Kindred Schemes

In London, circa 1809, Alaina Sinclair, daughter of the Earl of Norwich, is making her debut at the city’s classiest balls (her prospects are helped by her gorgeousness but hindered by her scandalous habit of reading books). Heading her dance card is Graham Wallace, the Duke of Ashford, who is tall, dark, great looking, rich, kind, polite, and actively hunting a wife. Complicating matters is Graham’s best friend and ballroom wingman Christopher Kendall, the Marquess of Rochester, who is tall, blond, blue-eyed, great-looking, rich, gruff, and disdainful of marriage. (He and Alaina meet cute when he stumbles into her at the refreshments table; she calls him a drunk, and he calls her ill-mannered.) Naturally, Alaina falls for the brooding rogue Christopher while being officially courted by Graham, leading to tense scenes in which she’s supposed to be flirting with the duke but can’t help gazing into the marquess’ eyes, their hearts aflutter. Christopher proves his worth (saving Alaina when her horse bolts and defending her when she’s accused of being a bookworm), and their passion escalates to secret kissing. Alas, miscommunications—he worries that she is a gold digger after Graham’s money, she thinks he’ll never commit—keep intervening to prevent them from confessing their love. Further stirring the pot are Graham’s cousin Percy (a vile cad who hopes to steal the dukedom, threatens to spread scurrilous rumors questioning Alaina’s virtue, and briefly kidnaps her) and the sinister Lady Barbara, who masterminds Percy’s crimes in the hope that he will become rich enough to marry.

Harrington’s period yarn features an intricate, nuanced, and affecting love triangle that requires Alaina and Christopher to navigate their own mutual suspicions along with their reluctance to betray Graham. The novel’s haphazard plot has third-act problems—after the triangle resolves itself in a graceful bow-out followed by a lavish wedding-night sex scene, there are several chapters still to go with more far-fetched scheming by the villains—but the writing is strong. Adventure scenes are handled with vigorous aplomb: “He came around with his other hand with vicious intent, driving the butt of his pistol down on [Alaina’s] head, the lantern hanging from his arm the only point of light before darkness closed in on her.” The characters are colorful and sharply etched, and despite some anachronisms (Christopher talks about “collateral damage”), the prose has a droll, Austen-esque verve to it, using pompously polite palaver to reveal the crassness of high society. (“Oh no, here he comes, the lascivious Lord Finch and his merry band of drunken fools,” sighs Alaina at a ball wherein his lordship makes a hilariously insulting proposal: “I fear I have fallen madly in love with the idea of having you as my wife, and I feel you should be happy with such an arrangement.”) In keeping with the style is the spirit of the book’s message—that true love triumphs over mercenary calculation. Readers will root for the feisty Alaina to overcome the stuffed shirts and find her heart’s desire.