TEST
In Anne Gracie’s The Scoundrel’s Daughter, Alice Paten was left with debts after her husband, Lord Charlton, died. He lavished his money on his mistress. But Alice has made economies, and at the age of thirty-eight, she’s finally able to relax a little. And then a man shows up, saying he’ll publish her husband’s scandalous letters to his mistress unless Alice sponsors that man’s daughter for the Season.
Some books show immediately that they’re not wallpaper historicals or populated with characters from the twenty-first century, and this is one of them. Alice is in no position to say, “Publish and be damned!” since the letters refer to how unsatisfying she was in the marriage bed, so she takes the man’s demand seriously. He tosses her a wad of cash for his daughter’s wardrobe, but he has one requirement – his grandson must inherit a title some day. And the daughter, Lucy Bamber, is either silently sullen or outrageous in her impertinence.
What I liked most about Alice was her calm, mature approach to the situation. She realizes that Lucy is also a victim of Mr. Bamber’s schemes and has never experienced any security, let alone acceptance. The two of them develop a warm, protective friendship, and introducing Lucy into society also becomes a way for Alice to re-emerge after the nightmare of her marriage.
But Alice’s nephew Gerald, at a loose end now that he’s left the army, previously crossed Lucy’s path when she was working as a maidservant. Recognizing her, he plans to find out what’s going on, while Lucy is deliberately cheeky to keep him at arm’s length. Their interactions always end up with Lucy getting under Gerald’s skin, until Alice cleverly persuades him to find eligible men for Lucy (such men always turn out to be disappointing, somehow).
Then Gerald discovers the blackmail and confides in another former officer, James Tarrant, hoping that between the two of them, they can put a stop to it. James’ wife died years ago, leaving their three young daughters in his care, and he’s not about to let innocents be harmed if he can help it. Especially after he falls for Alice.
I was pleased to see Alice also getting a loving relationship, but here’s where the book goes downhill. The moment James sees Alice, he thinks how gorgeous she is and imagines kissing her. But although he flirts with her, she makes it clear that she’s not interested in marrying again. So he tells her he needs a friend to help him with his three girls. Alice always longed for children, though she’s obviously barren since she never conceived during her marriage.
You can tell where this is going. When James sheds the pretense and calls her “love”, Alice tells him this isn’t appropriate and her mind is made up. He insists on pressing the matter.
“I’m sorry. I take you very seriously. It’s just—” He made a helpless gesture. “I don’t want to hear this nonsense.”
A woman finally making her own decisions about her life. Yes, that’s nonsense all right.
Alice was his; she just didn’t know it yet.
Good thing Alice has a man to guide her towards enlightenment. James’s manipulation, along with his I-know-what’s-best-for-you paternalism, was all the more infuriating to read because it’s clear that Alice was abused during her marriage. I wanted her to find someone who respected her choices. Instead, she has all the hurt and disillusionment of a woman who discovers a man is just using friendship (and his children) as a cover for what he really wants.
On top of that, there’s the usual baby-logue where the evil dead husband is revealed as the infertile one. I hoped this book would buck the trend and show that a woman can be happy even without having a biological child. Naturally, this wasn’t the case, and from now on I will DNF any romance where the heroine considers herself barren, because I’ve lost hope that authors will do anything differently. The resolution of the blackmail threat is also disappointing. And it’s never made clear why Bamber is so fixated on having a titled grandson that he takes the risk of committing blackmail.
Still, while The Scoundrel’s Daughter wasn’t an exceptional read, it was often enjoyable. Anne Gracie’s writing is brisk and assured, there’s plenty of humor, and both Alice and Lucy are perfectly drawn characters who come to life in the story. So despite the problems mentioned above, it earns a qualified recommendation, and I’d be happy to try something else by this author.
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Grade: B-
Book Type: Historical Romance
Sensuality: Warm
Review Date: 02/09/21
Publication Date: 08/2021
Recent Comments …
Yep
This sounds delightful! I’m grabbing it, thanks
excellent book: interesting, funny dialogs, deep understanding of each character, interesting secondary characters, and also sexy.
I don’t think anyone expects you to post UK prices – it’s just a shame that such a great sale…
I’m sorry about that. We don’t have any way to post British prices as an American based site.
I have several of her books on my TBR and after reading this am moving them up the pile.
I'm Marian, originally from Sri Lanka but grew up in the United Arab Emirates, studied in Georgia and Texas, ended up in Toronto. When I'm not at my job as a medical laboratory technologist, I read, write, do calligraphy, and grow vegetables in the back yard.
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I just finished reading it and I think it isn’t the best book by Gracie but like Evelyn and Katja I didn’t find James manipulative. For him it was love at first sight and she too felt very attracted to him. But after a nightmare of a marriage she was more than cautious. After rejecting his marriage proposal he wouldn’t give up on her. I think she gave James mixed signals. The nonsense scene that so angered the reviewer took place the day after his proposal and I think he did earn a better response than her simple I can’t marry again without telling him any reason why.
As to the baby epilogue: Alice endured a very abusive marriage with forced sex over 18 years. Her husband blamed her in a very nasty and public way for beeing barren while her only hope was to have a baby to have someone to love in an otherwise loveless life. Don’t you think she deserved this baby epilogue.
And to all feminists: There are women who really, really want children and Alice was one of these women. Happy ever after for her was one with child. The author made that clear from the beginning.
I don’t usually respond to comments disagreeing with my review, because every reader’s reaction is different. However, since you said, “Don’t you think she deserved this baby epilogue”, it feels like I’m being asked a question, so I’ll answer it.
The question for me isn’t whether a character deserves a biological child or not. The question is whether this is presented in an interesting and meaningful way for me.
It is not interesting for me when the heroine believes herself to be barren, only to have her evil dead husband turn out to be the infertile one, because this has been done so often in romance that I find it contrived and dull. I’m sure other readers enjoy this sort of epilogue, but my review is about my reaction to the book, not about what other readers might feel.
I am also tired of heroines who aren’t fulfilled and happy until the author pulls a biological child out of her hat. That Alice wanted a child, I have no doubt, but I hoped the author would show her finding joy by being a mother to her stepchildren, rather than what was, for me, a done-to-death babylogue instead.
Finally, it’s not clear what feminism has to do with any of this. If you enjoyed the book, that’s great. I’m glad you liked it. And thank you for sharing your thoughts about it.
For me, this issue is intertwined with feminism in that prizing children, especially one’s biological children, above almost all else is something that, prior to the feminism of the latter 20th century, was considered normal. When I was in my 20s in the 80s and in grad school, I was pilloried by many of my professors for feeling that way. It was made clear to me that feminists shouldn’t be about babies in the way they should about their careers. The derision shown to women who wanted to, however briefly, stay at home and raise a family was strong and women who articulated that, especially those who had gone to or were attending prestigious schools, were seen as lesser. The mommy wars were real and, I suspect, still are.
This has always pissed me off. We should support the dreams of all who wish to become parents. Our anger should be turned against, at least in the US, towards the government that has made having children so difficult.
I don’t expect historical romance heroines to be gung-ho about their careers (although there are many great stories with heroines like this), and I have no objections to heroines who want biological children or who dream of being parents. I hope there is nothing in my review to suggest otherwise.
But I also think it’s entirely possible for a woman to find happiness in life even if she doesn’t have biological children. So when a story has the potential to show this, but instead opts for the epilogue I’ve read a hundred times already, I’m not likely to enjoy it.
I agree with you. Several of my very best friends are childfree and have lives they love. We should all find joy in our choices!
I’m just also saying that women who have been clear that their joy is in having their own kids have often, since the 1970s, been made to feel as though that wasn’t a feminist choice.
The criticism of choice regarding children goes both ways, though, doesn’t it? I once mentioned to someone that I had decided not to have children, and he replied that if I had one, I would feel differently because one look into the child’s eyes would change my mind. Well, be that as it may. But I was not prepared to bring another person in the world in the hopes that one look into their eyes would cause a complete and permanent sea-change in everything I knew. Hardly fair to the child if this miraculous transformation fails to occur.
In my culture, women who choose not to have children don’t exactly find this choice treated with acceptance and respect either.
I know that’s true and that’s sort of my point. Whatever choice women make about having children they are made to feel uneasy by both others.
I regret that my english isn’t good enough for expressing my thoughts better.
I thought that in this particular case the heroine deserved her own baby. Beeing treated abominably for not conceiving over 18 years is – for me – reason enough to give her her own baby.
As I noticed over the years the “babylogues” got fewer and fewer. In contemporaries I think it’s justified as modern women no longer base their self-esteem on producing children. In historic times it was different and that fact should be accounted for.
I don’t think that happiness depends wholy on having children. I myself have two grown sons and loved my profession even if it wasn’t always easy in a then male dominated world. But I also had three female married colleagues who decided against children and were happy with their decisions. But on the other hand I had a cousin who very desperately wanted a child and wasn’t happy even if she was very successful in her profession and even had a political career.
Nowadays women have the choice (my generation mostly had to fight for it) between children, no children or children plus career. Why be so over sensitive about babylogues? As I’ve said I’ve read many without them.
And going back into history the significance of having children was much bigger than today. The aristocraty and other wealthy people needed their heirs and all the others needed them as social insurance. So let them have their babylogues.
If you love babylogues, that’s great for you.
However, in general they don’t work for me. I usually find them predictable, dull and unnecessary.
Telling me that a character deserves a baby makes no difference to me. If a character is treated abominably (whether this is for 18, 80 or 800 years), I think she deserves not to be treated abominably, rather than to get an ending that I find predictable, dull and unnecessary.
As for being over sensitive, why be so over sensitive about reviews written by people who don’t like babylogues? The aristocracy and other wealthy people didn’t live in a complete vacuum. Even if they didn’t have biological children of their own, they had relatives who could inherit their titles. So let those of us who don’t enjoy babylogues express how we feel about them.
Yes. AAR is a place that everyone is allowed to express what works for them.
I think so too. So I was a bit astonished about the harsh reaction to my posts.
I was also a bit surprised at the unpleasant reaction to my review.
Aren’t all endings of romances predictable? HEA or HFN?
Apparently I wasn’t able to communicate that I for myself think that in this special case the babylogue made sense because of the story as such. The heroine undoutedly deserved to be treated well in the future, but the best treatment would not have extinguished the feeling of deficiency every woman in her time would have had if there were no children after 18 years. Injust but so were these times as I tried to say in my last post. Her assumed barrenness had damaged her selfesteem and three little stepdaughters would not have erased that feeling, not in 1816 or 1817. Psychotherapists didn’t exist then.
A few years ago I read a historical where a duke fell in love with a widow. In the years of her marriage there were no children and she is sure it was because of her. She warns the hero but he marries her nontheless because he loves her more than possible children. This book had also an epilogue. They had no miracle children, were happy together and enjoyed the children of their friends. Predictable? She told him beforehand. Dull? Perhaps for all readers who were disappointed because of the lack of miracle children. Unnecessary? You say it! I for myself liked it.
There’s a difference between predictable HEA/predictable HFN and predictable “the moment the heroine’s barrenness is brought up, I know her evil dead husband will turn out to be the infertile one and she will have a “surprise” baby in the epilogue”. I hope the specificity of the latter situation is clear.
Whether or not psychotherapists existed in 18-whenever, I don’t enjoy most babylogues and don’t feel they contribute to making a great reading experience for me. That includes this book.
The best babylogue I ever read was in a book where the author actually called it a babylogue and was very tongue-in-cheek about the whole thing. AND it was in an historical romance!
Okay, you can’t say that and not name the book. :)
Heh. How to School Your Scoundrel by Juliana Gray. AAR’s review doesn’t mention it, but I did in mine – https://bit.ly/2X7VHuj
I am reading this right now, but regret buying it, as I find it repetitive and frankly, dull. I must confess, tho, that I usually give Gracie’s books about a B, if that. I used to love her, but now, I find her “ehh.”
I liked this one more than you. James worked better for me too. His sense of humor was delightful. I felt that he really was intrigued by Alice and willing to wait for her. I would give it a B+.
I am with Evelyn here, I didn’t perceive James as manipulative and I actually liked the mature relationship better than the one between the younger couple.
As for the babylogue, yes could have done without that, but as Marian so rightly says in the second paragraph: Some books show immediately that they’re not wallpaper historicals or populated with characters from the twenty-first century, and this is one of them.
And in the 19th century, bearing children was really important and the woman was so often blamed when it was just as likely thet the husband was infertile. Add in, that Alice clearly longed for children of her own, and I think the wish fulfilment epilogue is just fine. Especially since it seems the baby is more Alice’s wish instead of James’s.
So yes, B+ for me as well.
Thanks for reviewing this. I’ve been on the fence as to whether or not I should buy it, but your description of James’ manipulation + “surprise” baby-logue makes me lean towards not getting it.
Strange that the print price is cheaper than the Kindle price on this!