly leap out of her chest, with just a glance of his eye.
Poor, poor Isabella. What’s a girl to do? But more importantly…who’s a girl to choose?
Never did prim and proper Isabella think that having two rakish suitors would cause a scandal so earth shattering that it would rattle all her family skeletons, get one over on all those vile gossip mongers and — land her an ideal husband!
There’s something comforting about the historical romance and it’s probably the fantasy of utter privilege where all you need to worry about is accepting a marriage proposal from the right man for the right reasons.
Then again it’s also full of twenty-six-year-old virgins who ride recklessly and blush continuously but not because of the exercise. There are also adorable, well-behaved children whose only function is to beg their guardians to marry that lovely lady from that dress shop.
And there are earls—not dukes but almost!—who somehow retired from their successful career in espionage at the ripe old age of thirty something (I think) and have now been made the reluctant step-father to their dear old friend’s only child because god forbid she’d have two loving parents instead of wealth.
Aside from my soft spot for this kind of predictable melodrama there wasn’t much beyond the nostalgia factor over life-changing quivers deep within someone’s bosom and the delightful absence of all things explicit. A few more of these and I’ll be in mood for a good fanfic porn—I mean erotica. Nope, fanfic porn.
P.S. I listened to The English Witch, which is the second book of the Trevelyan Family duology, too and promptly forgot about it. A shame, because I liked Basil.