Marianne Daventry will do anything to escape the boredom of Bath and the amorous attentions of an unwanted suitor. So when an invitation arrives from her twin sister, Cecily, to join her at a sprawling country estate, she jumps at the chance. Thinking she’ll be able to relax and enjoy her beloved English countryside while her sister snags the handsome heir of Edenbrooke, Marianne finds that even the best laid plans can go awry. From a terrifying run-in with a highwayman to a seemingly harmless flirtation, Marianne finds herself embroiled in an unexpected adventure filled with enough romance and intrigue to keep her mind racing. Will Marianne be able to rein in her traitorous heart, or will a mysterious stranger sweep her off her feet? Fate had something other than a relaxing summer in mind when it sent Marianne to Edenbrooke.
You would think, with Blackmoore being so enjoyably bad, that I would avoid more books by the author. There’s only so much enjoyable nonsense I can take, after all. However, something compelled me to pick up another book by Donaldson (maybe because I saw that my library carried it). And, I must confess, I ate up Edenbrooke and its angsty romance even more than I love-hated Blackmoore.
Plain and simple, I enjoy romances like Edenbrooke’s. I delight in the angsty “I love him but he couldn’t possibly love me” type of self-denial that’s found in this book. I mean, it does tend to make the heroine seem a little dense at times, but there’s something about this particular romantic archetype that I enjoy every time I encounter it. And it doesn’t matter how poor the rest of the book is—I would read it simply because of that one element.
To be honest, though, Edenbrooke really isn’t all that bad. It was actually much better than I was expecting, and it lacked a lot of the contrivance that Blackmoore had, though there were some random parts that stretched the bounds of believability a little. I highly enjoyed every minute of it—I even teared up a time or two. It’s certainly not classic literature, but it’s far from the sort of trashy romance novel you’d be embarrassed to be seen reading. Edenbrooke was good enough that I might keep my eye on Donaldson to see what else she has up her sleeve.
Recommended Age Range: 14+
Genre: Historical Fiction
I lifted my chin, feigning dignity. “I was hiding so that I would not be seen wet and muddy.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You were wet and muddy? Before you fell in the river?”
I cleared my throat. “I fell in twice.”
He pressed his lips together and looked off in the distance, as if trying to regain his composure. When he looked at me again, his eyes were brimming with laughter. “And may I ask how you came to fall in the river the first time?”
My face burned as I realized how silly I had been, how childish and inelegant. Of course, he already knew those things about me from my actions at the inn last night. Singing that song! Laughing, and then crying! And now falling into a river! I had never been more aware of my faults than I was at that moment.
“I was, er, twirling,” I said.
His lips twitched. “I cannot imagine it. You must demonstrate for me.”
Kate Worthington knows she can never marry the man she loves, so she plans to travel to India instead—if only to find peace for her restless spirit and to escape the family she abhors. But Kate’s meddlesome mother has other plans. She makes a bargain with Kate: India, yes, but only after Kate has secured—and rejected—three marriage proposals. Kate journeys to the stately manor of Blackmoore, determined to fulfill her end of the bargain. There she enlists the help of her dearest childhood friend, Henry Delafield. But when it comes to matters of love, bargains are meaningless and plans are changeable. In the wild, windswept countryside near the coast of northern England, Kate must face the truth that has kept her heart captive. Will the proposal she is determined to reject actually be the one thing that will set her heart free?
Blackmoore is a melodramatic, over-the-top historical romance, but it’s a fun melodramatic, over-the-top historical romance. It’s one of the books you read not for its literary quality or romantic appeals, but for the sheer joy you get while reading it and thinking “This makes absolutely no sense but I love it anyway.”
That’s not to say that the plot is confusing or unrealistic. It does require some stretching of the boundaries, but hey, it’s a romance. Characters are supposed to conquer all odds in order to be together at last, which calls for some situations that might seem contrived or over-the-top. And Blackmoore combines those with some high levels of chewing the scenery melodrama and an unoriginal romantic plot (combined with some poor writing that makes it seem as if something sinister is going on behind the scenes. Spoiler: there’s not). At one point I was cheering for Kate and the younger Mr. Brandon, just to relieve some of that thick romantic angst that Kate had hanging around her whenever she was around Henry.
But, oh, I had fun reading this book. Even during the times I was wincing at the excessive internal angsting and monologuing of Kate, or at all the obvious plot twists, I was still enjoying Blackmoore. And, to be honest, I’m being a little harsher than my enjoyment/opinion of the book warrants. I did like Blackmoore, and I did enjoy it–even if it was for reasons the author likely didn’t intend.
Recommended Age Range: 14+
Genre: Historical Fiction
I paused at a sound. At first I thought it was the wind—the sound that came to me. Then I realized it was weaker than wind. It came in spurts and sputters, and as I cocked my head, puzzling, and concentrated on the sound, I realized I recognized it. It was voices, coming to me on the wind of whispers, raising the hairs of my neck. I pinched my candle out, the smoke rising to sting my nose, and held as still as I could while my heart raced. But though I strained to make out the whispered words, I could not discern what was being said or from whence the whispers came—from the hallway, beyond the tapestry I hid behind, or from some secret passageway on the other side of this wall. Footsteps sounded, soft and scraping, and the whispers teased me, just out of reach of my comprehension. Sylvia’s stories of ghost haunting this wing floated through my mind, and I shivered with a sudden chill.