The Reluctant Widow, Georgette Heyer

I didn’t remember The Reluctant Widow as well as I thought I did. There was still a lot to like about it, but the heavyhandedness of the male protagonist really got on my nerves this time through. The plot: Elinor Rochdale has to work as a governess due to her father’s death after gambling away his money. Travelling to a remote place to take up a new post, she accidentally gets into the wrong carriage and finds herself entangled in the affairs of the Carlyon and Cheviot families. Ned Carlyon advertised for a woman to marry his cousin Eustace Cheviot so that he, Ned, won’t have to inherit Eustace’s land — the woman didn’t turn up, only Elinor. This is further complicated by Ned’s brother accidentally stabbing Eustace, precipitating the need for immediate action, which Ned takes by more or less bodily carrying Elinor off to marry Eustace. In theory, she’s given an opportunity to consent, but he’s so heavyhanded I don’t know if I could say no. Or acquiese without it being partly due to fear and embarrassment.

It’s not that Ned seems like a bad guy, by and large, except for his overall insistence that he is right. There is some delightful interaction between him and Elinor, and also between him and his brothers; it is hilarious, and one can see why he is liked at the same time as finding it rather maddening. That personality is all that spoils this book for me — Elinor would be a stronger character in herself if not set against Ned, and if the narrative didn’t prove Ned right over and over again.

Overall it’s a fun mystery and a fun romance, a heck of a romp, but gah, Ned’s personality.

Rating: 4/5

Friday’s Child, Georgette Heyer

If you’ve read a couple of Heyer’s books, you know what to expect. You recognise the character types as they appear — the charmingly innocent heroine, the dishonourable but charming villain, the various prototypes for her heroes… Friday’s Child is of the “marriage of convenience” school, in which Lord Sheringham marries a childhood friend, Hero, more or less on a whim to spite his family. She’s loved him all along, of course, while he is monumentally unaware of having any feelings towards any woman, and certainly doesn’t expect to love his wife (though being a noble Heyer male, he will of course do his duty toward her).

As ever, it’s the detail and Heyer’s wit that carry a story that could be formulaic. I both laughed and cried at Friday’s Child, I’ll confess, sometimes at more or less the same scene. Sherry’s friends and their loyalty to him and to Hero are both funny and endearing, pretty much all the time; there’s something very pathetic about Hero’s adoration of Sherry, and the way he treats her (being angry with her for behaving exactly as he’s told her is right), which is funny in some scenes and just terribly sad in others. I forget which friend of mine has noted that Heyer is one of the few writers who can make a rather silly character one you sympathise with and root for, when you wouldn’t ordinarily be able to stand them at all. This is definitely true with pretty much all the characters here.

Ultimately, it’s not a deep novel of great philosophical worth, and it’s not the best of Heyer’s work in terms of originality or flair either. But it’s fun and it made me happy.

Rating: 4/5

False Colours, Georgette Heyer

This book somewhat ran into one of the problems I have with fiction that includes humour: I’m bad at being embarrassed, and get second-hand embarrassment for characters I like. There’s obviously a lot of scope for embarrassment in a book which features twin protagonists who pretend to be one another, and the muddle they get themselves into when they do this as adults in order to cover for each other. Or, really, Kit covers for his brother who is mostly absent, and really doesn’t deserve such devotion.

It’s generally charming, particularly the bond between Kit and his mother. She’s hopeless, but loveable as well, and while I’m not quite sure how anyone could put up with her from a distance, far too able to see her flaws, I’m sure that in person she would be completely charming. The romance is so-so; this is one of the books where I rather wish there’d been more attention paid to the romantic heroine (though plenty of attention is paid to Kit’s mother, which balances that). There were also some cringy lines that read unpleasantly for the modern reader, but there’s also a lot of fun — the whole relationship between Amabel and Ripple, for instance.

It all works out fairly predictably and easily, but it’s fun while it lasts and I didn’t get too embarrassed on everyone’s behalves, which was a plus. It was definitely a worthy distraction from fretting over my rabbit at the time, too (in consequence of the idiot biting through a cable and electrocuting himself — he’s 100% fine now).

Rating: 3/5

Faro’s Daughter, Georgette Heyer

I spent an unfortunate amount of this wincing with secondhand embarrassment about the misunderstandings between the two main characters. Their adversarial behaviour is pretty delightful, until you think seriously about how horribly Ravenscar is treating Deb, and without real evidence that she’s actually doing anything he suspects her of. I mean, she doesn’t do much to dissuade him after his first misapprehension, but still, the things he calls her — and then at the end to suddenly declare that they’re in love! It’s a bit too sudden to me; particularly as we don’t get much from Ravenscar’s point of view that explains his softening towards Deb.

The side plot with Adrian and Phoebe, though, is pretty adorable.

It’s fun, but more fun if you try not to think about it too much, perhaps. Especially on the subject of the fond aunt, who despite the fondness, keeps suggesting various odious things to Deb to pay off their debts — we’re told she’s doting, but she seems to have bad judgement and worse taste when it comes to how she should treat her niece.

The best thing about this book is Deb’s stubbornness, her sense of honour, and her insistence that she won’t be cowed.

Rating: 3/5

A Civil Contract, Georgette Heyer

A Civil Contract is quite unlike Heyer’s other novels, because the romance is understated and, indeed, there isn’t much romance at all, at least not in the same sense. It’s a much more practical novel, dealing with the realities of life: more or less arranged marriages, marriages of convenience, unsuitable matches… The most entertaining thing about it is the clash between the aristocratic main character and his father-in-law, Mr Chawleigh. In fact, Mr Chawleigh quite steals the show on a number of occasions.

Jenny is one of Heyer’s better-realised heroines in one sense: she is practical, not very subtle, and devoted from the start to making her new husband comfortable and happy. Of course, that’s a stereotype too, and one which readers may well find less engaging than the sharp back-and-forth of Heyer’s Sophy (for one example). Still, Jenny clearly knows her own mind and does not regret things, although she does have human feelings — wishful thinking, some jealousy, etc, etc. I find her interesting because she’s so untypical of Heyer — a cosy little homemaker! And one with whom we sympathise, even though I did feel that Julia’s flaws were somewhat overdone, in a sort of ‘well, if Julia’s too nice then Jenny isn’t going to come into her own at all’ sort of way.

Really, A Civil Contract is about marriage, not about courting (like The Convenient Marriage, which has some similarities, though not in the characters); it’s about a quieter sort of love, not a grand passion. It’s about making the best of things, and about having a partner who you can rely on. Adam finally realises that that’s what he has in Jenny, and that’s lovely: the way his snobbishness initially gets in the way is annoying, but he learns.

As someone in a nearly eleven-year relationship (not to mention someone who feels no sexual attraction at all), this is in many ways more true of my experience, and it’s nice to see it in a romance novel (of sorts; I think this is less clearly romance than some of Heyer’s others, but if we divide her work into historicals, romances and mysteries… this seems to fit most into the romance section, being too recent in date for the historicals and clearly not a mystery). It might be fun to have a passionate doomed love for someone, but what matters is whether you can work together, work things out together, communicate. Jenny and Adam do model that, as each learns to discuss things with the other and share their lives.

In other ways, A Civil Contract is interesting because of the background of the French Revolution, the perspective of Adam as a former soldier, and the class mixing which happens as a result of the marriage. There are some very entertaining characters, including some very determined and headstrong women who are very different to Jenny, but still positive. (Lady Nassington is one; Lady Oversley is another, in a way; and of course, Lydia.)

All in all, this isn’t one of the more adventurous stories, like The Talisman Ring, and neither is the romance one with tension or too much worry about how it’s going to work out. It is, for the most part, fairly comfortable — though I wonder if perhaps it would have been less so in more class-conscious times. (Says the daughter of a working class man and a upper-middle-class woman, whose families cordially, and sometimes not so cordially, hated each other!)

Rating: 4/5