LynneC’s review of One Night In London by Caroline Linden
Historical Romance published by Avon 30 Aug 11
This is the start of a new series from Linden, and since she’s a new-to-me author, I was looking forward to the read. However, this one proved to be a bit of a disappointment, because of its lax pacing and lack of real conflict.
Edward de Lacey is the second son of a duke. The book starts with the old man on his deathbed and several pages of “but I must tell you my secret!” before the duke dies in good old “It was Argh!” tradition. But the secret, or part of it, is vouchsafed by the family lawyer. The duke was married before he married the mother of the three sons who consider themselves his heirs. That would illegitimise them, and so they couldn’t inherit anything that wasn’t left to them personally, and would, of course, disbar them from the entail and the title. There is a cousin, Augustus, who would be the heir.
So Edward, who is the responsible one and runs the estate, goes to London to engage a solicitor. I wasn’t quite sure why, but I think Ms. Linden has confused the roles of a solicitor and a barrister. That continued to be an annoying niggle. A great house like that of a duke would have a regular “man of business,” or solicitor, and he would take care of all the estate business and engage a barrister when necessary. People don’t go directly to barristers as a rule, and a barrister’s only job is to represent the client in court. So why Edward would want a new solicitor who seems to do a barrister’s job when he has a perfectly serviceable solicitor is a bit nonsensical. But it does mean that he gets to meet the heroine, Francesca.
Francesca is a widow, and she wants her niece back. She believes that her niece is being held by the family of her aunt against her will and being used as a drudge, and she wants to engage a solicitor to act for her in court (which he couldn’t do, not in the higher courts, anyway). The man agrees, only to be thrown into a frenzy by getting the case from Edward about the dukedom.
There is my other disconnect, because I’ve read Bleak House, which is about a real-life case of inheritance. The lawyers throw this one into such complexities that the estate is eaten up by legal fees and lasted generations. A case like this would be nuts to the lawyers, and there is one easy solution. The Crown takes away the title and reinvests it in the eldest son as the first of the dukedom of the second creation. It happened sometimes, and it sorted out legitimacies or, otherwise, created new conditions.
Why am I going on about this? Because the book does. The first 30% (I read the ARC on my Kindle, which does percents rather than pages) is full of it and little else. There is little character development or plot development and no tension or reason to read on. I nearly gave up, but I wanted to read at least half, to see if there’s any story at all in this.
Well, not really. The story about the niece kind of peters out and has a conclusion I find a little difficult to believe. The duke problem, of course, goes on to another book.
So I always say that the romance is about the characters, right? Okay. Edward doesn’t seem to have a character, apart from being steady and boring. There is nothing to attract me to him, other than his performance in the sack. He’s tall, dark, and boring. Francesca is similarly plodding and a bit boring. She has a nice life—and there’s a word that’s used inappropriately in this book—and except for the problem of her niece, everything’s hunky-dory. And there’s a woman called Evelyn in this story, which was a man’s name in this period.
There is quite a lot of sex in the second half of the book, as if making up for lost time.
The book is reasonably well written, and most of the historical details are nicely done, although the author didn’t really create a world for me, just bits of one. Things like the heroine’s clothes, which are described as full and frothing (in the Regency?) took me out of the story occasionally, and the “g” word crops up a time or two. My main problem with this book is the lacklustre plot and characterless characters. I wasn’t really engaged in their story.
Oh, yes, and the frankly horrible cover. What is she doing? Presenting herself for doggy-style sex? Not the author’s fault, though, so I can’t hold that against her, except that I kept putting the book to the bottom of the virtual TBR pile because of it. But I read it all, and I don’t think I’ll be aching to read the next in the series. Sorry.
Grade: D
Summary:
A bargain that was all business . . . and pure passion.
Neither wealth nor beauty will help Lady Francesca Gordon win custody of her young niece Georgina, saving the girl from a cruel stepmother; she needs London’s top solicitor for that. But when Edward de Lacey, son of the powerful Duke of Durham, hires away the one man who can do the job, Francesca decides Edward himself must champion her case . . . if only she can melt the dashing lord’s stony heart.
Edward has reason to be guarded, though. London’s tabloids have just exposed a secret that could ruin his entire family. When Francesca offers a unique chance to undo the damage, Edward is forced to agree to a partnership . . . and now, each moment together feeds the flames of his scandalous longing for the passionate widow. But when Georgina disappears, fate will test them both . . . and leave their love hanging in the balance.
No excerpt available.
Nancy Mayer has kindly given me permission to quote her. She hasn’t read the book, but I briefly outlined the dilemma presented in this book to her. She is a mine of information, and I’m really grateful that she took the time to respond.
“I think she was thinking of the Duchess of Kingston case of bigamy.
The case in Bleak House and in Charlotte Smith’s real life did not involve a peerage title. They both involved property.
In the case at hand, peerage wouldn’t be decided in a court of law but in the House of Lords committee on privilege. The Committee on privilege is the only body with the authority to decide peerage cases.
Though matrimonial cases were usually decided in ecclesiastical courts, that question would also be debated before the committee. The cousin might protest the probate of the will there on the grounds of the duke’s prior marriage.
The Duke couldn’t be charged with bigamy because he was dead. Some marriages couldn’t be contested after one of the couple died.
What would happen is that after the Duke died, his eldest son and his heir presumptive would both put in petitions for a writ of summons to parliament as the Duke of Somewhere. Both would have to submit their proofs of legitimacy and pedigree.
The challenger would have to assert the first marriage and show when and where it was contracted and that the wife was still living and no parliamentary divorce when the duke married the mother of the one who was claiming as marquess.
Copy of the parish register would have to be submitted with seal and stamp as well as proof that the woman was still alive after ward.
There again, though more than the unsupported word of a woman. Better if the first wife was still alive and came forward to prove her marriage and to get her Dower rights.
Only some lawyers were qualified to plead before the House of Lords’ Committee on Privileges.
I think the trustees would run the estate until the matter was decided.
There were cases where the court of Chancery ruled one way and gave the property to one person while the consistory court ruled the other way and gave the money to that person.
However, cases of peerage could not be decided in a regular court. A case far for likely than bigamy, especially for a Duke, is the invalidity of a marriage by license of a minor without permission or of an illegitimate minor without the permission of a gaurdian appointed by Chancery.”
So from that, it looks like the burden of proof resides with the claimant, in this case, the distant cousin, who would have to have deep pockets to do all that. And might still come out of the case with nothing, or a title and no property. And the oldest son of the duke wouldn’t be allowed to use the title or the property while the matter was decided – it would all be put in the hands of independent trustees.
On what page does the “full and frothing” description fall? I couldn’t find it when I search my original Word file. Obviously dresses in 1810 were neither.
Also, it was not the Kingston case, but the Anglesey peerage case from the 1770s that inspired my set-up, although I did tweak numerous details. Historical authors are generally willing and able to go on at length about their research, if asked.
I’m afraid to say that the notes went with the file when the ARC expired. No “are you sure” before they went and I went “oops!” because I’d forgotten to copy them elsewhere!
It doesn’t matter which case, it’s the discussion of the principle. Nancy pointed out that a case involving the peerage would always involve the House of Lords, not a court at law. (“Judged by your peers” I think is the legal principle involved).
And there was a definite confusion between barristers and solicitors. Barristers are the ones with wigs and gowns who represent a plaintiff in court. Solicitors are the people the family employ (although they can have some say in which barrister they want to take their brief, although there’s no guarantee they’ll get the one they want) to deal with the case and brief the barrister.
I’ll ask Nancy if she has time to comment – she’s my go to lady for legal matters in this era. I know she’s fully conversant with both cases, the Anglesey case being a cause celebre at the time.
Although this premise didn’t work for me, and because it didn’t, the rest of the story kind of fell short, I did like your voice, and I will be looking forward to trying your next series. I love books with internal conflict and character issues, and I felt that there was so much plot here, it edged out the characters a bit. Maybe because it was the first and there was a lot of setup involved?