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REVIEW:  Fool Me Twice by Meredith Duran

REVIEW: Fool Me Twice by Meredith Duran

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Dear Ms. Duran:

Just the title is probably enough to clue in readers of That Scandalous Summer that this book will be about widower Alistair de Grey, who went spectacularly round the bend over his late wife’s betrayal in that story. And who else would he be paired with but the mysterious, undoubtedly deceitful Olivia Mather. Don’t worry if you haven’t read the first book though, the story can stand alone.

Olivia is up the Victorian equivalent of shit creek, and she’s desperately searching for a paddle. She’s already been left for dead once and though she doesn’t know the why of it, she does know the who – crooked politician Baron Bertram. Sick of running and hiding, Olivia decides to find protection for herself; she applies for a job as a maid to the Duke of Marwick, planning to search for blackmail material. The Duke is known as a kingmaker, “friend to princes, patron of prime ministers, and puppet master of countless MPs,” and as Olivia knows, he also has reason to hate Bertram.

Olivia may have been forced into impersonation, thievery and blackmail, but she’s a punctilious person at heart and she’s shocked at the state of things in the duke’s house. “…if Marwick had once governed the nation, he now failed to govern even his own home. His servants were running wild.” Marwick himself hasn’t left his suite in months. Things are so desperate that the butler gives the obviously well educated applicant a job as temporary housekeeper. And although she’s supposed to be concentrating on her search, Olivia finds herself at the mercy of her worst flaw, a need to “interfere and manage and fix things.” Not just the state of the house and the recalcitrant servants… but the master of the house himself.

Fool Me Twice is surprisingly old skool in tone, not something I expected from a Duran story. (I say in tone, because the action doesn’t actually venture far into bodice-ripper territory.) Alistair’s state of mind is extremely dark, especially when we discover that his agoraphobia is based on the fear that if he goes anywhere near the people who helped his wife betray him, he’ll kill them. His deliberate intimidation of Olivia is genuinely frightening:

He lifted a brow, which gave her a weird shock; it was the first animation she had seen on his frigid countenance. ‘Silence? But a moment ago you had so very much to say.’ He placed his thumb on her lower lip, then made a firm, hard stroke. She tasted the salt on his skin.

This was not happening. She seemed to move outside her body, viewing from above this unbelievable moment: the Duke of Marwick, molesting her.

He withdrew his thumb. Lifted it to his own mouth. Tasting her.

Their eyes met, his impossibly blue, not a speck of hazel or gold to break their electric intensity. A curious prickle spread through her.

He made a contemptuous noise and dropped his hand. ‘Disobedience,’ he said. ‘The taste of it does not suit me.’

[…]

She turned her face away. Staring at the wall, she said rapidly, ‘The staff assures me that you have never been the kind of cowardly man who abuses his servants–’

His fist slammed into the wall.

She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. His fist had missed her ear by inches, no more.

‘I am precisely that kind of man,’ he said bitterly. ‘Or did you imagine you were dreaming this episode?’

The progression of feeling between them is carefully drawn. Olivia is dismayed to find herself sorry for Alistair: “this sudden fleeting sympathy was undeserved by him, and ridiculous of her and… the very opposite of armor.” And through reading his papers, she discovers that he’s highly intelligent and was once an impassioned idealist. Perhaps she’s better able to relate to him because she’s also discovering her own dark side, especially when she realizes that one of the men Alistair yearns to kill is Bertram.

A horrible thought gripped her: if he murdered Bertram, her own life would become so much simpler!

She caught her breath, appalled by herself — and by him, too.
[..] And suddenly she felt outclassed. It was a startling and unpleasant and very novel experience, but somehow he had done it: he had turned the tables on her, not with brute strength but with his wits. For now, if she encouraged him to leave these rooms, she would be a party to his murderous intentions.

And he had made sure she knew it.

‘I can’t say I support murder,’ she managed. She hoped God took note of this virtue, and marked it to counterbalance her longer lists of sins.

Meanwhile, interacting with another human being is helping Alistair move away from his “violent, broken, shattered, murderous self.” (The self very much like his despised father.) Their relationship becomes a more standard battle of wits, and I started to feel impatient at this point. It had such a cliched feel — feisty woman vs. bear with wounded paw; it’s probably just me, but I even started thinking of the stately Olivia as being small, and apt to pound her tiny fists. (It didn’t help when Alistair told her, “You are baiting the wrong man, little girl.”) Olivia’s genuine fear becomes fear of their mutual attraction, which also pushed my particular “tired of it now” buttons. The story picks up again when Marwick, as he inevitably would, discovers Olivia’s deceit.

The strength of the book is the language around the complex, ever-changing emotions both characters are feeling. Even the more familiar moments are beautifully expressed:

He found himself groping for another script to guide him. But there was nothing now in his brain but his instinct, his rotten instinct, which wanted to smash something. Or tie her up, swaddle her in gauze, lock her away somewhere he could study her until he understood… something.

The sex scenes are particularly vivid and passionate. Yet somehow, I still wasn’t entirely in love with these characters or this relationship. There were just too many echoes for me, despite the beauty of the writing. I feel like I’ve read variants of this conversation a hundred times (and didn’t like it then, either):

‘You could not have hustled me out of that flat more quickly this morning. And now you’re refusing to have a conversation. Are you afraid that you disappointed me? For I assure you, it wouldn’t have been possible. I wasn’t expecting much–’

He made a choking sound.

‘Oh, dear.’ She reached for her discarded cup of tea, brought an hour ago by the obsequious conductor. ‘Would you like some of this? And don’t misunderstand me; it was quite nice. Last night, I mean.’

Similarly, when Alistair and Olivia thought about their feelings for each other, it never felt quite…there to me, but more like a script I already knew. This kept my grade from going as high as it otherwise might have, considering the quality of the prose, but I’m still recommending Fool Me Twice: I don’t often get the intense reads I adore in such a well constructed form. B

Sincerely,

Willaful

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REVIEW:  Sweet Disorder by Rose Lerner

REVIEW: Sweet Disorder by Rose Lerner

Dear Ms. Lerner,

Your third historical romance, book one in your Lively St. Lemeston series, begins in October of 1812, with a knock on Phoebe Sparks’ door. Phoebe, an author of Improving Tales for Young People, is contemplating what fate to inflict on the protagonist of her current story, who gives birth to an out of wedlock child in a ditch, when the knock interrupts her.
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At her door is Mr. Gilchrist, a Tory election agent. Mr. Gilchrist has come to call on Phoebe at her home in Lively St. Lemeston because the Tories and Whigs are battling for every vote in the Lively St. Lemeston district. As a woman, Phoebe cannot vote. But she can have some impact on the outcome of the close election because as the eldest daughter of a deceased freeman—a man whose “freedom of the city” entitled him to vote—she can, according to the Lively St. Lemeston charter, bestow her father’s freeman status on her husband.

Phoebe is a widow. Her husband, a newspaper editor and printer, was a Whig. But Will died two years earlier and Mr. Gilchrist is sure he can persuade Phoebe to marry again. When he insists he knows her taste in men, Phoebe all but shoves him out the door. After a bad marriage and a heartbreaking miscarriage, she has no interest in remarrying, especially not for the sake of an election, and even if she were, her sentiments are on the side of the Whigs and not the Tories.

Meanwhile in London Nick Dymond, the middle son of an earl, is in bed when his mother, Lady Tassell, descends on him and demands that he too involve himself in the matter of Phoebe’s marital status. Nick’s younger brother Tony, a Whig, is running for the same seat Gilchrist wants for the Tories, and since Lady Tassell is campaigning on behalf his older brother’s Stephen’s behalf – yes, this is a political family – she expects Nick to help Tony win the Lively St. Lemeston district seat for the Whigs.

As it happens, Nick is the only member of his family who doesn’t give two flying figs for politics. He hates that the good of the party has been put ahead of the good of family members, and that his mother is always sure she knows what’s best for him.

But even more than that, Nick hates that his mother winces when she looks at him. Nick served as an officer in Wellington’s army and took a bullet in the leg at the battle of Badajoz. His leg was broken and healed weak and now Nick walks with a limp. And he can’t stand the way people – family members especially—have looked at him ever since.

So Nick makes a bet with his mother. He will get Phoebe to marry the Whig baker whom Lady Tassell has picked out for her, and if he is successful, Lady Tassell will never wince when she looks at him again. After an all-too-brief moment of empathy with her son, Lady Tassell agrees.

Of course, Phoebe still has no interest in marrying, but when Nick offers to help her with the laundry, she takes him up on his offer. An attraction develops as Nick continues his campaign for the vote to which Phoebe holds the key, but it’s not as though it would be appropriate for Nick and Phoebe to marry, or even indulge in an affair, when their stations in life are different and he is trying to get her to marry someone else.

To Phoebe her decision to meet Nick again is nothing more than a reason to leave the house after years of staying cooped up inside. And then—disaster. Phoebe’s sixteen year old sister Helen is cast out of her home by their mother. Helen is pregnant, but the father of her child refuses to marry her.

To save Helen’s good name and spare her suffering, Phoebe would do anything. Even marry a man she doesn’t love and has little hope of loving. Even struggle to suppress her growing attraction to Nick.

Since her miscarriage and the death of her husband, Phoebe has felt dead inside, but as she opens up to Nick about the conundrum she faces, something inside her begins to stir.

Nick too begins to come out of his depression and sense of loss at being unable to fight alongside his men. He sees that Phoebe and Mr. Moon, the baker, are all wrong for each other, even though to save his bakery, Mr. Moon desperately needs the money Nick’s mother has promised him in exchange for his marriage to Phoebe and his vote.

Both Phoebe and Nick are used to putting others’ needs ahead of their own desires. With family members and the outcome of the election depending on them doing just that, will Phoebe and Nick learn to shut out the clamor and listen to – as well as follow—their hearts?

I thought of some of my favorite historical romance authors as I read this book – authors like Courtney Milan, Judith Ivory, and Cecilia Grant – because of the good writing, the realness of the characters, and their psychological depth as well.

Nick and Phoebe are richly drawn, wonderfully complex characters with messy emotions that include hopes, fears, dreams and understandable resentments. Nick for example, can’t stand that he since his injury, he has had no control over the way others see him. Phoebe couldn’t wait to escape her critical, perennially dissatisfied mother by marrying Will, but feels guilty for having left her sister alone under their mother’s thumb.

Their attraction is almost a magical thing in that it gives them a new sense of power, not just the power of being attractive to someone you desire, but the power to recognize and express your own desires.

The ideas the novel communicates are at ones simple and complex. Here for example, is an excerpt from a scene in Nick’s viewpoint in which Phoebe confides in him about her sister’s pregnancy and her consequent need to sacrifice her freedom to salvage her sister’s reputation.

She drew in a deep breath and steadied like a raw recruit given a few encouraging words and a clap on the back. “I believe in my sister.”

He was going to win his bet with his mother. He looked away. “Talk to your sister. She’s apologizing because when she looks at you, she sees her guilt that she’s forcing you into marriage. And when you look at her, you see your father’s disappointment. I don’t care whether he would have been disappointed. He would have been wrong.” He couldn’t turn his gaze back to Mrs. Sparks’s face. When he looked at her, he was supposed to see his chance to show his mother the truth of himself. He wasn’t supposed to see her.

The writing in Sweet Disorder is thoughtful and fresh, with a subtle sense of humor woven throughout. The novel takes its title from the poem “Delight in Disorder” by the 17th century poet Robert Herrick. The poem closes with these two couplets: “A careless shoe-string, in whose tie / I see a wild civility; / Do more bewitch me than when art / Is too precise in every part.”

Nick quotes these two couplets during one of the sex scenes, but they serve as more than a charming, seductive line. They also function as a metaphor for Phoebe and Nick’s relationship, and for the book itself: a bewitching, disorderly whole.

As I try to think of what the flaws in this novel might be, I can’t think of many. I don’t enjoy mental lusting in books, although here it’s written with some freshness and there’s a later payoff for it during the earthy, original and character-specific sex scenes in the novel’s last third.

Perhaps too many of the novel’s characters have critical, disapproving or manipulative parents, but this is contrasted by Phoebe’s lovely (if deceased) father, and also ties into the theme of being true to oneself and one’s own needs, rather than to the expectations and needs of others.

A final flaw I can think of is that the epilogue mentions the possibility of reconciliation with a family member I think Nick and Phoebe might be better off keeping at arm’s length.

Other than that I love this book. I love that Phoebe is an ordinary, middle class woman. I love that she is heavy. I love that Nick is not an heir, nor does he ever become the heir. I loved that his limp pains him and that he finds some workarounds for dealing with it, but it is never miraculously cured.

I loved that Nick and Phoebe bring disorder into the other’s life. They agitate, distract, and fluster each other in the best of ways. The chaos their relationship creates extends from within them to without, and to others. If Phoebe allows herself to fall for Nick, she may endanger her sister’s happiness, and that of Mr. Moon, the anxious baker whose desserts are works of art and whose shop is part of the heart of Phoebe’s town. If Nick allows himself to express his desire for Phoebe, what will happen to the election and to his relationships with his family members?

The novel immerses its readers in the life of the Lively St. Lemeston community, and I loved the minor and secondary characters too. There are more of them than I can mention here, but each person is real, and each is both ordinary and extraordinary. Even the villains, such as they are, are human and unhappy. And all the characters are tied to others, entangled in their community, knit together – if one thread is pulled, everything can unravel.

Is there room for honest desires, then? The book answers with a resounding yes. Phoebe and Nick’s muddle is resolved not through order and obedience, but through the disorder made up of their messy emotions and rebellious epiphanies.

It wasn’t his leg that kept him from feeling like a whole man, he realized. It was something far deeper, a lack within himself. He had never wanted anything with such a bone-deep conviction. Sometimes, it seemed, he could go all day without wanting anything at all.

Like the poet Robert Herrick, I am bewitched. A-.

Sincerely,

Janine

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