Book Review

Lord Perfect by Loretta Chase

B+

Title: Lord Perfect
Author: Loretta Chase
Publication Info: Berkley 2006
ISBN: 0425208885
Genre: Historical: European

An unconventional, independent boy whose melodramatic parents don’t understand him is raised mostly by his uncle, meets a hare-brained girl from a disreputable family, becomes friends with her and ends up accompanying her on a half-baked scheme to recover some family treasure. Oh, and somewhere along the way, his uncle and her mother fall in love.

Fine, I’m lying. Lord Perfect isn’t a historical YA novel. But I wish it had been. Peregrine, the straitlaced, stubborn and fiercely analytical nephew of Benedict Carsington, and Olivia Wingate, the quick-thinking, unscrupulous daughter of Bathsheba Wingate, stole the show quite thoroughly; their story held my attention better and generated much more glee than the primary romance. Not that the romance itself was bad or anything—it was perfectly competent. It’s just that the sub-plot involving the children’s capers across the countryside was so much better, and the children were so much more interesting. The chemistry between Peregrine and Olivia leaped off the page from the moment Olivia met Peregrine and then clobbered him for telling her females can’t be knights, whereas the chemistry between Benedict and Bathsheba, while adequate, didn’t quite provide the same sort of spark.

But let me not get ahead of myself.

Benedict Carsington, Viscount Rathbourne and oldest son of the absolutely terrifying Earl of Wingate, is bored senseless at an Egyptian exhibit where he’d acompanied his nephew, Peregrine, who has an absolute passion for all things Egypt, when his eye is caught by a gorgeous woman. Unfortunately, his eye is soon compelled to move off her and on to a fracas—one involving Peregrine, no less, and girl about his age.

The girl turns out to be the gorgeous woman’s daughter; his interest is intensified and his hopes dashed when he finds out that she’s the scandalous Bathsheba Wingate, a member of the notorious Deadful DeLuceys. Years ago, as the story went, she managed to seduce Jack Wingate, younger son of the Earl of Fosbury, into marrying her, an act that caused Lord Fosbury to disown Jack; as a consequence, she is persona non grata with the ton.

Benedict doesn’t associate with social pariahs. Benedict never does anything wrong, because he is Lord Perfect. Benedict, however, is about to get his ass kicked by Lurve.

Bathsheba Wingate hates being a Dreadful DeLucey. She hated her rattletrap upbringing and the way her parents never met a dodgy scheme they didn’t like, and she wants nothing more than to escape the stigma of her family’s past and forge a respectable future for Olivia. To that end, she paints and teaches art lessons for a living, but she’s barely scraping by as it is.

Enter Peregrine and his uncle. Peregrine is in dire need of drawing lessons. Bathsheba is in dire need of money. And Benedict, though he won’t acknowledge it to himself, is in dire need of some excitement. An arrangement is struck up, with all parties taking some pains to disguise the fact that a Carsington is associating with a Dreadful DeLucey, and things go swimmingly for a while—until disaster strikes in the form of Peregrine’s parents, who decide he’ll be much better off in a boarding school in Scotland.

This throws Bathsheba and Olivia into a bit of a tailspin. The exorbitant rates Benedict was paying were a significant factor in the two of them making some progress in their hardscrabble life. While Bathsheba ponders more conventional routes of action, Olivia comes up with a Scheme, and when Olivia has a Scheme, mayhem is sure to follow.

In short, she plans to journey halfway across England to the DeLuceys’ ancestral estate and look for buried treasure. When Peregrine finds out, he intercepts her with the idea of slowing her down long enough for either her mother or his uncle to catch up—except, by hilarious increments, he finds himself becoming more of an accomplice than a saboteur. And once Bathsheba and Benedict figure out what the two children are up to, they have no choice but to chase after the two children—alone, since alerting the authorities would necessitate revealing the fact that the Earl of Wingate’s heir is associating closely with a Dreadful DeLucey.

And you know what happens once you throw two hot people on the road alone in a romance novel. Aw yeah.

There is much to like about this book, and I have only a few nits to pick, which I’ll get out of the way so I can explain what Chase got right, because as is her habit, she hit most of it dead-on.

First of all, what’s up with the weird chunklets of telling instead of showing? The story will be flowing along seamlessly, showing me the action, making me chuckle, drawing me in and investing me in the characters’ conflicts, when BAM, there will be a couple of sentences like “And so he told her XYZ, and yea, she was amazed” or “And thus they spoke all night long and gazed soulfully into each others’ eyes” and the like. These sorts of shortcuts are necessary to one extent or another when writing a book—you can’t bleeding well show every damn thing that happens—but these transitions were especially jarring in this book and they yanked me out of the story every time they popped up.

And then there’s the fact that the main characters, while likeable enough, didn’t have the usual…I don’t know, spark of vigor that most of Chase’s characters provide. See, one of the many things I enjoy about Chase is her constant ability to subvert my expectations when it comes to her characters. Rupert Carsington of Mr. Impossible, for example, is presented something of a cheerful, insolent dolt; someone who’s not all that sharp, a man much more happy defenestrating villains than debating philosophy. We’re told this repeatedly: by the narrator, by Rupert, by his family, by the people he meets. But what we’re shown, and what the heroine eventually realizes, is that Rupert isn’t stupid, not even close—he just likes to play that way. Similarly, Sebastian Dain of Lord of Scoundrels is a high-strung, vulnerable mess underneath his blustering alpha façade, and Varian St. George of The Lion’s Daughter really IS a horrible wastrel, and not a faux-wastrel who actually has pots of money squirreled away somewhere. Chase does this over and over and over, and not just with her heroes—she does it with her heroines and with her villains.

And she does it to a small extent in this book. Benedict, for example, was a bit of a hellraiser when he was a child, before the weight of being the heir of a distinguished earldom fully descended upon him. But we don’t get to see this subversion the way we do in the other books. Benedict and Bathsheba are perfectly likeable, and I was very happy and satisfied with the way things turned out for them, but out of all of Chase’s characters so far, I’d say that these two have been so far the most conventional. They were sometimes, well…just a bit boring.

The kids, on the other hand…oh my. I’m not kidding when I say that I wish Lord Perfect had been a YA novel that tracked Peregrine and Olivia’s adventures. They were pitch perfect. Peregrine is a somewhat difficult child, and his parents and teachers don’t know what to do with him. He’s eminently logical and he refuses to take anything on faith—including the words of those with authority over him. This is not really a recipe for success in Ye Olde English Public Schools. Underneath the brilliant, stubborn, analytical boy, however, is a child who longs for parents who can provide him with a stable foundation.

Olivia is similarly wonderful. Fast-talking, quick-thinking and devious, she has more than little bit of Dreadful DeLucey in her, and the letters she writes Peregrine are brilliant—they are, in fact, the best letters I’ve read in a romance novel. Everything, from the description of Olivia’s handwriting, her melodramatic turn of phrases, the Capitalization of Important Words, the

 

underlining of Facts That Should Not Be Missed

 

, is bang-on. But once you get past the minx, Olivia is a big-hearted girl who wants nothing more than to see her mother happy.

The plot itself is excellent. There are a few twists and turns, all of them quite logical, and Chase doesn’t commit the cardinal sin of making a somebody break out of character just to move things along. She also doesn’t take the easy way out for some of the resolutions—the way the treasure hunt was resolved, for example, is quite ingenious.

And as always, Chase’s narratorial voice is quite wonderful. It’s very distinct, wry and witty, and I’m a big fan of it. If nothing else, Chase captures the rhythms of nineteenth-century English—or at least, what I imagine nineteenth-century English to sound like—better than any American author I know. Authors of historicals who think they can make their characters sound convincing by tossing around a couple of ‘tis-es and ‘twas-es and showing off some random slang like “micefeet” or “mushroom” would do well to study how Chase does it.

If you see this book in the store, what are you waiting for? Grab it. It’s worth full price, even if it’s not Chase’s best—but then Chase, even when she’s not at her best, is still a formidable force.

Comments are Closed

  1. Robin says:

    I am actually torn between this one and Miss Wonderful as my favorite of the series.  In Miss Wonderful, there was the, well, wonderful portrayal of Alistair’s post traumatic stress syndrome being sublimated as dandyism.  Seriously brilliant, that was.

    To me, though, Lord Perfect was a classic (and I mean that in terms that don’t include things like stately and old) example of a successful Romance written with practically no internal conflict to drive the plot.  Really—how does Chase do that?  I didn’t find either Bathsheba or Benedict boring, in part, I think, because I was so in awe of Chase’s ability to make their relationship work without most of the Romance cliches (from the Big Mis to the intercession of the eeeeevill villain).  She seriously needs to teach a class on that for a substantial chunk of the Romance writing community.  And I adored it when Benedict climbed in that window.  Sigh.

  2. Ann Aguirre says:

    her parents never met a dodgy scheme they didn’t like

    I -love- this phrase.

  3. Carrie Lofty says:

    And Bathsheba is about the only heroine I can recall who broke the cardinal rule of romance widowhood:  she loved her first husband and got it on with him quite successfully.  No forced marriage, no loveless marriage, no abusive marriage.  Just a regular marriage where the husband died and she was sad – just bumping along – because of the loss.  Thus, when she got together with Benedict the sex was great but not exactly virginal paroxysms – just two hot folks having a good time. Loved the scene out of the bath 🙂

    But I have to disagree about the kids.  I find anyone under 18 in a romance just… clutter.  Sigh.  I have two of my own – don’t need to read about the adventures of bratty (sorry – precocious) pre-teens causing headaches.  I just felt sorry for Bathsheba and wondered where the hell she dropped the ball raising that monster of hers!

  4. Candy says:

    Robin: I agree that the romance works, and works well without the external conflict. The internal conflict that keeps them apart is done quite well, too—they have good reasons to stay away, and it never became repetitive and tiresome, and once they realized it was surmountable, then by Golly by God they surmounted it.

    I’m not sure why Bathsheba and Benedict failed to resonate with me. Unrealistically high expectations might have something to do with it, but then, I have those expectations for just about every Chase book, and with the exception of The Last Hellion, she’s met or exceeded them. I think I liked the side-story and the kids so much more that everything else paled in comparison, and really, that is NOT something I’ve ever, ever, ever said before about any non-YA book, and especially not a romance novel, where the children are usually gag-inducing instead of interesting.

    Lovelysalome: Ah, crap, I forgot to mention that in my review, but I totally meant to. I really liked how Jack and Bathsheba really, truly loved each other, even if Jack was a flake.

  5. Robin says:

    The internal conflict that keeps them apart is done quite well, too—they have good reasons to stay away, and it never became repetitive and tiresome, and once they realized it was surmountable, then by Golly by God they surmounted it.

    But was there really an internal conflict?  I saw it more like instead of creating some really difficult dilemma that would require a deus ex machina to resolve in fewer than 400 pages, Chase created the illusion of a conflict.  We know it’s illusory even though Benedict and Bathsheba don’t, of course, and once one of them figures it out (in this case that would be Benedict), they could have their HEA post haste.  I don’t know, though—maybe the fact that the two leads think they are in conflict makes it so for the novel.  Have to think about that one.

    Another thing I liked: while the thing about the kids leaving was contrived, I always had the feeling that it simply sped up an inevitable love match.  And that Olivia ended up accomplishing exactly what she set out to do (albeit perhaps in a different manner than she intended) was also, IMO, a fabulous move on Chase’s part, and one of the best reasons, IMO, to have those kids play so central a role in the novel.  Plus, the way they mirrored their elders was really nice, IMO, and gave Chase more opportunity to reveal Bathsheba and Benedict to us indirectly.

  6. Robin says:

    Forgot to ask what everyone thinks of the fact that Chase is going back to Avon.

  7. Jennifer says:

    I liked the book, but I did miss that in some ways, it just wasn’t as funny as Mr. Impossible. Which I guess is harder to do with a “perfect” character anyway, so what can you expect.

  8. Rosina Lippi says:

    Candy—it’s clear that you really liked this book, just as it’s clear that you know and like the rest of Chase’s work. Maybe this novel didn’t work for you quite as well as some of her others.

    To some extent I have to agree: I certainly like Rupert better than Benedict. He was just more fun. So maybe that’s part of the issue for you? You’ve got to have that dash of nuttiness in there. Even Dain has it, to some extent (and for what it’s worth, I think that Lord of Scoundrels has some serious pacing and plot problems).

    But my real question is this: Chase is one of the greats, I think you and I agree on that. On her worst day she’s great. So I’m confused by your grade of B. I guess if you’re grading her body of work in isolation, I can see why you might come up with that, but in the genre as a whole? Grade A material, IMO.

  9. bungluna says:

    After “Lord of Scoundrels” every Chace book I’ve ever read has come up short.  Now, in comparison to other writers, I love all her books.  So far, I’ve liked “Mr. Imposible” best of the lot, though.

  10. Robin says:

    But my real question is this: Chase is one of the greats, I think you and I agree on that. On her worst day she’s great. So I’m confused by your grade of B. I guess if you’re grading her body of work in isolation, I can see why you might come up with that, but in the genre as a whole? Grade A material, IMO.

    I think this is why I pay more attention to the review than the grade itself—we all have such different standards, IMO.  For me, a C is sort of the baseline, an average that sets the bar from mediocre up or down.  Back in my TAing days, the rule of thumb used to be that B was good, A was excellent, and the most difficult differentiation was between a C+ and a B-, because that gap seemed the most significant.  Ultimately it came down to B- indicating “mediocrity with flair,” and in all of my teaching since, and in every personal review I do for a book, I can’t get past that standard.  But I’m not sure it comports well to how most people grade Romances.  For a book to get an F from me, it must fail on virtually every level, and that’s actually harder to do for me than it might seem, especially cnosidering the fact that I think I have pretty high expectations.  So I let other people’s reviews speak louder than their grades, because I think the words translate better than the letters.  Most of the time, at least.

  11. emdee says:

    But that picture on the cover has got to go!

  12. Keziah Hill says:

    Although I loved Mr Impossible and Miss Wonderful, I thought this a more intense read so in someways I liked it more. Their relationship had a depth and complexity that was very satisfying. I don’t mind a bit of telling, it can be a break and a change from the uniform requirement for in your face POV in romance. Some times it’s soothing to have a bit of distance.

  13. Rosina Lippi says:

    Some times it’s soothing to have a bit of distance.

    Keziah—This articulates perfectly something I’ve been thinking about. Thanks.

  14. Candy says:

    But was there really an internal conflict?  I saw it more like instead of creating some really difficult dilemma that would require a deus ex machina to resolve in fewer than 400 pages, Chase created the illusion of a conflict.  We know it’s illusory even though Benedict and Bathsheba don’t, of course, and once one of them figures it out (in this case that would be Benedict), they could have their HEA post haste.  I don’t know, though—maybe the fact that the two leads think they are in conflict makes it so for the novel.  Have to think about that one.

    Robin: I tend to characterize internal conflict as, well, being mostly in the characters’ heads. Benedict and Bathsheba (hereinafter abbreviated as B&B) are obviously attracted to each other, and both of them could’ve acted on it, but they both perceived a series of obstacles and social consequences to their actions—and these perceptions were real to them. And hell, the consequences were real, too, though perhaps they weren’t as awful as what B&B seem to have envisioned them being, such as the scandal that would result from the Carsington scion marrying a Dreadful DeLucey.

    The trick with internal conflict is a) not dragging it out too long, b) showing to the reader how very large those conflicts loom to the characters, even if from our distance we’re able to see viable solutions, and c) making sure not to overplay (b) or stretch it past credulity.

    Man, I love making these declarations. Makes me feel so…sovereign.

    To some extent I have to agree: I certainly like Rupert better than Benedict. He was just more fun. So maybe that’s part of the issue for you? You’ve got to have that dash of nuttiness in there.

    Rosina: That’s a valid point, but I’m not sure that’s really an issue with me. Chase has written some non-nutty heroes I’ve enjoyed, like Jack Langdon, Max whatsisface (hero of Viscount Vagabond, and a bit of a proto-Rupert Carsington there), and the hero for Knaves’ Wager…criminy, why can’t I remember his name? Gaaaah. It’s only, like, one of the best Regencies, ever. Though they all have some interesting neuroses/damage going on—but then, so does Benedict. Hmm.

    And it’s not that I didn’t enjoy Benedict. I liked him quite a bit, especially the little aphorisms he would recite to himself, and the glimpses into the normal, naughty little boy he’d been, and I also liked seeing his control crack. I just didn’t connect with him, and I’m hard-pressed to say why, exactly.

    But my real question is this: Chase is one of the greats, I think you and I agree on that. On her worst day she’s great. So I’m confused by your grade of B. I guess if you’re grading her body of work in isolation, I can see why you might come up with that, but in the genre as a whole? Grade A material, IMO.

    Interesting question. I don’t grade a book I read with an author’s past work as a baseline, I grade it based on, well, how much I like it. And a B+ is a pretty damn solid grade from me—it’s a hair away from an A, and I don’t give out As very often. I tend to have benchmark books, and I compare them accordingly. Mr. Impossible, for example, is one of my benchmark A- books, and To Love and to Cherish is one of my benchmark A/A+ books. Lord Perfect, while well-written and enjoyable, just wasn’t as good—or, to state it more accurately, I just didn’t like it as much. Therefore, B+. (I do sometimes ponder using a 10-point system to allow for more variation, but I like how portable and recognizable the grading system is.) I don’t grade based solely on technical excellence, though that certainly plays a role; I grade from the gut, and my gut is a fickle creature. There are many well-written books I just couldn’t get through—Untie My Heart would be one of them—while others I just don’t like very much, like Faking It or Welcome to Temptation. And some awfully-written books I’d give an A- to, like Dara Joy’s cheeseriffic Mine to Take, because while I could turn the pages red if I allowed my inner editor free rein, the thing is, the book engaged me enough that my inner editor shut up, and that’s a rare, rare thing with me. That’s actually a benchmark of an A book for me—if my inner editor stays mousy-quiet, I know it’s really, really good.

    Lord Perfect didn’t make my editor shut up—though it didn’t make it scream with indignation, either.

    I don’t mind a bit of telling, it can be a break and a change from the uniform requirement for in your face POV in romance. Some times it’s soothing to have a bit of distance.

    Keziah: I agree. Like I said in the review, it’s impossible to show every damn thing; a certain amount of telling is required in pretty much every book. But it was done in an especially jarring way in Lord Perfect, I thought—I mean, every time it happened, it pulled me out of the story. Nobody else seems to have noted this, however, so I think it might very well be a case of my inner editor being an especially persnickety beeeeyotch, which wouldn’t be the first (or last) time she does this.

  15. Robin says:

    I tend to characterize internal conflict as, well, being mostly in the characters’ heads.

    Which makes perfect sense, Candy, even though I wasn’t thinking of it this way. That definition is probably the more accepted, too, so I don’t know why I conceptualize it differently.  But because I rarely ever see a Romance character who doesn’t feel conflicting emotions, I tend to categorize conflicts as 1) external to the couple (i.e. a villainous uncle), and 2) internal to the relationship between the couple (i.e. a Big Mis).  Inside a character’s head is more interiority to me, I guess. 

    But even within your context, I see what you’re saying; certainly the biggest obstacles to the relationship came from the ambivalent feelings B&B had about the other.  And yes, they do have some solvency, even if we know they are to be overcome.  What Chase can always get away with for me—and I’m not certain why, because it’s about more than good writing, I suspect—is a complete lack of suspense as to the H&H’s ultimate fate as a couple.  I don’t even need to hold much stock on whatever they have between them as an obstacle to find the end happy and fulfilling.

  16. Maya says:

    For me, “Lord Perfect”‘s problem was that it followed “Mr. Impossible”.  Rupert’s story was so huge, so exotic, so funny, so satisfying, what were his poor brothers going to do to match it ? Alastair and Benedict were both perfectly (Ha !) fine hero material, matched with equally well-thought-out heroines.  But honestly – how can a simple tavern brawl/looking beyond stuffy social ostracism (Benedict), or promoting the benefits of a canal/overcoming reluctance to work through emotional battle after-effects compare to being flung in a dungeon ? Shot and dropping off the side of a boat into crocodile infested Nile ? Crawling through pyramid secret passages pursued by assassins ? Scaling walls to defeat evil antiquities thieves in hand to hand combat ?

    Rupert’s story was the first in this series I read; I finished the other two trying to analyze why I felt vaguely dissatisfied despite the author’s incredible writing talent.  It seems she herself has set the bar impossibly (Ha ! ok I’ll stop now)  high.

  17. sherryfair says:

    Frankly, I am still trying to get a handle on Loretta Chase. I recognize that she’s brilliant, but to me, her brilliance seems sort of fitful. I’ve been reading her older books & often find them maddeningly inconsistent. She’ll write dialogue that is just incandescent, so much better than I’ve read nearly anywhere else—then, a page or two later, she’ll drop into exposition that leaves me wondering if this is the same writer who impressed me a few pages before. She seems to be like Balogh in that her prose style got better over time. But often, I find her beginnings uninteresting—it takes a while for her books to warm up for me. And she’ll write one character who delights me, while the other feel so much flatter—so I go into a “heat-seeking mode” & start skipping pages, to get to the passages about that particular character, and then I have to force myself to go back & read the book in proper, chronological order. Exactly what Candy describes about the adolescent kids happened to me with two other Chase books: In “The Sandalwood Princess,” I really liked the princess, but I didn’t care a fig about the hero & heroine. In “Isabella,” the eponymous heroine hardly interested me, but her mother did, and the “wrong” man in the love triangle was so much more interesting than the hero. (Oh, well, at least Chase always provides me with a character whose fate I care about—even if it’s not the one in whom I’m supposed to be interested.)

  18. Rosina Lippi says:

    Maya—excellent point about Rupert outshining his brothers. He was a hard act to follow, indeed.

  19. Rosina Lippi says:

    Candy—Maybe I hallucinated it, but I thought you had given this book a B. Now I see it’s a B+, which feels more in line with the text of your review.

    Now I’m wondering if I could come up with a list of my benchmarks for romance novels.

    And a confession: I’ve never read To Love and to Cherish. Which I will have to do, now.

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