I blame
musewrangler. I would never have thought of reading historical romance novels if Jill hadn't pricked my curiosity. So I started to pick up a couple, every now and then, casually. They have been mildly diverting, but not always for the right reasons: for instance, how do these heroines fail to get pregnant until that magic ring pops on to their
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although in your neck of the woods, it's called Crosstitch. :D
SO. GOOD.
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I just love the comedy and the way her characters feel so human. When I picked up What Happens in London, I had just finished reading another romance set in the same time period (revealing no names to protect the guilty innocent), where I got thoroughly bored and/or annoyed at the main characters; I kept getting told that, oh, the hero was this scarred conqueror-warrior traumatised from the Napoleonic wars and all this laying-claim-to/possessive streak stuff was him saying he loved her, and I was... "No. And why is she not pregnant yet?!?" So to be introduced to the hero of What Happens... as a child cleaning up his alcoholic father's vomit was a BIG breath of fresh air.
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