(To be honest, I’d rate this 2 stars, except for the few characters I actually liked.)
This Season all the gossip columnists have it wrong; London’s most elusive and desirable bachelor Anthony Bridgerton hasn’t just decided to marry—he’s even chosen a wife! The only obstacle to making Edwina Sheffield into Lady Bridgerton is his intended’s (can she be his intended if she doesn’t know he’s chosen her?) older sister, Kate—the most exasperating woman (he’s not related to) to ever grace a London ballroom. Kate will stop at nothing to make sure the engagement never comes off, never mind a wedding. But as she and Anthony both soon discover, maybe the only problem either one of them is having is that Anthony wants to marry the wrong Sheffield sister…
I don’t know if I can continue with this series. The plot of this book was almost a play-by-play rehash of the previous book, combined with The Taming of the Shrew, which is far from one of my favorite Shakespearean plays. More lust before love, more hasty marriage because of being caught in a scandalous position, more husband having secret, angsty reasons why he just can’t love his wife (even though surprise! turns out he does), more big argument and potentially fatal accident before confessions of love, more threat of marital rape if wife doesn’t submit to husband’s desires; so yawn, such bore. Though this time around, we get the added joy of Anthony physically abusing Kate prior to their engagement; gee, don’t we all want some guy who intentionally kicks us in our ribs as a lover? Contrary to what Quinn is going for, Anthony is not a charming, dashing desirable hero; he’s a sexist, overbearing, domineering boor. And Kate is yet another in a long line of strong women who basically fall apart because a man may just not love them. Violet Bridgerton in the first book was an enjoyable character; in this one, she just came across as a marriage-obsessed matchmaking busybody. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Edwina, her and Kate’s mother Mary, Kate’s “aw lawd he be comin'” corgi Newton, or Penelope, there wouldn’t be a really decent character in this book. I mean, Mrs. Featherington with all her talk of “bubbies” (can we not make that a thing) proves Dorothy Parker’s “need to get thrown on your back to get your shoes on your feet” all too true.
The largest problem was, as I said, the romance, which is the entire point of the book. The romantic scenes were over-the-top and groan-worthy, and the sex scenes were just ridiculous. Unfortunately though, I can’t even say the relationship prior to them getting together this book; they always sucked. Though my largest problem is with the continued threat of marital rape. Yes, I know at the time this book is set it was still legal (it wasn’t made illegal until frighteningly too recently, at least in the US, and there are people who are trying to make it legal again), but it is still not really something that’s needed to be written about.
Slight tangent here: the one Romance novel my mother ever read was Kathleen E. Woodiwiss’ The Flame and the Flower (her younger sister recommended it), whose entire plot is summed up with “Woman (Heather) is almost raped but escapes. Then’s she’s kidnapped and actually raped. Woman escapes again, but has wound up pregnant and has to marry rapist (Brandon). Rapist threatens to rape woman again, but woman submits because she has fallen in love with rapist and why deprive them of what they both want? (early 19th century Luke and Laura from General Hospital, anyone?) Woman gives birth, then rapist husband and she kill rapey, biting dwarf that has been killing women who have threatened woman with no self respect Heather and her marriage to rapist husband throughout book. Woman and rapist husband live happily ever after with baby Beau”. (barf) I picked it up and read it a couple of years ago, and then promptly threw it across the room, startling the Manx that was sleeping on my chest at the time. Which caused him to stalk off, leaving me upset that my cat dissed me and frustrated I had wasted time reading the book. So I know that apparently there’s been a theme of books where you’re supposed to think either the threat of marital rape or actual marital rape is sexy, and it makes my blood boil. Because I know there are impressionable, foolish teenagers young women people who will read those books and absorb that lesson as normal. So I don’t need to read yet another series with protagonists that seem to embody today’s “your body, my choice” bullshit. Tangent over.
I unfortunately already own the third and fourth books in this series because I was wanting to read Colin and Penelope’s story and I figured I had to get through the first three, but now I don’t know if I’m going to get there. Plus there are another fifteen books after that to get the full, complete story; that is probably far more of this dreck then I can stand. I’ll read the last two I own, but I doubt I’ll go past that.
This book cemented my dislike of both Romance Novels and Regency England.