Friday Forgotten (or Overlooked) Book: THE GRAND SOPHY (1950) by Georgette Heyer

Isn't it wonderful when you discover you've been wrong all along about an author and then - oh heavenly day - you have a whole roster of books to cruise through. (I snobbishly had thought that Georgette Heyer's work was not for me because who knows why. I was ignorant, that's all I can say.)

Georgette Heyer's Regency books (as well as her mysteries) are for EVERYONE who enjoys a certain style of historical British wit, elegant stories, charmingly written, well researched, filled with great characters, occasional bits of brilliance and laugh out loud moments. I discovered her a couple of years ago and since then I've read and listened to (on audible) many of her books and my enthusiasm and respect for her work have never lessened.

Heyer didn't invent this sort of story-telling except maybe she did.

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THE GRAND SOPHY is first and foremost, a 'domestic comedy'. The kind of story you either like or you don't. All I require of this sort of thing is that it be well and wittily written and that it makes me smile, maybe even laugh out loud. Fortunately, Heyer delivers the goods.

Sophy Stanton-Lacy is an unfashionably outspoken and bossy young woman with flash, cash and dash. She is a domestic hurricane of quick wit, intelligence and common sense. In action, she reminds me a bit of Flora Post, Stella Gibbons' heroine in COLD COMFORT FARM - though Flora is less outspoken and has no money. Sophy on the other hand, is loaded.

But like Flora, Sophy is a natural born manager. She can't help wanting to set things to rights. It's in her nature. She can't be happy until she organizes everything and everyone to her (and their) true satisfaction. She sounds insufferable, I know, but really she isn't. She's actually a hoot. She is also a pretty emancipated miss, a Regency feminist if there ever were such a thing.

Sophy makes you smile and shake your head - she is outrageous (even going so far as to carry a pistol when necessary (needless to say, she is a keen shot), but always with the best of intentions. Proven usually right in the end, she simply isn't the type to stand by and watch everything about her go to rack and ruin - not when she's sure she can figure out the right solution. In her plots and ploys, she works with the reader to fashion the ending the reader wants. Very clever.

Simply let yourself be guided by the Grand Sophy and all will be well.

When this dynamic whirlwind is sent - temporarily- to live with her uncle Lord Ombersley's family, while her father Sir Horace goes on a government mission across the sea to Brazil, Sophy immediately sees that her uncle's fretful family needs fixing.

Unconventional and outspoken, Sophy doesn't stand on ceremony. She was raised on the Continent traveling with her widowed father during the unpleasantness with Napoleon and she's seen and done things most young Regency girls can only read about - if they they are allowed to read newspapers and novels that is (which many aren't.). Sophy knows everyone who's anyone, including the Duke of Wellington himself. Sophy is, of course, a 'lady' but one who is impatient with ridiculous Regency rules and regulations. 

Lord Ombersley's eldest son Charles Rivenhall (Sophy's cousin) is, for all intents and purposes, the head of the family now, having inherited an estate from a relative who rightly skipped over Charles' father because of the elderly parent's well known profligate ways. Charles is a bit of a martinet, what with having the weight of his father's gambling debts, his mother's clinging indecision, careless teenage brother Hubert and four sisters to be properly married off each in their turn, on his shoulders. The entire family treads lightly around his infamous temper. Sophy wonders almost immediately how the family has allowed Charles to become so tyrannical and set in his ways. 

Stiff-necked Charles is recently affianced to Miss Eugenia Wraxton, daughter of a Viscount and a stickler for Regency propriety. She is also an unprincipled snoop and an all around pain in the butt. But Charles, of course, will not realize this until Sophy opens his eyes to Miss Wraxton's unlovely persona. Charles is hoping for a 'comfortable' marriage, but Sophy soon begins to make him realize that the grim Miss Wraxton would be anything but.

As for the rest of the family: Charles' sister Cecelia, a sweet but stubborn young chit, has fixed her attentions on a beautifully handsome young poet, Augustus Fawnhope, a penniless 'younger' son who refuses to get a real job. He is writing his 'magnum opus' - an epic poem he hopes someone will buy and stage. Augustus isn't a bad sort at all, he's just oblivious to reality. The equally beautiful Cecelia had been intended for the slightly older but elegant, charming and kindly, Lord Charlbury, a wealthy man who adores her. But Cecelia refuses to comply. And then of course, Charlbury would go and get an attack of the mumps at a most inauspicious time.

The likable but ineffectual Lady Ombersley cannot be relied upon to deal with any family exigencies involving domestic life as she is the type who cannot abide fuss - it sends her into spasms. She lives in dread of discomfiting her eldest son Charles who holds the purse strings.

When one of the younger daughters becomes deathly ill, it is Sophy who dismisses the alcohol sloshing 'nurse' and takes over round-the-clock nursing duties herself - Lady Ombersley's spasms having prevented her from seeing to her little daughter's needs. Charles' eyes are opened by Sophy's forthright goodness as he realizes that Miss Wraxton's fear of disease has prevented her from even entering the Ombersley's household until all contagion has been eliminated.

As trials and tribulations come and go, there are some colorful characters to meet, including a wonderfully indolent Spanish Marquesa and an ineffectual hypochondriac popinjay, Lord Bromford. who fancies himself in love with Sophy. But as family dramas pop up, Sophy steps in and takes charge, annoying and bedeviling Charles every step of the way.

Why she even goes so far as to visit an odious money-lender on the seamier side of town, carrying a pistol hidden in her fur muff! Yegads, does this young woman have no propriety? 

Fortunately for the Ombersleys, she has. And fortuitously she has landed in the middle of this fractured family, intelligently intuited what is wrong and used her special talents to set things to rights. In the end, all will be well and the grand Sophy will emerge triumphant.

This is such a delightfully entertaining book that if I were you I'd save it, like a special box of expensive chocolates - until the right moment. You can then sink into a pile of pillows (the chocolates are up to you), retreat from the strife and drama of daily reality and enter the agreeable make-believe Regency world of THE GRAND SOPHY.

This Friday, Todd Mason will be doing meme hosting duties at his blog, Sweet Freedom, so don't forget to check in to see what other forgotten or overlooked books other bloggers are talking about today. 

Friday's Forgotten (or Overlooked) Book: THE RELUCTANT WIDOW (1946) by Georgette Heyer

This book by Georgette Heyer has the most preposterous 'hook' - as preposterous as a writer gifted at creating preposterous notions has ever conceived. THE RELUCTANT WIDOW is a Regency romance/spy thriller/mystery caper combination which has plenty of the well known Heyer mischief as well as a raised eyebrow or two. It's the delightful plot here that works wonders, though the characters have their own inevitable share of Heyer charm.

Here's the hook: A youngish, impecunious gentlewoman having no alternative but to accept a position as governess on a distant country estate where she will, no doubt, be bullied about and her life made miserable, suddenly finds herself confronted by an outrageous alternative. Eleanor Rochdale, daughter of a destitute and dead gentleman who's squandered the family's inheritance is traveling to reach her new employer when due to a mix-up at a Sussex village coach stop, she makes an assumption, steps into a waiting carriage and is taken instead to the wrong destination.

At this wrong destination, where apparently someone like her had been expected but for an entirely different reason, Eleanor is soon caught up in an implausible plot: she will be asked to marry a man she's never met and doesn't have to live with - a business arrangement to her benefit. Originally mistaken for the woman Edward Carlyon had hired to marry his dissolute younger cousin Eustace Cheviot (in order to avoid inheriting Cheviot's estate himself - all is explained as you go along), Eleanor balks at the preposterous plot and demands to be returned to the coach stop. However Carlyon rightly points out that it's much too late for a would-be governess to arrive anywhere. They'll have to wait until morning.

Within minutes, however, Carlyon's younger brother Nicky arrives unexpectedly. He has been sent down from school for the term, the result of an impromptu escapade involving a dancing bear. But that isn't the worst of it, he blurts out that he's killed Eustace Cheviot in a fight at a public house. It seems Cheviot had insulted Carlyon and then pulled a knife (there is a witness) when Nicky tried to defend the family name. Cheviot is still alive but will not last the night.

The perfect time for a wedding.

Carlyon apologizes to Eleanor for recent events and for the mistaken identity but needs must. He is not the sort of man to take no for an answer especially when time is running out and the wretched Cheviot is at death's door.

I ask you:  Rather than become a meek governess skulking in the shadows, prey to any employer's whim or roving eye - wouldn't you rather inherit an estate which even if run down at the seams, is still worth a goodly amount, becoming thereby a respectable widow with property and means? This is the reward which Eleanor will earn simply by saying "I do," at the appropriate time and shutting her eyes to the impropriety. After all, she will not be called upon to perform any 'wifely duties' for the dying man, who, by the way, is well-known in the neighborhood as an unspeakable cad and generally unpleasant fellow.

But that's neither here nor there, there's no point speaking ill of the soon to be dead.

Lord Carlyon is persistent and persuasive and before too long, a wary Eleanor finds herself married and widowed and caught up in a plot involving sinister French spies (it is 1813, after all), murder, unlikely romance and a rather large dog named Bouncer.

Somehow I'd overlooked this book last year when I began - in earnest - my own Georgette Heyer festival of reading and rereading. But a post on another blog (can't remember where - apologies) alerted me to this book and also to the fact that it had been turned into into a film at some point. Haven't seen the film yet, but mean to.

And since this is Friday, don't forget to check in over at Patti Abbott's blog, Pattinase, to see what other Forgotten or Overlooked Books other bloggers are talking about today.

Additional Comfort Reading

Artist: Rae Andrews - via

Okay, ladies and gents - what's better than a package of books on the doorstep?

All together now: NOT MUCH!!

I had ordered a couple of baby things (my grandson is due to make his debut this week) and a few books a while back and everything arrived packed together.

Here's the loot:

Tongues of Serpents by Naomi Novik

Crucible of Gold by Naomi Novik

The Plumed Bonnet by Mary Balogh

Regency Buck by Georgette Heyer

The first two books are part of my on-going love affair with Naomi Novik's alternate history account of the Napoleonic Wars. Even if you don't like fantasy, I urge you to give these books a look. Novik is a brilliant writer. Begin at the beginning though, with HIS MAJESTY'S DRAGON.

'THE PLUMED BONNET' is a re-read - but couldn't find my own well-worn copy on my shelves, so had to order another. Luckily there are plenty of used books online. I'm a big fan of early Mary Balogh. I think I've read all her Signet Regencies at one time or another.

The last title on the list is part of my continuing conversion to the books of the glorious Georgette Heyer. I'm a late in life convert and of course that makes me even more convinced that Heyer was a diamond of the first water.

Friday's Forgotten (or Overlooked) Books: ARABELLA (1949) by Georgette Heyer

I've been absolutely keen on Georgette Heyer lately (in case you hadn't noticed) - enjoying the heck out of her books. Been spending all my time in Regency England among the pinks of the ton, the virtuous, gently bred heroines, the titled dandies in buckskin breeches and flowing capes, the ladies and gentlemen of British society 'who matter' - having a great time.

I absolutely promise this is the last of the Heyer posts from yours truly (at least for a while) - you must be tired of hearing about my current Heyer fetish but what can I do? I'm besotted. The only way to handle this is to let it run its course. Eventually I'll tire. One would hope. Ha!

All I'm doing today is posting a nice chunk of wonderful writing from Georgette Heyer's ARABELLA, written in 1949 and as fresh today as if it were written yesterday.

"A charming piece of frivolity about Regency England and the bewitching Arabella, daughter of a country parson, who arrives in London disguised as an heiress and consequently takes the town by storm."  News Chronicle

Here's a wonderful (and very visual) excerpt which concerns a certain Mr. Beaumaris, a rich gentleman who is the charming (in spite of himself) hero of the piece:

Mr. Beaumaris returned to his London house in time to partake of a late breakfast on Tuesday morning, having been absent for six days. It had been considered probable by his dependents that he would be away for a full week, but as he rarely gave any positive information on his movements, counted no cost, and had accustomed his highly-paid servants to live in a constant state of expectation of being obliged, at a moment's notice, to provide suitable entertainment for himself, or for a score of guests, his premature arrival caused no one any dismay.

It caused one member of his household a degree of joy bordering on delirium. A ragged little mongrel, whose jauntily curled tail had been clipped unhappily between his legs for six interminable days, and who had spent the major part of this time curled into a ball on the rug outside his master's door, refusing all sustenance, including plates of choice viands, prepared by the hands of the great M. Alphonse himself, [Mr. Beaumaris' French cook] came tumbling down the stairs, uttering canine shrieks, and summoned up enough strength to career madly around in circles before collapsing in an exhausted, panting heap at Mr. Beaumaris's feet. 

It spoke volumes for the light in which Mr. Beaumaris's whims were regarded by his retainers that the condition to which his disreputable protege had wilfully reduced himself brought every member of the household who might have been considered in some way responsible into the hall to exonerate himself from all blame. Even M. Alphonse mounted the stairs from his basement kingdom to describe to Mr. Beaumaris in detail the chicken-broth, the ragout of rabbit, the shin of beef, and the marrow-bone with which he had tried to tempt Ulysses' vanished appetite.

Brough (the butler) broke in on this Gallic monologue to assure Mr. Beaumaris that he for one had left nothing undone to restore Ulysses' interest in life, even going to the lengths of importing a stray cat into the house, in the hope that this outrage would galvanize one notoriously unsympathetic towards all felines, to activity. Painswick (the valet),
with a smug air that rendered him instantly odious to his colleagues, drew attention to the fact that it had been his superior understanding of Ulysses' processes of thought which Mr. Beaumaris had to thank for finding himself still in possession of his low-born companion: he had conceived the happy notion of giving Ulysses one of Mr. Beaumaris's gloves to guard. 

Mr. Beaumaris, who had picked Ulysses up, paid no heed to all these attempts at self-justification, but addressed himself to his adorer. "What a fool you are!" he observed. "No, I have the greatest dislike of having my face licked, and must request you to refrain. Quiet, Ulysses! Quiet! I am grateful to you for your solicitude, but you must perceive that I am in the enjoyment of my customary good health. I would I could say the same of you. You have once more reduced yourself to skin and bone, my friend, a process which I shall take leave to inform you I consider as unjust as it is ridiculous. Anyone setting eyes on you would suppose that I grudged you even the scraps from my table!"

He added, without the slightest change in voice, and without raising his eyes from the creature in his arms: "You would also appear to have bereft my household of its senses, so that the greater part of it, instead of providing me with the breakfast I stand in need of, is engaged in excusing itself from any suspicion of blame and - I may add - doing itself no good thereby."

Ulysses, to whom the mere sound of Mr. Beaumaris's voice was ecstasy, looked adoringly up into his face, and contrived to lick the hand that was caressing him. On his servants, Mr. Beaumaris's voice operated in quite another fashion: they dispersed rapidly, Painswick to lay out a complete change of raiment; Brough to set the table in the breakfast-parlour; Alphonse to carve at lightning speed several slices of a fine York ham, and to cast eggs and herbs into a pan; and various underlings to grind coffee-beans, cut bread, and set kettles on to boil. 

Mr. Beaumaris tucked Ulysses under one arm, picked up the pile of letters from the table in the hall, and strolled with them into his library. To the zealous young footman who hastened to fling open the door for him, he said: "Food for this abominable animal!" - a command which, relayed swiftly to the kitchen, caused M. Alphonse to command his chief assistant instantly to abandon his allotted task, and to prepare a dish calculated to revive the flagging appetite of a Cambaceres. [First Duke of Parma - later Duke of Cambaceres]

Ulysses is a lowly little cur found suffering in the gutter by Arabella [the heroine of the piece] and given to Mr. Beaumaris [hero and unlikeliest of pet owners] to house, since she cannot keep the little dog while staying with relatives in town.

I loved the ending of this book so much that I reread it several times just for the pure enjoyment. This is one Heyer book I will definitely have to add to my own library.

Don't forget to check in at Patti Abbott's blog, Pattinase, to see what other forgotten books other bloggers are talking about today.

Friday's Forgotten (or Overlooked) Books (on Thursday): A Georgette Heyer Double-Header

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In celebration of Valentine's Day, I bring you two of the most delightful Regency romances it has ever been my pleasure to read and recommend. Yes I know, lately I seem to be in a Georgette Heyer frenzy but far as I'm concerned, you can't over-do or overdose on the Grand Mistress of the Regency. So settle in, it's a long post, and have a cup of tea or better yet, a glass of champagne, and let's talk romance.

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Oh, and if you have some of those tiny little heart-shaped cookies, cakes or sandwiches (crusts trimmed of course), even better yet.

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When the fine young Regency buck, Lord Sheringham ('Sherry' to his friends) is refused by Miss Milborne, an acknowledged beauty and a diamond of the 'first water',  he despairs.

Do not, I beg of you, my lord, say more!' uttered Miss Milborne, in imploring accents, slightly averting her lovely countenance, and clasping both hands to her bosom.

Her companion, a tall young gentleman who had gone romantically down upon one knee before her chair, appeared put out by this faltered request. 'Damn it - I mean, dash it, Isabella!' he expostulated, correcting himself somewhat impatiently as the lady turned reproachful brown eyes upon him, 'I haven't started.'

"Do not!'

"But I am about to offer for you!' said the Viscount, with more than a touch of asperity.

'I know,' replied the lady. 'It is useless! Say no more, my lord!' 

The Viscount rose from his knee, much chagrined. 'I must say Isabella, I think you might let a fellow speak!' he said crossly.

'I would spare you pain, my lord.'

'I wish you will stop talking in that damned theatrical way!' said the Viscount. 'And don't keep calling me "my lord", as though you hadn't known me all your life!'

Explanation: their country estates sit next to each other.

When later at his home, Sherry has a 'to-do' with his sister and an uncle who has control of the Viscount's money until Sheringham comes of age or marries - whichever comes first - it is the outside of enough.

"I am going back to London! answered the Viscount. 'And I'm going to marry the first woman I see!'

Disheartened by the beautiful Isabella's surprising refusal (think of all the exclamation points in the previous conversation, for goodness' sake!), broody and crossed by his relatives stubborn refusal to help him claim the beauty and his money, the Viscount soon finds himself hitched to an improbably named young chit of a girl, Hero Wantage, the poor relation of his other next door neighbor.

As fate would have it, once the Viscount turns back to London, he spots Hero all mopey-eyed and tear-stained, perched on top of a stone wall. A small valise next to her.

'...he reined in, backed his pair (carriage horses), and called out, 'Hallo, brat!'

...Miss Wantage blew her nose. 'I'm going to be a governess, Sherry,' she informed him dolefully.

'Going to be a what?' demanded his lordship.

'A governess. Cousin Jane says so.'

'Never heard such nonsense in my life!' said the Viscount, slightly irritated. 'You aren't old enough!'

'Cousin Jane says I am. I shall be seventeen in a fortnight's time, you know.'

'Well, you don't look it,' said Sherry, disposing of the matter. 'You always were a silly little chit, Hero. Shouldn't believe everything people say. Ten to one she didn't mean it.'

'Oh yes!' said Miss Wantage sadly. 'You see, I always knew I should have to be one day, because that's why I learned to play the horrid pianoforte, and to paint in water-colours, so that I could be a governess when I was grown-up. Only I don't want to be, Sherry! Not yet! Not before I have enjoyed myself for a little while.'

She then explains that it's either be a governess or marry the local curate. She then further explains her completely understandable plan to run away.

.....'What are you meaning to do, Sherry?' asked Miss Wantage solicitously.

'Just what I told my mother, and my platter-faced uncle! Marry the first female I see!'

Miss Wantage gave a giggle. "Silly! that's me!'

'Well, good God, there's no need to be so curst literal!' said his lordship. 'I know it's you, as it turns out, but - ' He stopped suddenly, and stared down into Miss Wantage's heart-shaped countenance. 'Well, why not?' he said slowly. 'Damme, that's exactly what I'll do!'

Turns out that Hero has been in love with Sheringham all her life though he, densely enough, is unaware of it.

How these two improbables get on in London after their run-away marriage by Special License is a total joy to read about, most especially since Hero is revealed to be one of the most adorable  creatures ever created by Georgette Heyer. It's almost all lightness and fun and even though there might be hair-raising scrapes galore, two kidnappings, devilish wickedness and fisticuffs, it's all made well in an uproarious ending (where most of the characters converge to right things and settle scores - something Georgette Heyer is famous for). Sherry, at long last, comes to realize that he's married the right woman after all.

But of course, not before poor Hero has involved Sherry and his friends in various escapades involving all sorts of breaches of Regency manners and customs - she is a very naive country girl after all, never having even visited London. To Sherry's chagrin, he finds that his town friends adore Hero and will do anything to make sure she is not discomfited, going so far as taking her side in most altercations and keeping an eye out for her whenever she  seems in danger of a major faux pas.

Not that that stops Hero from plunging heck or neck into trouble, mostly because she believes anything told her by Sherry whom she worships for having saved her from a life of drudgery.

Again, I fell in love with the cast of characters Heyer surrounds Hero and Sherry with. And even if some of the conversation is sprinkled liberally with Regency slang, I was able to decipher things without too much trouble - it's not rocket science. (There are also several Regency Slang websites online if you are so inclined.)

Much of the enjoyment to be had from Heyer's more light-hearted books is drawn from the stylish conversations which, despite all the exclamation points, are pure unadulterated, exuberant fun. Most especially when stiff-necked relatives are involved.

They say you can tell a lot about a man from the kinds of friends he keeps and never has this proven more true, than in FRIDAY'S CHILD.

When it comes to inventing the sort of kind-hearted but not very bright 'goose-ish' young Regency dandy whom one would like to believe really did exist, Georgette Heyer cannot be topped. That Lord Sheringham would have one of these among his friends is very pleasing.

That he has another friend who needs to marry an heiress sooner rather than later (London seems riddled with good-looking young men of genteel birth, but little money) and has his heart set on Isabella (who recently spurned Sheringham) and who is constantly 'calling out' anyone who even so much as whispers any slight against her (including Sheringham), is wonderful fun. The fun part being that no one takes these challenges seriously because they're so used to them.

My favorite thing is when one of Heyer's characters whom no one expected much from turns out to have a hand is righting things for the hero and his bride in the end.

Georgette Heyer has a genius for creating auxiliary characters who come equipped with their own backgrounds, charm (or not) and foibles - individuals in their own right. That's half the fun of reading her books, you just never know who will turn up as the story evolves. This is a complete world she invites us to visit.

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'Not more than five days after she had despatched an urgent missive to her brother, the Most Honourable the Marquis of Alverstoke, requesting him to visit her at his earliest convenience, the widowed Lady Buxted was relieved to learn from her youngest daughter that that Uncle Vernon had just  driven up to the house, wearing a coat with dozens of capes, and looking as fine as fivepence. "In a smart new curricle, too, Mama, and everything prime about him!" declared Miss Kitty, flattening her nose against the window-pane in her effort to squint down into the street. "He is the most tremendous swell, isn't he, Mama?"

Lady Buxted responded in repressive accents, desiring her not to use expressions unbefitting a lady of quality, and dismissing her to the schoolroom.

Lady Buxted was not one of her brother's admirers; and the intelligence that he had driven himself to Grosvenor Place in his curricle did nothing to advance him in her good graces. It was a fine spring morning, but a sharp wind was blowing, and no one who knew him could suppose that the Marquis would keep his high-bred horses waiting for more than a few minutes. This did not augur well for the scheme she had in mind - not, as she had bitterly observed to her elder sister, that she cherished any but the gloomiest expectations, Alverstoke being, without exception, the most selfish, disobliging creature alive.

.....Indeed she had once demanded, in a moment of exasperation, if he cared for anything but his clothing. To which he had replied, after subjecting the question to consideration, that although his clothes were naturally of paramount importance, he also cared for his horses.'

In this second novel gobbled up right after finishing FRIDAY'S CHILD, a sensible young woman who considers herself 'on the shelf' and beyond marriageable age (though she's only twenty four) must appeal to a very distant town relation for help in giving her very marriageable younger sister a London season. The younger sister, you see, is the beauty in the family and all Frederica Merriville wants is for Charis to marry well and not waste her beauty on any country bumpkin.  

As unofficial head of the Merriville family (mother and father deceased, twenty one year old brother Harry at Oxford) Frederica is used to being in charge of the sweet-natured and easily managed Charis, but also her sixteen year old brother Jessamy and their twelve year old brother, Felix (a mechanical genius of sorts) - not to mention Luff, a large lummox of a country dog.

Arriving in London, the Merrivilles take a furnished house on the outskirts of society and Frederica puts her plan in motion to help Charis make a splendid match.

In this logical enough quest, Frederica turns to their VERY distant relation, the Marquis of Alverstoke, an acerbic, quick-witted, often rude (often surly), self-important aristocrat who sneers at romance and sentimentality, cares for nothing but his own comfort and has a horror of being bored.

Well, you know what happens next. Taken aback by Frederica and her brood, the Earl is soon behaving in ways that overset not only his vision of himself, but that of his nagging relatives as well.

Again, it's the charm of the entire cast of characters that makes for lively reading. In this tale there's also the surreal element of a runaway balloon (with an extra passenger) drifting across the English countryside while an Earl gives chase over hill and dale in his carriage and everyone back in town assumes the worst.

Ah, the good old days of the English Regency. If only it had been this much fun in reality.

Frederick Morgan

Happy Valentine's Day.

For all the links to Friday's Forgotten (or Overlooked) Books, please check Evan Lewis's site.
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Friday's Forgotten Books: COTILLION (1953) by Georgette Heyer

Obviously I am in a Georgette Heyer frenzy, having read several of her books back to back and debating whether I should begin reading COTILLION again immediately since I enjoyed it so much.

If you know Heyer, you know how addictive she can be. If you don't know, then here's your chance to learn about this most treasured author whose books I lately discovered a few years ago, but about whom I'd heard nothing but praise for years. If you love Heyer, you adore her. That's just the way it is. There doesn't seem to be a middle road.

Of courser, there is a reason for the exultant praise. The woman knew what the heck she was doing. When it comes to the execution of plotting, characterization and even locale (generally London, Bath and its environs) Heyer had/has no peer. Jane Austen began the whole thing but Georgette Heyer carried on - slicing and dicing with a wicked sense of the absurdity of the time. (I'm not saying that Heyer had Austen's brilliance, but what she accomplished in her lifetime surely amounts to some form of genius.)

COTILLION is the very entertaining story of poor but honest Kitty Charing, a half-French orphan adopted by a penny-pinching old miser (a rich old miser, needless to say) named Matthew Penicuick (pronounced, I'm thinking, Penny-Quick). To provide for Kitty, the daughter of his old friend, the clever and oh-so-maniacally thrifty Penicuick invites his long-suffering nephews to his roomy but chilly country house and lets them know that whoever 'offers' for Kitty's hand will inherit the family fortune. No marriage. No money.

If Kitty refuses, she will be left without a shilling and be forced to earn her living heaven knows how. If the men refuse to cooperate, the money goes to a foundling hospital. Them's the choices.

Kitty has her heart set on one of the nephews (Jack, the black sheep of the family) - the one who, out of sheer orneriness refuses to show up for the family conclave guessing correctly which way the wind was blowing. So Kitty refuses the rather reluctant offers from two of the other nephews in as hilarious a scene as any ever written by Heyer.

But when Freddy Standish, a splendidly dressed dandy (son of a Viscount) with a wonderful self-deprecating manner and a great tolerance for foolishness arrives on the scene just to see what's what in the family (he's the only one who doesn't need the money since he's loaded) Kitty immediately sees a way out of her predicament, at least temporarily. To get back at Jack, she takes matters into her own hands and asks Freddy to marry her.

He thinks she's lost her mind. But then she explains that it's only a 'pretend' betrothal' for a month. She just wants to see London and have some fun before she heads off into drudge city - that is, the life of a governess or worse.

Freddy is so good-natured that he agrees even if he surmises (rightly) that the plot is fraught with all kinds of trouble for himself, his family in town and even for Kitty herself.

So off to London they go to visit with Freddy's family and break the news of the upcoming nuptials - for no one is to know the actual truth until it's all over. Unfortunately, they arrive just as Freddy's mother is dealing with a measles epidemic among the younger members of the family.

Everything about this book is perfection. Kitty Charing is a wonderful character - one of Heyer's specialties: the young, intelligent, opinionated Regency miss who is poor but will not allow that to stop her from hatching improbable plans. In Freddy Standish, Heyer has outdone herself. He is a likable, good-natured young fop about town who cares more for his sartorial elegance than Kitty's problems but even so, is willing to help Kitty keep out of scrapes. His growth as a character, as a man, is part of the charm of the novel.

The characterizations in this book are such that I wished over and over again that I could know these people, could hang out with them while they tumble in and out of trouble hatching one hair-brained scheme after another. It's not just Kitty we worry about, there are two other love stories going on at the same time.

Two stories in which Kitty can't help getting involved, dragging Freddy along with her as she tries to help fashion happy endings for four other people. It's all a jumble until the very end and I found myself not wanting to reach the last page because then I'd have to say goodbye to Kitty and Freddy and the rest of 'em.

Though this book is loaded with wonderful, memorable characters (besides Kitty and Freddy) the one who touched me most was the slightly dotty Lord Dolphinton, a slow-witted Earl whose future happiness Kitty eventually takes in hand to the consternation of the entire family.

"I ain't a clever, like you fellows, but when people say things to me once or twice I can remember them." He observed that this simple declaration of his powers had bereft his cousin of words, and retired again, mildly pleased, into his book.

..."I am an Earl," said Lord Dolphinton, suddenly re-entering the conversation. "You ain't an Earl. Hugh ain't an Earl. Freddy ain't - " 

"No you're the only Earl among us," interposed Hugh soothingly.

"George is only a Baron," said Dolphinton.

I loved this book and will definitely be buying a copy so I can re-read it whenever I wish.

COTILLION is now, officially, on my top five list of Heyer books. I can't recommend it enough if you, like me, like well-written novels, Regency or otherwise, and laugh-out-loud wit.

A novel that can make me laugh out loud ain't nothin' to sneeze at. Especially these days.

To see the links for other Friday Forgotten Books, check out Evan Lewis's blog. He's doing hosting duties for Patti Abbott this week.

Forgotten Book Friday: A CIVIL CONTRACT, LADY OF QUALITY and THE CONVENIENT MARRIAGE by Georgette Heyer

I doubt those of us who love Heyer would have forgotten her books, but it is hard to remember all the individual titles since she was a very prolific writer. Heyer not only wrote Regency romances, but 18th century ones (the era of powdered wigs) as well and also some rather good mysteries. (If you're not into romances, then for goodness' sake read the Heyer 'contemporary' mysteries, they're wonderful and are readily available in re-issues.)

The main thing I love about Georgette Heyer's historical romances (besides the topnotch characterizations and intriguing plots) are the good manners. These British societies of the past thrived on societal strictures (okay, occasionally inane strictures to be sure), but I'm convinced it was the insistence on good manners that helped keep everyone in line.

I'm of the opinion that there's nothing like a well-written romance novel to fix whatever ails you. The Regency romance was invented for the doldrums of winter. When you've read one too many mysteries and need a change of pace from murder most foul, the Regency is a perfect alternative. (Although there are occasionally some fancy dressed fops up to no good in these books, if anything as sordid as murder occurs, it's off the page and usually far, far away.)

A CIVIL CONTRACT (1961) is, for all intents and purposes, one of the best (if not the best) marriage of convenience stories ever written (I think I know whereof I speak since I've read a million of 'em). In this book I recognized many plot contrivances and twists of romantic fate that other writers would go on to 'borrow' for their own 'm.o.c.' plots over the years.

While Harlequin and Signet and the rest of 'em were/are publishing Regencies and other historical romances on a monthly basis - books I unashamedly gobbled up then and occasionally now - the authors, I realize, had lots to thank Georgette Heyer for. It was Heyer who set up the formula for these stories, a formula which even now is followed pretty rigidly. (Well, it was probably Jane Austen who perfected the original formulation, but you know what I mean.) Never mess with perfection.

Why? Because the reader expects certain things to happen in these sorts of books and hell has no fury like a thwarted romance reader.

A CIVIL CONTRACT is not strictly a 'romance' as we typically think of them. There's more here than may, at first glance, meet the eye - keen social observation for one thing: the occasionally unpalatable mix of marriage, social standing and the harsh realities of economics. Money is at the heart of the story of Miss Jenny Chawleigh - daughter of a very wealthy 'Cit' who, at the urging of her ambitious father, marries the financially strapped Viscount Lynton thereby saving his family home and lands. Though the 'm.o.c' motif is one which usually leads to romantic entanglements between the two main characters who remain unaware of said 'entanglement' until the happy ending - in this case, Georgette Heyer has given her likable characters a more realistic 'happy enough' ending.

Captain Adam Deveril, honorable officer and gentleman, one of the Duke of Wellington's men, must leave the field of battle when his father, the Viscount, is killed in an accident. Deveril inherits the family title and thus, since he is the only son, cannot risk being killed himself even if the battle to oust Napoleon is still on-going.

Unfortunately for Deveril, his feckless father was a wastrel who gambled away the family fortunes. Without money Deverill will be forced to sell off everything he owns, including the much beloved family home. Not only that but he is now unable to offer for the beautiful woman of his dreams since she, not to put too fine a point on it, must marry money as well though her family is in less straitened circumstances than Deveril's.

Enter Jonathan Chawleigh, one of Georgette Heyer's more vividly inspired and likable creations - an enormously rich but vulgar 'working man' with multiple dealings in the City and a rather plain daughter whom he wishes to see advance in society. Chawleigh, having hoped for an Earl, settles for a Viscount.

The daughter turns out to be the best thing that ever happened to Adam Deveril, though it takes him a long while to realize this. And while she may not be the love of his life, it turns out that the 'love of his life' was not especially suited to the life Adam would have wished to live. After all, a man must be comfortable to be happy. Very wise of Heyer to note this.

I have two other Heyers to recommend, books I've just finished reading during my own personal Georgette Heyer Mini-Read-A-Thon:

THE CONVENIENT MARRIAGE (1968) is set in the years before the Regency when men were wearing heels, jeweled frock coats and both sexes wore white wigs piled high and Marie Antoinette was still Queen in France - the grumbling of the 'lower classes' still fairly subdued.

Horatia Winwood, a daring seventeen year old chit of a girl devises a plan to save her older sister from a forced marriage to the Earl of Rule. The plan works better than the impulsive girl had hoped and therein lies the tale. Lots of fun, good manners, a duel, a kidnapping and a terrific love story.

A LADY OF QUALITY (1972) Set in the city of Bath, in the last days of the Regency, this is the story of twenty nine year old Annis Wychwood, beautiful, rich, outspoken and independent. Having refused all offers of marriage (she values her independence too highly), she is quite content to remain 'on the shelf' in charge of her own life.

But fate has other plans. Due to a series of haphazard circumstances, Annis is put temporarily in charge of a naive young girl on the run from her suffocating family and eager to sample the delights of society. The girl comes complete with a forbidding guardian (don't they always?) who is rumored to be the 'rudest man in Bath.'

Though, admittedly, both main characters are not as likable as many of Heyer's other inventions, it is still fun to read about their trials and tribulations - you know how it goes with the path of true love. As is usual with Heyer, the vibrant secondary characters almost steal the show.

Since we're expecting snow over the weekend, it will be a perfect time for me to settle in with a bunch of Georgette Heyers, cups of tea and some serious snacking.

Care to join me?

Also, don't forget to check in at Todd Mason's blog, Sweet Freedom to see what other Forgotten or Overlooked Books other bloggers are talking about today. Todd is doing the hosting duties for Patti Abbott this week.

Review: SYLVESTER or THE WICKED UNCLE by Georgette Heyer

First of all, I love the dual title (though it doesn't appear on the cover) of this acerbically amusing tale of love and manners. So, going in, I was already disposed to liking whatever Georgette Heyer had up her sleeve. I'm happy to report that SYLVESTER or THE WICKED UNCLE more than lives up to its 'tongue in cheek' title. It is a light-hearted tale of convoluted romantic hi jinks set in the excruciatingly well-mannered English Regency years - Jane Austen's time.

I don't know why I held such an idiot prejudice against reading Heyer for so many years. Jeez, am I a reading snob or what? Of course not. I love a good story no matter who writes it. But I had somewhere picked up the notion that Heyer's books were simple-minded.

Obviously I couldn't have been more wrong. So here I am, making amends. 2012 will be my Georette Heyer year. I'm making up for lost time - with a vengeance.

I've already read most of Heyer's Christie-like mysteries (not exactly up to Christie level, but really quite good enough to make me wonder why Heyer didn't write more of them). Then last year I read two of her Regencies and lost no time in apologizing to the shades of Heyer for having ignored her all these many years. I am now an unabashed fan and am ready to sing her praises to the high heavens.

Hey, I never do anything by halves.

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Sylvester, Duke of Alford is our titled hero and I must add that I especially love it when the hero is a Duke. (Or at the very least, an Earl.) That's when I know I'm in for some high end posturing and devilishly strict good manners.

Not to mention all the fabulously ritzy accouterments - houses, estates, phaeton carriages (low and high perch), fine horses by the dozen, dogs, servants, jewels, a wardrobe of elegantly cut jackets and trousers, silks, fluttering neck-ties, gold pocket watches, jeweled stick-pins, rings and other assorted aristocratic whatnot - that were deemed necessary for a rich and titled bachelor in stiff-necked Regency society. And topping it all off, of course, is that little wonder of wonders, the quizzing monocle dangling on a ribbon. Pretty darn near irresistible if you ask me.

The Duke is at the age (past thirty) when he must consider wedding a well brought up lady of style, quality and excellent family. So, he turns to his mother the Duchess for advice. I do like that in this story, the Duke and his invalid mother have an especially warm relationship based on love and respect. Very pleasant.

Sylvester claims that anyone of five or so different ladies he's met here and there, will do nicely. They're practically interchangeable.

But what about love? His mother asks, aghast at his seeming cold-blooded approach.

He shrugs off love. He hasn't fallen yet and doesn't expect to.

Not that Sylvester is an unlikeable stick. He is anything but. It's just that, after all, he IS a Duke and well aware of his consequence. He has a good heart, but he has been his own master since the age of nineteen and his stand-offish manner needs a bit of warming up.  All his mother wants is for him to be happily settled in the right alliance. To that end she recommends he go down to the country and check out the Hon. Phoebe Marlow, the daughter of a friend, BEFORE he decides which of the five or so society names might do as a future Duchess.

Sylvester says he'll think about it.

The Duke already has an heir to the title - his young nephew Edmund, the son of his deceased and much beloved twin brother. His brothers scatty wife, Lady Henry is resentful that Sylvester was left guardian of her son and is determined to take him away with her. She has plans to marry one of the Pinkest of the Ton, the exceedingly rich and foppish, Sir Nugent Fotherby who is as awful as his name implies. Sylvester will never allow Fotherby to raise Edmund.

The Dowager Lady Ingham is Sylvester's godmother and it is to that good lady that he applies for guidance as well. Lady Ingham is the grandmother of  the Hon. Phoebe Marlow, the country miss his mother has recommended as a possible marriage prospect. The young woman doesn't live with her grandmother in London, but with her father and wretched step-mother in the country.

"Phoebe's not one of your beauties." said the Dowager, almost as if she had read his mind. "She don't show to advantage with her mother-in-law, but to my way of thinking she's not just in the ordinary style.  If pink-and-white's your fancy, she won't do for you....She's not an heiress, but her fortune won't be contemptible."

Certainly something to consider. Not that Sebastian needs any more money, he is quite rich enough. His home, Chance, is looked upon - with envy - as one of the great houses of England.

So, under the pretense of buying some horseflesh from Phoebe's malleable, indiscreet father - heavily under the thumb of his boorish wife - off goes Sylvester, Duke of Alford, to the countryside.

The problem is, the Hon. Phoebe is well aware that the game is afoot. The Duke is coming to look her over. Her wretched  step-mother has made sure to let Phoebe know she must behave in the manner that a Duke would find acceptable - or else!

Vexed by the prospect, but afraid of her step-mother's cruel distemper, Phoebe turns to her lifelong friend, young Tom Orde, son of the local squire, for help. You see, Phoebe can't abide the Duke.

He'd snubbed her in London, once upon a time, and the humiliation ran deep for Phoebe. In fact, she'd thought him such a cold fish that she'd featured him as the villain, Count Uggolino, in the soon to be published Gothic novel - THE LOST HEIR - she's secretly written under a pseudonym. Very prominently displayed on the Count's villainous countenance are the Duke of Salford's well recognized satyr-like eyebrows.

Now, here are the questions we must ask ourselves:

How will Phoebe avoid a marriage proposal from the Duke, supposing he should be so inclined though she can't see why on earth he would be. Not for nothing is Salford a high stepper and society snob of the first water.

How will Phoebe turn him down should the occasion arise, without incurring the wrath of her wretched step-mother and the rest of her family as well as society in general?

How will the Duke react when he, in the unlikely chance that an offer should be made, finds himself refused by a mere chit of a gawky country girl? And not even a beautiful one, at that.

More importantly, how will the Duke react when he recognizes himself as the villain in a romantic novel? Will he be made a laughing stock? How will society deal with the Hon. Phoebe should her identity as the author of a roman a clef be discovered?

Unfortunately, Phoebe's opinion of the Duke doesn't change on the first night of their meeting so she decides to run away the next morning with Tom Orde, her complaisant friend. Of course, everyone assumes they've gone off to Gretna Green for a ramshackle marriage, but the truth is that neither Phoebe nor Tom desires marriage, they're off to London where Phoebe can seek refuge with the grandmother who was instrumental in sending the Duke down to the country. (Phoebe doesn't know this.)

But on the run, the carriage is upset on the road and Tom breaks a leg. The two runaways are forced to find lodging in a nearby ale house.

Okay, so we can see where all this is going. Though Heyer gives us the expected romantic complications, she also has a surprise or two in store for us which is what makes this story so intriguing. The course of true love ne'r did run smooth. Phoebe and Sylvester encounter complication upon complication, including a scurrilous sea going kidnapping and a moment in time when Sylvester is forced to ride a public coach - gasp!

And once Phoebe learns that the Duke ain't such a bad fellow, she is desperate to keep him from finding out about Count Uggolino of the malevolent eyebrows. Sylvester, on the other hand, has learned his own lessons from this tangled adventure and made a revelation or two about his own Duke-ish persona.

Read the book if you want to know what happens next to the Hon. Phoebe Marlow, Tom Orde, the Duke of Salford and the wretched step-mother. It is a very enjoyable, not to mention humorous,. voyage back in time to a world that was probably never as wonderful as Heyer invented. But since when has reality ever stopped us from having a bit of fun?

Monday Review: THE TALISMAN RING (1936) by Georgette Heyer

This book is part of my Library Loot of a week or so ago.

I'm not as familiar with Georgette Heyer's writings as perhaps I should be. I've only really begun reading her work within the past couple of years. First with her mysteries, a happy discovery, since I'd had no idea she'd ever written any and now I've graduated to her Regencies - primarily because of urgings and recommendations from the Blog-O-Sphere.

An aside: The Regency era in English history was a brief one but not so to judge by all the novels and stories set near or within those few years of 1811 - 1820. An intriguing and fun to read non-fiction book about the Regency is AN ELEGANT MADNESS High Society in Regency England by Venetia Murray, if, by the way, you want to know more about this particularly interesting, though rather short, period in time.

Since I'd just recently finished reading THE WOMAN IN WHITE by Wilkie Collins - a book set in a totally different era of British history (the Victorian years) - but blessed with the same speech rhythm and tone - something which falls very nicely on my American ear - I suppose I was predisposed to enjoy reading Georgette Heyer's two stories filled with witty banter and the often preposterous hi-jinks of the English gentry.


First THE TALISMAN RING,  then a few words on THE CORINTHIAN:

The thing that struck me first and foremost about THE TALISMAN RING is that at some time it must really, should really, be turned into a play - a costume farce in the style of Oscar Wilde or Sheridan or Oliver Goldsmith. It is perfectly created for that purpose, whether by intent or just happy circumstance. The whole thing speaks VISUALS as you read, the scenario practically forming itself front of you as you read. (I would love to get an audio version of this at some point.)

I mean, the thing practically stages itself. Most of the action takes place in either an inn - and oh, what an inn! - or at a nearby manor house with one of the scenes there being an everyone bumping into each other in the dark burglary attempt complete with secret passageway, suddenly snuffed out candles, shots in the dark and mysterious exits and entrances.

The Red Lion Inn which is the main set of the piece is an Inn conceived in brilliance,  perfect for a stage set. It is a large place, second and third floors, filled with passageways and stairs in and on which to lurk. It has a public space and a private - for those staying overnight. But best of all, it has secret cellars where the smuggled (or 'free-trade') whiskey is stored far from the prying eyes of the law. One of these cellars is used throughout most of the book to hide one of the two main characters from the grasp of the Bow Street Runners who keep turning up ready to arrest him for a murder he didn't commit. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

When Eustacie, the highly imaginative and half-French granddaughter of Lord Lavenham runs away in the night (on horseback through a dark forest) rather than marry Sir Tristram Shield (to whom she has been betrothed by the dying Lavenham) because Sir Tristram is 'not sympathique,' events are set in motion. Eustacie is soon caught up in a smuggling operation gone awry, in fact she runs right into the arms of her black sheep of a cousin, Ludovic Lavenham (don't you love these names?) a young, handsome and mostly reckless miscreant who is on the run from the law and a possible charge of murder most foul.

Events then dictate that Eustacie and Ludovic take refuge in The Red Lion Inn for most of the book. There, they meet up with the very sensible Miss Sara Thane (a wonderful character) a 28 year old spinster travelling with her eccentric brother, Sir Hugh, both staying on in the inn because he is nursing a head cold.

Here is a flavor of the sort of conversation that goes on between Sara and Eustacie once the girl in flight explains her plight:

"...In fact, we are betrothed. That is why I have run away. He has no conversation. Morevover, he said that if I went to London, I should not find myself in any way remarkable."

"He was wrong," said Miss Thane with conviction.

"Yes, I think he was wrong, but you see he is not sympathique, and he does not like women."

Miss Thane blinked at her. "Are you sure?" she said. "I mean, if he wants to marry you - "

"But he does not want to marry me! It is just that he must have an heir, and because Grandpere made for us a mariage de convenance. Only Grandpere is dead now, and I am not going to marry a person who says that he would not care if I went to the guillotine in a tumbril!"

"Did he really say that?" inquired Miss Thane. "He must be a positive Monster!"

"Well, no, he did not say exactly that," admitted Eustacie. "But when I asked him if he would not be sorry to see me, a jeune fille, in a tumbril, and dressed all in white, he said he would be sorry for anyone in a trumbril, 'whatever their age or sex or - or apparel!"

"You need say no more; I can see that he is a person of no sensibility," said Miss Thane. "I am not surprised that you ran away from him to join your cousin Ludovic."

"Oh, I didn't!" replied Eustacie. "I mean, I never knew I was going to meet Ludovic. I ran away to become a governess."

"Forgive me," said Miss Thane, "but have you then just met your cousin Ludovic by chance, for the first time?"

"But yes, I have told you! And he said I should not do for a governess." She sighed. "I wish I could think of something to be that was exciting! If only I were a man!"

"Yes," agreed Miss Thane. "I feel very strongly that you should have been a man and gone smuggling with your cousin."

Very soon, Sir Tristam Shield shows up looking for his estranged fiancee - just in the nick of time, actually. But Shield isn't the only one who shows up to be drawn into several hairbrained schemes as the story progresses.

The Red Lion Inn is constantly plagued by comings and goings, luckily it is a setting made perfect by multi-doors and windows opening and closing, hallways, upstairs and down. As someone departs, someone else enters - just the sort of split second timing beloved of farces since time immemorial. In fact, there is so much activity going on in the Inn that the building sort of takes on a life of its own.

Here's the gist of it: Ludovic Lavenham is thought to have murdered a man named Plunkett a few years before the story begins. No definite proof being found for it except that a shot was heard and the body found just moments after Ludovic arrived on the scene. But the most important thing is that the ring that Plunkett had in his possession - the talisman ring of the title, an old Lavenham family heirloom - has disappeared and presumed stolen by Ludovic at the time of the murder. To know more about the 'why' of the murder you'll have to read the book. Suffice to say, Ludovic has been on the run, cut off from his family and inheritance (he is next in line to Lord Lavenham's title). But instead of fleeing the country, obviously, Ludovic has been hanging around  the vicinity and fallen in with a nefarious gang of 'free-traders' - smugglers to you and me.

The real bad guy is eventually reasoned to be the deceptively charming Beau Lavenham (not telling you anything you won't either figure out or find out early in the book) a man given to wearing chartreuse, puce and stripes (!), a man who, if Ludovic were out of the picture permanently, would be next in line to inherit.

The rest of story is taken up with the dour Sir Tristram, the irrepressible Eustacie with her often impenetrable, (unless you speak French) but very flavorful utterances, the indefatigable Miss Sara Thane, her befuddled brother, the stalwart innkeeper Bob Nye and last, but not least, the scapegrace Ludovic who must be kept hidden at all costs - all trying to figure out a way to outwit the Beau (as he's called) and find the lost talisman ring (which will prove Ludovic doesn't have it and is therefore innocent). The ring is thought to be in hiding somewhere in Beau's abode - currently the dower house of the late Lord Lavenham's manor - and this is where the secret passageway plot comes in. Author Georgette Heyer leaves nothing out - of course there must be a secret passageway!

It's all too engaging and fun and delightful to read as events unfold at breakneck speed as they must in a story of this kind. As I said earlier, this is perfectly set up to become a play (or even an operetta) if only someone would adapt it.

The other book of Heyers which I read recently, practically in tandem with THE TALISMAN RING, is THE CORINTHIAN, also a story of a runaway (two, actually) from that beloved trope of novelists, an Arranged Marriage. When Sir Richard Wyndham, a rich Corinthian being pressured by his family to marry and produce an heir, first meets the fabulously rich heiress, Miss Penelope Creed (known to her friends as Pen) she is dressed as a boy and making her escape out a bedroom window dangling from a sheet.

The rest of this charming book flies by as both Wyndham and Pen are forced, by circumstance, to ride a public stagecoach (!) and suffer occasional unpleasantness in their plan to reach Pen's childhood sweetheart who had, originally, promised to marry her when they grew up. Wyndham is caught up in the scheme primarily because he is postponing the moment when he must return to 'reality' -  London - and make a most unsuitable marriage himself.

As I said, another delight of a book.

I will be reading more Georgette Heyer, sooner rather than later. When I think what I have been missing, I mean, it is just not to be borne.

Happy Birthday, Georgette Heyer

Today, August 16th, is the 108th birthday of the extraordinary Georgette Heyer. Mostly known as a romance writer (she wrote over 50 books in her long life), she also wrote some pretty terrific mysteries. Some of which I've recently been reading for the first time. I've just finished Envious Casca, a classic of the locked room school from the golden age of mystery. A family gathers for Christmas festivities at an old English country house. Murder ensues. Fairly simple and yet, not. When done in the right way, this sort of mystery is perfection.

Other Heyer mysteries recently read by yours truly: A Blunt Instrument, Duplicate Death and Detection Unlimited. I recommend them highly to anyone interested in a darn good mystery written by someone who, if she'd written more of them, would surely have been considered another Grande Dame of Mystery.

Thanks to the Jane Austen World blog for alerting me to this auspicious day. There's a terrific post on there today about Heyer and her work.